The front door slammed as Emily stormed out without looking back.
“Mum, where’s my blue jumper? The one with the high neck?” came the shout from the hallway, accompanied by the clatter of coat hangers.
Elizabeth set aside her book on managing diabetes through diet, marking her place with a sigh before rising from the sofa.
“It’s in the wash, love. Why do you need it? It’s ten degrees outside.”
“I’m going to Sophie’sher house is freezing. Fine, where’s the grey cardigan then?”
“The grey one? You said just last week it was boring,” Elizabeth replied, moving toward the wardrobe to sift through the neatly folded clothes. “Here, take the pink one. It suits you.”
Emily leaned into the room, nose wrinkled in distaste.
“I’m seeing my friend, not going on a date. Pinks too dressy.”
“Looking nice never hurt anyone,” her mother said with a patient smile. “Remember what I always told you? First impressions matter. So does whats insidebut why not have both?”
Emily rolled her eyes, yanking the first jumper she could find over her head.
“Em, youre definitely just going to Sophies? Maybe stay home instead? Her parents are awayjust you two there. You know, at your age…” Elizabeth hesitated, searching for the right words.
“Mum, Im seventeen. What, you think were going to be doing drugs or something?” Emily scoffed, zipping up her coat.
“No, darling, but… what if boys show up? You read the papersthings happen. Why not invite Sophie here instead? I made shepherds pie, even baked a treacle tart.”
Emily froze, then turned slowly.
“Mum, stop! Just stop controlling me! Im old enough to decide where I go!”
“But love, Im not controlling youI worry! Youre my only childif anything happened”
“Nothings going to happen! God, why cant you just trust me?” Emily wrenched the zip up with an angry jerk. “Im going to study history coursework, notnot whatever wild idea youve cooked up!”
“I havent cooked up anything,” Elizabeth said, wounded. “Its justgirls in my day consulted their parents.”
“Exactly! Your day. Its different now, Mum!”
Elizabeth exhaled, leaning against the doorframe. Yes, times had changed. And her daughter wasnt like shed been at seventeenworking part-time at the local chemist, helping her own mother raise three younger siblings. Going to a friends just to chat had been unthinkable. Even if she had, shed have reported every detail afterward.
“Emily, I dont mind you going to Sophies. But call me in a few hours, let me know youre alright. Please?”
“Mum, seriously?” Emily groaned. “Im not five.”
“No. But itll ease my mind. Please.”
Emily hesitated, then nodded.
“Fine. Ill call. But not every half-hour, deal?”
“Deal,” Elizabeth said, relieved.
Once Emily left, Elizabeth returned to her book, but the words blurred. Her thoughts circled back to her daughtergrowing up, pulling away. It was natural, inevitable. But letting go was agony.
Emily used to tell her everything, whispering secrets, asking advice. Now she was closed off, answering in monosyllables, bristling at questions. Was Elizabeth wrong to guide her? Warn her?
Her own mother had been strict, uncompromising. No freedoms, no secrets. And Elizabeth was grateful for that. Maybe thats why she clung so tightlyterrified that without her watchful eye, Emily would make mistakes.
The phone rang an hour later.
“Mum, its me. Everythings finejust working on history. Sophie says hi.”
“Thank you for calling. What time will you be back?”
“Nine-ish? Still loads to do.”
“Alright. Ill warm up the pie. Be safe.”
“Mum, stop! Im practically next door, not trekking through the Amazon. Bye.”
Elizabeth set the phone down, shaking her head. Next door, yes. Two streets over. Yet her heart raced as if Emily had crossed continents.
Maybe she was smothering her. At Emilys age, shed had a friend, Claire, whose mother tracked her every move. Claire had complained of suffocatingthen, at eighteen, eloped with a man she barely knew, desperate to escape. The marriage collapsed, leaving her miserable. Elizabeth didnt want that for Emily.
But letting go was terrifying. The world wasnt safe. Girls disappeared, fell in with bad crowds. Emily was bright but naivebook-smart, not street-smart.
By eight oclock, Elizabeth was pacing. Calling was too soon, but dread crept in. What if theyd gone out? What if Emily was too embarrassed to call?
At half-past, she caved. The phone rang endlessly before a mans unfamiliar voice answered.
“Hello?”
“Sorrymay I speak to Emily? Its her mother.”
“Emily? No one here by that name.”
Elizabeths blood ran cold.
“What? Is Sophie there?”
“Sophies out. You sure youve got the right number?”
Elizabeth hung up, hands trembling. Where was Emily? Had she misdialed? Noshe knew the number by heart. Sophies dad mustve returned early, unaware the girls were home alone.
Unless theyd gone out. But Emily had promised to call if plans changed!
Elizabeth paced, peering out the window every few minutes, hoping to spot Emily walking home.
At nine, Emily called.
“Mum, on my way. Be there in ten.”
“Emily! Where were you? I called Sophiessome man said no one was home!”
“Oh, thats her uncle Mark. We went to the libraryneeded references for our project. I told you we were working on history.”
“But why didnt you say youd left the house?”
“Mum, we went to the local library! Its not like we flew to Spain!”
“Emily, we agreed! You promised to call if plans changed!”
“They didnt change! We were still working, just not at Sophies! Do I have to call for every little thing?”
Elizabeth bit back the urge to argueto say this wasnt “little,” that shed been frantic. She didnt want a fight.
When Emily returned, Elizabeth served reheated pie, but dinner was silent.
“Hows Sophie? Her parents back?”
“Dads home. Mums back tomorrow.”
“Whats your project on?”
“World War Two. The Blitz.”
“Oh! My grandad lived through that”
“Mum, Im knackered. Can I go to bed?”
Elizabeth forced a smile. “Of course, love. Night.”
Emily left, and Elizabeth cleared the table, unease gnawing at her. Something was wrong, but what?
Days later, she ran into Sophies mum, Rebecca, at the shops.
“Liz! How was your trip?”
“Lovely! Though Mark caught flucut it short. Hows Emily? Sophie says shes been quiet lately.”
“Quiet? I thought she was just… independent now. Used to tell me everything.”
“Thats growing up,” Rebecca said. “Sophie announced she wants to do hairdressing, not uni. Can you believe it?”
Elizabeth hesitated. “Well… good hairdressers earn well.”
Rebecca gasped. “Liz! Shes brilliant at maths! Should be an engineer or something proper!”
Elizabeth nodded, but something twisted inside. Was she just as dismissive of Emilys dreams?
At home, Emily was writing at her desk.
“Working hard?”
“English essay.”
“On what?”
“Female characters in classic lit.”
“Ah! Jane Eyre? Elizabeth Bennet?”
“Tess of the dUrbervilles.”
Elizabeth sat on the bed. “What about her?”
“How she fought for her freedom,” Emily said flatly.
“But she” Elizabeth stopped. “Its a tragic ending.”
“She chose it. Didnt let others decide for her.”
Something in Emilys tone set off alarms.
“Em… is something wrong?”
“No, Mum.”
“School? Sophie?”
“Mum, Im fine! Cant I just write?”
Elizabeth withdrew, but worry festered.
The next day, after Emily left, Elizabeth tidied her roomjust vacuuming, she told herself. Then she spotted an open notebook. Not an essay. A diary.
She shouldnt. But she read.
“Mum thinks she knows whats bestuni, friends, clothes. But has she ever asked what I want? Psychology, not English. I want to understand people, help them. But if I tell her, shell say its not proper. She always knows best.”
Elizabeth closed the book, chest tight. Was that really how Emily
