Dear Diary,
The truth is, Ive got no choice but to sell the flat on Baker Street and the car as well. The loan sharks wont let us be, and its not just me wholl feel the sting you and little Molly will suffer too.
What about going to the police? youll ask.
The police? Im already in their debt, I muttered, finally looking up. Every day the interest climbs higher than my head can bear. Youll have to stay with my mother while this drags on.
My wife, Eleanor, asked, What about you?
I have to get out of here. I wont be able to repay any of these debts; the firm has already been seized. Ill head north where the oil rigs are paying a decent wage. Maybe things will settle then.
Eleanor had seen the warning signs long before the men in trench coats with criminal records started showing up at our door, demanding that I step outside for a chat. After each encounter I returned holloweyed and angry, shouting at Molly for the slightest misstep. She was only four, not a trained dog.
My business was a murky one. Officially I ran an online shop selling computer hardware, but I never knew where the laptops and monitors actually came from. Most of them were likely counterfeit, which meant whole batches had to be pulled from sale. To stay afloat I kept taking on more loans, and occasionally I managed a narrow escape. This time, however, the net closed in tighter than ever.
Eleanor grew up in a village and could have retreated to her parents cottage, but she didnt want to quit her post as deputy head at an elite private school that specialised in English literature. A promotion to headmistress loomed, especially since Ms. Catherine Andrews had announced her retirement for next year. Walking away now would have been foolish.
Living under my motherinlaws roof was never going to be a holiday. From the moment we met, relations were frosty. At first Eleanor was a village girl the county was visible from her kitchen window. When she earned a firstclass degree and began teaching at the school, she was dismissed as a foreign fancy who shouldnt be expected to cook a proper roast. Yet when she made stew, I praised it. The longday classes kept her in school until dusk, leaving little time for home cooking.
Mrs. Whitaker, my mother, was pleased with the grandkid, but not so much with Eleanor:
You wont see a good wife run off to the North, she croaked.
Its not me shes fleeing, its his creditors, Eleanor replied, eyes flashing.
Where have you been? A good wife keeps the household finances tight. Back in my day we called that running the home. You havent even managed a decent dinner for your daughter.
When I have the time, I do everything.
Then why dont you have time? How does your school keep you until night? Ill be checking. I suspect youve taken a lovers place instead of my sons.
One evening she dropped by the school unannounced. The inspectorlike visit only added to her complaints. Everything was labelled in a foreign language, which she found appalling, and the cats roaming the corridors she called it a health hazard. Its a school, not a zoo, she snarled. She kept eyeing Eleanor as if she were measuring her with a ruler.
The lanky figure she stared at was David Spencer, another English teacher. He seemed to like Eleanor, but never crossed the line, knowing she had a family.
The cats, however, were part of a British educational initiative. Studies claim that interaction with therapy cats makes children kinder. So the school kept a few British Shorthairs, allowing them onto desks even during lessons. They behaved far better than the myth suggests.
Simon sent sporadic emails about his whereabouts, though he never gave details. The loan sharks showed up a couple of times, probing for his location.
Then the messages stopped. Eleanor feared the creditors had tracked him down, but my motherinlaw was oddly optimistic:
If theyd found him, theyd have stopped coming here.
Then why the silence?
Hes not a loner forever, youll see.
A year later, just before term ended, Simon wrote that he had met another woman and was now living with her. He didnt call it cheating; after all, we were never legally married. He said nothing about Molly, as if she didnt exist. My mother seized on this:
Clearly he knows Molly isnt his child.
How can that be? She was born while he was here.
She was born to me, not by him you hear?
I shouted, You cant say that, Mother!
She replied coldly, Im no longer your mother. I may remain a grandmother to Molly, but from today I am Elizabeth Whitaker, or perhaps no one at all that might be better.
We had to move out of my motherinlaws flat. Renting in London was absurdly pricey, especially with a child. Could we stay in the city when the only family left were gone? My own parents, hearing about Eleanors woes, invited her back to the village, promising a teaching post rural schools always need teachers.
Ms. Andrews put Eleanors request on hold:
Girl, dont lose your temper. Im planning to hand the school over to you, and the board wont object.
And where will we live? Eleanor asked.
Ill talk to the board. They might fund a rental or give a loan. In the meantime, come stay at my cottage. The heating is free in May, and we only use it on weekends. In summer you can take a holiday and then visit your parents.
David Spencer offered to haul our few belongings in his van. We had only clothes and a handful of dishes left. On the way he asked, Where will you stay in winter?
My motherinlaw promised something.
Dont bother her I have a spare room in my onebed flat. I stay with my mother a lot; shes ill and cooks for me. Its hard living off instant noodles forever.
Maybe Ill stay in the village permanently after summer.
Your school? Theyll still need you theyre already matchmaking you with the new head.
People have tried to marry me off before. Schools exist everywhere, after all.
Molly loved the cottage. The fresh air flushed her cheeks pink, and she grew healthier. She bonded quickly with Ms. Andrews and her husband, becoming part of their family.
The old life receded in Eleanors memory. It hurt, but perhaps it was for the best. Simon would have left us anyway; he never wanted to register our marriage.
David drove us back to the village. We arrived at dusk, unloaded, and he began to head back, but my motherinlaw stopped him:
Stay a bit longer. Ill bring fresh milk, and well have supper.
Eleanor followed, muttering, Mother, youre trying to set David up as my husband?
No, thats not it.
Theres no future for us, you know that.
Youre wrong. Look how he looks at you. Molly could be his too
From a distance I watched David laugh with Molly, their conversation light. Maybe something could indeed blossom.
Now, as I sit by the fire in that modest cottage, I feel a strange calm, almost like the peace of childhood. Ive learned that when the walls close in, the only way out is to let go of the pretenses and accept the simple truths life offers. The lesson: pride and denial only tighten the rope; humility untangles it.
