— You’re an Irresponsible Mum: Go Have Kids Somewhere Else

Youre irresponsible, Mum. Go and have kids somewhere else.

Eleanor was only seventeen when she rushed into marriage with Simon. Straight from the school gates, and within a month, she was already wearing a ring and sporting a bump that rounded out so quickly the neighbours started whisperingDefinitely pregnant, wasnt she? Caught out, that one.

She had a little girl, named her Emily, and settled into Simons mothers flat. Though her mother-in-law, Margaret Hutchinson, lived in another flat just two bus stops away, she saw it as her duty to supervise every move of the young couple. The flat was large, three bedrooms, high ceilings, full of old furniture Margaret had bought during the seventies, and Eleanor always felt like a guest whod overstayedthey said it was temporary, but the years went by.

Looking after Emily was a delight for Eleanor. Nappies, babygros, sleepless nights, the first tooth, the first little step, her first Mummy, which made Eleanors heart melt. But Emily was raised not just by her mum, but also by her grandmother, who visited nearly every day, and by Simons sister, Susan, who lived at home in a little box room by the kitchen. Susan was five years older than Simon, rather severe, always with her hair in a tight bun and the kind of face that looked permanently unimpressed. Both Margaret and Susan were the proper sortprincipled, opinionated, never shy to tell you exactly how things should be: how to bring up children, how to roast a joint, how to do the washing and, most of all, how you should treat a husband.

Eleanor, why are you letting Simon go off to the pub with his mates? Margaret would say, lips pursed. My Tom, bless his soul, always came straight home from work. I laid down the lawfamily comes first.

Eleanor never argued. It was pointless; one stare from Margaret, and all arguments dissolved. Susan would pipe up too:

Just you make sure Emily develops properly, Eleanor. Ive brought her some age-appropriate books. Kids nowadays, too much freedom, but its all down to their mothers in the end.

So Eleanor watched over Emily, who dutifully read the books Auntie Susan brought, went with Grandma to museums, had English lessons with a tutor Margaret sourced. She was a serious, well-read girl, a miniature image of her grandmother in her younger days, everyone said.

Simon, Eleanors husband, was a quiet, unassuming man, working as an engineer at the factory, enjoyed a pint with his mates, and his football on the telly. Eleanor loved him with the habitual affection that comes after ten years togetherlong after all the rows and sulks are over, when you no longer put on an act. Simon loved her too, in his awkward, silent wayhed brew her tea in bed or get up first on a Sunday and make her a fry-up.

Margaret was coldly protective of her son, as if hed never grown up, and often, in front of Eleanor, would say:

Simon, you could do with a bit more backbone. You mope around like a shadow. Your wife looks at you wondering if youre a real man or a big kid.

Simon just shrugged and his shoulders seemed to drop a little. At night, Eleanor would lie beside him in the dark, stroking his hair, whispering, Dont listen to them, youre a good man, the best. Hed say nothing, just sigh deeply and soon drift off. Eleanor would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking: how is it you love someone, but cant shield him from his own mother? Because youre scared, because the flat isn’t yours, because you always feel like an outsider.

When Emily was thirteen, Margaret fell seriously ill. Pancreatic cancer. She didnt cry when told; just pressed her lips even tighter and went to see the solicitor to sort out her will. She divided her property fairly, in her view: her own two-bedroom flat in central London went to Susan, the other, the three-bed where Eleanor, Simon and Emily lived, was left to Simon. Fair, so she thoughtone home for each, no hard feelings.

But fate had other plans. Three weeks after Margaret wrote her will, Simon stepped out of the factory gates as usual, headed for the bus stop, and on the zebra crossing, a car knocked him down. Young woman, foreign car, not paying attention, so the report said. Eleanor heard from SusanSusan ringing, voice shaking with tears:

Eleanor, Simons gone. Car crash, ambulance came, but it was too late. You need to come and identify him at the morgue.

Eleanor couldnt remember the journey there, the staring at Simons face, the forms she signed, the silent, sleepless ride back home. Emily had been at Grandmas, so Eleanor returned to a silent flat. She sat on the sofa through the night without closing her eyes.

