Dan hates being caught in the middle. Tells me repeatedly, as he always has done, that if I have a problem with his mother I should discuss it with his mother. Which of course is something I will never do.
He tells me I am being hormonal, which is guaranteed to send me into a blind rage, and that he refuses to get involved, sometimes just standing up and leaving the room.
And yet, despite my growing hatred of her, there are times when we seem to find a kind of peace. Times when I manage to let go of the hatred, times when I feel guilty, think I am perhaps overimagining everything, that Linda is just being a doting grandmother. I then try to make it up to her by inviting her to join Tom and me somewhere, or by phoning her and asking her over for tea, or by simply handing Tom to her when she walks in—something I am usually averse to doing.
Because Linda just wants so much. She is so damn needy. She doesn’t know when to stop, she has no sense of boundaries. If I am holding Tom when she walks in, she will physically try to wrestle him from my arms, or if he is asleep she will bend over his crib, putting her face millimeters from his, and coo over him and stroke him until he wakes up and cries, at which point she will immediately try to scoop him up.
Although I usually get there first.
I talk to other women about their mothers-in-law, and their problems are always the same: they don’t think the women are good enough for their beloved sons.
But I don’t have that problem with Linda. My problem is that Linda doesn’t know when to back off, to give me, us, space. So, although there are times when we find a kind of peace, it never seems to last. Linda always manages to say or do something that sends me into yet another fury, and I can’t tell her, could never let it out, and so I withdraw yet again into a silent rage, praying that she’ll just leave us all alone.
“You love Grandma the most, don’t you?” Linda coos to Tom on a regular basis and I want to kill her.
“When Mummy and Daddy are horrible you’ll come and stay at Grandma’s house,” was another choice one that left me shaking with rage.
There are times when I wish I could confront her, just get it all out in the open, but that has never been my style, and I swallow all the feelings, taking them out on Dan instead, which isn’t fair and isn’t right, but I can’t seem to help myself.
Do you think I don’t know that Dan has started to dread coming home? Of course I know that. I know exactly how much he hates it when he walks in and I’ve had a bad day and take it out on him, and by the same token I know how relieved he is, how happy, when I have had a good day, when Linda has managed not to intrude on my serenity, and I am loving and warm to my husband.
My poor husband.
When we manage to discuss it calmly, Dan will admit he knows his mother can be overbearing, knows that sometimes she doesn’t know when to stop, but he knows, he truly believes, that her heart is in the right place and that she is only trying to help.
He even admits that she’s not good at taking no for an answer, but tells me that all I have to do is stand up for myself. But I have tried to explain that I want him to stand up for me.
When Linda swoops down while I’m giving Tom a bottle and tries to lift him out of my arms, what does Dan do? What does Dan say? Absolutely nothing.
“I’ll mind him if you like,” Linda says to me, reaching out to lift Tom from my shoulder, and I literally have to turn away, saying, “No thanks, I’ve got it,” and again Dan says nothing.
The latest thing, now that Tom is more than three months old and almost sleeping through the night, is for her to offer to have him overnight at their house to give Dan and me a break.
Dan thought it a brilliant idea, said that she could see how exhausted we both were and that it was a genuine offer. He was ready to jump at the chance.
“Not that I don’t love our weekends with Mr. T,” Dan cooed at Tom, flying him through the air and making whooshing noises, “but it would be so nice for both of us to have a night off. Think about it. A romantic dinner. A lie-in. Tom thinks it’s a great idea, don’t you, Mr. T?” he said, planting soft tickly kisses on Tom’s neck.
No way. No bloody way. I don’t care how exhausted I am, how blissful a night’s unbroken sleep sounds right now, I will not let that woman have my son when I am not around.
As time goes on, it only seems to get worse.
“I just hate her,” I say wearily to Fran, having told her the entire story over lunch. Fran—God bless her—has brought her own nanny over to look after Tom while the girls are in nursery school, and has stolen me away for a grown-up lunch on Marylebone High Street.
