You know, love, dont feel sorry for her shes a little premature babe but tough as an old boot. Everythingll turn out alright, you and your daughter, and even your grandchild.
God willing, the lady said to the doctor as she walked away, then muttered under her breath, what a mess.
It all started six months ago in Margarets family when their nosy neighbour, Mrs. Hattie, dropped by for tea with a pot of apple jam and blurted out, When are you expecting the baby? Got any nappies yet?
What baby? Margaret snapped, taken aback.
Hattie laughed, I saw little Claras little sister at the farm twice last week, ran out of the calf shed with a bib round her neck.
Margaret tried to keep her cool, Maybe she ate something odd.
Hattie snorted, Youve never been pregnant, you dont know a thing. Im not a midwife, Im just a busy old woman.
That evening Aunt Margaret cornered Clara, racked her brain, then broke down, cursing the light that revealed her unplanned daughterinlaw, the unborn child, a sunbaked lad whod already run off with the whole mens crew.
When little Mabel arrived, she didnt bring any joy, just more trouble, hurt feelings and a burning shame. Clara never showed any warm love for the child shed hold her only when feeding or when she cried, and that was it. Aunt Margaret looked at her granddaughter with indifference, no love in her eyes either. It was already the fourth grandchild why smile about that? And her own daughters daughter had given her little to be proud of. So Mabel came into this world unloved, stumbling on shaky legs.
A year later Clara moved to the council estate looking for a fresh start. Mabel stayed with Aunt Margaret, who, though not exactly a stranger, was still just a relative. The girl didnt need special care she ate what was given, went to sleep on schedule, never fell ill. The doctor was right, Mabel was a sturdy little thing, but still not cherished.
Mabel lived with her granny until she turned seven. In that time Clara learned to be a housepainter, got married and had a son, Charlie. Then Clara remembered Mabel the girl was now an adult, could help out. She drove back to the village, but Mabel, whod only seen her mother twice a year, barely lifted a finger in greeting. Margaret gave her a reproachful look, Oh, Mabel, youre acting like you dont belong. Someone else would be all over you, but you just stand there like a stranger.
When they said goodbye, Margaret shed a tiny tear, missed her for a few days. The next Saturday, her eldest son brought over his two favourite granddaughters, Lily and Rosie, and Margaret was quickly swept up in their chaos, forgetting all about Mabel. The unloved Mabel felt little grief for her aunt, but the loss of the newly hatched chicks made her eyes water.
Life in the estate wasnt much to Mabels taste, but she had no choice. She made friends, went to school, did homework, ran to the shop for bread and milk, peeled potatoes for her mothers return. As she grew, she looked after Charlie at nursery, mimicking her mother, telling a lanky boy, Watch your step, thats my punishment. Im running out of strength, youre not helping!
She never heard any loving words from Charlies dad, and Mabel never heard any either shed stopped expecting them long ago. She barely suffered; she just didnt know any other way. Still, she heard the other girls call each other sweet names, and her mother would call Charlie sunshine or little cat. Mabel, once called Zinaida, Zinky or just Zina, truly believed she wasnt meant to be anyones sunshine she was an adult, unlike Charlie.
At home she wasnt petted, but she wasnt starved either. No fancy treats, no extra salt, but she wasnt left to starve. She was simply unloved.
At fifteen she left the cold house that had never truly been hers. Eight years later she got into a city college, studying pastry. She dreamed of eating cakes till she burst. In the dorm she shared a room with three other girls, became her own little landlady after classes.
Then she met Victor. Suddenly everything brightened. Even a bleak November seemed sunny for her. The other girls would pop out for a bit of TV in the common room. Victor wasnt shy; he whispered beautiful things that made Mabels head spin, took her breath away.
Youre my darling, he murmured, and the girl used to endless neglect felt a warm glow.
Soon she started feeling nauseous each morning, missed her doctors appointments, and at eighteen she had to get a medical note to rush to the registry office with a very eager Victor.
Their married life began, and at the same time her brief romance fizzled. They moved into Victors house. Victors mother and aunt didnt spoil her, but they gave her a modest room. What could you do? She wasnt the first, nor the last, to make do. Maybe it was for the best; a baby would come, Victor would settle down.
