Another Girl, Really?!

Again a girl?! Margaret Thompson shrieked, her voice cracking as she stormed into our modest terraced house in Birmingham. Weve done everything for you! We gave you an education, we helped you become a proper lady, and you cant even give my son an heir!

Emily turned as pale as a sheet. She had just returned from the maternity ward, still trembling from the strain of a third pregnancy at her age. Her health was already fragile, and now she had to endure her motherinlaws tirade. Thank heavens she hadnt been home for the discharge; otherwise Margaret would have ruined everyones mood.

Theres no good that comes from you! All you do is produce freeloader after freeloader, damn it!

Emilys patience snapped.

How can you speak like that about your own grandchildren? Have you lost your mind?

Better than you have, thats for sure! Its a pity my Tom didnt get lucky with his wife.

Why are you even in my house? Get out! Nobody invited you!

The truth was, I hadnt asked Margaret to come. I only opened the door because I was holding my infant daughter, Lily, and waiting for my teenage daughter, Eleanor, who had promised to stop by and help. I didnt peek through the peephole, just swung the door open. Who knew who might be at the door

Margaret never crossed the threshold. She stood in the hallway, hurling accusations at Emily. First she asked, A boy or a girl? the question Id never been told. When I answered, she went on a rant.

Summoning her courage, Emily slammed the door shut right in Margarets face, exhaled heavily, and flopped onto the sofa. The shouting woke Lily, who needed soothing. Luckily Eleanor would arrive soon, tidy the house, cook a meal, and deal with the laundry.

Perhaps Emily and Tom wouldnt have married if she hadnt gotten pregnant. At the time Tom was a promising secondyear student, and Emily was a year younger. She hadnt gone to university, so she took a job. They met through mutual friends Tom was a buddy of Emilys colleague. When Emilys parents learned of the pregnancy they pressed for a wedding. The couple rushed through the ceremony despite Toms parents objections. Already then, Margaret complained that wayward Emily would ruin Toms bright future: Toms a star, secured a place on the merchant navy on a scholarship. Shell only drag him down.

Margaret wasnt only thinking about her daughterinlaw; she was already eyeing the future grandchild. When Eleanor was born, Margaret would constantly repeat:

Since youve started having children so early, hurry up and have another. My son needs an heir!

Eleanor was barely six months old then.

Both families pitched in. My mother helped with Lily, Toms parents tossed us cash now and then. Margaret, of course, expected heartfelt thanks, perhaps a hymn sung in her honour. She never praised Tom, so all her complaints were aimed at Emily.

Youd be lost without us! Were feeding you, feeding Lily. Without us you couldnt even afford nappies. Wed be scrubbing cloths all day like we used to

Emily muttered thank you for the tenth time that morning.

Margaret openly disliked her. Whenever she visited, she found fault a speck of limescale in the kettle, a random glance into the fridge, a remark about the dust.

Youre breathing heavy, love! she snapped one day, while Tom was at sea. You never clean properly, you never dust.

Then, to Emilys surprise, Margaret dragged a kitchen hutch over and set it in front of the cupboard.

What are you doing? Emily asked, bewildered.

Margaret climbed onto the hutch and began wiping every surface she could reach.

I told you! Theres a cloud of dust here! No wonder you cant breathe! You never clean!

Emily lowered her head in defeat. Arguing with Margaret was a losing battle.

How can you sit at home and let the house rot? You dont even work!

That was another of Margarets favourite barbs Emilys maternity leave, despite Eleanor being a year and a half old.

When Eleanor started nursery, Emily realised three years of maternity had vanished in a flash. She still had no qualifications, no work experience. Tom was doing well at university, his future bright. Sometimes Emily envied her peers, who seemed to enjoy carefree lives while she was buried in chores. She decided she had to get some education, even if it meant just a certificate. Her parents backed her, and Tom smiled and said she was brave.

Margaret, of course, had her opinion.

She turned up unannounced she felt entitled because shed helped us with the rent. She caught Emily sorting through a mountain of paperwork.

What are you doing? Margaret asked, a mix of surprise and contempt.

I need copies of my school certificate, but I cant find them, Emily answered, unaware she was provoking her.

What certificate?! Margaret shrieked, making Emily jump. What are you thinking?

I want to apply to university

Emily hadnt expected Margaret to get angry. Margaret had always blamed Emily for not working and being dependent. Studying is fine, Margaret said, her tone anything but supportive. But who will look after the child?

Eleanor will go to nursery.

It doesnt matter. You should have other priorities. Study when youre free and unmarried, not as a mother!

Emily said nothing, just pursed her lips in hurt.

And when will you go after your son? What if he becomes a captain? We need a naval dynasty!

I want to study, Emily whispered.

You should have thought about this earlier, Margaret sniffed, implying that marrying Tom and early fatherhood had ruined his prospects.

Emily, thinking quickly, retorted:

An educated mother makes a better example for the son. He shouldnt be ashamed of his mother.

Margaret fell silent, then muttered through clenched teeth:

If youre so keen on studying, go ahead. But youll have to fend for yourself. We wont give you a penny.

In the end Emily won a place on a funded course, not the most prestigious, but enough to become an accountant. Tom spent long spells at sea, so the household fell on Emilys shoulders. She learned to juggle work and motherhood, while Margarets disapproval never fully faded, though Emily grew used to it.