Fran makes a face. “Is it really that bad?”
I nod. “I didn’t think it was possible to hate someone this much, but I swear, she’s the mother-in-law from hell.”
Fran frowns again. “Okay, admittedly she’s saying some stupid things, but I think she’s probably just an incredibly insensitive woman who doesn’t know where the boundaries are. Because, let’s face it, she has been incredibly good to you.”
“Are you nuts? Only because she’s trying to take over my life,” I say vehemently, my voice rising as I look at Fran in disbelief.
“It sounds awful, but she’s not going anywhere,” Fran says. “Listen, God knows I of all people understand what you’re going through, but she’s your mother-in-law. As long as you’re married to Dan you’re stuck with her.”
And I take a deep breath and say the thing I haven’t yet told anyone. Not Fran, not Sally, not Trish and Lisa. The thing that I’ve been too scared to admit to, for fear it will make it come true, make it more real.
“You know,” I say slowly, looking at the table, unable to look Fran in the eye, “I lie in bed at night and think about leaving him. I think about whether Tom and I could make it on our own.” I’m shocked that I’ve managed to voice my biggest secret, but Fran, instead of looking horrified as I had expected, merely laughs.
“And you think I didn’t dream of that every night after I had the girls? I’d lie in bed hating Marcus and dreaming of divorce. So don’t worry, it’s absolutely normal.”
Relief washes over me. “It is?”
Fran smiles again. “Absolutely. But, Ellie, have you ever considered going to see someone?”
“What sort of someone?”
“A therapist.”
“Nope. Not for me. I couldn’t sit there and talk about myself to someone for an hour, and I couldn’t find the time, and who’d look after Tom?”
“You could always ask your mother-in-law to babysit,” says Fran with an evil grin.
“Oh, ha bloody ha. By the way, I left a message for Sally the other day and she hasn’t called back. Is everything okay with her?”
Fran rolls her eyes. “Yes, but she’s developed this huge crush on Charlie Dutton, and I don’t think it’s going anywhere.”
Charlie Dutton. Charlie Dutton. The name’s familiar but I can’t place it, and I shake my head as I look at Fran and shrug my shoulders.
“The film producer? He was at our house that day you and Sally came over for lunch, remember?”
“Oh, yes.” Now I remember. “Cute. With a son.”
“Exactly. Well, Sally managed to finagle a date with him and evidently she decided he’s The One.”
“You mean she’s finally found someone who’s good enough for her?”
“Only because she barely knows him. He took her to Isola for dinner, then on to Soho House, where apparently they ended up sitting with Hugh Grant, so of course she’s completely starstruck and is now dreaming of marriage.”
“You mean she didn’t switch allegiances and develop a crush on Hugh Grant?”
Fran laughs. “I think even Sally knows her limitations. And he was with a rather gorgeous brunette, apparently. But still, Sally’s pretty much planning her wedding day.”
“And Charlie Dutton?”
Fran shrugs, looking pained. “Hasn’t called. Sally’s begging me to get Marcus to phone him and find out what’s going
on, but as Marcus said, we’re not sixteen anymore, and I don’t really want to do that whole ‘my mate likes you’ thing.”
I laugh. “I know I’m supposed to say I’m so happy I’m not still out there, and obviously I wouldn’t change Tom at all, he’s just so amazing, but I do miss being single. I miss all the adventures. I miss sitting in Soho House and meeting people like Hugh Grant.”
“Bollocks,” says Fran. “You’re just forgetting what it’s really like. The adventures happen maybe five percent of the time if you’re lucky, and the rest of the time you’re doing what Sally’s doing and sitting by the phone waiting for Prince Charming to ring, and then spending the next few months convincing yourself that it was because you weren’t thin enough, or pretty enough, or trendy enough, or just simply anything enough. That’s what you’d have to deal with if you were single again.
