Dont wake Mum up, shes been up working all night.
Ellie woke up because the house was just *too* quiet. Normally, at this hour, the kitchen would be filled with the scent of strong tea and the familiar sizzling of bacon and eggsTom loved a fry-up in the mornings, even if he was running late for work. But today, the silence just hung there. The place felt cold. She reached out across to the other side of the bedempty, the sheets long since cold.
Tom? she called into the emptiness.
Not even an echo.
She really didnt fancy getting up. Outside, a bleak November morning smeared chilly drizzle all down the windowpane, and the central heating rattled away pointlessly. Pulling on her battered dressing gown and slipping her feet into mismatched slippers, Ellie trudged to the kitchen. A note sat on the table, weighed down with the salt shakera scrawly, barely legible message in Toms handwriting:
Ell, Im going. It cant go on like this. Youre always having a go, weve no money, the flats tiny, the babys screaming. Ive met someone else. Shes decent, no fuss, no drama. Ill come to get my stuff later. Dont try to find me. Tom.
Ellie read the note three times. None of it made sense. The words blurred and danced in front of her eyes. She slumped to the stool, hugged her head in her hands, fighting for airas if someone was sat on her chest.
From the other room came a gurgleLottie was awake. Eight months old, still a helpless little thing, not quite crawling, just rolling over from back to front and back again.
Ellie got up, legs shaky, made her way to the bedroom, lifted Lottie into her arms, holding her tight as she broke down sobbing, her nose pressed into her daughters soft, milky, talc-scented hair.
What do we do now, love? she whispered in broken whispers. What are we going to do?
Lottie just stared at her with those huge grey eyes, sucking on her little fist, unbothered by her mothers misery.
Tom showed up a week later. He brought along two mates, didnt even look at Ellie, just gathered his thingshis coats, jeans, tools from the hallway cupboard, his stupid car junk, the oversized sports bag filled with dumbbells. Ellie stood in the doorway, Lottie still clinging to her, quietly watching Tom carry his life out the flat.
Tom, she called softly, wont you at least look at your daughter? Youre her father.
He paused, glanced at Lottie indifferently, then turned away.
Cheerio, he muttered, and left.
His mates, two blokes in identical navy puffers, shuffled awkwardly after him, clutching bin bags stuffed with odds and ends. Ellie stood listening as the echo of their footsteps faded on the stairs. She looked out the window and saw them load it all into Toms battered old Land Rover, saw him behind the wheel, never once looking back, and the car disappeared around the corner.
Lottie began to crymaybe because Ellie was squeezing her too tightly, maybe because babies just sense when the worlds gone wrong. Ellie woke, rocked her, kissed her, then got on with making up a bottle.
Afterwards, everything was a blur. The first six months, she got by on child benefit and the odd bank transfer from her mum, who lived across the country and had barely enough herself. Tom couldnt be tracked for maintenance. He was God knows where, never picked up, changed his number in the end. Ellie tried the council, filled out forms, but they just shook their heads: Youll have to look for him yourself, love. Theres thousands like you.
The neighbours had a good natter about it, of course. Mrs Jenkins from the ground floorthe resident busybody with her sharp eyes and pursed lipscornered Ellie outside the block.
So hes left you then, Ellie? Word round here is hes gone off with that Lisa from accounting. They say shes well-put-together, has no kids. You look dreadful these days, darlin, youve got to remembermen are visual creatures, you know.
Ellie just kept her head down, hurried past. What could she say to them? That she hasnt had a good sleep in months because Lotties teething and screaming through the nights? That she cant spare the cash for a trim because all her money goes on nappies and formula? That she doesnt even recognise herself in the mirror anymore?
Her friendsthere werent manycalled at first, tutted sympathetically, offered help. But eventually, they all drifted off to their own lives, their own men, their own dramas. Only Olivia still popped round now and then, usually bringing a bag of hand-me-downs from her boys.
Hang in there, Ellie. Well get through, yeah? Honestly, theyre all useless, men.
Ellie nodded, but inside she wondered: how do you get through when youre on your knees? When youre up with the baby for the fifth time at 3am, then have to run to the community centre for formula, then do the washing, ironing, hoovering, on repeat, day after day, month after month?
When Lottie turned one, Ellie knew something had to give. Her cash had just melted away. Her mum sent her the last hundred quid she could spare, apologised: Im sorry, love, my pension barely covers my pills. Ellie wasnt cross; she hadnt the energy for resentment anymore.
