My grandson, yes, but hes your child.
I just dont know what else we can do, Emily, sighed Margaret Brooks for what must be the hundredth time. Your ex hasnt paid a penny in child support for four months, not a penny! He wont answer his phone, he ignores your texts. He acts like Jamie doesnt even exist. No job, no money and nothing we can take from him even if we tried!
Emily pressed her palms to her temples and leaned forward onto the kitchen table. Her little boy was only two. And after the six months shes spent living with her mum, Emily felt as if shed aged a decade.
You think Im not aware, Mum?
I think youre still holding out hope, Margaret replied, lips tight. That hell wake up to himself, that money will just fall from the sky. But lifes not a fairy tale. Not for us, anyway.
Tears started rolling down Emilys cheeks before she could stop them. She wiped them away with the back of her hand, only for more to follow.
Ive been looking for work for five months, she managed, the lump in her throat making it hard to speak. Every interview goes the same. They nod, they smile, they read my CV. Then they ask if Ive got children. The moment I say yes, everything changes. They tune out. I tell them its fine because youre home with Jamie, that I wont be taking sick days every fortnight. They dont care.
Margaret silently stared at the chipped rim of her mug.
I wont be able to buy food much longer, Mum, Emily said, unable to hold it back any more. I am grateful you took us in, really I am. But it its breaking me. I lie awake every night, wondering what will happen next month, or the one after, and I feel like Im drowning.
She wiped her face again and sighed shakily.
Ive got another interview tomorrow, she said. Lydia sorted it for me. She knows people there and gave me a good word. They need someone reliable, she said.
Margaret gave a short, wry laugh.
Dont get your hopes up, she cut in briskly. Nothing ever comes easy in this family. Were just not the lucky ones.
Emily didnt argue. She was simply too tired.
*
Emily stands on the pavement, gripping her handbag, still hardly believing whats just happened. Behind her, the glass tower of the eighteen-storey office block gleams in the afternoon sun.
Shes been hired. The pay is nearly three thousand pounds a month. And when she nervously mentioned Jamiebracing herself for the all-too-familiar look of polite disappointmentthe HR woman simply nodded and moved on to the next question.
Emily fumbles for her phone and dials Lydia.
Lydia, she gasps as soon as her friend picks up, I got it. Ive got a job!
Youre kidding! Emily! Didnt I tell you? I told you youd ace it!
I cant believe it. Emily laughs and cries at the same time, right there in the street, not caring what anyone might think. Thank you! Honestly, Lydia, thank you so much.
On the way home, she pops into a bakery and buys a cake. Something like this has to be celebrated.
*
The first month in her new job goes by in a blur. Spreadsheets, meetings, an endless parade of new computer programmes to master. Emily returns late every evening, head buzzing with numbers and deadlines, but for the first time in ages she feels light.
The first paycheck lands in her account on the 25th. Emily just sits on her bed for nearly five minutes, staring at the numbers on her phone.
By the second month, shes in the groove, and the money starts making a real difference. The fridge is always fullnot just the basics, but fruit, yoghurts for Jamie, decent cheese instead of discount specials.
Margaret stops traipsing round three supermarkets to compare prices. Jamie gets new shoes the minute his old ones are too small, instead of living with pinching toes for weeks. Emily even manages to save a little every month for emergencies; life has taught her theres always one on the horizon.
But something else starts to change too, something Emily hadnt expected.
Jamies asleep. That night, Margaret corners Emily in the kitchen.
I never see you these days, she says quietly. That little lad hardly knows you. You leave before he wakes up and come home when hes already dreaming his tenth dream.
Emily rubs at her eyes, feeling the exhaustion down to her bones.
Mum, Im working so we can have a roof over our heads. So we can live like people do. You know that.
I know youre turning into a stranger to your own son. Hes asked after you three times today, Emily. Three times. What am I supposed to tell him?
Tell him his mums at work. Tell him Im doing my best.
Hes two, Emily. All he really wants is his mummy.
Emily clenches her jaw. Part of her wants to scream. What was she meant to doquit and bring Jamie to the office? Go back to being broke? Shes too tired to argue, knowing itll only run in circles.
I am trying, she whispers. Its all I can do.
