My stepmother went through Mums things and carted them out while I was at work.
Emily, are you even listening? I asked when youll hand in the report! my colleague snapped.
What? Oh, right, sorry, Emma. Ill have it ready by Friday, I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.
By Friday? Its already Thursday! Emma huffed, shaking her head. Youve barely been in the office lately. Is it because of that new stepmother, Lucy?
I clenched my fists under the desk. Just hearing Lucys name made my throat tighten.
I dont want to talk about it, I muttered.
Dont shut yourself off, Emma moved her chair closer. You need to have a serious word with Dad. Hes lost his head. He married that that woman half a year after Mums funeral!
Eight months, I corrected automatically. Dads an adult. He knows what hes doing.
Thats the problemhe doesnt, Emma replied. Guys his age are especially vulnerable. And Lucys young; she probably has her eye on your flat.
I wanted to argue, but I knew Emma was right. Lucy was eighteen years younger than Dad. Theyd met at the clinic where she worked as a nurse while Dad was still taking Mum to her treatments.
Ive got to go, I said, shoving papers into my bag. We agreed I could leave early today.
Just promise youll call if anything comes up, Emma said. Anytime.
I nodded and stepped out of the office. A fine October drizzle fell. I pulled up my coat collar and hurried to the bus stop. The journey home was about twenty minutes by bus and another five on foot. Id lived with my parents in a twobedroom council flat on the third floor of an old ninestorey block. When Mum died Id thought about moving out, maybe renting somewhere, but my wages are modest and the rental market in London is such that you cant stretch a months rent.
Dad had convinced me to stay.
Emily, dont leave me on my own, hed said. Im halfblind without Mum. I need you here.
And I stayed. I cooked, cleaned, did the laundry, trying to fill the gap Mum had left. Then Lucy appeared.
At first Dad only mentioned a nice nurse. Then he lingered on walks. Six months later he announced he was getting married.
Listen, love, I cant do this alone. I need a woman by my side. Mum would have understood, he told me.
I didnt argue. I slipped out of the room, locked myself in, and wept into my pillow until sunrise.
The wedding was a quiet affair in fact, they didnt even invite me. I only learned of it after Dad brought Lucy home, passport in hand, and said, Meet my wife.
Lucy was tall, bleached, lipstained and sporting long nails. She could have been thirtyfive, though Dad claimed she was fortytwo.
Hello, Emily, she said, extending a hand. I hope well get along.
I shook her cold fingers and walked into the kitchen. On a shelf in the corner sat Mums favourite bluedotted teacup. I lifted it, poured some water, and my hands trembled.
At first Lucy was careful smiling, asking about work, offering help. I kept my distance, answering curtly. I couldnt forgive Dads haste. Mum had just passed and hed already moved on.
Gradually Lucy settled in. She rearranged the bedroom, changed the curtains in the lounge, bought a new set of plates and pushed Mums belongings into the cupboard.
Your mum had taste, she remarked, but thats old stock. Time for a fresh look.
I stayed silent. The flat was Dads legally; I was just a tenant.
A month later the hints began.
Emily, youre a grown woman now, thirtythree. Its time you set up your own life. Living with us you know what I mean, Lucy said.
This is my home, I snapped.
Your fathers home, Lucy corrected gently. And now mine as well.
Dad never intervened. He seemed deaf and blind to the tension, strolling around with a contented grin, constantly hugging Lucys waist and calling her pet names. I didnt recognise him. Where was the solemn, restrained man whod spent thirty years with Mum in love and harmony?
When I left the bus, I quickened my step, eager to get home, strip off my wet shoes and sip a hot tea. Perhaps Dad would be out; hed promised to visit a friend. I could sit in the kitchen, think of Mum.
Mum had baked cabbage pies, read aloud in the evenings, stroked my hair and whispered that everything would be fine. Even when she was ill and the doctors gave up hope, she smiled.
Dont be sad, love. Ill always be with you, shed said.
I fumbled for my keys, let the door swing open. The flat was silent. I slipped off my soaked shoes, hung my coat and padded to my room.
And I froze at the threshold.
The room looked different. I couldnt pinpoint what had changed, but an emptiness pressed on my chest.
The bed was where it always was, the wardrobe in place, the desk by the window still there. But where was Mums little jewelry box that always sat on the nightstand? Where was the embroidered napkin shed sewn before I was born? Where were the framed photographs?
I rushed to the wardrobe, flung it open. On the top shelf had been Mums blue shawl, the one Dad gave her on their anniversary. It was gone.
No, no, no I whispered, hands shaking as I rummaged through the remaining items. The shawl, her books, the photo album at the bottom all vanished.
