17April
I cant shake the feeling that Im about to become the cause of endless arguments between my father and my future husbands family. If anyone had warned me that Id be the spark for old grievances, Id have made them take it back. Im just a simple country girl, but I can stand up for myself when I have to. Still, nothing prepared me for the seven circles of hell Id have to run through just to find a sliver of happiness.
Just a few weeks ago I left the village for the first time. I begged Mum not to send me to my Aunt Margaret, but at the family meeting it was decided that I would be the one to gothere was no one else. My father, George, used to be a tractor driver; now the fields are swamped with endless work. Mum keeps the farm running, while my brothers and sisters are scattered between school and nursery. I packed a tiny suitcase with the bare essentials and set off to Aunt Margarets cottage, a place Id only ever seen once at a christening.
Aunt Margaret has a reputation for being difficult; she never got along with any of her three husbands and never had children of her own. Deep down my parents hoped Id inherit the little house and pass it on to her niece. Thats exactly what happened, but the relationship has always been distant. She never asks about my life and keeps her own world shut tight. I often wonder why she even wants me there. Lately shes become frightened that shell die unnoticed, that her body will rot in the house until the stench forces someone to call the police. Shes been battling an incurable illness for years, convinced that death could come tomorrow, and Ive become her unwelcome but reliable helperwashing, cooking, cleaning, shoppinganything she asks of me. I have no friends here; after a hard day I used to sit on a bench with other girls back home, but now Im confined to the flat. The only escape is the balcony, where I can watch young mums strolling with prams or elderly ladies gossiping at the lift landing. My life feels split in two: the exhausting errands for a sick aunt, and the brief, blissful moments when Aunt Margaret nods off after her painkillers, letting me sip a fragrant cup of tea on the balcony in peace.
One afternoon I noticed a handsome neighbour, Andrew Morgan, popping his head out onto his balcony at the same time as me. At first we merely nodded, pretending not to notice each other. Then we started saying hello, and soon our exchanges felt like the flutter of a first crush. We both rushed to the balcony, hoping to catch a glimpse of the other. By the time Aunt Margaret passed away, Andrew and I were already confiding our feelings. After the funeral I told my parents I was going to apply for university, though they sensed the real reason. They didnt argue.
I was certain of my love for Andrew, and he seemed sure of his for me. He lived alone; his mother remarried after a divorce and moved to America, his father works as a doctor in Kenya, visiting only once a year. Our wedding was modest but joyous, and we felt like the happiest couple on earth, ready to spend our lives side by side.
Andrew followed his fathers footsteps, training as a surgeon and now working as a junior doctor at the city hospital. I wanted to be more than just his wife, so I enrolled in a nursing course and managed to get in. I imagined us working together, saving patients, but life had other plans.
Emma, Dads arriving next week! Get everything ready, Andrew shouted one evening.
What does he like? Should I buy groceries, plan a menu, do a deep clean? I replied, halflaughing.
Relax, love. Hes not the king of Kenya, just my dad, a simple man.
Still I fretted. The photos showed a fit, tanned man, looking almost Mediterranean, but looks can be deceiving. What if he turned out to be a snob or a perfectionist, finding fault in everything? What if Andrew decided I wasnt good enough and left? Yet when my fatherinlaw, David Whitaker, finally stepped through the door, he was a warm, apologetic man. He kissed Andrew and me, thanked us for the meal Id preparedcalling it the best hed ever tastedthen left to visit old friends. A month flew by before he returned to Kenya, leaving us alone.
Sometimes I wondered why my motherinlaw seemed eager to swap David for someone else. The man was an excellent cook, even rising early to make delicate crêpes that most housewives would struggle with. He helped with chores and, before he left, gave his son a piece of advice:
Lucky youve got a good wife. Look after Emma, support her, or youll miss out on happiness.
Andrew would smile quietly, thinking that Emma would never run away. He knew I was the type who wouldnt abandon everything, even if my husband strayed. Id forgive him, carry on as if nothing had happenedrural life teaches you to endure for the sake of children.
When a junior nurse flirted with him, Andrew threw himself into a new romance, hardly noticing that I was battling a severe morning sickness that left me unable to cook. He would come home, eat his dinner, drive Karina home, then pretend to be exhausted and retire to his room. I felt invisible, yet I was thrilled at the thought of becoming a mother and terrified of failing, though I had such a caring husband.
The birth was chaotic. Milk ran short, the baby cried incessantly. Andrew snapped, demanding I soothe the child while he retreated to the lounge. When David returned, he barely recognised mea oncecheerful, rosycheeked woman now pale and gaunt, a shadow of herself. My husband, meanwhile, had grown thinner, his eyes tired.
Help your wife, will you? David asked.
Shes at home all day, maybe she could look after the child a bit?
Do you have a new lady?
Why ask?
I see you brightening up when youre out, and getting irritated when youre back.
Nothing serious, Dad.
Just make sure it doesnt turn serious.
Emmas to blame. Shes lost her glowsee her hair, her face?
And youre to blame too. She barely rests.
Davids words cut deep, but he also offered help. Hed sit with the baby while I tried to nap, feeding and soothing her whenever I was swamped. I thanked him constantly, praying for a partner whod bring me peace. The thought of him in Kenya, alone, made me realise how much hed become to memore than a fatherinlaw, a brother, a friend. I could talk to him about anything; hed listen, support, and ease my gloom.
One day he handed me a few pounds and said, Take yourself to the salonhaircut, colour, makeup, manicure. Then shop for something nice. Ill look after your daughter. I darted off, planted a quick kiss on his cheek, and fulfilled his wishes. By evening I was radiant, strolling back home, feeling almost daring enough to surprise Andrew.
I knocked on the clinics door, announcing, Id like to see Dr. Andrew Morgan.
He was there, but not alone. A young nurse sat on his lap, her coat halfunbuttoned, clearly not there for a routine checkup. I felt as if Id been shot, fled in a taxi, and broke down on the way home.
What happened, love? Andrews mother asked when I finally arrived, eyes wide.
Hes cheating I saw it with my own eyes.
Who told you? I whispered.
David wrapped his arms around me, stroking my hair.
Cry, sweetheart, itll ease the pain. Ill talk to him, make him come back.
Im leaving, taking the baby.
Dont you think about the village? Life isnt easy, work is hard, and a small child needs a mother.
No one had held me like that in ages. Andrew and I had been sleeping in separate rooms for months; the scent of his aftershave and his soothing words had once steadied me. David, too, felt an urgent pullhe saw my fragility and wanted to protect it. He lifted me gently, carried me to the bedroom, and I didnt resist. We shared a secret that only we knew, and Andrew, oblivious, never apologized; he simply acted as if nothing had happened, while I remained silent, torn between shame and the strange comfort of being cherished.
Soon after, I discovered I was pregnant again. I was terrifiedhow could I tell Andrew? Our intimacy had been a few months ago, and any suspicion would doom me.
Whats worrying you? David asked, smiling. Its wonderful! I never thought Id be a father at fifty. Will you marry me?
And Andrew? I asked.
What about Andrew? Hes at fault too. Hell leave eventually, but I love you and cant live without you.
We divorced, David and I married and moved to Kenya. My parents couldnt understand; the villagers whispered that Id pretended to be modest but was really scheming. Andrew, for his part, kept bragging about how cruel his exwife and father were. But none of that mattered. We were happy to have found each other and to cherish every moment we now shared.
