Youre Not My Mother
Morning! Margaret dipped her head politely at the reception window, then darted through the turnstile.
She was late again! Dear God, how did she manage to oversleep? What would Mrs. Lydia Hawkins say this time…
Mr. Geoffrey Parsons, the dozing security guard in his booth, startled awake, squinting as he straightened, his frail chest puffed out as if he could make up for decades past with posture alone. He coughed with importance and shuffled through the papers on his desk.
Morning to you as well, Maggie, he called after her. You know, everyone else has been here for ages. Running late again
But Margarets heels were already echoing up the staircase as she rushed onwards, pausing only to catch her breath and smooth her fringe before hurrying to her office.
She opened the door, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible.
Good morning! Margaret announced to the room at large, but especially to her immediate boss, Mrs. Lydia Hawkins. Sorry, it wont happen again
Lydias well-shaped, pencilled brows arched sky-highthe very picture of indignation.
Wont happen again? she repeated, stony. Margaret Smith, youre still on probation and already youre breaking the rules. Its simply unheard of! I ought to have you write a formal explanation, but theres no time for that. Get on with your work! Why are you looking at me as though Im speaking in Swahili?
Margaret nodded, although it was unclear whether in agreement that this was unheard of or that her boss sounded as though she were speaking in a foreign tongue.
Lydia Hawkinschief accountant, pillar of the firmhad been with Ashford & Partners since the very beginning, knew the director personally. Some even hinted she was like a mother to him, but no one really knew.
Lydia was the model of grace and decorum. Always dressed in immaculate suitswool in winter, crisp cotton in summerwith a gold chain for her glasses and a strict, age-appropriate chignon. Kitten heels emphasised the elegance of her feet, her slender fingers flew deftly across the keyboard with the speed of a pianist.
Margaret, a new recruit just a few weeks in, was more than a little afraid of Lydia. She imagined her to be a power behind the throne, a hidden adversary. Why? Margaret couldnt have explained, but she trusted her gut.
At her interview, David Ashford, the director, had spoken with Margaret himself before summoning Lydia to scrutinise her CV. Lydia had eyed her up and down; Margaret lowered her gaze. At that moment, Lydia had sized her up: another mouse, just like all the rest. No threat.
Margaret Smith, the reports have come in, theyre on your desk, piped up young Victoria, a timid admin assistant from across the room. And
But Margaret barreled straight to her chair, flung down her bag, closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head. Her movements were jumpy, wide, a mixture of fright and bewilderment in her eyes.
Could someone please tell meis tomorrow a half-day? she burst out suddenly, turning toward Lydia.
No need to shout, Lydia replied, lips pressed thin. You havent submitted your reports. Also, the figures with Leeds have been hanging for over two weeks! Youve only just started, and youre already angling for a shorter day. Half-day, indeed
YesI know about Leeds, Ill sort it out, Margaret retorted. But is tomorrow a half-day? Whats David Ashford decided? Vicky, do you know? Can you nod if yes, shake your head if not? Is that really so hard? She fired up her computer. Leeds Leeds Ill get on with it
Lydias face soured. As if Margaret were making it her mission to be outrageously noisy. Now she was up again, bustling to the tea table, where the box of teabags sat beside a round sugar bowl with golden-brown demerara cubes compressed beneath the lid, next to a small kettle and a dish of biscuits.
Lydia drank only black tea, only with demerara sugar, and only the finest brand of biscuits. That was how it had always been, and how it would remain.
No one dared change that. They adapted, recognised the pecking order and quietly accepted it. Lydia was at Ashford & Partners for the long haul. The rest
Victorias predecessor had apparently been unruly, bold (so Lydia said), and hadnt lasted long. Now here was shy Vicky, a single mother drowned in worry and guilt over neglecting her child. Lydia had, if anything, cultivated that guiltbetter for David, safer for him.
Anyone fancy tea? Ill put the kettle on! Margaret called, always finding solace in a cup of teajust a small haven amid endless to-dos. No matter what, a mug of hot, sweet tea soothed her heart.
Victoria jumped at the sound; Lydia rolled her eyes.
Honestly! Its barely nine and youre brewing up? Margaret Smith, get a grip, retorted Lydia sharply.
Sorry, but I think Ill have one anyway, Margaret replied, pouring boiling water into her mug, dunking in a teabag.
Lydia clicked through documents, thinly veiling her disapproval.
