Looking back now, I can still hear the distant hum of the Cotswold hills where it all began. Philip had loved Eleanor ever since they shared a bench in the schoolyard, and they had always whispered about a future wedding.
Philips mother, Agnes Hartley, ran the matrons office at St.Marys Hospital. She never approved of her sons choice. For years she had favoured Clara, a young nurse whose smile was adored by doctors, patients and the whole ward staff alikea girl from a long line of physicians.
When the school bell rang, Philip went off to study medicine, while Eleanor enrolled at the School of Modern Languages, hoping to follow in the footsteps of her mother and grandmother as an English translator. Their fellow students, eager for a break, suggested a weekend in the countryside and led the party to Philips family cottage in the Cotswolds.
They lingered there for almost a month, reluctant to return to the city. At last the term began, and they all had to prepare for lectures.
One crisp autumn afternoon Eleanor slipped a note into Philips hands.
I’m with child. How will you react? she wrote.
What else would I do? Ill lift you straight to the register office, Philip replied with a grin.
Im not light, and Im heavy now, she added.
Scare a former school wrestler? I used to grapple in the gym. To me youre as light as a feather, Philip joked, delighted.
But what about our studies? she asked.
School, right, love. Youll probably need a years break after the baby, he said, fondly calling her Lizzy.
Ill switch to distance learning, like my mum did. She had me at nineteen and managed everything. Lets agree, Phil: after the wedding youll move in with us, and keep your mother at arms length. Shell never accept me; shes a character, you know, Eleanor murmured.
Only for your peace of mind, Lizzy, Philip agreed.
They lodged their marriage notice at the register office and then went their separate ways. At Eleanors flat there were guests; a friend of her father arrived with his wife and their sixteenyearold son, Albert, who looked older than his years.
Back at his family home, Philip announced the news to his parents, urging them to start planning the wedding. Agnes, however, was not pleased. That evening she marched to Eleanors parents house, intent on stirring trouble. She rang the bell several times, but the door stayed shut. Inside, a gramophone was playing a lilting tune that drowned out the chime, and no one seemed to notice a stranger at the door. Albert was taking a shower; the sudden ringing surprised him, and he wrapped a towel round his hips before shuffling to the hallway.
Agnes, spotting the phone in her pocket, began recording the moment, focusing the camera on Alberts halfclothed figure.
Are you here to see Mrs. Hartley? Albert asked, puzzled by the womans frantic gestures.
Not any longer, Agnes replied, hurrying down the stairs.
Back home she showed Philip the footage, emphasizing how long it had taken for the door to be opened.
Do you recognise the hallway? We still have no idea whos carrying your child, she said.
I get it, Mother. You were right. She isnt the one for me, Philip muttered.
He sent a furious text to Eleanor, then switched his phone off. Eleanor, bewildered, tried calling again, then, despite the late hour, made her way to his house.
Agnes, anticipating Eleanors arrival, watched her from the upstairs window. When she saw the girl, she flung the front door open herself, stepped onto the landing and blocked Eleanors entry.
What do you want with Philip? Hes already in bed. And you, playing both sides? Keep seeing other men, you twofaced witch, Agnes snarled, then slammed the door on its hinges and retreated to her own flat.
Eleanor stood on the step, tears streaming, before finally returning home. In the kitchen, her mother, Margaret Hartley, was washing the evening dishes. Eleanor collapsed into her arms.
Lizzy, whats the matter? The wedding is near; you should be happy, her mother asked.
There wont be a wedding at all. Im carrying his child, and his mother has made a mess of things since we lodged the notice, Eleanor sobbed, showing Margaret a message from Philip accusing her of infidelity.
If Philip acts like that, hell stay under his mothers thumb forever. God has taken him away from you. Well raise the child ourselves, Margaret tried to soothe her.
The pregnancy proved difficult. One night, while Eleanors parents were at work, she was rushed to the maternity ward. Under anaesthetic she delivered a son, only to be told moments later that the baby was stillborn. The paperwork was swift; the tiny body was returned to the parents, who buried him quietly. Eleanor, still confined to the ward, missed the funeral.
Soon after, Philips parents sold their house and moved away from the village.
Its for the best, love, Agnes said to her daughter. Youve tangled with Philip long enough; hell just stroll past you with that haughty look.
I hope Ill forget him sooner, Margaret replied.
Eight years slipped by. Eleanor worked as a translator for a modest firm in Manchester. One morning Philip appeared in her office, his coat damp from the rain.
Why have you resurfaced now? Ive long since put you out of my thoughts, Eleanor said, barely looking up.
Im sorry, but tragedy has forced me back to you, he replied.
Thats a strange excuse, Phil. Youve got a good mothertalk to her about your woes. I have no time for you. Please leave, Eleanor snapped, turning back to her screen.
Lizzy, I beg you to hear me. It matters to you too. Ill wait at the café across the street after work, Philip pleaded.
Ill only come out of curiosity, Eleanor muttered, signalling the end of the conversation.
That evening they met again, this time on a quiet street.
Im sorry, Lizzy, but my son is ill and needs a donor, Philip said, eyes pleading.
Youve got the wrong address. Your mother has deeper pockets in this part of town, she retorted.
Weve been waiting, but no donor has turned up. Ive even put my flat up for sale. Youre a mother; you have a better chance of helping our son, he urged.
Is this a joke? Our child was stillborn. My parents buried him, Eleanor shot back.
Hes alive, eight years old now, Philip whispered.
How? she demanded.
Remember the day we filed our marriage notice? he asked.
Ill never forget the hateful message you sent, she replied.
Philip recounted the tale his mother had told him about the night she had filmed Albert in the hallway. Eleanor explained who Albert was, and Philips face went ashen. He still loved her, and he had never remarried. She, too, had stayed single, fearing another loss.
What about our son? Eleanor pressed. What did your mother do?
When you were in the maternity ward, my mother was there. She saw you being wheeled down the corridor to surgery. She guessed, halfwildly, that the baby might be mine. The test confirmed my paternity, but she refused to let you keep the child. Im to blame for going along. My grudge haunted me, and now God has punished usour son, Samuel, is ill.
Lets take him to the clinic. Test for compatibility. If youre not a match, then he must share my blood type, which is O, Philip said.
Yes, Im a thirdorder donor, Eleanor replied, her hands trembling.
In the sterile ward, Samuel looked up at his mother with eyes full of hope.
Samuel, weve finally found you. Weve been lost for so long, but people have helped us meet, Philip whispered, his voice breaking.
Mother, Ive imagined you this way for years, though we never had your picture, Samuel said, clutching her hand.
Everything will be alright, love. Im here, and Ill do anything to make you well, Eleanor sobbed, hugging her son.
The tests came back compatible; Samuels condition improved. Philip sold the remaining property, paid the clinics fees, and the three of them moved into a modest flat shared with Eleanors parents.
Lizzy, forgive me. We must marry, and you should have another child. Our sons doctor says a sibling would be a better donor than a parent, Philip urged.
Ive read about that, Phil. For the sake of our children, Im ready for anything, Eleanor answered.
They wed, and now, alongside Samuel, they raise two more childrena boy and a girlfilling their home with laughter that once seemed impossible.
Leave a Reply