When Pain Speaks

When Pain Speaks

Emma, darling, I understand, I really do, but weve got no choice. We have to. Well have to sell the house. And after we split the money, therell only be enough for a flat in another part of town. Id like to stay here too, but its just not possible. Alice squeezed her daughters hands, wiping away first Emmas tears and then her own.

Change did not come easy to either of us.

Alice and my father, David, had been together nearly seventeen years. Theyd seen their share of ups and downs, but they loved one another, and any dispute never lasted long enough to really take root. My mum, raised by her grandmother, absorbed from childhood the cardinal rule of marriage that her nan tried to instil: Your home must be warm, loveso a man never seeks warmth elsewhere. Make it a place where your husband, your children, your guests, even the animals, all feel contentno exceptions!

Mum used to nod along, not really understanding at first, only sensing that her nan was trying to share hard-won wisdom from a lifetime. Their home always felt like thatuntil the day her grandfather drowned, saving his son and daughter-in-law when they got caught in the local streams treacherous undercurrents. It looked harmless, a mere trickle, but only the locals knew about its hidden whirlpools. After that, Nan always blamed herself for not checking, for not asking neighbours. If Id known, theyd be alive shed say, but Mum could never convince her otherwise.

Taking care of my mum, Nan buried her own grief, putting all her energy into giving Mum life, joy, and hope instead of a permanent state of mourning. Only at the graveside, during isolated visits, did she allow her tears to flow, pouring out the sorrow that grew between those moments. When the tears dried, shed share the family news aloud and promise her lost loved ones that shed make sure Mum was happy.

Nan gave Mum a haven, saw her married, and even met her great-granddaughtermebefore illness finally carried her away. Mum was left entirely alone; there were no other close relatives.

In time, shed realise that Nans rules about family and home were rightat least partly. The home must be good for everyone, yes. But sometimes, there are exceptions.

Mum and Dad, Alice and David, rarely had serious rows; if they argued, the bone of contention was nearly always one thing: my grandmother on my dads side.

Margaret, my formidable grandmother, was what people would politely call a matriarch. She believed, wholeheartedly, that her opinion was the only opinion that counted.

Dad was her sixth child, but the only one who survived infancy. She poured all her intense love and, in her own way, affection onto him, her treasured son.

Dad loved his mum, but could never quite stand up to her, as my grandfather hadnt. Their strategy was always to stay quiet, let her have her say, nod along, and then do as they pleased.

When Dad started seeing my mum, he put off introducing her to his folks for as long as he could, knowing it would be a challenge. He met Nan after just a couple of days. He only told Mum the truth after she protested:

Are you hiding me? Am I not good enough for your parents? You say Im your world, you talk about marrying meyet Ive still never even met your family.

With a sigh, Dad would kiss her and say, Im scared youll change your mind when you meet them.

Silly! Im marrying you, not your family!

Hindsight is 20/20, as they say.

Margaret, sizing up Mum, simply shook her head and asked, Dear, what did your parents do?

My mum taught at the medical school, my dad was a doctor. But I dont remember them wellthey died when I was five. My grandmother raised me.

I see.

After that, she barely said two words to Mum that evening. After a few years of marriage, Mum adopted the same tactic Dad and Granddad used: let Margaret say her piece, try to smooth things over, but it wore thin. She could see how torn my father was, trying to keep the peace. Eventually, she asked Dad to minimise family visits: just the bare minimum. Dad wearily agreed and hugged Mum tightly.

Im sorry.

Things got worse after Granddad diedtaken by cancer in less than a month. Margaret made it quite clear who now owed her care. Dad understood immediately. He began spending most evenings at his mothers, coming home late, near midnight. It would have gone on indefinitely, but Ithree-year-old Emmahad had enough. I stopped speaking to Dad, making it clear I was hurt.

She misses you, Dave. She only really sees you at weekends Mum knew Dad was struggling, but something had to give before I completely withdrew from my own father.

Mum felt a surge of anger. Over a year had passed; Margaret was healthy, still working, leading an almost socialites life attending theatre and exhibitions, dragging Dad along. Support is one thing, but surely, she had no right to rob a child of her father. Mum might have tolerated lonely evenings herself, but not mine.

Dave, we need to sort this out. Your daughter needs you. I need you, too Mum pressed close. I miss you

There was a gigantic row, but Dad eventually won the right to visit his mother only two evenings a week. In time, Margaret seemed to accept itat least on the surface.

Once, when I was little, my nursery class were tasked to draw their families as fairy tale characters. I didnt finish mine at nursery, so I worked away at it at home after supper. When Mum, finished with the washing up, peeked into my sketchbook, she gasped and called Dad:

Dave, brace yourself! Come and see this!

Dad took one look and collapsed on the sofa, doubled up in silent laughter. I was mortified. Why were they laughing? I tried to cry, thinking maybe theyd stop, but looking at my picture, I still didnt get the joke. Id drawn Dad as a knight, Mum as a fair princess, Granddad as a wise old wizard, Nan as an apple tree with golden fruit, and Margaret Well, whats wrong with a three-headed dragon? It took me ages to draw those heads! What was so funny? Okay, the fire wasnt greatthe yellow pencil had broken at the crucial moment. Id planned to ask Mum to sharpen it, but shed already seen my drawing.