I bolted into the hallway, burst into the master bedroom. Everything had been cleared out: Mums perfume on the dresser, her hairbrush, even her makeup bag.
Nothing remained.
Whats happening here? I breathed.
The flat door opened and voices drifted in.
what a relief, finally cleared out the junk, Lucy said. I dont see why we should keep the deads things. Its an unhealthy attachment.
Youre right, love, Dad replied. We need to move on.
I stepped into the hallway. Dad and Lucy stood by a coat rack, pulling off jackets. Seeing me, Lucy smiled.
Ah, Emily, youre home early. We were just tidying up while you were out.
Where are Mums things? My voice was hoarse.
What things?
All of them! The box, the photos, the books, the clothes! Where are they?
Lucy sighed as if it were a trivial matter.
I took them to the church, threw away what I could. Emily, your mum died over a year ago. Its time to let go.
What did you what did you do?!
The floor seemed to drop away. Dad stood silent beside Lucy, eyes fixed elsewhere.
Dad, did you hear what she said? She threw Mums things away! I shouted.
Emily, calm down, Dad finally said. Lucys right. You cant live in the past. Its an unhealthy attachment.
Unhealthy attachment? I couldnt believe my ears. Those were memories of Mum! Theyre all I have left!
You still have memories, Lucy said gently. Isnt that enough?
It isnt enough, I replied firmly. Give them back.
Its impossible now. The bins already gone.
The bin?
The rubbish bin, Lucy shrugged. It was full of old stuff faded papers, worn dresses. I kept a few photos; theyre in the wardrobe.
I stepped closer. Lucy moved back instinctively.
You had no right, I whispered.
Im the lady of the house now, and I decide what stays and what goes.
Youre not the lady! Youre an intruder! My voice cracked into a scream.
Emily! Dad raised his voice for the first time. Apologise at once. Lucy is my wife; you must respect her.
Respect her after shes dumped everything that reminds me of Mum?
Your mother is dead, Dad said harshly. Shes gone, understand? Its time you accept that.
How can you say that? You lived together for thirtyfive years! She gave birth to you! She
Enough, Dad waved his hand. Im tired of this. Tired of your constant hints, your silence, the way you stare at Lucy. I have the right to be happy.
On the back of Mums memory?
The memory isnt the issue. I love Lucy. I want to live with her. If you cant accept that
He didnt finish, but I understood.
Fine, I said. Ill move out.
Emily, wait, Lucy interjected. No ones kicking you out. Lets set some ground rules. This is our home my husbands and mine. You can stay if you respect our boundaries.
What boundaries? I asked, weary.
Dont enter our bedroom. Dont touch my things. Dont turn the flat into a museum of your mother.
Dad avoided my gaze.
Alright, I said. As you wish.
I returned to my room, shut the door, collapsed onto the bed and wrapped my arms around my head. I wanted to cry but the tears wouldnt come; there was only a cold, crushing void.
Mums things every tangible piece of her were gone, mixed with rubbish in a skip on the street. I stared at the empty wardrobe, the bare nightstand, the missing box, the lost photograph frames.
A knock sounded at the door.
Emily, may I come in? Dad called.
I didnt answer. He pushed the door open and entered.
Love, lets talk, he said.
About what? I asked without turning.
Lucy just wants to make the house cosy again. She thinks clearing out the old stuff will help us move forward.
You cleared out everything that reminded me of Mum?
Dad sighed. Emily, I know its hard. Its hard for me too. But life goes on. I met Lucy, and she gave me a chance to feel alive again. Is that wrong?
Did you forget Mum?
No, I remember Nat. Every day. But she wont come back, and I cant spend the rest of my life in mourning.
He was sixtyfive, though he still looked younger than his years, his shoulders slumped a little from the weight of it all.
Im not against your happiness, Dad. But why throw away Mums memory? I asked.
Lucy didnt destroy the memory; she just removed the clutter that held us back, he replied.
Clutter for you, burden for me, I muttered.
He left, closing the door softly behind him. I opened the wardrobe again and found three photographs tucked in a clear bag on the top shelf: Mum with Dad on their wedding day, Mum holding a babysized me, and Mum laughing on a country lane in a straw hat.
Three pictures out of hundreds.
I dialled my friend Charlotte.
Can I crash at yours? I asked.
Whats happened? Charlotte sounded alarmed.
Ill explain when I get there, I said.
She invited me over, saying shed be waiting.
I packed a bag, slipped the three photos, a change of clothes, and my makeup case into it, and left the flat. In the kitchen, Dad and Lucy were having tea, Lucy chatting animatedly, Dad nodding.
Im going away for a few days, I announced.
Where to? Dad turned.
To a friends, I replied.
Emily, dont be reckless, Lucy warned. Everyone argues sometimes. Lets just start afresh.
