Dont worry, youre a tiny preterm but sturdy baby, the doctor says, smiling at the nervous mother. Everything will turn out finefor both your daughter and your granddaughter.
God willing, the woman replies, watching the doctor disappear down the corridor. As the door closes she mutters, Here we go again.
The tragedy hits Margarets family six months ago, when a nosy neighbour, Mrs. Hargreaves, drops by for tea with apple jam and, without thinking, asks:
Youre due yet? Have you started stocking up on nappies?
What? What are you on about? Margaret snaps.
Yes, your little one, Clara, was seen twice this week washing the trough at the farm. I saw her grab a towel and dash out of the calf shed.
Maybe she ate something odd, Margaret tries to defend herself.
Sure, youve never been through a pregnancy yourself, so you dont know a thing. Im not a midwife, Im just a busy old woman.
That evening Aunt Margaret questions Clara, then breaks down, cursing the world for giving her a stillborn baby, a suntanned drifter, and an empty male line.
The arrival of the tiny, hoarsevoiced Brielle brings no joy, only chores, resentment and a burning shame. Clara shows no warmth toward the childshe holds her only when feeding or soothing, but nothing more. Aunt Margaret watches her granddaughter with indifference, offering no affection either. This is already the fourth grandchild, and theres little cause for celebration. Even Margarets own daughter, who has given birth to a daughter herself, brings little good news. So Brielle comes into this world unloved, stumbling on unsteady legs through life.
A year later, Clara moves to a workers village in Nottingham, seeking her own happiness. Brielle stays with Aunt Margaret, who is, if not a stranger, a familiar old woman. The girl needs no special careshe eats whats offered, sleeps on schedule, stays healthy. The doctors assessment was right: Brielle is robust, yet still unloved.
Brielle lives with Margaret until she is seven. In that time Clara learns a trade as a painter, marries, and has a son named Charlie. Then Clara finally remembers Brielle, thinking the girl could now help her mother. She travels back to the village, but Brielle, who only sees her mother twice a year, shows no particular delight. Clara looks at her with reproach:
Brielle, you act as if youre not my own. Someone else would hug you, but you stand there like a stranger.
When Clara leaves, Aunt Margaret sheds a few tears, feels a brief pang of loss, but the following Saturday two more grandchildren arriveLily and Rose, the beloved daughters of her eldest son. The bustle of caring for them quickly pushes Brielle out of mind. Unloved by Aunt Margaret, Brielle feels only a slight pity for her grandmother, yet the separation from the newly hatched, brighteyed grandchildren draws tears.
In the workers village Brielle dislikes the place, but she has no choice. Over time she makes friends, starts school, does homework, runs errands for bread and milk, and peels potatoes before her mother returns. As she grows, she escorts Charlie to nursery and, imitating her mother, tells a boastful boy:
Watch your step, youre in my crossfire. Im running on empty strength, and you give me no help!
She never hears words of love from Charlies sister, and she never expects them from anyone; she is accustomed to being unloved. The girl suffers little, simply because she has never known anything else.
She does hear other girls mothers call them sweetly, and her own mother dotes on Charlie, calling him sunshine or kitty. Brielleonce Zinnia, now just Brielletruly believes she isnt meant to be anyones sunshine; she is an adult, unlike Charlie.
At home she isnt spoiled, but she isnt starved either. She doesnt get fancy treats, yet she isnt left hungry. She merely exists as the unwanted one.
At fifteen Brielle leaves the cold, unfamiliar house shes known for eight years. She enrolls in a city college to become a pâtissier, dreaming of eating cakes until she cant move. In the city she shares a dorm with three other girls, handling her own meals after lectures.
When she meets Victor, life suddenly brightens. Despite a bleak November, the sun feels unusually warm for Brielle. The other dormmates come out for a quick TV break, and Victor, unflinching, whispers flattering words that make Brielles head spin.
Youre my darling, he murmurs, and Brielle, used to perpetual neglect, melts with happiness.
Soon she feels queasy each morning, but she postpones a doctors visit and misses the appointment. By eighteen she still hasnt seen a doctor, so she fakes a medical note and, handinhand with a suddenly affectionate Victor, heads to the registry office.