Another two months slide by in uneasy truce. Margarets comments become sharper, her digs more frequentlittle jabs when Emily least expects them. A pointed sigh as she enters the flat. Remarks about mothers who care more for their careers. Emily starts letting them go in one ear and out the otheror tries to.
*
And then, one morning at breakfast, it comes to a head. The three of them are in the kitchen, Jamie making a mighty mess with his porridge, when Margaret slides a piece of paper towards Emily.
Ive found you a job, she announces. Cleaning at the local shopping centre. The hours are good, youll be home much more.
Emily stares at the paper, not touching it. A cleaner. After all shes worked for.
Why would I change jobs? Things are finally looking up. Theyre even talking about a promotion in a few months.
Because Ive had enough.
Margaret pushes the form closer.
I cant do this anymore, Emily. Day in, day out. Im sixty-three. Ive raised my kids already, and now all I want is a bit of peace. To get to the GP without hauling a toddler along, see my friends, have a nap if I fancy, watch my programmes in quiet.
Mum, weve just started living like normal people. Weve only just crawled out of that hole.
And Im glad for you, truly. But Jamie is your son, not mine. Hes always poorlyhes had two fevers just this month. He needs constant attention. I cant even nip to the loo without him wailing outside the door. I love him, hes my grandson, but Im worn to the bone.
Emily looks at Jamie, now trying to feed his teddy with porridgeher funny, demanding, wonderful boy, completely oblivious that Grandmas ready to trade him for a quiet nap.
So you want me to give up my career and scrub floors because youre tired, Emily says slowly.
I want you to be a mum to your own son. And yes, I do need rest. Is that so awful? Is it really a crime to admit I cant go on?
Everything inside Emily turns cold and empty.
Understood, she replies, voice flat. Give me a couple of weeks. Ill figure something out.
Margarets shoulders seem to relax in relief. She reaches out, stroking Emilys hair.
I just want things to be better, love. Youll have more time with Jamie, and I can have a little break. Well manage. Youll see, everything will sort itself out.
Emily nods, grabs her bag and heads out to work.
*
Three weeks later, Margaret opens Emilys bedroom door and gasps. The floor is stacked with boxes, two or three high. Suitcases are open on the bed, clothes folded into neat piles, toys already tucked into plastic tubs.
Whats all this? Margaret clutches the doorframe. What are you doing?
Emily carries on packing.
I found a private nursery thatll take Jamie. Its priceywiped out most of my savingsbut theyve got a place for him starting next week. Well move him to the local one in September, just have to hold on for a few months.
If you found a nursery, Margaret says, glancing around in confusion, why are you moving out? Why are you packing?
Emily finally looks up. Her face is calm, her eyes dry, but her detachment is icy.
Because youve made it clear were a burden. That youre fed up with looking after Jamie. So Im solving the problem, Mum. Were getting a one-bed flat near work. Nothing fancy but its ours. Youll have peace and quiet. No toddlers crying outside the bathroom. No more endless sick days. No more worry.
Emily, I didnt mean you had to move out! I never said you had to leave!
You said youd had enough. Said you cant do it any more. I heard you.
I just needed a break! I didnt mean this.
Emily zips her suitcase shut.
You meant every word, Mum. And Im not angry. You were honest with me, so now Im being honest with you. Were moving.
Margaret tries to grab her daughters hand, but Emily steps back, Jamie clinging to his soft bunny, staring at the two women with wide, uncertain eyes.
Theyve promised me a promotion, Emily says in the doorway. More money, more responsibility. Well be fine. Things will only get better in time. Dont worry about us.
Margaret grips the doorframe helplessly.
When will I see yousee Jamie?
I dont know. Not soon. I need time to process all this.
Emily leaves, heads down the stairs and into the street. The flat shes renting is tiny, still smelling of fresh paint. The walls are bare, the rooms echoingjust a mattress on the floor and a few boxes with essentials. But as she sets Jamie down and watches him totter around, hands on the unfamiliar walls, Emily smiles.
This is their place. Their new start.
Her mum wasnt entirely wrong, she thinks. Raising a toddler at sixty-three is hard. But that conversation in the kitchen still stings. Her mother was willing to force her to give up her career, her chance to provide for Jamie, just because she was tired. She hadnt suggested they look for a way out together; shed simply decided. Now its time for Emily to start making her own decisions.