Margaret outlived her son by two months. The doctors spoke of rapid decline, chemo that didnt work, her body too weak. But Eleanor wondered if Margaret just couldnt bear life without her boy. For all her criticism and commands, he was her son, her child, and something inside the iron woman snapped when he died. She faded within weeks, shrinking to a frail shadow on the hospital bed. Before the end, she summoned the solicitor to the hospital and rewrote the will. The three-bed flat, initially meant for Simon, now went to Emily, her granddaughter.

Emily gets the flat, the dying woman told Susan, sat by the bedside. You can have yours, as agreed. Keep an eye on Emily, dont let her go off the rails like her mother. Eleanors good-hearted but weak; Emily needs someone with a firm hand.

Susan nodded, her face utterly unmovedher mothers daughter, as hard and proper as Margaret ever was.

Eleanor was left alone with her daughter in a flat that, legally, belonged to Emily, though she was fourteen and Eleanor was now the official guardian, so really the flat was theirs for now. Eleanor didnt dwell on itthe first years flew by with work, looking after the house, carrying what she and Simon used to share together.

The next five years blurred in a haze of work and responsibilityalways chasing after money, trying to make sure Emily had everything, the right clothes, the latest phone, tuition if she needed it. Eleanor never complained; she just did what she had to. And when Emily earned a scholarship to a top university, Eleanor felt a rush of pride so fierce it brought her to tears. It had all been worth ither daughter was smart, educated, with a decent future ahead. Emily, meanwhile, was doing translation work on the side from her second yearher English was excellent, thanks to Grandma and Auntie Susan insisting on lessons.

It was just as things seemed to finally settle, just as Eleanor thought she might be able to breathe again, to think of herself, that she met Graham. They met by chance on a bushe helped her with her heavy shopping, they got talking. He worked in the office block opposite hers, was thirteen years older, and had two grown-up children. His wife had been in a wheelchair for five years since a stroke. Graham was her carer.

Im not a hero, he said to Eleanor on their third meeting, when they sat in the park together, his hand gently gripping hers. I cant leave her, you see? Weve been together too long. She gave me two children. But I dont know the last time I looked forward to anything. But when Im with youI remember how it feels to live.

Eleanor understood. She was thirty-eight, old enough to have stopped believing in fairy tales; at that age, you just take what comes.

She waited before telling Emily. For a while, she hid it, inventing excuses for late nights, claiming to visit friends, but Emily was sharp. She picked up on the changesa new softness in Eleanors eyes, more frequent smiles, and then, one day as Eleanor pulled a new dress from the wardrobea dress bought especially for a night with GrahamEmily asked her directly, looking her in the eye:

Mum, have you got someone? Youre spending money on yourself nownew dress, posh perfume. Out with it.

Eleanor blushed, flustered as a schoolgirl, then told her everythingabout Graham, about his wife, and the fact that, yes, she genuinely loved him.

Emily listened, her face growing harder, colder. When Eleanor finished, Emily spoke calmly, with a chill in her voice Eleanor had only heard from Margaret:

Mum, do you even hear yourself? Youre talking about another womans husband. Youve always taught me about right and wrong, and now youre telling me youre seeing someone elses man? Seriously?

Emily, you dont understand Eleanor began, but her daughter cut her off.

I understand perfectly. Youre lonely, desperate for affectionIm not stupid. But there are boundaries, Mum. Married men are off limits. Youre not eighteen anymore to be getting tangled up in stupid drama.

Eleanor was hurt, even cried, but put it down to youthEmily saw the world as starkly black or white, right or wrong, with no shades in between.

She met Graham discreetlyat his mates cottage while the mate was away, or in a rented flat for the night. Eleanor knew it wasnt the stuff of girlish dreams, but at her age, she valued the time they had.

Sometimes I think, Graham would say, lying next to her in the cramped bed of a borrowed flat, I shouldnt have thisyou, this happiness. I sit by my wifes hospital bed and wonder if Im a monster. Is it wrong?

It is, Eleanor would admit. She didnt want to lie to him. But I still wait for you, and I dont judge. Who am I to judge?

Youre wonderful, hed say, kissing her shoulder. The best theres been. I wont leave you, you know that. Whatever happens, Ill be here.