Years passed. Eleanor entered secondary school, teachers praised her as a bright girl. Emily and Tom kept working. Margaret still dropped unsolicited advice.

Why is your child always with books? she asked one afternoon, pretending Tom had just come home from a voyage and wanted to chat. Take them for a walk, its good for health.

Well finish the homework in a few minutes and then head out, Emily replied. Weve already signed her up for dance classes.

Dance, really? Thats nonsense! Proper girls dont dance, Margaret scoffed. Itll just teach her to flirt with boys.

Its folk dancing half the class does it, Emily said.

Doesnt matter! Youre teaching her to twirl around men! Youve gone too far, you silly woman!

Emilys temper flared. Dont you dare speak to me like that! Not about my daughter! If you cant keep your mouth shut, leave!

Tom arrived, his face reddening at his mothers tirade.

Mother, thats enough, he said quietly. Dont speak about my wife like that. Were doing our best for Eleanor.

Margaret huffed, You ungrateful lot! You wont get another penny from me!

Tom earned a good salary at sea, so they no longer relied on Margarets money. She could no longer intimidate them.

When Eleanor finished Year 9, Emily sensed another baby on the way. Tom was over the moon, carrying her in his arms.

Hope its a boy? Emily asked, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

It doesnt matter, Tom smiled. As long as the babys healthy.

Margaret, however, kept muttering that she only wanted a grandson.

You try your best, she told Emily.

If it were up to me, Emily replied with a wry grin, I couldnt change anything.

When little Martha was born, Margaret was so upset she didnt speak to anyone for two weeks. She missed the birth, didnt even visit the hospital. Tom resented his mother for that, and the familys harmony deteriorated. Arguments turned into a snowball: Tom was called ungrateful, Margaret reminded him of the money shed given when they were young, and she began calling him a bad father.

Margarets relationship with her granddaughters was equally cold. She barely attended family gatherings, which Toms father arranged. Those events became a trial for everyone. Emily endured them for Toms sake, though her husbands father was a decent man who adored the grandchildren.

Years went by. Margarets fits of rage were triggered by the slightest thing Eleanors haircut in Year 10, or Martha refusing her porridge. Gradually the family distanced themselves. Tom became a successful seafarer, they paid off a mortgage on a house in Leeds, and Emily worked as an accountant. Their income was modest but steady, and the job let her balance work and home life.

The children grew up fast. Eleanor went to university, married, and started her own family. Martha earned a scholarship and moved to Cambridge. Emily and Tom lived quietly, only bruised by the occasional call from Margaret.

One morning Emilys stomach started acting up. She blamed the hospital lunches and the occasional sandwich shed shared with colleagues. She also craved pickles, sauerkraut, and salty cucumbers the sort of things you stock up on in the summer for a proper English preserve.

Whats got you yearning for a pickle? Tom teased as he prepared to set sail again.

Just saw some beautiful little cucumbers at the market, she replied with a grin.

She chalked it up to age, never having such cravings before. Then, to her surprise, she learned she was pregnant again, deep into her thirties. The news hit her like a thunderclap. She called Tom, who thought she was joking at first, then realised she was serious.

Let them bring me back to shore! he laughed.

Is that even possible? Emily asked, her voice trembling with excitement.

Itll work out, Tom promised.

Emily was relieved Tom would return early, but when she called Margaret to tell her, the older woman exploded.

Youre trying to ruin my sons career! Margaret shouted.

Whats happened? Emily stammered.

I heard he wants to cut his voyage short because youre having another baby. What have you concocted, you fanciful woman?

Im not making anything up. Tom will be a father again soon.

Is that even possible at your age? Youre not a girl any more

Emily snapped back, Im not old. Women older than me have babies all the time.

Margaret hung up. It soon became clear Tom couldnt dock immediately a month at sea was inevitable.

Emily resigned herself to a third child and asked Tom not to interrupt his route.

Why make a fuss over nothing? Tom texted. Well have a baby, thats not a problem.

Dont worry. Come back as planned. Eleanor and the rest of the family will help. No point wasting money on a shortened trip, well need it later.

When Margaret finally realised Tom would stay at sea, she softened a bit, phoned occasionally to ask how Emily was faring, receiving only short replies.

Time passed. One day Toms father called asking if any help was needed. Margaret snatched the phone and blurted:

Did you get the scan? Is it a boy?

No, Emily admitted, regaining composure, I havent found out the sex. I want it to be a surprise.

Ah, the lady of the house, Margaret muttered.

From then on Margaret became almost genteel, sending gifts through the grandchildren, still muttering about needing a grandson for the family line.

When the birth finally happened, Margaret didnt even attend the discharge. Emily had grown accustomed to her quirks, but she hadnt expected Margaret to barge in and start a fresh round of arguments.

Eleanor answered the intercom, having just helped their mother out of the hospital and now on her way back. She whispered, voice trembling:

Mum, whats happening? I saw Grandma in the hallway. She grabbed my arm and kept complaining that everything was ruined

Its just her, Emily sighed. She came, shouted at me, and left without even asking what we named the baby. She thought it should be a boy.

Eleanor hugged her. Dont let her get to you, Mum. Let her live her life; were happy without her meddling.

When Tom returned, Eleanor vented about Margaret. He was initially irritated but soon stopped listening. The family learned to focus on their own daughters rather than the whims of an overbearing motherinlaw. As the saying goes, you reap what you sow.