Their marriage marks the start of Brielles family life and the end of her brief romance. They move into Victors home. Victors mother and aunt show no special love for Brielle, yet they let her stay on their property. She isnt the first, nor will she be the last, to make do with a modest life. Perhaps its for the best; a child is on the way, and Victor may settle down.
A friend from the workers village envies her:
Youre lucky, youll live in the city, become a city girl.
Brielle doesnt argue. She knows city life isnt all glamour. The house is a semidetached in a suburban estate, conveniences like a village but the water still comes from a communal tap at the end of the lane. She doesnt complain; she adapts. She carries buckets of water, watches it splash, feels the cold on her feet, and, with the chilled water, washes her unborn child. Her motherinlaw scolds her, but does she really mean it?
Victor seems to pity her at first, for a day or two, then he slips away with his mates, leaving her to help around the house. He never truly loves her and soon brings home another woman, declaring, I never loved you, Brielle.
Brielle confides in her friends, cries briefly, then accepts that shes spent her whole life unloved. She gathers her few belongings, heeds her motherinlaws order to leave, and shuts the door behind her.
She moves into a factory dormitory, where the canteen, the mess hall, and the workers club sit just outside the gate. Live, laugh, love, the sign reads, though she feels more like a worker than a dreamer. She goes to work, to the club, to the cinema, and rarely visits her mother, stepfather, or brother. They dont expect her, and she doesnt impose.
When Aunt Margaret dies on Brielles twentyfirst birthday, she attends the funeral, looks at the old family home, and sees the garden where Margaret once tended roses. Margarets will leaves the house to her beloved grandchildren Lily and Rose. Brielle holds no grudge; the girls were the favoured ones, the berries of their grandmother. She was the cutoff piece, the unwanted grandchild.
Because Brielle never claimed the inheritance, the family quarrels over Margarets modest £5,000. The loudest cries come from Clara, who laments that the greedy granny left no silver spoon for her son Charlie. She forgets to mention her older daughter altogether. Brielle never receives a bent spoon, nor any silver.
Brielle tries twice to build a life with men, but both relationships fail. One suitor drinks and brings home a prostitute; the other drinks and beats. She decides not to chase marriage any more. After a single visit to the registry office, she feels its enough.
Her personal life stalls for the same reasons, but shes content not to tangle with the paperwork. She throws her few possessions into a duffel bag, returns to the cheap bed she shares with her friends, and settles into dorm life.
For more than ten years she roams from one dorm to another, growing weary of strangers beds. By her late twenties, like any older woman, she craves her own corner, a kettle on her own shelf. Single women rarely get flats first; families get them first.
Occasionally she drops by Aunt Asas flat, where Asa washes the factory floors at night, and they chat. After a few months, Asa suggests:
Bri, my niece died in childbirth a year ago. Her husband, Matthew, is a decent manquiet, only drinks on holidays, never violent. He might need a good, reliable woman. Think about it; the little girl would need a mother.
Brielle considers and moves in with Matthew. She brightens his modest room for May Day, buys curtains, sews little dresses from yellow and blue fabric. The child, named Sophie, soon starts babbling and calls her Mum.
Matthew is gentle, pays his wages, never raises his voice. He never says I love you, but Brielle has long stopped expecting such words. Shes learned to survive without them.
Three years into the marriage, Sophie bursts from the garden holding yellow dandelions, runs to Brielle, plants a kiss on her cheek, and whispers:
Mum, I love you more than anyonemore than Daddy, more than Aunt Asa, even more than my doll.
Brielle hugs her, laughs and cries at once, finally feeling loved.
A year later she gives birth to a boy, Isaac. Matthew stays up at night, changes nappies, helps push the pram up the stairs. The factory eventually grants them a spacious, bright flat. They rejoice; theres finally something to celebrate.
Brielle, Matthew, and their children grow, and grandchildren arrive. In the summer garden, silverhaired Brielle cooks jam on the porch while the grandchildren spin around.
Grandma, I love you, shouts Olivia.
Grandma, I love you too, echoes Daniel.
Grandma, I wuv you, babbles little Martha.
Everyone loves Grandma, chuckles Grandpa Matthew, his beard tinged with grey.
Brielle wipes away a stray tear, amazed at how many years of being unloved have turned into a life full of love.