What do you mean, start afresh, when youve thrown away everything that reminded me of Mum? I replied dryly.
It was just stuff! Lucy said.
For you, it was just stuff. For me, it was the last link to Mum.
You have memories, Lucy repeated. Isnt that enough?
It isnt, I said firmly. Its not enough.
I walked out into the worsening rain, heading fifteen minutes to Charlottes place. She opened the door as if shed been waiting.
Blimey, youre drenched! Quick, get the coat off, Ill get you a towel.
Inside, a warm fire crackled, a plump orange tabby curled on the sofa.
Tell me everything, Charlotte said, handing me a towel.
I recounted the whole mess. She listened, her face growing paler.
Shes gone off the rails? she exclaimed. How can anyone just throw away someones things?
She thinks shes the lady of the house, I said. Dad backed her up, saying I need to let go.
Did you try calling the waste management? Charlotte asked.
The bin was taken today, I said. Lucy said its already gone.
Maybe we can ask them to check? Charlotte suggested, dialing the councils waste service. After a long hold, a clerk confirmed the skip from Lynton Street, number 32, had already been emptied and taken to the landfill.
Its hopeless, I said. Everythings mixed with rubbish now.
Charlotte squeezed my shoulder. You still have the memory of Mum. No objects can replace that.
I need to touch something, feel her presence, I whispered.
She hugged me tighter. I understand. Lets think of a plan tomorrow.
That night, I barely slept on the cot Charlotte set up in the living room. The tabby curled against me, purring, but the ache remained.
Morning came, Charlotte left for work, leaving me alone with a note: Take it easy, love. Ill be back this evening. No thinking about Mums stuff, just breathe.
I showered, brewed a tea, and stared out the window at the grey sky. My phone rang a few times Dad. I let it go to voicemail.
Later, a text from Lucy popped up: Emily, can we meet and talk? I didnt mean to hurt you. Lets sort this out.
I typed back: Where?
Maybe the café on Oak Street, the one that used to be a bakery.
Okay, 6pm.
I put the phone down, wondering what Lucy wanted. Was it another attempt to push me out, or a genuine olive branch?
At six, I arrived at the little café. Lucy was already there, nursing a coffee, looking nervous.
Thanks for coming, she said, offering a tentative smile.
I sat opposite her, refused the menu.
Youve been angry with me, and thats fair, she began. I married your father, moved into his flat, and there were already his late wifes things everywhere photos, clothes, even the smell of her perfume. I felt like a guest in my own home.
Its not my home, I replied calmly. Its my mothers.
Im your fathers wife, legally this is my home too, she said.
So the flat is the issue? I asked.
No! she snapped. Its the respect. I want to be respected, for my father to see me as his partner, not as a replacement for your mother.
He married you, I said. Is that not enough?
Its not enough when he still looks at your mothers portrait every day, when her dresses still hang in the wardrobe, when I feel like the intruder, Lucy replied, eyes glistening.
I never wanted to be your enemy, I said. It just hurts to watch Dad forget Mum so quickly. They were together thirtyfive years. He remarried less than a year after her passing.
He hasnt forgotten her, Lucy whispered. He just cant bear being alone. He needs someone now.
And I? Was I not there?
Youre his daughter. Thats different, she said.
I realised Lucy had a point, but it didnt ease the pain.
Fine, I said. But why throw away Mums things? You could have asked.
It was a surprise for your father, Lucy said. He complained the flat was cramped, that the old stuff was taking up space. I thought I was helping.
You threw away things that meant the world to me, I said. Three photographs out of hundreds.
She leaned back, sighing. Im sorry. I cant bring them back, though. The bins gone.
What can I do? I asked.
She shook her head. I cant undo it.
I stood, feeling exhausted. Thanks for the honesty, I said, and left.
My phone buzzed: Emily, please come home. I need to talk. It was Dad.
I stared at the message, the weight of the day settling in. Perhaps it was time to stop fighting, to accept that Mum was gone, that Dad could find happiness, that Lucy wasnt a monster but a woman trying to make a life. I typed back: Ill be there this evening.
Back at Charlottes flat, I packed my bag again, taking the three photos, the box of Mums trinkets, and a few of my own things.
When I stepped into my fathers flat later that night, Lucy was nowhere to be seen. Dad met me at the door, eyes soft.
Emily, love, Im so sorry, he said, pulling me into a hug. I shouldnt have let Lucy clear out Mums things. I hid a box for you.
He handed me a small cardboard case. Inside lay Mums amber beads, her favourite butterfly brooch, a little notebook and a handful of letters.
Dad, I remember her, I whispered, clutching the box. TearsHolding the box close, I finally felt that love could hold both my mothers memory and my fathers new happiness together.
