I need you to forgive my mother and help, Emily whispered, as if the words were bubbles rising in a midnight pond.
Help me? demanded Margaret Clarke, her voice echoing from a cracked teacup. And why should I?
Because theres no one else I can turn to, Emily answered, the words trembling like a candle in a windtossed hallway.
So youre asking me to help because youre stuck in a deadend? Margaret replied, a faint smile curving the corners of her mouth like a crescent moon.
Exactly, Margaret said, raising her voice as if shouting across a foggy moor. You are my daughter, after all!
Emily tilted her head, her neck creaking like an old hinge. How intriguing. And how dubious! The evidence is flimsy.
Stop it, Emily! You know my plight! Margarets tone rose, shaking the lace curtains. I cant manage on my own!
Youre obliged to help me, Margaret added, and I have no one else to ask!
Emily sighed, pretending to stare into a deep void. Ive heard that line before somewhere. Ah, yes! I remember now. She smiled, a ghost of a grin. Those were the very words I used three years ago when I came to you.
I never said you had to help because youre my mother, Emily recalled, I asked for a favour.
Not for money or a roof, but simply to ask Geoffrey Hart to give my husband a job!
What did you say then?
I dont remember, Margaret muttered, looking down.
But I do, Emily said, her voice sharp as a needle. You said it was my husbands personal problem, that he couldnt find work.
And you wont trouble yourself for that man! Emily snapped.
But he eventually found a job, Margaret protested, pursing her lips.
Yes, he did, Emily agreed, because hes a good husband and a fine father. Yet he spent six months hauling crates just to keep us fed before his real profession finally opened a vacancy.
If you had asked Geoffrey, Thomas would have gone straight to him, not wait half a year for a opening!
You disturbed my acquaintance? Margaret demanded, eyes flashing.
It wasnt me; Geoffrey posted the advert, and Thomas took it up at once! Id have been grateful if youd helped.
Emily chuckled, No, I wont. I wont, and I mustnt.
Offended at your mother? Margaret hissed, the most saintly person in your life? Thats absurd!
Absurd is when a mother refuses her daughter, especially when it costs nothing, Emily retorted. Youve stretched the notion of sainthood beyond its seams.
Emily stared at her mother, waiting.
Im not here to argue, Margaret. I need help.
Not from me! Emily waved a hand dismissively.
If you wont help me, help your brother then! A tear slipped down Margarets cheek. He needs it, you know.
Brother? Emily repeated, Does that change anything?
I know you dont like me because I didnt help your Thomas, but Vladno, Oliverhas done you no harm. He needs aid now, and Ill do whatever I can, but I cant do it alone.
First, you came to demand, not ask, Emily noted. Second, I have no warm feelings for Oliver, and thats your fault too.
***
Before Oliver was born, Emily had been the cherished child, the sole recipient of every sweet, every toy, every whim. When Oliver arrived, she became the familys outcast. No gentle comparisons, just plain truth: she was the genuine misfit. She lost everything she once owned, and suddenly she was the one constantly in the way.
Emily was nine when Oliver entered the worldnot born of her mother or father, but of a wandering lover. Her father, Edward Mitchell, stormed in and demanded, Whose child is this?
Her mother, unflinching, replied, From a man I love, not from a wretch like you.
Edward, unwilling to stay with a woman who had betrayed him, filed for divorce, only to be denied because Oliver had not yet turned one. He sued for paternity, and in the process, a court ordered DNA on both Emily and Oliver. The result: neither was his.
He fought to have his name erased from their birth certificates, cutting off any chance of maintenance. Still, the divorce was blocked until Olivers first birthday. He packed his bag and said, Well meet in a yearjust to finalize the split.
Thus Emily was left with her mother and a newborn brother. At nine, she sensed that little Oliver needed more care than she did, yet Margaret ignored her completely. Life became a series of scraps: if money lingered, Emily could buy something; if a pot held leftovers, she could eat the rest. It was a harsh, relentless rhythm.