Eleanor wanted to believe him, needed to believeafter five years of loneliness, relentless work, and feeling she was carrying the weight of the world alone, she craved that hope, that comfort.

When she discovered she was pregnant, her world spun. At first she didnt believe ittook three different tests. Then went to the GP, had a blood test. The doctor confirmed it, all business: Youre pregnant, about six weeks along, heartbeats fine. Eleanor left the surgery, sat on a bench outside and cried, swamped by fear, joy, dread and hope all at once.

She agonised over how to tell Grahamrehearsed scenarioswould he be shocked, pleased, overwhelmed? Or just scared? After all, his children were grown, his wife was seriously ill, and he was stretched enough as it was. She knew Grahama decent man, but badly afraid: of change, of more responsibility, of what his family and ill wife would go through.

But more than anything, Eleanor dreaded telling Emily. She put the conversation off, waited for the right moment which never arrived, until she simply couldnt wait any longer. One evening as Emily returned from Susans, Eleanor sat across from her at the kitchen table and said:

Emily, I need to tell you something. Im pregnant.

Emily froze, mug in hand.

By the married bloke? she said quietly.

By Graham. Hes the father.

I thought as much, Emily smirked, though it was a twisted, unhappy smirk. Mum, have you quite lost your head? Youre thirty-eight, working two jobs, I only just got my scholarship, weve only just come up for air, and you youre having another baby? By a man who wont leave his sick wife, whos offered you nothing?

Emily, please dont Eleanors voice trembled. Its my life, my baby. Im not asking your permission.

Good, dont ask, Emily stood, face pale, eyes narrowed. I have something to say. In this flat, my flatbecause Grandma left it to me, not youI will not have you bringing babies into the place. You hear? Its my flat, left to me by Grandma, not to you.

Eleanor felt the blood drain from her face. She stared at her daughterthe same girl shed borne at eighteen, taken to nursery, to school, to clubs, fought so hard forand didnt recognise her. In her place stood a stranger, her grandmothers and Aunt Susans voice and faceMargarets values, Susans judgement.

Emily, what are you talking about? Eleanor stood, hands shaking, gripping the edge of the table. This is our home, I raised you here, I

You lived here because Dad was alive, Emily interrupted, sharp. When he died, Grandma could have chucked you out but kept you here to look after me, because I was still a child. But this has always been my flat, Mum, always. I wont throw you outIm not heartless. Youre my mum, youll always have a roof over your head. But you wont be bringing men or their babies into my house. If you want a family, go to your boyfriend and let him find you a place.

How can you say that? Eleanor was openly crying nowtears streaming. I had you young, I did it all for you

You had me at eighteen because you never thought ahead, Emily shot back. And now youre making the same mistake. With a man whose wife needs constant care. If he runs or lets you downwhat then? Youre not eighteen, but nearly forty, and its so much harder. I cant help youI have my life and studies.

So you wont help me? Eleanor stared, stung and bewilderedso much pain that even Emily flinched for a moment. Youre my daughter, my only daughter, I thought we were family, we were together, I hoped youd be happy for a brother or sister

Happy? Emily laughed, cruel laughter. Mum, what are you thinking? Who will look after the baby? You? Working two jobs? Youll have to send it off to nursery at eighteen months, itll grow up wild, and then Ill be stuck with him or her when youre at work. No thanks. Im not encouraging your recklessness. I cant force you to keep or not keep the babyits your body, your choice. But dont start in on the family bit. This isnt about family, its about some bloke. Why am I supposed to clean up after your bad decisions?

You sound like your aunt, and grandma, Eleanor breathed. They were always so proper and judging. I was always just the hanger-on, never really one of you.

Mum, dont make me out to be a monster. Emily winced. I love you, youll never be kicked out, but I choose who lives in my home. I want my own life, no babies, no menjust you. If you want to be a parent again, do it somewhere else. My home stays child-free.

Child-free? Eleanor clutched her chest, sure her heart would split. That would be your brother or sister, your flesh and blood. Emily, please!

No, Emilys voice trembled and now there were tearsher first tears that night, though Eleanor no longer trusted if they were real or for show. No, Mum. Thats your baby, not mine. I wont be nanny, change nappies, have my flat turned into a crèche. I want to study, work, just start my life.

