The Return
Mary feels unwell as soon as she steps onto the platform.
She barely makes it to the nearest bin, bending over it, feeling her expensive coat brush against the cold, iron-cast rimalready crusted with ice and grime.
Miss, are you alright? comes a warm, local accent.
Go away she mutters.
Mary straightens up. Around her, people float past like figures in a silent filmpuffer jackets, battered holdalls, nets brimming with potatoes.
The air is thick with the smell of diesel, cheap tobacco, and that particular damp, small-town mustiness that always triggers Marys migraines.
She loathes this town. Hates it with the pure, clinical hatred of someone who ran away fifteen years ago and did everything to lose the path that led back.
Her phone buzzes in her coat pocket.
Father.
Mary, where are you? Im out with the car, waiting to pick you up.
Ill get a taxi, she snaps. Dont pick me up. Just give me the address for the hospital.
Mums not at the hospital. She was discharged yesterday. Blood pressure dropped, so theyve sent her home to recover. Ill bring you round
Shes home? Mary feels her jaw clench. Are you kidding? I came all this way over nothing?
Mary, dont get wound up. Mums been waiting for you. Shes made pasties.
Oh for heavens sakepasties?!
She hangs up on him.
***
The house she grew up in seems even smaller now.
Mary hovers in the entrance hallway, eyeing the battered door with its peeling vinyl. The neighbours cat is already winding around her legs, leaving tufts of ginger fur on her boots. Theres the familiar tang of cabbage soup, cats, and something sweet drifting through the building. Its always smelt like this. Always.
She walks in without knocking.
Mum is sitting at the kitchen table. Tiny, grey-haired, hunched in a faded housecoat, her nightie peeking out underneath.
When she sees her daughter, she claps her hands, her face lighting up with joy and guilt all at onceand Mary shudders.
Mary! Darling! I thought youd be here by the evening
I told you not to lie to me. Mary doesnt remove her boots. She stands rooted in the hallway. Do you realise my contract nearly fell through because of this? I spent the night on that train so I could visit you in intensive care, and youre sitting here baking pasties?
Mum withers, hands falling to her sides.
Mary, Im sorry. I didnt want to frighten you. Its only my blood pressure nothing to fuss over. But I missed you
Its called lying. Mary kicks off her boots and flings them into the corner. Right. Wheres the blood pressure monitor? Lets check you over and Ill get a room at the hotel. Im not staying here tonight.
Stay with me, darling
Mum, your loos leaking, the radiators are barely warm, and the neighbours are swearing so loudly it shakes the walls. I cant stay here. Physically cant.
She walks through to the kitchen and sits. On the table is a plate of pastiesgolden, still warm. Mary doesnt even glance at them.
Hand me the monitor.
Mum fetches the old, manual one with the rubber bulb.
What is this? Mary grimaces. You couldnt buy a proper one? I sent you money.
I put it in the savings. For you. Just in case.
Oh, for goodness sake
Mary pumps the bulb. The numbers blur together in front of her eyes.
One sixty over ninety. Seriously, Mumdo you eat salt by the spoon?
Just a little
Enough. Tomorrow Ill get you proper tablets. And a new machine. For now, Im tired. Where can I sleep?
Mum hurries to make up a bed somewhere, and Mary just sits at the kitchen table, staring out at the endless rows of grim grey flats, thinking only: Please dont let me get stuck here. Please let me leave tomorrow.
***
She doesnt sleep that night.
The sofa is too short; the springs prod her back. Behind the wall, the neighbours row and then brawl. She listens to a woman screaming and a man swearing for England.
Mary stares at the ceiling. Theres that old crack she remembers from childhoodit used to look like a lightning bolt. Now it just reminds her the house is falling apart.
Near dawn, she drifts off. She dreams shes a child again, walking through the market with her mum, her mum handing her a hot pasty filled with jam and dusted with sugar. She remembers how happy she felt.
She wakes crying.
Tears stream silently, and she cant stop them. Clutching her pillow, she sobs into the sheet.
Its quiet behind the wall now. Only the tick-tock of the ancient clocks, the same ones Mum always promises to throw out.
Mary? comes Mums voice from the door. Are you awake?
Yeah, Mary rasps.
Theres someone come to see you.
Who?
Im not sure. Young lady calls herself Sophie. Ring any bells?
Mary sits up. Sophie? Which Sophie?
She pulls on a dressing gown and steps out.
Before her stands Sophiethe very Sophie shed grown up with. Best mate at school. The friend Mary left behind without a word when she moved to London.
Sophie looks much the same. Fair hair pulled back in a ponytail, the same dimples in her cheeksthough the eyes have faded, with dark hollows beneath.
Alright, Sophie says cheerfully. Your mum said youd arrived. Thought Id pop round. Its been fifteen years.
Mary freezes. She wants to say something sharpmaybe, How did you find me? or Actually, Im quite busybut the words dont come.
Come in, she manages.
They settle at the kitchen table. Mum, sensing shes in the way, pops off next door. Sophie wraps her mug in her hands and sips tea.
Im married, she says. Got a daughter, Emily. Shes seven. Starting school soon.
Congratulations, says Mary with a quick nod.
What about you? Sophie studies her. Life good in London?
Its fine.
Husband?
I was.
Oh? What happened?
Mary shrugs, unwilling to admit her husband left her for someone else, that the flat, the car, the careernone of it keeps her warm at night. That shes lonely. Utterly alone.
We didnt get along, she says quietly.
Sophie nods, silent for a moment. Then suddenly, Ive forgiven you, you know.
Forgiven me? For what? Mary is taken aback.
For disappearing. You left, didnt even call. We were like sisters, shared everything. Then you were gone. I cried. Got angry. Then one day, I realisedmaybe it had to be that way. You built your life. I built mine. Were sitting here now, drinking tea. Im glad to see you.
