Mother, you chose him.
Another list, is it? His voice rang out with accusation.
Helen paused for a moment and drew in a deep breath.
Simon, Charlotte is sixteen. She needs a new winter coat. Hers doesnt fit anymore.
She has a coat.
Thats last years. The sleeves are short, shes grown.
Simon leaned back against the sofa, his gaze becoming heavy and appraising. Helen knew that look well. She knew what would follow.
Listen, were living in my flat. I pay the utility bills. I do the weekly shop. You work as a bookkeeper and I manage at the firm, which pays rather well. We share a household budget, remember? Shared. Yet you bring me lists of things she needs as if Im duty-bound to finance someone elses child.
She lives with us, Helen said softly. She eats with us. Sleeps here.
Exactly. She sleeps in my flat. Eats my food.
Helen felt something clench inside her. This conversation had played itself out with minor variations for two yearsever since she and Charlotte moved in after their wedding. At first, Helen tried to argue her case. Shed learned to keep quiet now. But every time her daughter needed something, she found herself forced back to this same place.
Alright, she said, slipping the crumpled list back into her dressing gown pocket. Ill get it myself.
With what money? His question was almost genuinely curious. You hand your salary into the household budget. Or are you hiding money from me?
No. I Ill ask David.
Simon sneered.
Your ex? Brilliant. Run to him. Tell him what a wretch I am. Let him buy his darling daughter a coat, if hes such a committed father.
Helen said nothing. David did help, but not reliablychild support, always late, sometimes extra if she begged and gave detailed explanations. She hated to ask. She dreaded being seen as a supplicant.
The household budget should cover Charlottes needs as well, she ventured again. Were meant to be a family.
Family? Simon stood, walked to the kitchen for a can of lager. The family is you and me, Helen. Charlottes your daughter from before. I dont object to her living here. But her father ought to meet his share of her keep.
Helen stood in the kitchen doorway, looking at his broad back. When they met, three years ago, shed thought shed found solid grounda decent, well-established man who spoke kindly, who said he was tired of loneliness and wanted family. After divorcing David, shed been alone for years: raising Charlotte, holding down her job, managing everything. Simon had seemed a windfall. Hed wooed her attentively: dinners out, flowers. Hed spoken kindly of Charlotte, said a child under the roof was a joy.
But things changed after the weddingafter the move into his flat, really.
Im going for a smoke, Helen said, and stepped onto the balcony.
Smoking was a recent habitsix months old, begun in secret, now no longer a secret. Simon frowned but didnt forbid it. It was the only area she hadnt asked permission for.
Out on the balcony, the sharp scent of autumn and cold brick filled the air. Helen lit up, exhaled. Streetlamps glimmered below, somewhere a dog barked. Another ordinary evening in an ordinary residential bit of town. She had a job, a roof, a husband who didnt drink or raise his hand. Compared to her friends, her life was a success. But why did each evening find her out here, on this balcony, feeling cornered?
The balcony door edged open. Charlotte.
Mum, I didnt want you two to row over me again.
There was no row, Helen stubbed out her cigarette. All fine.
I heard. But please don’t mention the coat to Simon. Ill ask him myself.
Dont. Ill deal with it.
Charlotte was silent. Then quietly said, I feel awkward, living here. Like Im an add-on.
Helen put her arm around her daughters shoulders. Charlotte, nearly her height now, slender, her dark hair in a ponytail.
Dont say that. This is our home.
His home, Charlotte corrected her. He reminds me every day. Not with wordsjust with looks. The way he speaks.
Helen said nothing. Her daughter was right.
***
By winter, Helen at last managed to buy Charlotte a new coat. She asked David, who only agreed on the promise that she wouldnt ask for support upfront next month if things went awry. She agreed. When Simon saw the new coat, he pressed his lips.
So David can find money, can he? Funny, but its my earnings that always pay for our household.
For Charlotte
For Charlotte, he shows up. For everything else, its down to me.