“And,” she continues, “you’d be a single mother if you were to split up with Dan, which would not only be unbelievably hard, but you automatically reduce the number of men who would be interested.”
“Okay, okay,” I mutter. “I was just saying that sometimes I miss it.” Which I do.
“I know. I’m sorry. And I do understand, but the other thing I know is that Dan is a really good man, and I think that whatever you’re going through will pass, and that you mustn’t act on anything right now, just sit tight and wait. Things will get better, I promise you. How old is Tom now?”
“Seven and a half months.”
“Thank God for that. You’ll start getting some energy back and soon you’ll be like a new woman again. Trust me.”
“You’re sure?”
“I told you. I’ve been there. As for your mother-in-law, you have to trust me on that as well. She’s not evil incarnate, she’s just trying to find a way to fit into your life, and you have to find a way of letting her in.”
“I know,” I sigh, and Fran, even though she hates her own mother-in-law, is probably right. “I will try. I promise.”
And I do try. When Linda’s name flashes up on my phone later that afternoon I put a smile on my face—I once read that if you force a smile when you talk on the telephone you will automatically sound happy—pick up the phone and say a breezy hello.
“Hello,” says Emma.
“Oh! I thought it was your mum.” Relief floods through me, despite my resolution.
“Nope. She’s out. I just popped home to pick up a book I left here last weekend and I wondered if you were in. Can I come over?”
“That would be lovely.” I smile, missing Emma. “The sun looks as if it’s coming out so we can sit and play with Tom in the garden. I’ll put the kettle on now.”
“I agree; the woman’s a nightmare,” Emma says, cuddling Tom and covering him with noisy kisses, which makes him squeal and laugh. “But I think she means well.” Emma echoes Fran’s words and I wonder whether it is actually a good idea to confide in Emma. Linda is, after all, her mother, and they do say blood is thicker than water.
“She just wants to be involved and this is her first grandson,” Emma continues.
“But she won’t bloody leave me alone,” I protest. “She rings me every day, at least twice, and she keeps bloody popping in unannounced.”
Emma shrugs with a resigned smile. “I know she’s impossible. You should just do what I do and keep her at arm’s length.”
“I try,” I say, “but she doesn’t get the message. Every day, for God’s sake. Every day! What does she want to talk to me about every day? I don’t even pick up the phone anymore. If I see her name come up, I let the machine get it, and even then, if she’s left a message and I don’t call her back, she just keeps ringing and putting the phone down until I answer. I swear, your mother is completely mad.”
“Tell me about it,” Emma laughs. “And you thought you were marrying into the perfect family.”
“Don’t even remind me.” I grimace, knowing that Emma is unaware of quite how close to the truth that is. I watch Emma tickle Tom with her long hair as Tom giggles uncontrollably and reaches out to pat her face. “You’re really good with babies, aren’t you?” I smile. “Yet another hidden side of you.”
“I love babies.” Emma plants a noisy kiss on Tom’s neck, making him laugh even more. “Any time you want me to babysit, just ask.”
“Are you serious?”
“Absolutely.”
“Because we were invited out with these new friends of ours for dinner on Thursday, but we don’t have a babysitter so I was going to say no, but if you could do it…”
“Oh, God, I’d love to, but this Thursday?”
I nod.
“I’m so sorry, but there’s a do I can’t get out of. If only you’d asked me earlier. What about my mum? Why don’t you ask her? I know, I know,” she laughs, seeing the expression on my face. “I know you don’t want to, but let’s face it, you need a babysitter and she’s practically wetting herself to babysit. She’d definitely do it.”
“Maybe.” I shrug, knowing full well I won’t ask. Oh well. Maybe Trish and Gregory and Lisa and Andy can come here instead.
14
We don’t go out that much anymore, and the thought of a holiday is something that’s completely beyond me at the moment. Spring was drizzly and miserable, there were two stunning weeks at the end of May where everyone stripped off to their underwear in the park to try to make the most of it, and now that we’re in June it’s back to being warm and drizzly, and I’ve honestly forgotten what sunshine even feels like.