Kind neighbours sometimes tossed her a toy, a treat, a piece of clothing. That was her world.
When Emily entered puberty, she mirrored the neglect she had received: no respect, no affection, no love returned. She didnt spit at her mothers face, but she certainly didnt bow. Some mysterious neighborAunt Olive, perhapsnudged her away from a darker path.
After nine years of school, Emily earned a place at a technical college with a dormitory and never returned home. She still phoned her mother on holidays, though Margarets inquiries were few and far between. Mutual support never existed. Emily lived on a stipend, taking odd jobs, barely surviving while Margaret poured every pound into her beloved son, Thomas.
When Emily married, she invited neither brother nor mother. Margaret learned of the wedding only when Aunt Olive bragged about the reception. A fresh grievance was added to the endless tally.
Thomas was a gentle, attentive, caring husband. Emily floated on cloudnine, never having imagined such tenderness. Yet Thomas lacked ambition. He possessed a respectable trade as a jewellergrinder, with potential to start a business, but he chose a steady job at a municipal factory, earning a modest wage for their town of Manchester.
From the outside, they seemed a happy, united family, and their numbers grew. Emily bore a daughter named after Aunt Olive, then two years later another girl called Katie, after Thomass mother. A year after Katie, a third child, Alina, arrivedEmily had hoped for a son, but Thomas was content with four little princesses.
I once had one princess, Thomas exclaimed, now I have four!
For a while, everything was fine, until the factory shut its doors overnight, leaving countless workers jobless. Vacancies vanished in an instant; many were forced to seek work far from home. Thomas contemplated travelling a couple of thousand kilometres to a similar plant.
Emily recalled an old suitor of her mother, a respectable man named Geoffrey Hart, who owned a jewellery studio. She was afraid to approach him directlyperhaps hed forget herbut her mother would remember. Emily begged Margaret to recommend Thomas to Geoffrey. Margaret listened, then refused outright. Emily pleaded, citing children, nowhere else to turn, and a mother with no one to ask.
I wont bother him for some unknown lad, Margaret declared.
Thomas took a job as a porter, refusing to leave the town. I asked around, he said, Geoffrey always has openings. Hes quick to fire anyone with crooked hands. Two of our people are there now; they wont stay long.
Thus Thomas spent six months moving crates, keeping his hands steady for the jewellers craft. He didnt lose his skill, and his reputation grew. A bright stripe returned to the Hart household, while the Clarke home grew dimmer.
Oliver, the brother Margaret adored, began to think he was entitled to more than modest folk. He dabbled in petty crimes, then escalated, eventually landing in state care for ten years. To repay the damage, Margaret sold everything she owned. No one would give her a loan; friends turned away, and credit was unattainable. She planned to repay from her wages, but she also had to send parcels to her son abroad and cover his neighbours bribes. Money simply vanished.
Who else can I turn to but my daughter? she cried. I gave birth to her, raised her. Shes my only kin. She must help.
***
Hell die if we dont help him! Margaret shrieked. We, the only relatives, have no right to abandon him to fate!
What does that have to do with me? Emily snapped. I didnt put him on that road. He chose it himself. Hell pay the price now.
I feel no pity, Emily said coldly. Honest people work. If they want more, they start a business, make money.
Oliver wanted easy cash, but easy money comes with heavy debts. I wont fund his folly. We earn our own.
Dear, help me! I cant manage alone! Margaret fell to her knees.
I wont help you either. You got what you deserved. If you hadnt spoiled Oliver, he wouldnt be a criminal.
If youd cared a bit for me, I might have thought differently. As it stands, I wont give you a penny.
Margaret sprang up, tears evaporating, her face hardening into hatred. Hell return! Hell come back and settle the score with you!
I owe him nothing, Emily declared. And youre no different.
I doubt hell think the same, Margaret replied, her voice dripping with revenge. Tomorrow Ill write to him, telling him you refused his aid.
Wait. Live and fear! Oliver will surely come back!