He turned the television up loud and sat silent all evening. It was his way of punishing herstonewalling, refusing to engage. Eventually, hed thaw, behave as if nothing had happened. Helen accepted these respites with relief.
So winter passed. Charlotte started sixth form, buried herself in revision for her exams, spent nearly all her time in her room. When Helen peeked in, her daughter was hunched over schoolbooks, pale, with deep shadows beneath her eyes.
Are you eating properly? Helen would ask.
Fine.
Would some vitamins help? Ill buy some.
No. Simon will start on you for spending money on me again.
Helen sighed. Charlotte had begun to call Simon simply Simon recently, with a mild, bitter irony.
That spring, the school announced a class trip to London: three days with museums and theatres, all for £350. Charlotte came home alight with hope.
Mum, can I go? Everyones signing up.
Looking at her, Helen knew she couldnt refuse. Her daughter had become withdrawn, avoided her classmates, came straight home after lessons. This trip would be a breath of fresh air.
Of course, Helen nodded. You should go.
That evening, after supper, Helen summoned her courage.
Simon, theres a class trip to London, for the sixth formers.
He didnt look up from his mobile.
And?
Its £350.
Simon put his phone down and studied her.
£350 for a school trip?
Three days, includes accommodation and meals. Cultural itinerary, too.
Helen, its May nowsoon well owe the service charge for the building, council tax, and you wanted a holiday by the sea.
Im not asking for a holiday. Charlotte will go, well just take a break here.
Youd give up a holiday so she can have a jolly in London?
Helen nodded.
Simon chuckled and shook his head.
You astonish me. We cant afford a proper break, but Charlotte gets to swan round London. Does she even appreciate what that costs?
She does.
I doubt it. At her age, they think money grows on trees. They expect things to appear by magic.
Shes not like that. Charlotte understands.
Mmm. So understanding she doesnt even say thank you when I pay the bills for the gas and electric she uses.
Helen felt a slow, sticky anger welling up, almost paralyzing. She wanted to shout that Charlotte lived in constant tension, was afraid to go into the kitchen at the wrong moment, ate less at supper to avoid a comment about household expenses. She wanted to say Simon was creating an atmosphere where a child felt unwanted. But she stayed silent. Any word she said would rebound on her.
Ill ask David, she said, evenly.
Go ahead, Simon shrugged and went back to his phone.
Helen went to the balcony. Her hands were shaking as she lit up and stared at the lights of the night city, wondering how shed ended up so afraid to ask for money for her own daughter. She had a job. She earned a salary. But every month her pay went into the household pot, and when Charlotte needed something, Helen had to beg and explain.
When shed met Simon, hed talked about equality. Both of them working, both contributing. Together, strong. But after the wedding hed suggested a joint budget for simplicity. Why keep things separate in a family? And Helen agreed; at the time, it made sense. But soon, she discovered Simon made all the financial decisions. Every purchase was subject to approval, every receipt scrutinized; any expense he deemed imprudent sparked questions and lectures about carrying the burden.
Charlotte joined her on the balcony.
Mum, please dont make me go. I dont want you to have to go through that.
Youll go, Helen insisted. Absolutely, you will.
***
Helen managed the trip by borrowing from her friend Linda at work. Linda, when she heard the request, gave a sympathetic sigh.
Helen, are you all right? You never borrow.
Im fine. Just a sticky patch.
Linda hesitated. Forgive me, Helen, but I thought your husband did well. Is everything okay?
Helen shrugged. Its just the way things are.
She didnt want to invite scrutiny, or pity, or worse: advice to leave. Divorce was frightening. Where would she and Charlotte go? On a bookkeepers wage, shed only afford a cramped bedsit, like the one before Simon.
No. Shed manage. She only needed to get Charlotte through school, off to college or training. Once her daughter was independent, maybe the marriage would settle. Maybe Simon would change, once there was no teenager to remind him Helen hadnt just been his wife alone.
Charlotte left for London in early June. She returned three days later, bubbling with stories about the National Gallery, the West End, wandering Piccadilly. For a brief flash, Helens heart was lightened to see her so animated.
