Not a mother, a cuckoo what had I thought at the time? I still can hear the sharp question that burst through the morning stillness, Where are you off to? What are you doing here?
My brother Martins loud shout finally dragged me, Olivia, from a halfsleep. I propped myself up on my elbows on the narrow bed in the guest room, ears straining for every sound beyond the thin plaster wall. For two weeks I had been living in Martins flat in Manchester while I hunted for work and a place of my own. The move had been difficult, but there was no other option my hometown offered no prospects.
A piercing infant cry suddenly filled the flat. Fourmonthold Tommy was wailing, a casualty of his parents quarrel. I winced, slipped the nightgown over my shoulders and sat on the edge of the bed.
I’m heading to an interview, came a muffled reply from Emily, Martins wife, from the kitchen.
An interview? Have you lost your mind? Martin bellowed. Youve a newborn! What sort of job could you possibly think of? Your place is at home, with the child!
I waited for Emilys answer, but the flat fell into a heavy silence, broken only by Tommys incessant wailing. Then the front door slammed shut. Emily was gone.
I left the room and made my way to the kitchen. Martin stood in the centre, awkwardly cradling the screaming infant. Anger and helplessness wrestled for expression on his face.
Always the same, he muttered, spotting me. She abandons the child and runs off to her own concerns.
Silently I took Tommy from his arms. The little boy gradually settled, pressing his cheek against my shoulder. Martin sank heavily onto a chair, his hands running over his face.
Emilys gone mad, he continued, staring into nothing. How could she leave a baby and think of work? At least my holiday has started, so I can look after Tommy.
I rocked the baby gently, pondering his words.
Martin, perhaps you should speak to Emily calmly, without shouting, I suggested softly. Maybe she has problems? Postnatal depression is common. She might need professional help.
He waved me away as if Id been a persistent fly.
Depression? Nonsense! Emily has always been too freespirited, a careerwoman. I hoped the birth would change her, make her a proper mother. She shows no sign of that. She doesnt care for the child!
I wanted to argue, but stayed quiet. Tommy finally fell asleep and I carefully placed him in his cot.
Emily returned only in the evening. As I was tucking Tommy in, I heard the lock click. She passed the nursery without looking inside. I stepped into the hallway and saw her silently preparing dinner. Martin sat in the living room, staring at the television, refusing to speak to his wife.
The atmosphere grew unbearable. I hurried to my own room and dialed my mother.
Mum, you wont believe whats happening, I whispered into the receiver, recounting the days events.
A heavy sigh came from the other end.
Yes, dear, Emily has been like this since the baby was born. Martin has complained to me more than once. It seems her maternal instincts never awoke. Poor lad, how hard for him. And what a child feels when his own mother is absent I cant imagine.
After that call I lay in bed for hours, unable to fathom how things could have turned so sour. I remembered Emily before pregnancy a sweet, caring woman. Martin adored her. Now there was a chilling indifference toward the child and toward Martin himself. Something was terribly wrong.
Emily would disappear from the house for hours, leaving Martin alone with the infant. He would take Tommy to the shop, on walks, trying to juggle childcare with household chores. I helped as best I could, but I knew it could not go on forever.
A week later Emily returned home with a bright look in her eyes. For the first time I saw any hint of a smile on her face.
Ive found a job, she announced over dinner.
Martin froze, spoon halfway to his mouth, his face turning a shade of red.
Youre joking, are you? he roared. You have a fourmonthold son! You should be caring for him, not gallivanting around offices!
Emilys reply was cold: Its my life.
Martin leapt from his seat. Youre selfish! You think only of yourself! Thats wrong! Youre a mother; your place is beside the child!
I watched Emily shrink inward, retreating into herself. She rose silently and slipped away to the bedroom. That night we saw no more of her.
The next day Martin and I took Tommy for a walk in the park. Martin pushed the pram, muttering ceaselessly.
Look how she treats him. Our own son, and she cares not a whit. She never picks him up, never kisses, never hugs. What kind of mother is she? Not a mother, a cuckoo!
I stayed silent, unsure what to answer. I felt sorry for my brother, yet something inside told me the story was not as simple as it seemed.
We returned home a few hours later to a suspiciously quiet flat. I flicked on the hallway light.
Emily? Are you home? I called.
Silence. I passed through the rooms the kitchen empty, the sitting room empty. Martin entered the bedroom, Tommy in his arms. I heard Martin gasp sharply and hurried to him.
He stood before an open wardrobe, half the shelves bare. Emilys belongings were gone.
Shes left, Martin exhaled hoarsely.
He collapsed onto the bed, still clutching his son, his shoulders trembling.
Ungrateful! After everything I gave her the flat, love, marriage, a child! he shouted. I gave her everything and she just walked away!
I sat beside him, trying to calm him, while a foreboding knot tightened in my stomach.
Martin, what could drive her to such a thing? Tell me honestly what happened between you two.
His eyes reddened as he looked at me. He paused, as if gathering his thoughts.
The pregnancy was accidental, he finally confessed. Emily didnt want a child. She said she wasnt ready, that she wanted to build her career first. I pressed her, said we were both thirtysomething, it was time to settle, have a family. She agreed, but after the birth she never loved him. I hoped motherhood would awaken her feelings, that shed bond with the baby. She only drifted further away.
My eyes widened as the picture I had painted in my mind crumbled instantly. I had thought Emily merely temperamental, capricious. The truth was far darker she had been coerced into having a child she never wanted.
Martin I could only manage a breathless whisper.
A few days later Martins holiday ended. He returned to work, effectively handing the care of Tommy over to me. I didnt object the child was innocent in his parents turmoil.
A week passed. One morning Martin burst through the door, waving a stack of papers.
Shes filing for divorce! he shouted. And she wants to renounce parental rights to Tommy! She said on the phone If I wanted the child, I should have cared for him myself! I have a job, a flat, I can manage. She doesnt need any of it!
I rocked the baby in silence, listening to his tirade. With each passing day I understood Emily a little more.
The following week I was almost alone caring for the infant. Martin would come home from work, eat dinner and collapse onto the bed. At weekends he would nap or watch television. All other chores fell to me. I began to see why Emily had fled. Martin contributed nothing at home, offered no help, only demanded.
Finally, good news arrived for me. I secured a position at a local firm and found a modest onebedroom flat not far from the office. I was moving out of that house. Martin didnt take kindly to the news.
Youre abandoning us too! What about Tommy? Who will look after him? How can you just leave?
I looked at him calmly. I knew my words would hurt, but I had to echo Emilys earlier stand.
You wanted the child, Martin. Now you look after him yourself. Stop shifting the responsibility onto others.
I stood in my new flat, arranging my belongings on the shelves. The quiet settled around me, a balm after weeks of infant cries and my brothers outbursts. I pulled out a photograph from a box Martin and I as children, both beaming. I ran my finger over the image, contemplating how even those closest to us can betray. The brother I once idolised proved selfish, breaking his wifes life. Emily, once condemned by all, was simply protecting herself.
I placed the photograph on the shelf and turned away. A new life stretched ahead, my own life at last.
