The inlaws drifted into our little cottage, and I hinted that they might fetch their daughter and grandchildren back, but they waved their hands as if the words were smoke.
I heard the gate close behind my daughterinlaw, yet I paid it no mind; she liked to wander alone, without the children, like a moth drawn to a solitary lantern. My husband George and I had become accustomed to feeding the grandchildren, playing with them, and often tucking them into bed ourselves, for the young ones were perpetually busy or resting.
When she didnt return for the night, a cold knot settled in my chest.
Tom, wheres Emily? I cant get a line on her! I called.
Dont worry, Mum, shes gone for a break, he replied.
What hour is it? She should be back by now, I pressed.
Shes off in the hills with her friends, he said, his voice as flat as a lake at dawn.
Toms calmness clashed with the thudding in my head. How could she say nothing at all? What sort of silence was that?
Then a new awareness settled over me, unquiet and relentless.
When Tom married Emily, they were both twenty, bright as fresh buds. Tom moved into Emilys flat, because he was a lone wolf and she a lone shewolf, yet she still wanted a husband of her own to bring home.
I had no objection.
Soon a tiny sprout appeared, then a second. And thats where everything began to tangle. Tom would bring the grandchildren in a pushchair, bustling about his own errands, and in the evenings Emily would arrive, the three of them dining at our table before slipping back to her place.
For me, playing with the grandchildren was a delight; they seldom visited, and Emilys house lay at the far edge of the villagefar enough that a horse would need a map to find it.
But then the visits grew more frequent, then they lingered through rain and snow. George and I were simply jubilant.
I poured over the grandchildren, making sure they had enough to eat, walking them in the garden so the young parents could nap in the afternoon, helping with baths, laundry, the whole endless cascade.
One day the children announced they were moving in with us. I tasted triumph. I was the best granny, the best motherfigure; the children gave me that accolade.
George still travelled for work, crisscrossing England, earning a tidy sum in pounds. I kept the house; cooking, cleaning, and tending the modest garden were no trouble for me. I even ran a tiny homestead that I tended all by myself.
Yet, perhaps because of my years, I grew weary. The youngsters refused the meals I prepared for everyone; each needed his own pot, and Emily was often off on errands, leaving the children to me.
How could I chide her? She was not my child. I began to tell Tom that they ought to wash their own dishes and tidy up, because I was tiring.
Mum, Emilys expecting another baby. She cant come into your kitchen; the smell is too strong. She didnt want to tell you, but could you tidy up a bit? She cant even stay a minute, Tom whispered.
A shiver ran down my spine. Another baby? George and I were already short of sleep; the eldest grandchild rose at dawn, demanding the television, and lingered in our room until the late hours. Emily, meanwhile, fed the younger ones and slept, while Davidour little boyremained at home.
Tom, the children need to be near you, I urged.
Well have to buy new furniture; theres no space left. Maybe you could move to the kitchen and well turn your room into a nursery, Tom suggested.
I blinked. Our house had two bedrooms, a pantry, a hallway, and a kitchen no larger than a cupboard.
Tom, where will we fit in? The sofa folds out, but theres nowhere to step, I protested.
Then dont worry about David falling asleep on us, Tom muttered.
Soon a cot for the grandchild appeared in our bedroom. He would waver between sleeping with his parents and being carried back, a restless night of shuffling that left my head feeling like a mountain at sunrise.
The inlaws came again, and I hinted they might take their daughter and grandchildren back, but they waved their arms wide:
They lived with us five years, but with you only a year. Dont count on us, they declared.
I realized once more that things were amiss, but where could I turn?
Emily never helped even before the third child arrived; she always found a reasonwatching the children, strolling away, while everyone else was glued to their phones and we toiled in the garden.
Now she could not be asked to bend, nor to hold a child, nor to cook; every request met with a reaction.
She disappeared down a road, phone silent, saying nothing to anyone but her husband. We fretted; the children missed their mother, yet she did not call, merely rested.
Tom, who did she leave the children with? I asked.
Me, he replied.
Oh, you, I said, darkness clouding my eyes. Fine, feed them and tuck them in.
Tom didnt know what the children liked or how they fell asleep, and I turned to George:
This is the last straw; I wont lift a finger any longer.
We spent the night in the kitchen, trying not to disturb Tom. In the morning his mood was sour, but I pretended not to notice. The children wanted toast, then chicken, and I pointed to the fridge:
Everythings in there, cook itafter all, youre playing husband now.
Two days passed. Tom called Emily, begging her to return because he was at his limit.
She arrived, bringing with her a bright mood.
So I had to come all the way here. Cant you fry an egg or boil some pasta? she shouted, her voice filling the walls.
She hurled pots across the kitchen while the fridge stood bare.
Where are the groceries?
The groceries you bought? I asked.
Do you spare me eggs? Or potatoes?
No, I wont spare anything. Dig up the garden, feed the chickens, collect the eggs, go to the shop, and put something in the fridge, she commanded.
She gathered the children in her arms, told their mother she would not set foot in our house again. Tom glared at us, saying his inlaws were a burden. George and I clung to each others hands, steady as oak.
All this time the children never asked how they were being fed, never thanked the meals, never bought anything they liked.
Is this the wage we earn for our kindness? I rub my templeswhy is such treatment meted out for my generosity? I did everything out of love; why did they behave this way? What do you think?