Simon listened without interest, nodded, and when Charlotte retreated to her room, muttered, I hope she realises those little outings cost money.
Helen stayed silent.
The summer passed quietly. They didnt go away. Simon went angling with his friends a few times. Helen took her holiday from work at home. Sometimes she and Charlotte would stroll in the park, treat themselves to an ice-cream. Those rare afternoons, Helen almost felt peace.
Autumn came; Charlotte was in her final year, revising for her A-Levels, already dreaming of a teacher training college. Helen supported the ambition, even knowing the work wasnt lucrative. Charlotte loved children, always sharing her time with the little ones in their block.
One evening, as autumn drizzled outside, Simon announced, I think its time Charlotte looked for a job.
Helen glanced up from her plate.
Shes got exams this year.
So? Plenty juggle work and studies. Shes seventeena bit of weekend work, itd help with costs.
Shes revising for exams, Simon. Thats her work.
I get that, he said, but keeping an adult for nothing hardly seems fair.
Helen met his gaze. Something inside her gave waynot with anger, but weariness.
Shes only seventeen. Shes my daughter, not just another lodger.
Your daughter, Simon agreed. Not mine. So why am I meant to pay for her?
Charlotte emerged just then. Helen saw from her face shed heard everything.
Ill look for a job, then. Its not a problem.
No. Helens answer was too sharp. You need to study.
I dont want to be a burden
Youre not a burden. Helen stood. Come with me.
They stepped onto the balcony. Helens hands shook as she lit a cigarette. Charlotte hugged her arms against the cold.
Mum, I really could work café shifts. Some girls at school do.
You need to study.
Ill manage it.
Helen took a drag, exhaled.
Listen, I know its hard here. I see that. But you need to finish school, get your qualifications. That matters most.
And afterwards? Ill still be in the way.
Dont say that.
But its true. He wants me gone, and you know it. You do know, but you wont do anything.
Helen could not reply. Her daughter was right again.
***
The winter brought fresh tension. This time, about food.
Helen made their usual supper: roast potatoes, chicken, a salad. At table, Charlotte took only a little, Helen did likewise. Simon filled his plate and, after a few bites, eyed Charlotte.
Not hungry?
Im fine, she murmured, not looking up.
Eating so littledont you like the food your mother makes?
I do, but Im not hungry.
Strange, that. At your age, you ought to have an appetite.
Helen sensed trouble brewing.
Charlotte had lunch at school, she said. I gave her money for it.
From your own purse, did you? Simon said, thoughtful. Funny, my own purse never seems to have loose changeeverythings swallowed by the bills and shopping.
Charlotte quietly left the table.
Do the washing up, Simon called after her.
I will.
Left alone with Simon, Helen whispered, Why do you do that?
Do what?
Why pick at her like that?
Simon pushed his plate aside, reclining with a sigh.
Helen, Im tired. Tired of shouldering the whole family and only getting complaints for speaking plain truth.
What truth?
That you put her needs above ours. Every conversation circles back to her. We cant afford anything as everythings spent on Charlotte.
Thats not fair.
Its fair. You just dont want to see it.
Helen stood, gathered the plates. Her hands shook as she went into the kitchen where Charlotte was washing up, head down.
Lottie, Helen called gently.
Charlotte didnt answer. She was scrubbing a plate, too hard, refusing to turn round. Helen moved to hug her, but Charlotte flinched out of reach.
Mum, dont.
Im sorry. Sorry for him. Hes just tired.
Charlotte spun to face her, eyes brimming.
Dont make excuses for him. Hes not tired. He just doesnt want me here. And you know it. You know it, and do nothing.
I cant Helen felt tears prick her own eyes. I cant just leave. Weve nowhere to go. With my wages, wed have one room, thats all.
Thats better than this, Charlotte snapped, swiping away her tears. Better anything, than hearing every day that Im unwanted.