Eleanor sank into a chair, drained. Through blurry tears she watched her daughter, arms folded, lips grim as Margarets, the way all those proper women had always kept her in her placereminding her she was temporary.

If Dad hadnt died first Eleanor whispered, bitterness in her tone. Half this place would legally be mine. I was his wifeId have inherited if Grandma hadnt changed her will. If hed lasted two more months

He didnt, Emily cut her off. Grandma did what she thought best. She left the flat to me, not you. Dont you dare talk about Grandma like that! She trusted me to take care of things. You never couldnot money, not your life. Pregnant at eighteen, again at thirty-eight. If shed left it to you, youd have wasted it. She trusted me not to. And I wont let her down.

You wont, Eleanor echoed, feeling something tear within her. The cord between her and her daughterlove she thought sacredsnapped. Youve become her, Emily. Youve become Margaret. And youre rightIm nothing in your flat. I only live here by your grace. Im just the tolerated guest, really.

Mum, enough with the dramatics, Emily sighed like a jaded adult. I dont think youre a guest, but I have my own life. I wont help, I wont babysit, I wont share. Youre old enoughyoull cope. Go to Graham, let him support you. Hes the father, its up to him.

He cant, Eleanor confessed, almost regretting it.

There you go, Emilys bitter smile was all Margaret. Youre with a man who cant offer you anythingfamily, home, a proper relationship. And you want me to take care of you, your baby, while you keep on seeing him? No, Mum. Absolutely not.

Im not asking you to babysit, Eleanor whispered. Just to understand. To support me. Dont throw me out to the street with a baby.

I wont throw you out, Emily repeated. You always have a placealone. Not with a baby. When the babys born, youll need to find somewhere else. Im giving you time, but once the baby comes, it cant live here. My life, my studies, my future wont fall apart because of another of your mistakes.

Eleanor rose slowly, went to her room, closed the door and curled up on her bed like a child.

She felt something snap, the invisible cord between mother and daughterthe one you think is unbreakable, even after your childs grown. Now, nothing remained except a black hole, swallowing up all their memoriesEmilys first steps, her first word, her first beaming Mummy, the afternoons watching Disney films together, all those hugs and whispered I love you.

Im not a mistake, Eleanor whispered into her pillow, so faintly she barely heard herself. Im not a mistake. Im your mum.

But in the other room, music now blared from the TVEmily had turned up the volume, and Eleanor realised the conversation was over. Her daughter had said her piece, and was back to her life, untroubled and unburdened.

In the darkness, Eleanor picked up her phone without thinking. Dialled Graham. He answered on the second ringnot asleep, just sitting by his wifes bed.

Graham, Eleanor said, her voice flat. Im pregnant. And I need somewhere to live. Can you support us? A flat, money, perhaps so I dont have to work that first year. Please be honest.

She heard Grahams shaky breath, and then the words tumbled out, desperate, panicked:

El, you know my situation. My wife needs me, the meds, the carer, Im stretched as it ismy kids help but you know how things are. Id love to do more, but I cant leave her, El, truly. Renting a flattheres the deposit, rent, bills, and you cant work at once I cant manage, El, honestly, I cant. I wont disappear, Ill help all I can, but just a little, when I can

A little, Eleanor repeated. I see.

El, dont hang up, lets talk, lets meet, well find a way, maybe theres something

She ended the call, no goodbyes. Set the phone aside, closed her eyes, lay motionless until morning, listening to the hum of the fridge and, somewhere, a distant dog barking. When the sky paled, she got up, dressed, picked up her ID and NHS number, and slipped quietly from the flat.

She waited at the surgery for nearly two hours, perched on a hard chair, staring at nothing, not crying. When the doctorthe same oneasked, Would you like to register your pregnancy? Eleanors voice was level and steady.

No. I want to terminate.

The doctor just sighed, scribbled her in for the next available slot. Eleanor walked out into the cold air, inhaled sharply until her chest ached. Outside, on the steps, she wept quietly into her hands while mothers with bumps, mothers with prams, walked past, not giving her so much as a glance.