She remembered being good at sewing at school. Even the textiles teacher had praised her: Ellie, you should go to college for thisyouve got real talent. But back then shed wanted to be an accountant, like everyone else. Enrolled at the local college, ended up pregnant, dropped out, got married, and now, here she was with a baby, wondering how to keep them both afloat.
Her old Singer sewing machine had come from her gran. It was ancientfoot pedal and allbut it still worked. Ellie spent an hour cleaning and oiling it, threading the bobbin, then tried making some leggings for Lottie from an old sheet. Wonky, but wearable. Then she made a little top, then a dress. When her neighbour, Mrs Lucas, saw Lottie in the homemade outfit, she asked, Ellie, could you take in a dress for me? Bought it on the high streetlooks like a sack.
Ellie tailored it. Mrs Lucas loved it, pressed a crisp twenty into her hand, winked: Let me know if youre taking on more work.
After that, it just snowballed. First the neighbours, then their mates, then friends-of-friends. Ellie stuck up little ads on lampposts: Clothing Repairs & Alterations: Affordable. Her phone started buzzing off the hook. People always need something mended, altered, patched up, or even made from scratch. Ellie said yes to everythingschool shirts to glamorous frocks, learning as she went from YouTube and old blogs, eventually buying a secondhand overlocker.
Tom only reappeared two years later. By then, Lottie was running around the flat, chattering away in full sentences. He burst in drunk, no warningEllie never did change the locks, somehow just never got round to it.
What do you want? she demanded, blocking the way to the sitting room where Lottie was watching Peppa Pig.
Let me see my daughter, he slurred, swaying. Ive got a right.
A right? You ever pay the child support? Ever call, once, to check if shes alright? Who exactly are you?
Im her dad! Tom bellowed, just as Lottie poked her head out, startled.
Mummy, whos that?
Nobody, sweetie. Go back to Peppa, its alright. Ellie slammed the door and turned back to Tom. Get out before I ring the police.
He eventually staggered away, but the unease lingered for days. Lottie kept asking: Mum, who was that angry man? Is he my dad? Where does he live? Why doesnt he visit? Ellie made up stories about pilots working away, but Lottie was getting older; the stories wore thinner every month.
There was also Mrs Thompsonher ex-mother-in-law. She popped up when Lottie turned three, bringing a supermarket cake and a doll, sitting in Ellies kitchen with a mug of tea.
Oh Ellie-love, how have you two been coping, all on your own? Look at little Lottie, the absolute image of Tom with those eyes and brows! Tom and Lisa didnt work out, you know, hes single again. Maybe the two of youwell? What do you think, eh?
Ellie stood up, grabbed the cake and doll, left them outside the door, then politely ushered Mrs Thompson out after them.
Please dont come round again. We dont need anything from you, or Tom. Honestly, well be just fine.
Mrs Thompson left in a strop, reported back to Tom, who rang to shout abuse. Ellie hung up and blocked the number. Silence ever since.
But life went on. Ellie kept sewing and Lottie kept growing. Sometimes the jobs flooded in, sometimes nothing for weeks. Ellie learned to scrimp and save. Couldnt remember the last time she wore make-up, cut her hair herself, shopped for clothes in charity shops and altered everything. Lottie, mind, was always the best-dressed in nurseryhomemade dresses, tunics, jackets, bobble hats. The teachers would coo: Wow, Lottie, where did you get that frock? To which she replied proudly, My mummy made it.
That February was a vicious one. The cold snuck in everywhere, old pipes in the block burst left, right and centre, flooding the landings. The radiators in the flat barely worked, so Ellie kept a dodgy fan heater running despite the electricity meter racking up the pounds.
Lottie fell ill twice that month. First with a nasty cold, then some awful virus that left her burning up for days. Ellie sat at her bedside, phone clutched in one hand, counting change with the other, dreading the price of Calpol. Lottie wanted stories, cuddlesanything to take her mind off being poorly. Ellie read aloud, needle in her hand, working on a deadline dress for a posh council lady, barely watching her stitches as she watched her daughters feverish eyes instead.
Mummy, when Im better, can we go build a snowman? Lottie whispered with dry lips.
We will, I promise, love. Ill make you the biggest snowman ever.
Will Dad come too?
Ellie stilled. The question came up every month, a punch to the gut every time. Shed invented endless cover-upsDads on a job in Scotland, Dads working nights, Dads far away. But Lottie was wising up.
Weve talked about this, havent we? Dad lives somewhere else, hes got his own life.
Why doesnt he phone me? Lily in Blue Group has her daddy ring her every day*I* heard her talking to him! My daddy never calls.
Ellie would put down her sewing, just climb into bed and hold her close, feeling that burning little body.
