On his sixteenth birthday, my nephew declared he would never, ever get married. What was the point? Women, he insisted, were the root of all evil and misery in the world, and he had no intention of wasting his youth on spoiled, fussy girls. Maybe in his old agesay, thirtyhe might reconsider, but certainly not now. Life was brilliant and thrilling without all that nonsense. And then there were the childrensnotty, screaming brats. Hed had enough of that raising his little brother since he was fourteen. No more suffering for him.
My sister and I laughed at him and made a beta case of champagne said hed marry right after his military service. (Country lads here all do their timeits tradition.)
We saw him off. Mum cried, as mums do, but the year flew by.
One day, the phone rang. *Hello, how are you, all alive and well, sons back*
“Lena, whats wrong with your voice?”
“Vitalys getting married-aaaaaaaaah Waaahhhh”
A wail down the line, like someone had died.
“Stop wailing and explain properly. What, is he marrying your clubs manager?” (The woman was a battle-hardened relicnobody knew her age, you could only guess by her medals.)
“Nooo, shes from Maidenhead Mertons her name. Come, please come! I cant deal with them alone!”
For my sistera woman of unshakable composure, not one for theatricsto call me from the other end of the country over marital drama, I knew something was seriously wrong. Five minutes of stunned silence later, I was scouring flight deals for London to Newquay. No questions asked. Because when women like Lena start crying, its time to panic.
I found a ticket quickly, and the next afternoon, I landed in my homeland. No one expected me so soonI hadnt called aheadso no one met me. A cab sped me through the quiet winter roads straight to the village.
I dashed past the bakery, the church, burst into the house. Silence. No one home. Sister at school, nephew at work. Still in my coat, I flopped into an armchair, stretched my legs Silence. Outside, pines and cedars swayed, snow-capped mountains propped up a bright sky. Silence.
“Whos there?!” A sharp yell from the hallway.
In stomped a dishevelled woman, mid-forties, doughy-faced, built like a wardrobe, beady eyes glittering with malice. (*The mother-in-law, then*, I thought. *Relatives already moving in.*)
“Hello. Im Yvonne, Lenas sister.”
“You didnt warn anyone! Nobody told me you were coming!” the woman snarled.
“And who exactly are *you*, auntie, that I should warn you?”
“Im Irene! Vitalys wife!”
“Who?!”
“His *wife*! And who are *you*, sitting here in your boots like you own the place?!”
I realised thenone more second, and Id be howling like a kicked puppy. *God, why?* How had the villages most eligible bachelor, the heartbreaker of local girls, ended up with this lump of dough? And now the lump was puffing up, advancing on me, demanding answershow *dare* I show up unannounced?
The front door slammed. My sister shuffled in, oddly meek.
“Irene, calm down,” she stammered, “shes my sister, just visiting on holiday.”
“Why wasnt I told, eh?” The tank barrel swung toward Lena.
I sat, stunned. *Holy saints, what madness is this?* My sister, a no-nonsense school principal, fluttering around this grenadier in a fleece robe, justifying my presence in *her own house*. My gaze dropped to Irenes swollen belly, and the truth dawned. (*Ah. The grenadiers in a delicate condition. Seven months, by the looks of it. God, when did they even? Vitalys only been back a month Did she visit him on base? What were they feeding those boysaphrodisiacs?*)
Meanwhile, “Auntie Wife” had backed Lena into the hallway and was interrogating her with what sounded like a poker.
“*Who* invited her?! Todays when *my* mums supposed to arrive! We need to sort things as a *family*!” (*Heh. Scared her, didnt I?*)
I marched out, rescued Lena, put on my best peacekeeping face, and suggested tea.
“No tea!” Irene snapped and stormed off to the bedroom.
“Lena, have they evicted you from your own house yet? Lets take a walk.”
We trudged to the cliffside, shell-shocked. I was too furious to speak.
“Explain. Where did this marvel come from?”
“Ully, he came back *with her*. Met her in Maidenhead on his way homeshe had a suitcase, just turned up. Id prepared a welcome feast, his friends gathered, the girls The whole village waited for him, celebrated. The house was decorated like a wedding, we had Dim with his accordion, guitars I made *two sacks* of dumplings, bought a pig for barbecue, pickled everything he loves, waited for my boy They walk in. Mum, meet Irene. I took one look, and my heart stopped. Then I remembered how my mother-in-law hated me, pulled myself together*face isnt everything*, maybe shes kind. Bit my tongue, cried in the pantry five minuteswhat choice did I have? Hes grown, he chose. Didnt ask me, and I didnt ask when I married Stan. I walked back inno guests. Just Vitaly and Irene at the table. *Gone*, like wind swept them away. I asked, Wheres everyone? Irene said, No more guests. Vitalys a family man now. No time for visitors. Sent them all home. I looked at my sonhe sat there, stunned. I left, took the dumplings and pig to Kate the nurse. We celebrated without them. Since then Hes like a ghost. No friends, no callsGod forbid a classmate rings, even married onesscreaming, fights, nearly knives. They sit like owls at home. She never goes out. Eats, sleeps Doesnt brush her hair, doesnt dress up. A *young bride* I asked himdo you love her? He just hangs his head. I dont understand”
“Mum Have you lost your mind? Did this dough-kettle drop on you twice? Let him put her on a pedestal if he wantswhats it to *you*? Look at yourself! Living like a tenant in your own house! Tell meis she pregnant?”
“I dont know.”
“Who are her parents?”
“I dont know.”
“Youve all gone mad! Whats she drugged you with?”
Lena started trembling, then crying. I hugged herfive minutes later, I was shaking too.
Crying on a cliff wasnt my style. I preferred family reunions with feasts and strong drinks, not wind-blasted rocks.
“Enough, Lena. Lets go home. Time to dissect this Jane Eyre like Beowulf gutting Grendels mother. No more of this *reign*.”
“Ully, dont provoke her. What if he *does* love her?”
“Let him love a mangy strayjust not in *your* house, not at *your* expense. Im freezing and starving. Are we sleeping out here?”
We trudged back like Jonahs into the whales bellyreluctant, but hopeful.
Darkness fell. We slipped on roots and stones, thudding to the ground twice.
“Lovely visit,” I grunted, hauling myself up. “Next time, well camp behind the shed. So her mums coming tonight? Might not even let us sleep inside. Lena, are they even *married*?”
“No.”
“Then whys she calling herself his wife?”
“I dont know,” she whispered.
“Ha! That changes *everything*.” I galloped ahead like a wild mustang.
Inside, our “beloved bride” sat demolishing bread, gulping milk from a jar.
“Well, dear daughter-in-law, set the table. The familys hungry.”
“Who invited guests cooks. Im expecting no one.”
“Ully, well whip something up. Irene, go rest.”
I wondered about witchcraft. Lena terrified rabid dogsyet here she was, meek as a lamb.
As we cooked, Vitaly returned from work. I steered him outside, unfed, unkissed.
“My golden boy, explain this. Whats this Brunhild doing here? What swamp did you drag her from?”
Silence. Jaw clenched.
“Stop sulking.