Ever since David Ashford, whom Lydia doted on, began showing an interest in Margaret, she felt things slipping from her grasp. Margaret had been there mere days, but David had already offered her lifts to the station, called her into his office several times overthe nerve! Even at the interview, Margaret had fluttered her lashes at him Unforgivable boldness!
Yes, Davids head seemed elsewhere, as if spring fever had got hold of him.
Can I drop you home, Margaret? Heres a new chair for yougotta look after your back. Would you care for a coffee at lunchtime? Always something.
Margaret acted self-conscious at his attention, blushed, though Lydia suspected she secretly liked it.
And everyone noticed. Well, Lydia did, and to her, she was the collectives guardian. Shed worked with David since those early days, when he’d first set up Ashford & Partners. Like a runaway colt, shed helped raise him, tutored him, managed his books, delighted in his success, accepted tokensa trip abroad, a fancy souvenir. Sometimes, after hours, shed linger in his office, cigarette in hand, watching the city gleam beneath the windows. The rush of traffic flowed like glowing arteries to the riverside, all life streaming to the heart of London.
Cigarette smoke drifted. David would be alongside, wind tugging at his hair from the open windowso homely
In those moments, Lydia would imagine him coming to drape a checkered blanket over her shoulders, calling her Mum and tucking her in. She once saw such a blanket years ago in John Lewis, meant to buy it, but then David announced his engagement. Hed asked if shed attend the registry office wedding
Shed been floored, even shed a few tears later. Her David, marrying, and she hadnt even known he was seeing anyone. Why conceal it? Shed have helped! It wasnt right.
Still, she went to the wedding, held herself proud, then took a cab home without saying goodbye. His new wife struck Lydia as shallow and materialisticno education, just ambition and love for luxury.
Lydia gave their marriage two years and was only months out; David divorced after two and a half.
Its alright, David. Theres plenty ahead for you, shed comforted him, sitting again in his office, a sherry glass in hand. One day youll meet someone good.
Hed smiled wanly, I dont know, Mrs. Hawkins Perhaps marriage isnt for me.
Lydia assured him, shed help him pick a proper bride. David was cool about the suggestionno blanket, no affectionate farewell, just a quick escape. But Lydia forgave him, as always.
Several fleeting romances followed, all trivial. Lydia subtly nudged away the unsuitable ones.
Then came the plan to buy a house in the country, forgetting everything else. Lydia helped him looknot that odd, surely? David was an orphan, no family, just friends as green as he was.
Stifling in summer, Lydiad proclaim, inspecting a house. And here therell be midges off the river. That ones a gloomy horrorDraculas castle! Dont you think, David Ashford?
She liked using his full name, loved the way he drew himself up for her approval. Lydia wanted to be his mother, not by blood but by spirityet she had to move cautiously, make it feel natural.
She doted, fussed lightly, praised and gently chided. David listened, nodded. If the house was right, she imagined moving inhow lovely the early summer countryside, the air, the lush grass, locals bringing cream and fruit, thankful for the money shed hand out. Oh, what a vision!
Just then, Margaret managed to spill her tea, dribbling water onto the floor.
How utterly careless you are! Lydia snapped. Save the documents! Dont just stand thereclear the papers!
Yet Margaret just stared at her dripping toes, eyes shut in humiliation, then let out a quiet sob.
Vicky, fetch some cloths, before she ruins the lot! Lydia dashed to grab the files off the desk, shoving Margaret aside. Honestly, get a grip! Im going to recommend your dismissal. Youve no skills, no attention to detailour firm cant tolerate this! Not with David Ashford at the helm, we wont have
Margaret burst into tears and fled, Vickys sympathetic gaze following, but Lydia barked at her to remain at her desk.
Victoria Jones! Dont you have work to do? They hire a bunch of hysterics, honestly! Lydia was suddenly all sharp edgesa crabby aunt, with her pursed lips, thinly veiled malice, amber earrings wobbling furiously. Sit down and get on!
Vicky obeyed. She darent risk her jobshe had a child, credit card bills. If Lydia Hawkins turned her against her, shed be out on her ear
Margaret returned after ten minutes, sunk into her work, unnoticedat least, pretended not to notice Vickys sympathetic looks and Lydias cold stares.
Lydia had already texted David: We need to talk about replacing Margaret, shes a liability, slipping standards, always fixing her mistakes!
David didnt reply.
Hes busy. Well discuss it at lunch, Lydia reassured herself.
Lunchtime. Vicky and Margaret slipped off to the staff canteen. Lydia hung back to take her homeopathic dropsDavid got them specially for her, only someone with real connections could source them (Margaret wouldnt ever have a clue). Shed almost forgotten: two tickets to Covent Garden! Well, not quitesettled for the Royal Opera House, too dear, so shed got seats at the ENO.