I never really liked Grandma Margaret. Whenever she visitedwhich was rare and usually on holidaysI just wanted her gone. I didnt know exactly what went on between the adults, but I instinctively knew she didnt like Mum and wanted to make her feel bad. Even if she didnt say anything outright, Mum always seemed sadder and sometimes cried after shed gone. I didnt know how to help, but once, I even tried to push her out the door. Dad just picked me up and kept me from doing so.

Your daughter is terribly behaved, David! What did you expect? Margaret fumed.

Everyone caught it that evening; after that, she barely came over at all, even on holidays. Dad thought it was for the best. On the occasions we visited her, I did my best to avoid going. The older I became, the more I understood. Grandmas inflexibility stifled mebeing around her felt suffocating. I didnt grasp her fully until after Dad died.

Dad passed away suddenly. No one at the office had a chance even to call an ambulance. It was a massive heart attack. He was forty-four.

Mum was at workat a jewellery shopwhen she found out. She dropped the phone and fainted, crashing into the glass display and terrifying her staff. Someone called for help, and while they waited, they picked shards of glass from her hair, spooned tea with sugar and valerian into her, and tried to keep her calm.

For Mum, the world stopped spinning. She felt frozen, unable to do anything. Dads friends handled all the arrangements, supporting her as best they could. Mum could hardly remember who visited and when, but I was fed, the house was in order, and someone always handed her a cup of broth or tea and took it away when it inevitably grew cold.

A couple of weeks after we said our final goodbyes, Mum had a vivid dream.

Nan! God, Ive missed you! Mum tried to hug her grandmother, but Nan pulled away, stern.

What are you doing?

What do you mean, Nan?

Wheres Emma?

Sheswell, shes in bed, I think

Lets go! Still not letting Mum touch her, Nan marched her into my bedroom.

You said shes asleep? But I was there, curled under the duvet, sobbing. Alice, wake up!

Mum jolted awake to the sound of my crying. It took a few moments for her to realise it was real. She rushed to my room.

Sweetheart, please dont cry! Mum lay down beside me, wrapping me tightly in her arms. Im here, and Ill never leave you!

I turned towards her, clinging desperately.

Thank you, Nan How could I forget you were always beside me? Ill fix this Well be alright now

The next morning Mum got up quietly, trying not to wake me, and headed to the kitchen. The smell of her vanilla pancakes soon drifted through the flat; I padded out, swaddled in my blanket.

Mum?

Good morning! Mum turned round, for the first time in weeks not wearing her black mourning ribbon. Go and wash up, lovelywell have breakfast, then Ill run you to school.

Is it time already?

Mum turned down the hob and gave me a hug.

It is, darling! Dad wouldnt want us to sit around, crying all day, every day. He wanted you to be happy, for joy to fill your life. He loved you so much Mums voice faltered before she steadied herself. And he loved me. Well do as hed have wanted. Now hurry, or Ill be late for work tooits time for both of us to get on.

Gradually, we started piecing together a new life. Mum went back to her job; I went to school. Now, I helped out more around the house. Every evening, Mum would come home to find the place tidy or a simple supper on the table.

A couple of months later I received my first passport, and we quietly celebrated with a cake.

Look, Dad, Im all grown up! I waved my passport in front of Dads photo, smiling down from the living room wall. Youd have teased me, pulled my ponytail, and said Im still a kid

Mum hugged me without a word.

A week later, in the evening, Margaret, my grandmother, turned up.

Good evening, Alice. We need to talk.

We hadnt seen her since the day we said goodbye to Dad. That day, after the service, she came up to Mum and whispered icily:

Its your fault. If not for you, hed still be here. Always wanting, wantingtill you drained him. He burnt out so young Your fault!

A friend, Peter, stepped in, steered Mum away.

Dont listen, Alice! Look at medont hear a word of it! Thats just fate, nothing more. We all have our time. Dave loved you and Emmamore than life

Mum sobbed, clinging to Peters shoulder, exhausted by days of sleeplessness and living only on water handed to her by others desperately trying to soothe her.

Peter eased her down to a bench outside the church where Dads service was held.

She stayed seated until everyone had left and only then moved. As Grandma Margaret walked past, Mum clearly heard a harsh, biting insultuncaring that I sat right beside my mother.

Now Margaret sat before us, lips pressed tight, her rage replaced by weariness. She looked pale; her hands trembled.

Tea? Mum offered.

No, Margaret shook her head. Ive come to settle what were doing about the house.

Mum looked as though shed misheard.

In what sense?

The house had taken Mum and Dad years to build. While Mum was pregnant with me, shed watched over the builders, fussing about the little details as Dad joked:

They wont get away with much under your nose! Well move in a month, love!

The day they first crossed the threshold stamped itself on Mums memory. It was home; every corner lovingly crafted.

Alice, these curtains are the same as those other pink ones

Dont be daft, the shades different!