Because Lilys Daddys a good guy, and… well, ourshes just not the best, sweetie. He never learned how.
Does he love me?
He does. Just in his own way.
Lottie let out a long sigh, curled into a ball, and slept. Ellie just lay there, staring at the water-stained patch on the ceiling, wondering, for the thousandth time, how life ended up like this. Alone. Skint.
Then, on the 25th of February, her phone rang while she was feeding Lottie dinner. Unknown numberbut Ellie just knew. It was him.
Yes?
Hi Ell, its Tom.
He sounded drunk, brash, as if the last few years had never happened. Like hed just popped out yesterday.
What do you want?
Mumll be trying to ring. Dont hang up on her, alright? She wants to see Lottie at her nursery party. Eighth of March. Shes bought a present and everything.
Ellies stomach dropped, cold steel. Sorry, what?
Mum wants to come. Shes a grandma, shes got rights. Dont make a fuss, yeah? Let her bring sweets and a toy. Whats it to you?
Ellie left the table, into the hallway so Lottie wouldnt hear. Her hands shook so badly, she nearly dropped the phone.
Are you out of your mind? she hissed. Your mother has never called, not once in three years, never checked if were even alive. Suddenly the nursery party matters? Presents, is it? Tell her to do us both a favour!
Wind your neck in! Tom bellowed. Ill be round tomorrow. Youd better let Mum inshell stay as long as she wants. Im her dad, Im not a stranger!
What rights, Tom? Did you pay child support? Buy her a birthday card? Ever ask what she eats or if shes well? But your mum, the fairy godmother, thinks she can just see her grandchild now? Too late, Tom. Far too late.
He suddenly went cold. Not too late. Ill be round tomorrow, and well talk. Lets see if youre so sharp then.
He hung up. Ellie stood in the hallway, forehead pressed against the cool wall, trying to steady her knees. Lottie popped out.
Mum, who was it?
Nobody, love. Wrong number. Eat up, your dinners getting cold.
She went back, put on a bright smile, but Lottie watched her closely, wise beyond her yearsmaybe she already understood her mum was struggling just to keep everything afloat.
That night, Ellie lay awake turning it all over in her mind. The time five years ago shed watched Tom drive away, her heart split in two as she clung to a dozing Lottie, swearing never to let him near them again. And now, here he was barging back in, with all the emotional blackmail in the world.
And his mother. Ellie remembered her words, whispered coldly all those years ago: Youre not good enough for my Tom. Just a council estate girl, with no money and nothing going for you. He couldve done so much better.
Well, hed found someone, alright. And now that hadnt worked out, and the prized granddaughter was suddenly family gold dust.
Sleep was rubbish that night. Ellies mind buzzed with plansignore the doorbell? Call the police? Fill out another complaint? The police would laugh, Tom wouldnt come raging in with a knifehed just bang on the door and shout. The police never really cared for family business, unless blood was involved.
The next morning, her phone buzzed with a text from Mrs Thompson. Long, rambling, full of typos: Ellie, its Toms mum. Please let me come see Lottie at her party. Ive got her a beautiful present. Tom said youre being difficult but I hope youll understandIm her nan after all. Please reply.
Ellie smirked, replied with a single line: Best not.
An hour later: Ellie, dont be cruel. Im not well, my heart is badyou never know if Ill make it to next year. Please let me see her.
Ellie ignored it. She put her phone face-down and threw herself back into work. With Mothers Day coming and nursery parties lined up, every mother wanted to look gorgeousparty dresses, blouses, skirts, you name it. Ellie worked round the clock, even when she was running on fumes. She just kept saying yesthe bills didnt wait.
Most days, she worked late into the early hours, sometimes nodding off at the sewing table, neck aching, back seizing up, waking from the cold imprint of fabric against her cheek.
Lottie learned to entertain herself: watching cartoons, colouring, making up games. Sometimes, shed creep up behind Ellie for a cuddle, and Ellie would just kiss her hair and whisper, Hang tight, sweetheart, well have our fun soon.
Mum, will I have a dress for the party? Lottie asked one night, watching as Ellie stitched a navy dress together for some client.
Of course you will! Ill sew you something so dazzling, all the girls will want one.
What will it be like?
White, with sparkly bits. The prettiest there.
When will you make it?
Soon as I finish these jobs. Then its your turn.
Lottie would just nod and wander back to her room. She never fussed. She even went to bed early, just to make the morning come sooner.
That evening, Ellie finally cut out the pieces for Lotties party dresswhite tulle, satin, shiny trim. Her pulse quickened with hope: this would be perfect. Her baby would shine.
