There have always been three of us in my marriage. Me, my husband Gerry, and Gerry's mum Dorothea. I remember hearing that immortal comment from Princess Diana years ago, and thinking at the time that I knew exactly how she felt. Because there are very many different ways that a marriage can involve three people. And seldom, in my observations at least, does a marital relationship involve just two. Strangely, I don't think Dorothea had given much thought to my relationship with her son; it was something she did not worry her pretty head about. Until, our wedding day, when the awful realisation that he would actually leave her to live with another woman finally struck. She began to sniffle when he slipped the ring on my finger, and I thought that was fairly acceptable, the done thing in an emotional moment. However, her sobs were uncontrollable as the ink dried on the newly-signed register, and when we strode down the aisle as man and wife and her hiccupping wails began to reverberate eerily around the church, drowning out the beautiful melodic organ and soaking her corsage of white freesias, I knew I was done for. I managed to shrug off the first five years. The finger marks on my dusty mantel when she visited, the drawn-out stories of how she loved to cook Gerry's favourite meals and a list of the ingredients and methods she recommended. 'I'll show you if you like ...' There were countless thoughtless comments over the years, beginning with the classic "doesn't that wedding dress make his suit stand out nice", as we showed off our wedding photographs, and the family reunion where she informed the gathered throng that "Gerry was going to take me on a trip to the USA - but then he got married instead." And although I yearned for a bit of motherly love of my own, to be part of this new family, I realised her love would never come my way. It was nothing personal against me, and I knew I'd done nothing wrong, but her ability to love me as a daughter in law was simply prohibited by her blind love for my husband, Gerry, her son. Of course, Gerry shrugged it off too, as I suppose any man would stuck in the middle of two such devoted women and eager to please us both without upsetting the other. Then Gerry's dad died, and I was the one who lost her husband - completely and relentlessly, or so it felt. And how wretched and evil I felt then, begrudging her my husband’s company while I hankered for it myself. She was on her own, grieving. What right did I have to feel so bereft myself? Gerry agreed. 'She's my mother! I can't abandon her when she needs me. When we have kids, you'd want them to be supportive, wouldn't you? I'm all she's got!' He was right, and I was unfair. Began to pine to spend time with Gerry. Somehow she always seemed to need him on the occasions I'd looked forward to, the times we'd planned to spend time together. My birthday, when he'd booked a meal in our favourite restaurant. She was feeling low, desperate; he had to go to her. Valentine's Day, when I'd booked a weekend away and she couldn't be on her own, was feeling particularly needy. But wasn't I too? I seemed to be growing needier by the minute. I remonstrated with myself, pushed my thoughts aside as any selfish woman should. Then our beautiful daughter, Ruby, arrived. When we'd almost given up trying. And if my presence couldn't keep him at home, then Ruby - with her dark hair and china blue eyes, and rapacious love for us both, most certainly could. With just a dimpled smile and chubby, outstretched arms. Now there were four of us in my marriage. But this beautiful addition didn't worry me at all, because she loved us both equally. Of course, Gerry was besotted, and I often had to shield the calls, be the bad guy who said he "was out with Ruby, reading a story to Ruby, giving Ruby a bath." Would ring back later. I could sense Dorothea's surprise down the telephone line - she'd never come second before in this race for attention. And although she minded at first, Ruby was her first, and long awaited, grandchild and she loved her passionately. Began to spend time with her when I went shopping, babysat her when Gerry and I went out together, and slowly and steadily, began to rekindle our passion. More strikingly, Dorothea seemed aware of me now, as if for the first time, smiled and laughed in my company, said on one memorable occasion what a wonderful mother I was. So giving, so sharing. 'I never wanted to share Gerry with anyone ...' she said slowly, regarding me with a wary smile. 'I am so sorry ...' 'I know ... I know ...' Tonight is Valentine's night, and after a special meal, we're spending the night in a hotel. Leaving our precious daughter with granny. For what better solution could there possibly be to our love triangle, than a new member. Now Dorothea pushes us eagerly through the door. 'It's fine, you two go off and leave me in charge! Ruby and I have the evening planned!' I look at Gerry, the handsome, kind-hearted man I married, who struggled for years to be fair to both Dorothea and me. I see his eyes dance with the realisation that Ruby's arrival has finally delivered his freedom. 'Hi, sweetheart.' I whisper, snuggling up to him on the hotel's four-poster bed, sipping champagne. 'I've missed you so.' Gerry takes my glass, rests it on the bedside table, and pulls me into his arms for a long, passionate kiss. 'Me too, my darling. Me too!' | 
