Varvara Faced Village Shame the Day Her Bump Showed Under Her Jumper—A Widow at Forty-Two! What Disg…

Barbara was all but condemned in the village the very day her belly began to show beneath her cardigan. At forty-two! A widow! What a disgrace.

Her husband, Simon, had been buried in the churchyard for ten years. And nowlook at her, expecting at her age.

Whos the father? hissed the women at the village well.

Who knows? others echoed. So quiet, so properand now, just look! Gone and got herself in trouble.

The girls arent even married yet, and their mothers off gallivanting! Shameful!

Barbara met no ones gaze. Shed come back from the post office, struggling with a heavy canvas bag over her shoulder, eyes glued to the ground, lips pressed tight.

Had she known what it would become, perhaps shed never have agreed. Yet how could she not, when her own flesh and blood was drowning in tears?

It hadnt started with Barbara. It began with her daughter, Marianne

Marianne was a vision of a girla reflection of her late father, Simon. Hed once been the villages golden boy: tall, fair-haired, blue-eyed. So was Marianne.

The whole village gaped after her. Meanwhile, her younger sister, Cathy, was Barbaras imagedark hair, brown eyes, serious, inconspicuous.

Barbara adored her girls, poured her soul into them. On her own, she worked two jobs: delivering post by day and cleaning the dairy by night. All of it for her dear hearts.

You have to get yourselves an education! she would tell them. I dont want you dragging heavy bags all your life, grovelling in muck like me. You need to get to the city, make something of yourselves!

Marianne took her mother at her word, left for London in the blink of an eye, and got into the College of Commerce. She was immediately the centre of attention.

Shed post photographs: here in a restaurant, there in a fashionable dress. She even had a fiancéa managers son, no less. Mum, hes promised me a fur coat! she wrote.

Barbara was elated. Cathy, meanwhile, kept to herself. Shed stayed behind after school, working as a ward orderly at the local hospital. Shed dreamed of nursing, but there was never enough money.

Every penny of Barbaras widows allowance and wages went to Marianne and her city living.

***

That summer, Marianne came home. Not her usual selfno whoops of joy, no fancy outfits, no bags of gifts. She was quiet, pale as a sheet.

For two days she didnt emerge from her room. On the third, Barbara found her sobbing into her pillow.

Mum Mum, Ive ruined everything

She admitted it then. The fiancé, the golden boy, had had his fun and left her. And she was four months pregnant.

Its too late toyou know, Mum! What am I to do? He wants nothing to do with me!

He said if I keep it, Ill not see a penny! The college will send me packing! My life its shattered!

Barbara sat, as though struck by lightning.

You mean to say oh, love you werent careful?

Whats the point now?! Marianne wailed. What can we do now? Give the child away? Leave it on someones doorstep?!

Barbaras heart nearly stopped. Her own grandchild, in care?

That night, Barbara didnt sleep. She prowled the house like a restless ghost. At dawn, she crept to Mariannes side.

Well manage, she said firmly. Youll have the baby.

Mum! How? The whole village will know! Itll be a scandal!

Nobody will know, Barbara insisted. Well say its mine.

Marianne stared at her in disbelief.

Yours? Mum, are you listening to yourself? Youre forty-two!

Mine, Barbara repeated. Ill go to my sisters in Somerset, say Im helping out. Ill have the baby there, stay for a while. You go back to London, finish your studies.

Cathy, who slept behind a thin wall, heard it all. She lay biting the pillow, tears streaming down her face. She pitied her mother. And she was sickened by her sister.

***

A month later, Barbara left. The village murmured, gossiped, and eventually grew bored. Six months later, she returned with a blue-wrapped bundle.

Cathy, sweetheart, Barbara said to her pale daughter, meet your baby brother Michael.

The village gasped. Quiet old Barbara! A widow, no less!

Whos the father? the women hissed again. The council chairman?

No, hes oldmore likely the new farm manager! Hes quite the catch!

Barbara bore the gossip in silence. Life became tougher than ever. Young Michael was a fretful childalways crying, never still. Barbara worked herself thin.

With the postbag, the dairy, and now sleepless nights, she was almost broken. Cathy helped where she couldwashing nappies, soothing the brother. But inside, resentment simmered.

Marianne sent the occasional letter. Mum, how are you? I miss you so much! Moneys tight, but Ill send some soon, I promise!

A year later, a cheque arrived for a thousand poundsand a pair of jeans two sizes too small for Cathy.

Barbara scrambled. Cathy was always by her side. But Cathys life veered off course too. The local lads would glance her waythen turn away. Who wanted a girl with a reputation? A mother with a loose past and a bastard brother?

Mum Cathy said quietly, at twenty-five, maybe we should tell?

Dont, love! Barbara panicked. We cant! Itd ruin Mariannes life! Shes shes married now. To a good man.