She sewed through the night, the whir of the machine masking the howling wind outside, old dogs barking out in the alley, the thump-thump from some downstairs party. At dawn, the dress was done. Almost. Just a few sequins, a little bit of hemming, a hairband to finish.
The next morning, she delivered the last jobs, got paidbought groceries and, finally, a new pair of pink shoes for Lottie, who bounced and twirled round the flat shouting, Mum, look how nice! Theyre pink! I want to wear them tomorrow!
You will, Ellie grinned. And your new dress.
Is it finished?
Nearly. Tonight, Ill finish it.
Lottie wriggled, but accepted thatit would be a surprise.
That night, Ellie sat back at the machine at eleven. Outside was wild, the old block creaking, but inside, all she could think about was Lottie, and how beautiful shed look the next day. It was just the two of them, always.
By five in the morning, it was done. Ellie hung the dress by the window for Lottie to find, then shuffled into the kitchen for a strong cup of tea. No sense in sleeping nowthe day was about to start.
At six, Lottie burst in, saw the dress, and just stopped in her tracks. Then she rushed up to it, squeezed the skirt, pressed her cheek to the soft white satin.
Mum, she breathed, its the most beautiful dress ever.
Want to try it on?
Yes!
She spun and spun around the living room, little clouds of tulle swirling. Ellie watched her, smiling through tears, but these ones were happy.
They got to the nursery a good ten minutes before the party started. The cloakroom was packedkids, mums, chaos. Lotties dress was a showstopper. Mums turned, whispering, Where did you get that? Mustve cost a bomb. Who made it? And Lottie proudly said: My mum did!
Ellie, though, was shaking with exhaustion. She had to pinch herself awake. When the kids all filed into the music room, she sank into a chair at the back, just to rest her eyes, just for a second
She never heard them call Lotties name. Didnt notice the daggered glancesCan you believe shes sleeping at her own daughters show?or the snide elbowing from a platinum blonde in a pink suit: Hungover, I reckon.
Lottie stood out there in her dress, looking for her mum. She found herslumped at the edge, asleep, hands mottled with pinpricks and scratches.
Mum, she called, very quietly. But Ellie didnt stir.
Come on, Lottie darling, your poem, prompted the teacher.
Lottie looked back at her sleeping mum, pale and battered, but determined. She said, loud enough for everyone:
Dont wake up my mummy. Shes been working all night. She was sewing my dress.
The room went absolutely silent. Someones phone started to vibrate. The blonde in pink was struck dumb, jaw on her knees. Even the teachers just stared. Parents glanced away, feeling awkward.
And Lottie stood there, in her white tulle dress with a bodice of sparkles, and recited her poem. Loud, clear, each line perfect. She kept her eyes fixed on Ellie the whole time; this was her gift.
When she was done, the room erupted in applause. Someone called out, Bravo! Lottie bowed, then ran to her mum.
Ellie woke up to that sound and a bundle of pink tulle in her lap.
Mummy, I said my poem! Did you hear me?
Ellie wiped her eyes, pulled her close.
I did, love. I really did. You were brilliant.
You were asleep, Lottie whispered, snuggling in, but thats okay. You were tired. Can we go home now?
Lets go, sweetheart. Ellie stood, her back cracked in protest. The same blonde from before shuffled over.
Sorry about earlier, she muttered, not meeting Ellies eye. Your little girls lovely. Andstunning dress.
Ellie just nodded, barely hearing, eager to make her way home.
Back at the flat, she dropped onto the sofa and slept through till supper. Woke up to Lottie stroking her hair.
Mum, wake up. I feel like pancakes. You promised.
Ellie smiled, the weight rolling off her shoulders.
Pancakes, is it? Coming right up.
They made the batter together. Lottie got flour everywhere and squealed with laughter. It just felt good. For the first time in ages, it felt good.
Later that night, Ellie checked her phone and found a text from an unknown number: Hello, Im Harrys mumthe boy who forgot his lines at the party. Would you mind making him a costume? Your daughter is wonderfulshe even helped Harry remember not to be afraid. Ive attached the video of Lotties poem. Thank you, from one mum to another. I hope things look up for you.
Ellie watched the video, more than once. Then, quietly, she went to Lotties room, tucked her in, and kissed her.
Thank you, darling, she whispered. For just being you.
Outside, the city buzzed and barked and slammed its doors, but their little fifth-floor flat was quiet and warm. And suddenly, for the first time in years, Ellie realisedeverything might actually turn out alright. Because there was someone worth fighting for, someone worth losing sleep for. Life was moving on. And it was beautiful.