A girl from the estate jeered, Lucky you, city life now. Mabel just smiled. She didnt need to brag that city living was just a label. Her flat was in a culdesac with village comforts, water still came from the communal taps at the end of the lane. She didnt complain; she was used to it. Shed fetch water bucket by bucket, her feet getting cold, and in that chill the future childs life began to stir. Her motherinlaw scolded her, but why would she?
Victor seemed to care for a while, maybe a day or two, then disappeared with his mates. His mum and aunt let Mabel stay, helping around the house. Maybe something could work out, but it didnt. After a while Victor brought a new woman, declared he never loved Mabel, never had.
Mabel told her friends, burst into tears, but it was short. Shed been unloved all her life, so this was just another blow. She packed a few things, obeyed the motherinlaws orders to go anywhere, and shut the door behind her.
She moved into a factory dormitory. There was a mess hall, a block near the gates, a club right next door. Live, laugh, love, theyd say. She joined the other workers, went to the club, caught a film now and then. She visited her mother, stepdad and brother rarely; they didnt expect her, and she didnt push.
Grandma Margaret passed away when Mabel was twentyone. Mabel attended the funeral, looked at the old places one last time. Margarets house was left to her beloved granddaughters Lily and Rosie. Mabel didnt hold a grudge they were the darlings, the cherry on the cake. She was the trimmed-off piece, the unloved grandchild.
If Mabel had claimed any inheritance, the cousins would have torn each other apart over Grandmas modest £500. The loudest were Claras screams, wailing that the greedy aunt hadnt left a bent spoon for dear Charlie. Wasnt he a grandson too? As for Mabel, she never got a spoon.
Mabel tried a couple of times to settle her life, dated men, but nothing stuck. No suitor ever took her to the registry office, so she never really rushed there. Shed been there once; that was enough.
Both relationships fell apart for similar reasons: one bloke drank and cheated, the other drank and hit. You pick which is worse. Mabel was relieved she never tangled with the registry office again a mess would have followed anyway. She threw her few belongings into a cheap suitcase and returned to the dorm, back to the friends whod become her family.
Evenings in the dorm she didnt rush. Shed been hopping between halls for over a decade, weary of strangers beds. By the time she was nearly thirty, any woman wants her own corner, her own kettle on her shelf. Single folks got the backofthequeue flats; families got the better spots.
Sometimes shed pop into Aunt Alices little flat at the factory, where Alice washed floors in the evenings. After a few months of chats, Alice said, Mabel, a year ago my niece died in childbirth, left a little girl and her husband, Matt. Ive been watching you youre strong, a hard worker. Matts a decent bloke, drinks only on holidays, gentle. He might not be a smooth talker, but hes kind. Think about it, love. The girl will need a mum.
Mabel thought it over and moved in with Matt. She spruced up his room for May, bought curtains, sewed tiny dresses from yellow and blue fabric. The little girl, Sophie, soon started babbling, calling her Mum.
Matt was gentle, paid his wages, never raised his voice. He never said I love you, but after three years of marriage Mabel stopped expecting those words. Shed learned to be fine without them, given her whole life of being unloved.
Then one day Sophie burst from the garden, clutching a bunch of dandelions, ran to Mabel, planted a kiss on her cheek and whispered, Mum, I love you more than anyone, more than Daddy, more than Aunt Alice, more than my doll Yulia.
Mabel held her daughter, laughing and crying at once, finally feeling the love shed never known.
A year later she gave birth to little Iain. Matt adored the baby, got up at night to change diapers, pulled the stroller up the stairs. The factory gave them a big, bright flat. Live well, be happy, they said, and she finally had something to be happy about.
They raised their kids, watched grandchildren grow. In the cottage garden, greyhaired Mabel boiled jam, while the little ones ran around.
Grandma, I love you, shouted Olivia.
And I love you, echoed Dennis.
I wuv you, babbled baby Molly.
Granddad Matt chuckled, We all love our granny, hide your smile in those silver whiskers.
Mabel wiped away a stray tear, amazed how a girl once born unloved could end up surrounded by love.