Marianne had landed on her feet. Graduated from college, married a businessman, moved to London.

Shed send postcards from Egypt, from Turkeyalways the glamorous city girl.

She never asked after her brother. Barbara sent updates herself: Michaels started school. Top marks, youd be proud.

In reply: expensive, useless toys, bought in London but meant for a country boy.

And so the years rolled by. Michael turned eighteen.

He grew tall and blue-eyed, uncannily like Marianne. Lively, hardworking. Adored Mum (Barbara) and sister Cathy.

By then Cathy had grown resigned. She was a senior nurse in the district hospital.

Spinster, the neighbours whispered behind her back. Shed written herself off. Her life: mum and Michael.

Michael finished school with distinction.

Mum! Im off to London! Ill get in, youll see! he declared.

Barbaras heart gave a pang. London where Marianne was.

Maybe try here, the county college? she suggested timidly.

Oh, Mum, Ive got to make my way! You and Cathy will want for nothingIll buy you a proper house! Michael joked.

The day Michael finished his last exam, a gleaming black Mercedes rolled up the garden path.

Stepping out was Marianne. Barbara gasped. Cathy, whod come to the door with a tea towel, froze.

Marianne, nearly forty, looked like a magazine cover: slim, expensive suit, dripping with gold.

Mum! Cathy! Hello! She greeted them both, air-kissing a stunned Barbara. Wheres?

She saw Michael, who was wiping his hands on an old rag after working in the shed.

Marianne faltered, stared unblinking. Then her eyes welled up.

Hello, Michael greeted her politely. Are you Marianne? My sister?

Sister Marianne echoed. Mum, we need to talk.

They sat around the kitchen table.

Mum I have everything. House, money, husband but no children.

She began to sob, smearing her expensive mascara.

We tried everything. Hospitals, IVF Nothing works. My husband is furious. And I I cant bear it anymore.

So why have you come, Marianne? Cathy asked, voice cold as stone.

Marianne looked at her, eyes swimming.

Im here for my son.

Are you mad?! What son?!

Mum, dont yell! Marianne shouted back. Hes mine! I gave birth to him! I can give him lifeconnections, money! Ill get him into any college, buy him a flat in London! My husband knowshes agreed! Ive told him everything!

Everything? Barbara gasped. Did you tell him about us? That I was made a laughingstock? That Cathy

Oh, Cathy! Marianne waved a hand. Shes stuck in this villageshe always will be! But Michael has a chance! Mum, let me have him! You saved me oncethank you! Now, give me back my son!

Hes not some thing to be handed over! Barbara cried. Hes mine! I raised him through sleepless nights, I taught him, I I

At that moment, Michael walked in. Hed heard it all. He stood in the doorway, pale as chalk.

Mum? Cathy? Whats Whats she saying? What son?

Michael! Love! I am your mother! Your real mother!

Michael stared at her, like at a ghost. Then turned to Barbara.

Mum Is it true?

Barbara buried her face in her hands and began to sob. Then Cathy exploded.

Quiet, gentle Cathy strode across and slapped Marianne hard, sending her stumbling against the wall.

You wretch! Cathy screamed, eighteen years of grief and rage tearing through her. Mother? You abandoned him! Did you ever care that our mum couldnt set foot in church without being gossiped about? That because of your mistake I was left on the shelf? No husband, no children! And now youve come to take him?

Cathy, dont! Barbara pleaded.

I must, Mum! Enough! Cathy turned to Michael. There! Thats your mothershe pawned you off on my mum so she could go have her wonderful life in London! And this, she jabbed a finger at Barbara, is your grandmother! She ruined herself for you both!

Michael stood silent for a long while. Then he knelt beside Barbara, and hugged her.

Mum he whispered. Mum.

He looked up, eyes burning. He met Mariannes eyesshe was sliding down the wall, clutching her cheek.

I have no mother in London, he said, quietly but firmly. I have one mother. Here. And a sister.

He stood, took Cathys hand.

And you Auntie please leave.

Michael! Son! Marianne wailed. Ill give you everything!

I have everything, Michael replied. I have a family. Younothing.

***

Marianne left that very evening. Her husband, watching from the car, didnt bother to come in.

A year later, he left her. Found another woman, one who bore him a child. Marianne was left alone, with her money and her beauty.

Michael didnt go to London. He enrolled at the county college, to study engineering.

Im needed here, Mum. Time we built ourselves a new house.

As for Cathy That night, when she finally let her anger fly, it was as if a cork was popped. She bloomedat thirty-eight, she came alive again.

Even the farm manager, that same one the village had once gossiped about, started to look her way. A solid man, a widower.

Barbara would watch them sometimes and weepthis time, from happiness. There was sin, perhaps. But a mothers heart can weather anything.