Who Would Want You with Baggage?

Who Would Want You with Baggage?

Are you sure about this, love?

Helen placed her hand over Mum’s and managed a smile.

Mum, I love him. And he loves me. Were getting married, and everything will be alright. Well have a family, youll see.

Dad pushed his half-finished stew aside and stared moodily out the window. His silence seemed to stretch on forever, though it must have only been a few seconds to Helen.

Youre only nineteen, he said at last. You should be thinking about university, about a career, not marriage.

Dad, I can handle it. Helen tried to sound calm, even though she ached to prove herself, to convince them, to make them see what she saw. James is working, Im at uni. Were not asking you to support us. We just want to be together. A proper family.

Dad just shook his head but said nothing.

Helen knew her parents didnt approve. She could see it in Dads pressed lips, in the way Mum fussed nervously with her napkin. But they didnt fight it either. Maybe because they remembered being young themselves. Maybe because they knew that forbidding her would only push her further.

They had a small wedding in May, nothing fancy. No grand reception, no stretch limos, no doves. But it was warm, and Helen remembered it as the happiest day of her life. They were truly over the moon.

They managed a weeks honeymoon down in BrightonJames couldnt get more time off, and cash was tight. Still, it felt like a little pocket of magic, just the two of them, waking late, having toast and tea on their tiny balcony, looking out at the sea. They strolled down the pier until it went dark, had chips from paper, and kissed as though the world might end tomorrow.

Then, life began for real. No more fairy tale, just the gritty day-to-day. Rented one-bed flat, drafty windows in winter, neighbours who stomped about up above until their ceiling lights rattled. James left for work at seven, Helen dashed to lectures, both home in the evening too tired for much talk. Dinner was quick, bed was a relief.

Yet even in the routine, Helen felt something right and real about it all.

Six months in, her parents rang and asked them over for Saturday. Helen worriedwhat could be wrong? But when they arrived, her mum poured tea and her dad slid an envelope across the table.

This is for you, her dad said, eyes somewhere just past her shoulder Put it towards a flat. No sense paying rent to line someone elses pockets.

Helens throat closed up and her eyes stung. She just looked at the envelope.

Dad… she began, but he waved her off.

Take it, dont argue. Consider it a belated wedding present.

Within a month theyd found a flattiny, in a 1970s block, third floor, windows facing the communal green, titchy kitchen, combined loo and bath. For some, it was nothing special. For Helen, it was an entire universe. She picked out wallpaper, arranged for the odd-job man, hung curtains herself, and filled the place with cheap market flowers in pots.

A year later, when Helen was in her third year at uni, she got hit by a strange sort of sickness. At first, she thought shed eaten something off. Then blamed it on stress from coursework. She took a test just to rule out the obviousthen, there they were. Two bright lines.

She sat on the edge of the bath, staring at that plastic wand, feeling the world tip out from under her feet. Third year. Two years to graduation. Theyd just started to find their feetwhy now?

James came home from work and knew at once something was up. Helen handed him the test wordlessly, not trusting herself to speak.

He stared at those lines for what felt like ages, then looked upand there was something in his eyes that took her breath away.

Well keep it, he said quietly, with absolute certainty.

James, Im in my third year. How am I going to

Were keeping it, he repeated, taking her hands in his. Take a break from uni. Ill work extra. Well make it. Helen, its our baby.

She sobbed into his shoulderfrom fear, from uncertainty, from hormones, maybe even from happiness that crept through the cracks like grass through concrete.

The uni let her take a year out with no fuss.

Michael was born in March, when the city was still chilly and the snow slushy underfoot, but there was already a hint of spring. Seven pounds, twenty inches.

Looking at that tiny life, Helen couldnt believe this was really their sonhers and Jamess.

Happiness so sharp it almost hurt to breathe.

But change crept in silently, like the first autumn frost. James started coming home later. First half an hour, then longer, until Helen stopped counting. Hed walk in, dump his coat, ignore the cotand Michael, lying there looking up with dark eyes so like his own. James seemed not to notice.

You might at least say hello to your son, Helen couldnt help blurting out one evening.

James grimaced, as though shed said something embarrassing.

Hes asleep. No point waking him up.

But Michael was wide awake, silent and waiting, and James missed itor didnt care to see.

Then the remarks started. Passing at first, so Helen told herself she was imagining things, that it was nothing.

Youre going out looking like that? one morning, he gave her a look up and down.

Helen checked herself. Just jeans, a jumper. Nothing unusual.

Whats wrong with it?
Oh, nothing, he replied, with a face that said otherwise.

Each day, it got worse. Hints became insults.

Do you look in the mirror at all? he threw at her one night as she changed for bed. Youve let yourself go. Its like youre fifty instead of twenty-two.

She stood, mortified in her old nightdress, unable to speak. Shed not lost the baby weight. But surely surely that was no excuse

James, I only just had Michael she whispered, feeling useless.