She stormed out, slamming the door behind her. Helen stood at the sink, staring out into the falling snoweach flake drifting soundlessly in the dark. Somewhere in this city, there must be families where children dont feel like an inconvenience; where mothers arent scared to buy their kids what they need; where marriages are made of respect, not constant accountancy.
But that wasnt her world. Her world was this flat, endless explanations and a sickening dread at every talk about money.
She went onto the balcony that night, once Simon was asleep, and smoked. She thought about Charlotteher clever, brave girlwho saw a way out, while Helen, grown woman of forty, could only apologise and justify.
Motherhood, Helen reflected. It ought to mean defending your child. But how, when you yourself depend on someone who cant accept her? How do you keep your daughters trust when, by silence, you betray her each day?
***
That spring brought A-Levels. Charlotte worked day and night, barely leaving her room. Helen delivered cups of tea and sandwiches, trying to keep her spirits up. Simon, surprisingly, was calmno nitpicking, no arguments about money. Helen dared to hope things would change, that perhaps his irritability was just a phase.
Charlotte did brilliantly. She was accepted into a teacher training collegeplace number five, tuition covered. Helen hugged her tightly.
Im so proud of you.
Thanks, Mum.
Even Simon handed over a bit of cash for her to spend. For a heart-lifting moment, Helen thought, things might be alright after all. If only she could wait it out.
But it didnt last, after all.
Charlotte was given a place in the colleges own halls. She was delighted; said it would save time on travel. Helen knew it wasnt about convenienceit was an escape. Her daughter needed to leave, simply to breathe.
When Charlotte broke the news, Simon nodded. Sensible move. Learning independence is vital.
Helen said nothing, but inside she broke. Her daughter, eighteen now, was leavingnot because life called her elsewhere, but because it was unbearable to stay. And as a mother, shed failed to prevent it.
Mum, dont worry, Charlotte whispered, hugging her close. “Ill come home on weekends. Well still see each other.
Of course, Helen managed, putting on a smile. Of course we will.
At the end of August, they packed for halls. Charlotte used Helens old suitcase. The usual motherly warnings: Take a warm blanketa good pillow; dormitory ones are dreadful. Charlotte humoured her, accepted everything.
Simon claimed he was too busy with work to help move. Helen booked a taxi; they took Charlottes things themselves to the college halls on the other side of the citya battered old building, four girls to a tiny room. The others hadnt arrived yet.
Itll be fine, Charlotte said, looking about. Ill manage.
They arranged her things, made up the bed, and just sat together for a while. Charlotte squeezed Helens hand.
Thank you. For everything.
Helens voice wobbled. What for? I couldnt give you a proper family.
You gave me all you could. None of this is your fault.
It is. I chose him. I brought him into our lives.
You wanted better for us. I get that.
They hugged for a long time. When it was finally time to go, Helen stood in the doorway, looking at her daughter.
Ill call you every day.
Alright, Mum.
And come home any time. This will always be your home.
Charlotte nodded, but both knew it wasnt true. It never had been.
***
The first weeks after Charlotte left passed in a dull haze. Helen went to work, came home, cooked. In the evenings, she and Simon watched television together. He seemed content, even affectionatetalked about having more freedom, more money, more time, now they were alone.
Helen nodded, but inside there was nothing.
She called Charlotte every evening; asked after college, after the food, after everything. Charlotte was brief, but not coldtelling stories about tutors and flatmates. She never mentioned coming home.
Helen waited every weekend, thinking her daughter would visit. But Charlotte never didone week, too much homework; the next, an outing with her group; the third, just tired and needed a rest.
Helen understoodin her bones she knew Charlotte wanted nothing more than to stay away. To not see Simon, to never again feel unwelcome. Helen made no demands, but each time her daughter declined, something inside Helen tore.
One September evening, Simon turned to her:
Shall we turn Charlottes room into an office? Its not like shes coming home.
Its her room.
Is it really? She doesnt use it. Why let it stand empty? I could use a proper workspace.
No.
Why not?
Because its Charlottes. Shell come back for holidays.
