James pressed on, “ Mrs Svenson, as you well know I am actually Marge’s husband and not her boyfriend. We got married up in Alaska two weeks ago. I’m sorry we didn’t invite you, but it was all last minute and it was a very small ceremony.”
James saw his mother-in-law’s mouth purse so tight it resembled his cat Maggie’s bum. “I wouldn’t have been able to come anyway.” Her voice took on a horrible whine, “Not in my state of health. I can hardly walk and I can’t keep anything down, not that Marjorie would care.”
James looked at her ample figure and thought she could do with losing more than a few pounds. There was clearly nothing wrong with her and she was obviously lying about not being able to eat and, if she couldn’t get around, it was because she was bone idle.
‘Christ,’ he thought. ‘Poor Marge dealing with this horrible old bag. Whatever happened to the Minnesota Nice I’ve always heard so much about? I thought they were all super polite and at least outwardly friendly here, even if they loathed each other.’
He ploughed on regardless, “You see, we didn’t want any fuss and Marge said you wouldn’t have wanted to travel all that way up there. But we wanted to come down to see you and share the good news in person.”
This was a long speech from James, who was a man of few words, but he had seen the hurt and fear in his new wife’s eyes, and already he despised this horrible bully who obviously thought of his Marge as her very own long-suffering slave. No wonder she had left home and headed north to Alaska in search of a way out. He felt a rush of tenderness for his new wife.
They had initially planned to set up home with Marge’s mother until finding a place of their own nearby, but clearly that would have made them both deeply miserable and killed their marriage. James reckoned Mrs Gertrude Svenson would have taken a grim enjoyment having them living with her, giving her something to whinge and moan about, and she’d get a real kick out of making their lives unbearable. James would never give her the satisfaction.
So instead, James and Marge decided to go back up north to Alaska. James to finally apply for a job as a supervisor on the new oil fields in the very far north, and Marge to put in for a job in the library. They ended up moving to Barrow, the most northerly town in Alaska, with a population of just four thousand people, most of them Inuits. It was an isolated and quiet life and they rubbed along happily enough.
Although she loved James, sex was a duty for Marge and she forced herself to lift her nightie, shut her eyes and bear her husband’s clumsy lovemaking once a week.
After James retired, they moved south back to Fairfax into a modest little house on the outskirts of town.
They both found it a bit too noisy and busy after the stark calm and quiet of Barrow, and they missed the awe-inspiring northern lights and sense of isolation, but Marge soon made a circle of friends through her bridge club and volunteering at the local charity shop.
James mostly read his Scottish history books, listened to his new Beethoven collection and watched the PSB channel for historical documentaries. Their lives were uncomplicated and reassuringly dull.
That was until 1978 when Marge hit forty-five and found her periods had petered out and weight had gathered around her belly. She chalked it up to ‘the change’ but when she went to the doctor with agonising stomach cramps, she was shocked to be told that not only was she pregnant, but the baby was on the way.
“At my age. That can’t be possible,” she gasped. Their doctor smiled at her, “It’s certainly unusual but not impossible. I had a mother and daughter in here last week. Both pregnant. The daughter was twenty-four and the mom a year older than you.” Marge looked at him with a mixture of panic, but also a glimmer of hope in her eyes.
She had longed to have a child, and in the early years of marriage had hoped she might conceive, but it wasn’t to be.
She had told herself over and over again she would be nothing like her own mother. Marge had gone through the ordeal of a cold and lonely childhood, and she wanted a chance to surround a cherished baby of her own with love and care.
Back then she had knitted some tiny white cardigans and delicate blankets, wrapping them in tissue paper and putting them away in her bottom drawer. As the years passed with every month being a disappointment, she had given up on her dream and passed on the precious tiny clothes to new mothers she hardly knew.
She and James rarely had sex these days, but she remembered that after a bottle of cheap red wine at Thanksgiving, they had a quick fumble before going to bed. Now here was the result. She gave a deep sigh. This was simply overwhelming. She couldn’t believe she was in labour and started to panic.
“I’ve nothing ready for this child. I don’t have a crib or any nappies or clothes. I can’t be having a baby at my age. You must have made a mistake.”
The doctor patted her arm. “Don’t worry. You’re in good health and everything seems to be perfectly normal. There’s still time to get you to the hospital. I’ve called for an ambulance.”
Marge was becoming tearful, “My husband is too old to be a dad. He’s almost sixty and he’s never wanted children. I don’t know how I’m going to tell him.”
“Well now, Marge, he’s certainly going to find out pretty soon. So dry your eyes and wait here while I give him a call. These things have a way of working out. You’ll see.”
Once James had recovered from the shock, he surprised himself by being overjoyed to find out he was going to be a dad. As he’d grown older, he’d had pangs of regret aboutnever getting to know his daughter Cara back in Orkney. He had often thought about writing to Sheila to find out how she was doing, but he always put it off, and after a while he felt too much time had gone by. She would be thirty-two now – possibly with her own family.
Maybe he could now tell Marge about Cara when they had their own child.
He drove to the hospital hoping that this wouldn’t be too much for his Marge. She’d been complaining about stomach pains and feeling tired these past few months and he hadn’t paid enough attention.
‘I’ve taken her for granted,’ he thought guiltily. ‘But I will make it up to her and I need to let her know our baby will have the best of everything.’
He paced up and down the waiting room, drank endless cups of what could have been either tea or coffee from an old vending machine, and worked himself up into a state.
Once again, he thought of how he had left Sheila to have Cara on her own all those years ago, even if that’s what she said she wanted at the time.
‘I was a selfish bastard,’ he told himself. ‘But now I have another chance to be a father and I will not screw it up.’ He was allowed into the room once his newborn daughter had been washed and weighed and put into a borrowed white baby gown.
James gazed at the red-faced furious babe in her mother’s arms, chuckled, shook his head in wonder and exclaimed, “There’s life in the old dog yet. Who would ever have thought it?”
