Ive loved Eleanor since we were schoolmates, and we always talked about tying the knot someday.
My mother, Agnes Whitaker, ran the maternity ward at StThomas Hospital, and she never approved of my choice. Shed long favoured a nurse named Clara, a girl beloved by the staff and patients alike, coming from a line of doctors.
After school, I went off to study medicine at Oxford, while Eleanor enrolled in a foreignlanguages college in Cambridge, hoping to become an English translator like her mother and grandmother. Our friends decided to mark the occasion with a weekend in the countryside, so we all headed to my familys old cottage in the Yorkshire Dales.
We lingered there for almost a month, reluctant to leave, but the new term was fast approaching and we had to get ready.
One crisp autumn day Eleanor turned to me and said, Im pregnant. How do you feel about that?
I laughed, What do you think? Of course Ill whisk you off to the registry office.
She sighed, Im not exactly light, you know.
I teased, A sportsman like me can handle a featherweight. I used to wrestle at school, after all.
She asked, But what about our studies?
I answered, Youll need to take a year off after the birth, love. Ill support you, just as my mother did she had me at nineteen and managed everything. Once were married, youll move in with us, but keep a respectful distance from my mum. Shes a character, and Ive long known shell never accept you.
Only for your peace of mind, dear, I agreed.
We filed our notice at the register office and then went our separate ways. Eleanors flat was full of guests. One of her fathers old friends arrived with his wife and their son, Alex, a sixteenyearold who looked older than his years.
Back at home I told my parents about the upcoming wedding, urging them to start preparations. Agnes disliked the news and that evening she made a point of marching over to Eleanors parents house to cause a scene. She rang the doorbell repeatedly, but no one answered. Inside, they were setting the table and a piece of music, oddly reminiscent of a doorbell tune, filled the lounge. Alex was in the shower and, hearing the rattling, wrapped a towel around his hips and opened the door.
Agnes, momentarily stunned, pulled out her phone, hit record and began filming the hallway, focusing on the halfdressed Alex.
Are you here to see Aunt Anne? Alex asked, not catching the motion of her phone.
No, Agnes replied, hurrying down the stairs.
Later she showed me the clip, pointing out how long it took Alex to answer. Do you recognise that hallway? Still no idea who Eleanors babys father is.
I get it, Mum. You were right. She isnt the one for me, I said.
I sent Eleanor a furious text, then switched my phone off. She didnt hear a word, but she still tried to reach me, showing up at my doorstep well past midnight.
Id anticipated her coming, and from the window I watched her approach. When she got close, I rushed to the hallway and flung the door open myself. I stopped her at the landing, refusing her entry.
What do you want with Philip? Hes already in bed. And you, playing both sides? Keep seeing other men, you twofaced thing, I snapped, then slammed the door behind her as I retreated to my flat.
Eleanor stood on the stairs, bewildered, tears spilling over her cheeks. After a while she went back home. In the kitchen, Anne Whitaker was washing dishes when her daughter, still sobbing, threw herself into her arms.
Liza, whats the matter? The weddings near; you should be happy.
Mother, theres nothing left but that Im carrying his child. It seems his mother stirred trouble after she learned wed applied for marriage, she sobbed, showing a message from me accusing her of cheating.
If Philip behaves like this, hell stay obedient to his parents. God has taken him away from you. Well raise the child ourselves, Anne tried to console her.
After the fallout, Eleanors pregnancy proved difficult. She was rushed to the maternity ward while her parents were at work. The doctors had to deliver the baby under anesthesia, but the infant was stillborn.
The paperwork handed us the tiny wrapped body, which we buried ourselves. Eleanor remained in the ward, missing the wedding ceremony.
Soon after, my parents sold our flat and moved away from the neighbourhood. Its for the best, love, my mother said. Youve had enough trouble with Philip; hell just stroll past with his nose in the air.
I hope Ill forget him faster, I replied.
Eight years later, Eleanor was working as a translator for a small firm when I walked into her office.
Why are you back in my life? Ive long since moved on, she said coldly.
Im sorry, but tragedy has brought me here, I replied.
Your mothers a nightmare. Take your problems to her. Ive no time for you. Get out of my office, she snapped.
Liza, please listen. It matters to you too. Meet me at the café across the street after work, I pleaded.
Ill only come out of curiosity, she said, turning back to her screen, ending the conversation.
That evening we met outside the café.
Im sorry, Liza, but my son is ill and needs a donor, I said.
Youve got the wrong address, Philip. Your mother has more resources in this area, she replied.
Weve been waiting, and no donor is available. Ive even put my flat up for sale. As a mother you stand a better chance of helping, I urged.
Is this a joke? Our son was stillborn. My parents buried him, she retorted.
Hes alive now, eight years old, I said.
How? she asked, stunned.
Remember the day we filed our marriage notice? I reminded her.
Youll never forget that nasty message, she muttered.
I repeated the story my mother had told me about seeing a young woman in the hallway. Eleanor explained who Sam was, and I went pale. I still loved her, and Id never married. She, too, remained single, fearing another pregnancy loss.
Phil, tell me about your mothers part in all this, she asked.
When you were in the maternity ward, my mother saw you being wheeled to the operating theatre. She guessed halfheartedly that the baby might be mine. The test proved paternity, but she refused to let you keep the child. Im to blame for agreeing to that. My grudge haunted me, and now God seems to be punishing me; our son, Samuel, is ill.
Lets get tested for compatibility. If Im not a match, he must share my blood type, I suggested.
Yes, Im typeO, youre typeA, she said.
My hands shook as we entered the clinic. In a small ward, Samuel looked up at us.
Samuel, weve finally found our mother, I said, while Eleanor could only stare.
Mom, Ive been waiting for you, he whispered, though we had no photographs of us at home.
Son, everything will be alright. Im here and Ill do anything to make you well, Eleanor cried, hugging him.
The doctors say your mothers a match, so the transplant can go ahead, they announced. Samuel recovered. I sold the remaining flat, settled the clinics bill, and we moved into a modest house with Eleanors parents.
Liza, forgive me. We need to marry, and you should have another child. Our son needs a sibling donor, I pleaded.
Ive read about that, Philip. For our childrens health Ill do whatever it takes, she answered.
We wed, and now, besides Samuel, were raising two more childrena boy and a girl.