A year ago. A year! Other women are back to normal in three months, and youre still

He tailed off, dismissing her, leaving the room. Michael woke, startled by raised voices.

Shut him up! James called from the kitchen. He never stops crying, nobody can sleep!

Helen picked up her son, hugging him, breathing in his hair. Tears slid down her cheeks onto Michaels crown as she rocked himand herselfback into a fragile calm.

She had no one to tell. Or rather, she didher parentsbut every time she picked up the phone, she remembered Dads face. Youre only nineteen. Think of your studies. Theyd warned her. She hadnt listened, thought she knew best, thought love could fix anything.

And now? To go back and admit theyd been right? Admit shed ruined her life through childish romance? Helen pictured the conversation, her mothers tears, her fathers hard silenceand she put the phone away, telling herself shed made her bed and must lie in it.

One afternoon, she took Michael for their usual walk, round the square, over to the tiny park with its tired benches beneath bare maples. Only then, rummaging in her bag, did she realise shed forgotten his snack.

They went back.

She opened the door with her key, planning to dash in, fetch his food, and go. But there, on the mat, were womens shoes. Not herspatent, heels, scarlet.

Her legs carried her forward though her mind screamed to run. Bedroom door ajar.

She saw enough. Far too much. A strange woman, tangled in her bed, her sheets. And James, who didnt even bother to hide, to make excuses.

He looked at Helen with irritation, as if she were a persistent fly in the room.

What, did you expect? Youve let yourself go. Am I supposed to put up with this? Im twenty-five, Im in my prime, and I come home to a wife I can barely look at.

Helen gripped the doorframe, certain her legs would buckle. The woman snatched up her clothes and stared at the wall, pretending she wasnt part of this.

Get out, Helen ordered, voice foreign, strained and cold. Get out of my flat. Now.

The woman hurried out, heels clattering. James watched with a crooked half-smile.

Dont make a scene, he said when they were alone, its no disaster. Happens to everyone. Its normal.

Normal?!

What, you think your mums dad was faithful? You think Im the only one? Half the blokes I know do it. Their wives stick around; where would they go, especially with a kid in tow? Whos going to want you, Helen, baggage and all? So dont make this a drama. Shout all you want, but thats enough.

Helen couldnt later recall how she got to the hallway, how she dressed Michael, called a cab, named her parents address. She stared out the window all the way there, stroking her sons little back, feeling nothing but emptiness inside.

Mum opened the door, saw Helens face, and understood at once. She reached forward and hugged her tight, as she had when Helen fell and skinned her knee as a child.

Mum, I Helen tried to explain, but her mum only shook her head.

Later. Lets just go in.

Dad stepped out of the kitchen at the commotion. He looked at Helen, at Michael, and his expression hardened.

Whats happened?

Helen told them. Haltingly, broken by sobs, losing the threada story of coldness, insults, red shoes by the door, and that bitter phrase: Whod want you with baggage?

Dad listened in silence. Then, slowly, he reached for his coat.

Come on.
Where? Helen asked.
To have a word with him.

Dad, please, I can

Michael stays with your mum. Youre coming with me.

James opened the door as if nothing had happened.

Helens dad stepped inside. Looking at James, he spoke quietlybut the low voice made Helens heart pound.

Heres how this goes. You pack your things and leave. This is my daughters flatbought with our money. Youve no place here anymore.

James tried to protest about shared property, his rights, but Dad cut him off.

Rights? Shall we talk about your rights? About how you treated my daughter? Humiliated her? Brought strangers into her home? He stepped forward and James backed away. If youre here in half an hour, Ill call the police. And trust me, Ive the money for lawyers to ruin your life if I have to. Now get out.

James packed and left, not saying a word. Helen leaned against the wall, numbed, listening to the door click shut.

Why didnt you come to us sooner? Dad asked when they were alone.

I thought youd warned me. I thought youd say it was my own fault.

Dad turned, and there was something in his eyes that made Helens throat ache all over again.

Youre our daughter. My little girl. Do you hear me? You can always come home. No matter what.

Helen stepped into his arms, crying hardletting all the pain of the past months flow out.

Two years later, she was sitting on the rug in that same flat, watching Michael concentrate on building a tower out of bright blocks. Her degree (earned by distance learning, with honours) lay on the sofa. Her phone pinged: the child support payment had cleared.

Michael beamed up at her, the same grin as his fathers. But that no longer hurt.

Mummy, look!

I see, sweetheart. Thats a beautiful tower.

Out the window, the sun was setting, bathing the room in golden light. Looking at her son, Helen smiled. Shed made it. Not in the way she’d once imagined, but shed made it.

And Ive learned that love isnt about pretending, or holding on no matter what. Its about respect, about kindness, and about knowing youre enoughbaggage and all.