Time to get David out to something cultured. Honestly, hed been so reclusive; he should be dazzling society alongside her, as a son would…
Lydia downed her drops, grimacing at the taste, snatched her bag, and made for lunch.
In the canteen the world hummedcutlery clinking, voices rising. This was the heart of the office block, open to all, sometimes even random outsiders wandered in. Lydia disliked them, dividing the world into us and them. Outsiders, with their blustery coats and muddy shoes, crowding near the saladsgo away! This is not your hive.
Shed even had words with outsiders a couple of timesonly thwarted when they flashed their red ID cards from the civil service. Since then, Lydia simmered silently.
There theres David! Really, why doesnt he just have lunch in the office? She bustled over to join him.
David smiled absently, shrugged: this was just a change of scene, good to get out sometimes.
He kept glancing round, as though searching for someone.
Lydia smiled to herselfDavid was looking especially dashing today, wasnt he?
David Ashford, bon appétit. Listen, I meant to say She poked at her salad.
Yes, Mrs. Hawkins? Again, barely looking at her, searching the room.
David, Ive got two tickets to the opera. Madam Butterfly. I love it David!
Yes, Mrs. Hawkins? Sorry, what? He frowned.
Opera. Tickets. Tomorrow after workhalf-day, remember? Fancy coming, David? For the first time, she called him David with domestic familiarity.
Me? Opera? Not sure Im more of a film person.
Dont be daft! Lydia flapped her hands, amber earrings shaking. Alright, heres a deal: Ill take you to the opera, then you can take me to the cinema after! So? Shall we?
He blinked. Me? Tomorrow? Er Well His eyes darted over her head, then he suddenly shot up, pushing through the crowd: Margaret! Margaret Smith! He dashed after her, turning back only to wave. Sorry, Ive got to goenjoy your lunch! He intercepted Margaret, who squeaked in surprise.
They talked, David speaking softlyLydia thought, tenderlyand Margaret looking flustered, ducking her head. Lydia huffed.
Lydia stalked after them.
David Ashford! About this new staff memberI must protest! She ruined my quarterly report today, spilt tea all over, was late, then immediately asks about a half-day! Bad hire, if you ask me. Anyway, let’s talk about the opera. Shed have liked to add that Margaret should be let go, to stop her batting her lashes at David, but
David barely seemed to hear.
I call, and you dont answer Did I upset you? Sorry, Mrs. Hawkins, but Im not at work just now. Well finish our conversation later. Please lunch in peace. He barely glanced back, intent only on Margaret, catching her hands. Margaret, whats happened?
The canteens attention turned to them.
Mrs. Hawkins wants to go to the opera. Will you come to the opera with me? Just tomorrow. Margaret, I admit Im not wild about opera, but if its with you
Lydia gasped indignantly. With her, he wouldnt goclaimed to love filmsbut with that chit, he’d go, and at Lydia’s expense!
Excuse me, Mr. Ashfordplease! I cant go anywhere. I just want to go home, I feel dreadful, Ive got earache, I ruined Mrs. Hawkinss documents, I cant think straightmy head is pounding. If you want to fire me, so be it. Please let me go home, Margaret croaked, eyes closed.
Her palm, when David took it, was icy and sweaty. When Davids ill, Lydia observed, his hands are the samepoor circulation.
Quite rightlet her go. For good. This has never happened at the firm before! Lydia declared beside David, spitting with indignation. An outrage! Wasting your time on a nobody! David, come to your senses.
She tugged at his sleeve but he shook her off, turning a cold look on her.
Whats actually happened, Mrs. Hawkins? he demanded. Honestly, dont get yourself worked up. Go back to your office, Ill sort this out. Oh, and I wont be joining you at the opera. Find someone else. Margaret, get your coatwere off to the doctor. Ears are important, you know! Well just communicate in gestures for now, alright?
David walked Margaret to the lift, fetched her things from her desk, smiled kindly at the stunned Vicky, thanked her for her work.
Lydia lingered, staring out through the great glass doors as Davids car rolled away from the company car park. She clutched the opera ticketsher treasured Madam Butterflyhow shed hoped to share it with her David
Eventually Lydia drifted back to her office, gathered her things, and went home. Vicky watched her go, wondering who had actually been dismissedboth? Or just those two, and for what?