And if she does, she can use the sofa. Its not a problem.
Helen rose and stepped onto the balcony. Simon followed her.
Why are you so cross?
Dont touch her room.
Shes grown up. Shes moved out. Thats life, Helenchildren grow up and go.
Shes only eighteen. Shes not leaving forever.
Maybe she is. Shell find her own friends, maybe a boyfriendget her own place. Shes not coming back here, is she?
Helen was silent, because she knew: Charlotte would sooner live anywhere than return to these four walls.
I wont have her room touched, she said finally.
Simon rolled his eyes, returned to the lounge.
***
October settled over London with rain and greyness. Helen drifted between work and home, making tea, watching TV, her conversations with Simon growing briefer and duller. He seemed caught up in worklate nights, overnight trips. She stopped asking where or why. Just nodded as he left.
Charlottes calls became rareonce every few days. Sorry, so busy, Mum. Her voice steady, distant. She no longer asked about Helens life. She was building her own, a wall of independence between them.
Helen knew she was losing her daughternot in distance, but in love. It was the right thing, for Charlotte to break away, but as a mother it ached unbearably.
One evening in October, Helen went into Charlottes room. She switched on the lighteven now, everything remains neat: bed made, desk tidy, old photos on the walls. Helen sat on the bed, running her hand across the blanket. She remembered buying it together, when Charlotte wanted a garish pink with princesses, but Helen persuaded her to choose a sensible beige for practicality.
Now the blanket lay undisturbed; the bed never warm.
She opened the desk drawerpens, a notebook, forgotten lip balms. In the corner, a butterfly-shaped hairclipCharlotte wore it in her first year of secondary school. Helen turned it over in her palm. The metal was cold.
She didnt hear Simon come in.
Feeling nostalgic?
Helen startled, turning.
Just having a look.
Mmh, he said, leaning against the doorframe. About that officeI do need a workspace, you know.
I said no.
Oh, dont be so stubborn. Charlotte wont care.
How would you know?
Shes grown up. She knows life moves on. Its you who cant let go.
Helen stood, replaced the hairclip, and left without another word.
She went to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water, her hands trembling. She could not bear much more of this: being told every day her daughter was less important than Simons needs; living always on the brink of an argument, afraid for peace to be shattered by one careless word.
Late at night, when Simon had turned in, Helen drifted onto the balcony to smoke. Looking at the night sky, the scattered lights, she wondered if she might possibly manage on her ownif she scraped together her savings, she could rent a little flat, a single bedroom, perhaps. A place where Charlotte could visit, where the air might be free.
But fear paralysed her: fear of being alone again, of the neighbours whispers, of failing at marriage a second time. What about workwhat would people say if she turned up divorced again in her forties? What if she couldnt cope? And another, shameful fear: what if relief would come with being rid of Simon? What would that mean for the life shed tried to build?
***
Charlotte arrived home one weekendunexpected, unannounced.
She called one Saturday morning, saying shed be there in an hour. Helen instantly set to, cleaning and cooking her favourite food. Simon was watching the football, only grunted when informed.
When Charlotte arrived, Helen hugged her tight, couldnt get enough.
How are you? Hows college?
Alright. Its busy, but I like it.
They sat in the kitchen, tea between them, Charlotte chatting about college, about teaching practise. It almost felt like old times.
Simon entered, muttered a brief greeting.
All fine at college?
Yes.
With coffee, he vanished straight back to the lounge. Charlotte watched him, then asked, Can I stay the night?
Of course, darling. Your rooms just as you left it. Im so glad you came.
Over dinner they ate in silenceSimon scrolling on his phone. Helen tried to keep a conversation going, but the air was stiff and cold.
Later, after dinner, Charlotte went to her bedroom. Helen followed.
Youre awfully quiet.
Im fine, Mum. Just tired.
Rest then, Im glad youre home.
Helen closed the door, went back to the lounge. Simon flicked through the channels.
How long is she staying?
“I dont know. Probably until tomorrow.”