Silly little rowsthose always made Dad smile.

Now she was being told shed have to give it up.

I wont have it! Margaret finally steadied her hands, palms flat on the table. Youll have to sell. Im claiming my share of the inheritance.

Inheritance?

The law grants me a portion, and Ill have every last penny.

Neither noticed me, standing in the doorway.

Leave! I said, fists clenched.

What? Margaret stared, surprised. What did you say?

I said leave. And dont ever come back.

How dare you? I knew you were badly brought up, but this!

I get that from Dad! I replied, my voice ringing through the house.

No, from your mother more likely

Dont you dare! Never speak ill of my mum again! You think Im still a child who doesnt understand? I get itall of it. Get up and go. Well figure out how to never see you again.

Without realising, Id started addressing her as you instead of gran.

Mum guided me out with an arm around my shoulders.

Thank you, love. Now go to your roomIll deal with this. She kissed my forehead and nudged me down the hall. Go on.

I left. Mum took a deep breath and returned to the kitchen.

Whats going on? Youve turned my own granddaughter against meI can hardly believe it!

I never did. That was your own doing.

Margaret made as if to retort, but Mum cut her off, for the first time ever using a firm tone.

Thats enough. Emma is right. Youre not welcome here. Ill speak to a solicitor and let you know. Youll get what is dueafter that, were through.

Dont think youll win! Margaret spat.

I have no such hopes. Ill just do it. Nothing more. Im sorry for you, truly, Mums voice softened with an unexpected pity. Youll be completely on your own

None of your concern! Margaret snapped, grabbing her bag and storming out.

I heard the door slam and returned to the kitchen to find Mum, head in her arms at the table.

Mum?

Yes, love Mum wiped her eyes and looked at me.

Is she serious? Will we have to leave?

Im not sure. Well see Hang onwhy are you home? You had two more lessons, and you didnt call for a lift.

Maths was cancelled; Maxs mum gave me a ride. No point calling you.

Fair enough. Got much homework?

We slipped into our usual routine, conversation returning to normal, warming up after the storm Margaret brought.

Mum, why do people hate each other? Get so angry?

We sat close on the sofa, barely observing some moviea pretext to chat.

There are so many reasons. Are you talking about Grandma?

Yeah. Why does she hate you and me so?

Me? Thats simple. She didnt like me from the off.

Why?

She saw me as taking her son away.

But is that true?

Of course not. I only wanted our own family, to addnot to take away. I thought her generation would be pleased to have grandchildren.

But she didnt want me, either?

Not exactly. She was happy when you were born. Wait! Mum left the room, returning with a delicate hand-stitched bonnet and crocheted blanket. She made these for you.

I turned them over, admiring the detail.

That must have taken ages Look at the stitchesand this blanket! Crochet, isnt it? I loved embroidery but never learned to crochet.

Yes, look how fine it is No one makes these unless they care, you see? If they make them for a baby, it means theyre waiting for that child.

I thought for a while.

Why is she like this now?

I dont know, darling. Maybe its just grief, or loneliness. Not everyone copes well. You can fall into darkness, and the world looks cruel. Dont be angry at her. Its pain talking now Maybe pity her a bit. We have each other, people who love us. Shes all alone.

I traced circles on the blanket.

The next day, Mum rang Peter and asked for a solicitor. The advice was clear: shed have to sell the house; there was no alternative. All their savings had gone into the home already.

That evening, after talking with me, she began searching for flats.

But I had other ideas. The next morning, pretending to head to school, I caught the bus to Grandmas.

What are you doing here? Margaret opened the door.

Without a word, I handed her the bonnet and the blanket.

Whats this? Her voice barely trembled.

Theyre beautiful. I know you made them for me.

Come in

That evening, I hugged Mum as she scrolled property adverts on the laptop.

Mum!

Mmm? She kept clicking, eyes on the screen.

Were not moving.

What? She looked up.

I said, we wont have to move. I talked to Grandma.

Mum stared, stunned.

You did what?

I visited her. I gave her a choice: either she insists and I forget I ever had a grandmother, or she gives up the house and Ill visit her. She chose.

What did she say?

Oh, this I put a parcel on her knee.

Mum unwrapped it and gasped.

Its stunning!

Yes! Ill wear it at my leaving do. By then, itll fit.

A long, lace dress, as delicate as spun snow. Mum looked closer.

Emma, do you know how much time and care went into this?

I do, Mum. I do Shes hurting so much. She misses Dadterribly. She cried, Mum

Cried? Margaret?

Yes

Mum was silent. Then the phone rangshed left it charging in the lounge.

Hello, Margaret.

Hello. Emma told you?

Just now.

So, you know Ill not be claiming my share of the house?

Yes, thank you. And the dress is beautiful. Youre incredibly skilled!

Dont exaggerate. Tomorrow, Ill meet you at the solicitors at one. Ill text the address. Ill sign the formal renouncement. And, Alice

Yes?

Emma is a wonderfully brought-up child.

Mum set the phone down gently. Then she came back to the kitchen and hugged me tightly.