Not knowing, she plopped herself into Lydias chair, spun round, pulled faces, sighed, and decided to have a nice cup of tea
**
Later that evening, nearly eleven. David was locking up his office when he caught sight of Mrs. Hawkins standing awkwardly by the lift.
Its late, almost eleven. Are you alright, Mrs. Hawkins? Something to discuss? Im not really ready tonight. Can we speak tomorrow?
Me? Oh no, its not work. David, I just I need to clear the air. Mrs. Hawkins stepped into the hallway; David took her coat, hung it next to Margarets. I behaved appallingly in the canteen earlier. Surely youll want to let me go now? I deserve it. I went too far, I dreaded this, and yet She trailed off, mustering her most sorry, pitiful look.
Lets not do this in the hall, eh? Quietlyplease, Margarets sleeping, ears are still bad. Come into the kitchen. Tea? Coffee? Bit of shepherds pie left, if you fancy
She nodded distractedly. Shed have taken anything from his hands, anything at all
She admired his kitchen: broad, gloomy, the big old table, glowing chandelier. Already Lydia pictured herself there, baking pies, welcoming Davids friends, hanging her apron on just the right hook
Tea, if you please. Bit of a headache, to be honest. Not hungry. Shouldnt eat this late anyway
Tea it is. David boiled the kettle, poured strong tea into big mugs, produced éclairs from the fridge. Help yourself. So, what did you want to say?
David Mr. Ashford I lost myself. Long ago, I made a dreadful mistakewanted revenge, ended up harming myself. Couldnt have children, the marriage failedhe wanted children, found someone else After that, I wandered the parks, dreaming other peoples children were mine, imagined bringing them home, helping with their shoes, washing their little hands. But, looking back, I realise Id have lost patience; clumsy, mischievous little ones would have maddened me. Eventually, I came to terms with solitude, rebuilt my life. Then youwell, I suppose, I stumbled into your world as much as you into mine. You trusted me, drew me close; I, foolishly, thought we could be family. The wedding invitation, helping pick your homeall your little kindnesses. Yes, I probably lost my head. I wanted you to be my sonso much it scared me. I tried to help, to advise, to shield you from trouble. I admit, I was relieved when you divorced. That marriage was doomed, to be honest. I thought things were back in balancethen you hired Margaret Smith as my assistant. But I dont want an assistant, do you see? Id do everything for you myself! Then you started mooning over Margaret, offering lifts, all but courting her. And now the opera! I misread you, David! Lydia straightened, her features crisping from pitiful to hard, nearly scornful. Youll never be my son, becausebecause youre foolish, indiscriminate, and your taste is dreadful. Your country house reeked of bourgeois affectation; this kitchen is ghastly. If you marry Margaret, Ill resign! Understand?
David listened, unsmiling, frowning, saying nothing. He was tired; in the other room Margaret finally slept soundly. None of Lydias words mattered to him anymore, and hed never, ever seen her as his mother.
I understand, Mrs. Hawkins.
So? Will things go back to how they were? she asked, eager for the comfort of his forgivenessa plaid blanket round her shoulders and a gentle kiss on the cheek.
They cant go back. Youre right: its best we part company. Well sign the papers tomorrow, Ill see you get your final salarythree monthsand thatll be all. Please, dont upset yourself. The illusions were your own. You did a lot for this businessa lotbut nothing more. Im sorry. Its late.
She blushed, then rose sharply, head high as she went to the hall.
Would you call me a taxi, please? was all she said. Ill be on my way.
**
Four months passed before Lydia saw David again. She came to the registry office, waited for David and Margaret to emerge, pressed a tartan blanket into their hands before anyone could shoo her away.
No, please accept it! David, I always imagined youd keep the woman you love warm with just such a blanket, she explained to Margaretthen turned away.
She had bought an identical throw for herself, wrapping up in it through long, lonely evenings. Lydia had retired, kept herself busy thinking of names for the children David and Margaret might one day have, trying them out in her mind, dreaming. She hoped Vicky would tell her when Margaret gave birththen perhaps, just maybe, she could lend a hand, offer advice. All she needed was Davids forgiveness. After all, the sins of his real mother werent her faultwhy did he blame his Lydia? Things would come right again, she was sure. Things always did, if Lydia wanted them badly enough. David was still youngchildren rebel, are rude to their elders
Yet Vicky resigned and changed her number without giving Lydia a word.
Soon David moved his new family to another city, and Lydia simply sat by her window on long winter nights, waiting for Vickys call, pondering names for grandchildrenher never-to-be grandchildren.