“Lets hope so.”
A wave of familiar dread and fury rose inside Helen.
Shes your stepdaughter.
In name.
How can you be so heartless?
Its the honest truth. Shes not mine. I dont mistreat her or chuck her out, Helen, but Im not obliged to love her.
Im not asking for love. Just decency.
I give her that. I dont say to her face what Im thinking.
Helen rose and stepped onto the balcony, sitting on the old wooden stool and letting tears fall unchecked. She thought shed endured, coped, managed, but now, with Charlottes brief return, it was plain that Charlotte still felt unwelcome. Helen realized that she had failedas wife, as mother.
Minutes later, the balcony door opened. Charlotte.
Mum, Im leaving in the morning.
Stay a bit longer.
No, its hard here. You know why.
Charlotte, forgive me. Forgive me for dragging him into our lives. For not leaving sooner. For making you want to run away.
Charlotte hugged her.
Its not your fault. You wanted a proper family. I get that.
But you suffered. You still do.
Im alright. I live away now.
But you never visit. Because of him.
Charlotte was silent. Then:
Yes. But in the end, Mum, you choose him. Every day.
I cant just leave.
You can. Youre just afraid.
Helen covered her face, and Charlotte hugged her tightly.
Mum, I dont want to hurt you. But if you stay with him, well lose each other. I cant come here anymore. I cant sit having tea, knowing you go back to him. It hurts too much.
What am I to do?
I dont know. But ask yourself what you wantpeace, or happiness. They arent the same.
***
Charlotte left in the morning. Helen hugged her at the door, unwilling to let go.
Text when you get there.
I will.
And visit again soon. Please.
Charlotte nodded, but the look in her eyes was sad, final.
After the door shut, Helen sat in Charlottes room and took out the butterfly hairclip. Her daughters words circled in her mind: Peace or happinesstheyre not the same.
All her life after divorcing David, Helen had sought peace. A steady roof, a man who didnt raise his fist, who came home, who didnt drink. She thought this was enough: happiness was for the young, but after forty, one simply mustnt end up alone. Not have to carry every load oneself.
But at what price?
Shed given this marriage three years. Three years of Charlottes lifeyears her child should have felt shielded and cherished. Instead, Charlotte grew up knowing she was nothing more than a tolerated presence.
And Helen had seen it, and stayed silent, out of fear: of poverty, gossip, isolation, being wrong again.
Simon stuck his head through the door.
She gone?
Yes.
Rightlet me get started on that office.
Helen looked at himhis ordinary face, his well-worn jumper and slippers. Not cruel, just indifferent. For him, Charlotte was an obstacle, now finally gone.
No, she said.
What?
Therell be no office here.
Weve had this conversation, Helen.
We have. I said no.
He rolled his lips.
I dont get you, suddenly snapping. Why are you so cross?
Im not cross. Im exhausted.
With what?
With all of itbeing told every day that I cant even mention my daughter without getting a lecture on household finances and how shes a burden.
Thats not true.
It is. Maybe not in words, but every day, you say it.
Simon folded his arms.
Alright, then. What do you really want?
I want control over my money. To buy something for Charlotte without begging. I want respect for her.
Im not controlling. We agreed to join our finances.
Yes, but I never agreed to thisevery purchase being an inquest.
Helen, I work hard. Ive a right to know where the money goes.
And I work too. Or does my wage not count?
You earn a third of what I do.
So I have no voice?
He sighed.
You wear me out. Ive given you a proper life, a flat, stability. Now you want to complain.
I didnt know proper meant being so dependent.
You are dependent, because you live here, and I pay all the main bills. Its a fact.
Helen stood, putting the butterfly clip in her dressing gown pocket.
Yes. It is. And I dont want to be dependent anymore.
Whats that mean?
It means Ill leave.
Simon laughed, a short, humourless bark.
Where to? With your wage youll rent a broom cupboard.
If thats what it takes.
Come off it, Helen. Youll never leave. Three years, youve got used to comfortyou dont want to be on your own again.
