Emily, Ill need another two hundred this month, Mum announced, standing in the hallway, her shoes still on. The doctors prescribed some new vitamins. Imported ones. The usual four hundred you transfer just isnt enough.
I nodded, silently reaching for my purse. I counted out six fifty-pound notes. My fingers hesitated on the last one that would leave me with exactly the same amount in my purse. Three hundred pounds. And I still had to cover the rent, and then… I shooed the thought away, like swatting off a bothersome bluebottle.
Here you go, Mum.
The money slipped into her hands with such a sense of routine, as though this was how things were meant to go. As if it wasnt half my salary, just some spare change for the bus.
My clever girl, she folded the notes carefully and slipped them into the side pocket of her handbag. We brought you up right, me and your dad. Its good to see that our hard work paid off.
I forced a smile. My lips stretched, but it was like nothing moved inside me.
Other peoples children they abandon their parents, dont even call round. But youre not like them. You understand we did everything for you.
Of course, Mum.
Youre always there for us when things are hard. Thats worth its weight in gold, Emily.
Finally, she zipped her bag, straightened her scarf. In the hallway mirror, we caught a glimpse of ourselves: one woman content and brisk, probably already thinking about the chemists or what needed picking up from Sainsburys; the other with a stretched-on smile and an empty purse clutched in her hands.
Ill be off now. You make sure to ring or pop by more often. Your dad was only asking yesterday when will we see Emily next?
Ill come by this week, I said, holding open the door for her.
Thats settled, then. And dont forget Dad needs his blood pressure taken. Ill message you which monitors best. Perhaps you could order it online; youre better at that than me.
I nodded again. How many times had I nodded today? Ten, twenty?
The door shut with a soft click. My smile faded from my face like a pencil sketch sponged clean.
Three hundred pounds. Rents one hundred and twenty. That leaves… I closed my eyes, mentally counting. For food. For two weeks. Fine, Id manage eggs, pasta, some beans. I could do it.
I wandered into the kitchen and slumped onto a stool. Outside, the sky was the usual dull grey, nothing to mark it from any other Monday. I stared at my purse empty, still gripped in my hands.
Id heard it since childhood: Were investing in you, so youll help us out later. Youll pay us back when youre grown. We worked for you, so youll work for us when were old.
And I believed it. I truly did. I thought that was normal a transaction between parents and children. They give you a happy childhood, you care for them in old age. A fair exchange.
Only now, when it came to settling the bill, I found myself stuck on the same thought again and again.
I couldnt keep up.
Simply couldnt do it. Not enough money, not enough energy, not enough of… something else. Air, maybe. Space. The right to just say, No.
But no got stuck somewhere inside, never once making it out.
It had only been two years since that talk around my parents kitchen table, when Dad pushed his teacup aside and said, so matter-of-fact:
Were retiring, Em. You see well need some help now.
Of course, I understood. Theyd raised me to.
Their joint state pension was about a thousand pounds a month total not grand, but not destitute either. My own wage was one thousand four hundred a month working as a bookkeeper for a small Brighton firm. When Mum said shed need four hundred from me monthly, I didnt argue. Thats just how it was. Thats what Id been taught.
But trying to live on a thousand pounds in a flatshare in London was another matter. Six hundred gone for the room alone, then bills, London transport, groceries… I tracked expenses on spreadsheets, cut corners, packed leftovers for lunch cold pasta, endless tins of beans. I longed to save just a hundred a month, to have something put by.
It never happened.
My parents always needed more. Another two hundred for medicine, three hundred for fixing the leaky tap, a new telly apparently, the old one was straining Dads eyes. And each time I passed the cash along, dipping into my savings that never had the chance to grow.
…A fortnight later, I decided to drop by their place. No call, no warning I was passing anyway, so I picked up some groceries: cottage cheese, apples, a chicken, all the usuals for them.
Dad answered the door with a grunt and went straight back to the telly. Mum was pottering in the kitchen.
I set the bag in the hallway, and something caught my eye on the sideboard. Beneath a scatter of keys, bills, Dads old specs a wide, heavy bracelet, obviously new. Not costume jewellery, either.
I picked it up. Cool, weighty metal glinting in my hand.
Put that down! Mum appeared from the kitchen Just a trinket.
But Id already turned it over. Inside, where the clasp met the band, a hallmark was stamped. 585. Gold.
I looked up at Mum. She was standing in the doorway, a strange look on her face not guilt, more annoyance at being caught.
Yes, I bought it for myself, she lifted her chin. Is there a problem?
I put the bracelet carefully back on the sideboard. Some string inside me wound taut for years simply snapped. Quietly, cleanly.
No problem. Buy what you want, Mum.
She relaxed, almost gave a smirk.
But then why do you take money from me? My voice was steady. If you can afford gold?
Her smile vanished. She drew herself up sharply.
Whats that supposed to mean?
Dad poked his head around the door.
Emily, why are you having a go at your mum?
Im not. Im just asking.
Nothing to ask! Mum folded her arms. I have every right to your money. Its not charity its what were owed. For raising you, for sending you to school, for setting you up. Do you think it was all free? Other children do the same.
I looked at them Dad in his worn West Ham shirt, Mum with her hard mouth, her frown. Suddenly, I didnt want to nod anymore.
So I owe you, for being born?
Of course! Dad snorted. We fed you, clothed you, put you through uni…
Did I ask for that?
Silence.
Did I ask to be born? For you to spend your time and money on me? I surprised myself, how easily the words finally came. Words Id smothered for years. It was your decision. Your wish to have a child. Being a parent isnt a loan for me to pay off for life.
Mum clutched her chest, putting on a show worthy of any soap on ITV.
Good Lord, whats got into you… We didnt raise you like this! How ungrateful! Heartless! Other kids buy their parents cars, you know!
No, this is exactly how you raised me to do as I was told, to never argue, to pay up and keep quiet.
Emily! Dad barked.
Ive had enough. Therell be no more money.
Mum burst into noisy sobs about ungrateful children, her heart, how much theyd done for me. Dad swelled red, ready to interrupt, but Id already stopped listening.
I left. Closed the door behind me, legs trembling as I went down the stairs.
A week later, Id found somewhere else to live. Further from the centre, but cheaper. I moved my things, told no one. Never gave my parents the new address.
They rang every day, sometimes more than once. Id ignore the calls, or put my phone on silent. Id text brief: Im fine. Alive. Not ready to talk yet.
Mum sent voice notes, up to fifteen minutes each about her heart, Dads blood pressure, what a cruel child I was. I never listened to the end.
In the evenings, Id sit in my new kitchen, trying to figure out how I felt. Guilty? Yes, a bit. Relieved? Yes, that too. Somehow lighter as if Id finally set down a rucksack Id been dragging for so long Id forgotten it was there.
Theyd used me. For years. All dressed up as love and duty, pretty words about family.
But Id managed to break free.