But today was a good day, and not just because the sun managed to break through the clouds. Today was a day that I wish could be repeated more often. I knew something would happen today—woke up this morning with a feeling of excitement—except I didn’t think that anything was planned, that today would be different from any other Saturday.
Dan took Tom to see Linda and Michael this morning. This has started to become something of a routine, and I’ll admit it is working out for all of us. I am finally able to let Tom out of my sight, Dan is able to spend time with his parents without worrying about Linda and me having some kind of passive-aggressive confrontation that would doubtless entail both of us bitching to him about the other.
And, just for the record, Dan would never admit that his mother bitches about me, but I’m sure she does. Of course she does. He’s just too clever to tell me about it.
This morning Dan got Tom up for breakfast, gave him his bottle, fed him his Weetabix while he read aloud to him from the Guardian in a sing-song childlike voice, adding his own commentary when necessary.
“Listen to this, Mr. T,” he’ll say, reading him a review of a film. “Should you and I go to see it? Sounds like a good one.” And Tom will gurgle with pleasure.
So my Saturday mornings are much like my Saturday mornings of old. I have breakfast, a cup of tea, then climb back into bed with all the papers. Once I have finished reading, I usually switch off the telephone and drift back to sleep, and by the time I wake up again, usually late morning, I actually feel human.
Dan brings Tom home around lunchtime. Linda and Michael have already turned Dan’s old bedroom into a fully equipped nursery, complete with a beautiful new cot that’s just waiting for Tom to sleep in it, but even if I were willing, I don’t think Tom would sleep anywhere other than in his own bed in his own room.
Today Dan brings Tom home to put him down for his midday nap, and I can see, as soon as he walks in, that he’s in a good mood. No, make that a great mood, and once Tom is down Dan grabs me and swings me around in a way that he hasn’t done in months, and plants a huge kiss on my lips and asks me how I would fancy a holiday.
How would I fancy a holiday? What a question! I would fancy one very much, thank you, but our Primrose Hill flat has left us house poor, to put it mildly, and, given that I am no longer working full time, we had agreed that holidays were a luxury and not something we would be able to do in the foreseeable future.
Which is not the end of the world, holi
days being something I very rarely think about. The only time I have actually missed them, or even thought about them, or thought that I might like to have one, was a few weeks ago when I went to the doctor.
They kept me waiting for forty minutes, and I idly picked up a copy of Condé Nast Traveler—I know, God knows what a magazine like that was doing in the doctor’s surgery—and by the time I had finished the magazine all I could think about was white sandy beaches and warm turquoise waters.
Luckily I stepped out of the doctor’s surgery onto Finchley Road, where I was almost run over by the 113 bus, which brought me swiftly back to the present, and all thoughts of sun and sand were entirely forgotten.
So how would I fancy a holiday? If I thought there was the remotest chance it was going to happen, I would say almost more than anything else in the world.
“Sit down,” Dan says, grinning like a maniac and pushing me down on to the sofa, where he proceeds to tell me what had happened at his parents’ house that morning.
“There’s something your father and I would like to talk to you about.”
Dan said he felt his heart sink. Any conversation that started like that immediately made him feel like a guilty teenager. Despite being an adult, and a husband and father at that, those words, an echo from his childhood, still struck fear in his heart, that dreadful, dreaded feeling that they had caught him doing something wrong.
“There’s something your father and I would like to talk to you about.” Dan caught stealing the loose change from his father’s dresser.
“There’s something your father and I would like to talk to you about.” Dan and Emma caught smoking pot on the flat roof you could climb out onto from Emma’s bedroom window.
“There’s something your father and I would like to talk to you about.” Waving his school report in front of him, the one that always had those dreaded words written upon it, could try harder.
But of course they couldn’t have found anything out, he told himself. What could he possibly have done that he wouldn’t want them to know about? What illicit secrets could they possibly have discovered?