He wasnt wrong. Shed grown accustomed to warmth, to not worrying about bills, to someone there, even if that someone made her miserable.
Maybe I wont leave, she said softly, but Ill think about it.
She went to the kitchen and laid the butterfly clip on the table. She gazed at itCharlottes childhood, all that hope. Her daughter had grown up and leftnot because the world had called her, but because her mother had failed to protect her. To make their home a safe haven.
That guilt, Helen knew, would be hers forever, whether she left Simon or not. Charlotte had grown up knowing she wasnt wantedknowing her mother had chosen a man, not her.
You cant erase that. At best, you can trytoo lateto build bridges right now, before your daughter is lost to you forever.
***
Weeks passed. Helen stuck it out, going to work, coming home. Her conversations with Simon grew sparse. He seemed to expect her threat would fade. But she hadnt left; she simply didnt know how.
Charlotte barely calledonce a week, polite and detached. Helen felt her daughter pulling away for good.
In December Helen heard that a small flat was becoming available for rent in their neighbourhooda single bedroom, cheap by local standards, just within reach if she cut back. She scribbled the landladys phone number, tucked it away. She didnt ring, but just having the option helped her breathe.
One evening before Christmas, Simon suggested, How about we fly somewhere for the holidaysTurkeys cheap just now. We deserve a rest.
Helen looked at him.
What about Charlotte?
What about her?
Shes home for the holidays. She might visit.
She wont. If she wanted to spend Christmas with us shed have said. She doesnt want to come back.
He was probably right. Charlotte hadnt rung, hadnt asked about Christmas. Most likely shed stay with friends or the other girls in her hall.
So, are we going? Simon pressed.
Im not sure.
Think about it. Itll do us good. Youve been awfully tense.
Helen didnt reply. She didnt want Turkey, didnt want to fake happiness for a week by the pool with the man whose indifference weighed on her like stones.
But she didnt say no, either. She just nodded.
That night, while Simon slept, Helen tiptoed out onto the balcony. Snow came down in lazy flakes. She finished another cigarette, thinkingpeople review their lives at Christmas, make new plans. What was her plan? Remain here, in this marriage without kindness? Or risk solitude, hardship, what others might say?
She didnt know. But she knew she couldnt live much longer like this, waiting to crumble.
***
On New Years Eve, Charlotte called.
Happy New Year, Mum.
Happy New Year, Lottie! Where are you?
With my flatmates. Were having a small get-together.
Thats nice. Have fun.
And you, Mum?
Im home with Simon.
Charlotte hesitated.
Mum, I love you, you know that?
I know, darling. I love you, too.
I just wish for you to be happy.
I am, love.
No, youre not. I can hear it.
Helen felt tears prick.
Its complicated, Lottie.
I understand. But think about yourself for once. You deserve happiness. Even now, even alone, even at your age.
Helen choked. Thank you.
I must go. Love you.
Love you.
Helen held the phone a long while, then rummaged in her drawer for the scrap of paper with the landladys number. Simon was snorting with laughter at the TV in the other roomjust another ordinary night.
But something inside Helen shifted. Maybe being alone after forty wasnt a curse, but a chance to begin again. A small, cramped space, but hers. Where Charlotte could visit, breathe freely.
Perhaps it wasnt a failure to leave a second marriage; perhaps it was a release.
She dialled the number. Long rings. A woman picked up.
Yes?
Hello. Im interested in your flatwhen could I come by?
Second of January, if you like. Early afternoon?
Yes that would be fine.
Helen pressed the phone to her chest, then slipped the hairclip into her pocket and stepped into Charlottes room. She laid the clip on the bedside table.
Im sorry, she whispered into the dim. Ill try to put things right.
She didnt know if she could. Didnt know if Charlotte would ever forgive her. But for the first time in many years, she felt, not sickness or dread or weariness, but a flickerjust a fragile threadof hope.
Small, uncertain, but hope nonetheless.
And maybe, at last, that would be enough for a beginning.