Mary blinks away tears. She stares out at the window.
Soph, I was stupid. Im sorry.
Never mind, Sophie smiles. People do silly things.
They talk the whole afternoon. Sophie chats about her husband (works at the factory, likes his pint but isnt a brute), about her daughter (a little artist, doodles on every wall), what lifes been like. Mary finds herself listeningreally listeningfor the first time.
Listen, Sophie says as shes leaving, why dont you come round for tea tomorrow? Ill make shepherds pie. You can meet Emily.
Im not sure
Come on, Sophie squeezes her hand. Your mum said youre here till Wednesday. Lets spend some time together, relive the old days.
Mary nods, surprising herself.
***
Next morning, Mary walks to the chemist.
There are tablets and a new monitor to buy for mum, and a few other bits. As she walks through town, she realises the place doesnt seem so grim. Trees glazed with frost, children dragging sledges, pensioners gossiping on benches. Just ordinary life.
The chemist has a queue. Mary stands at the end. In front of her is an older woman in a faded puffer, her shopping bag packed with groceries. The woman shifts from foot to foot, breathing heavily.
Are you alright? Mary asks.
Ill be fine, love. Hearts playing up. Once Ive got my pills, Ill be right as rain.
Mary takes a closer look. The woman is pallid, lips tinged blue, sweat beading on her forehead.
Here, take a seat, says Mary. Ill buy what you need. What is it?
Nitroglycerin, pet. Thank youGod bless you.
Mary fetches the medicine and hands it over. The woman puts a pill under her tongue and soon shes breathing easier.
Thank you, sweetheart. You local?
Yes, Mary finds herself saying. I was born here.
She steps out of the shop, almost smiling.
***
Evening comes, and Mary heads to her friends.
Sophie lives in a tired old council flat on the top floor, no lift. As Mary climbs the shabby stairs, she thinks, God, Ive lost the knack for these English blocks.
Today, though, it doesnt bother her.
The door swings open to reveal a little girlslim, fair-haired, huge-eyed.
Are you Auntie Mary? she asks. Mum said to look out for you.
I am, Mary replies, amused.
Im Emily. Come in. Were having shepherds pie tonight.
Inside, the flat is sparse but spotless. Old furniture, faded wallpaper, childrens drawings pinned to every wall. The air is thick with the smell of dinner and warm baking.
Sophies bustling in the kitchen.
Hey, Mary! Come in, make yourself at home. Emily, fetch the cutlery, love.
They gather round the table. Mary eats, and warm contentment spreads through her. She cant remember the last time she enjoyed a meal like this, the company so unpretentious, so honest.
Draw me something? she asks Emily.
The girl nods solemnly. Youre pretty. Ill draw you.
Go on, then, Mary grins.
Emily fetches her pad and pencils, sets to work.
Mary sips tea laced with cherry conserve, chatting with Sophia.
Have you got any children? Emily pipes up suddenly, still sketching.
No, Mary says gently. It didnt work out.
Why not?
Emily! Sophie warns her, embarrassed.
Its alright, Mary smiles. Sometimes it just happens, Emily. Not everyone has children.
Dont be sad, the girl replies with surprising seriousness. Youre still young. Theres time.
Mary laughs softly. Thank you, sweetheart.
Emily hands over the picture. It shows a woman in a long dress, a crown on her head, flowers all around.
Thats you, Emily explains. You look like a princess, but youre sad. Ill draw the sun, so youll be happy.
Mary has to swallow hard.
Thank you, my dear. Ill put your drawing up at home, in London. Deal?
Deal! grins Emily. Will you come see us again?
I will, Mary promises. And for once, she means it.
***
Mary returns to her mums late that night. Mums still awake, waiting.
How was it? she asks.
Lovely, Mum. Just lovely.
Mary sits next to her mother and takes her handwarm, work-worn, speckled with age.
Mum, Im sorry. For everything.
For what, love?
For being ashamed, Mary breathes. Ashamed of you, of the town, of myself. I thought I was better because I leftbut I wasnt. I just ran away.
Mums silent for a while, strokes her hair like she did when Mary was small.
You didnt run, love. You survived. Back thenwellyou either left or gave up. Im proud of you. Just dont forget about us.
I wont, Mum. I promise, Mary whispers.
***
The next morning, Mary leaves.
Dad drives her to the station. Mum stands on the platform in her old coat, waving.
Mary looks out of the train window, feeling something tighten inside her chest.
Listen, Dad coughs gruffly. You come back, alright? We wont be around forever.
Ill come, Dad. Promise.
She finds her seat on the train, takes out her phone. Theres a message from Sophie: Come back soon. Emily keeps asking when Auntie Mary will visit again. She thinks youre wonderful.
Mary smiles and puts the phone away.
The train jolts forward. Grey tower blocks, garages, and frozen fields slip past. And suddenly she realises: she doesnt have a headache this time. She doesnt feel sick. She doesnt want to close her eyes and pretend it all isnt real.
She reaches into her bag, takes out Emilys drawing. Unfolds it. The princess with a crown, flowers, and a half-finished sun.
Mary glances out the window. Beyond the fields, a real English sunrise is climbing into the skyhuge, red-gold, and dazzling.
***
A week later, Mary wires some money to Sophie and Emily. For art supplies, or whatever Emily wants. Sophie protests, but Mary insists.
Six months later, she returns to her hometown. No phone call, no warningshe simply buys a ticket and turns up.
The three of themMary, Sophie, and Emilysit around the kitchen table, eating shepherds pie and talking.
And Mary realises, deep down, that maybe this is what happiness looks like: to be needed, for no special reason at all.
