**Diary Entry**
The kettle hummed softly on the stove as Eleanor sifted through her collection of tea packets. Chamomile, peppermint, Earl Grey Victoria had brought them back from her last business trip to Paris. Eleanor smiled faintly, remembering how her daughter had proudly handed her the keys to this flat five years ago.
*”Now, Mum, youll finally have a place of your own,”* Victoria had said back then. *”No more rented rooms.”*
The old kitchen had become her sanctuary. Everything here felt comfortingthe worn oilcloth on the table, the geraniums on the windowsill, even the crack in the tiles near the hob seemed familiar. She was about to pour herself a cup when the doorbell rang.
Victoria stood in the doorwaysharp in a tailored suit, hair perfectly styled, her expression unreadable.
*”Mum, we need to talk.”*
Eleanor stepped aside, her stomach tightening at the ice in her daughters voice.
*”Come in, love. Ive just made your favouritethe Earl Grey you brought.”*
*”No, thanks.”* Victoria stayed rooted in the middle of the kitchen. *”I wont stay. Mum, you need to move out. By tomorrow.”*
Eleanor froze, the kettle still in her hand. Surely shed misheard.
*”I beg your pardon?”*
*”The flat needs to be vacated. Tomorrow. I cant delay this any longer.”*
Hot tea splashed onto her wrist, but she barely registered the sting.
*”Victoria, I dont understand This is my home. You gave it to me”*
*”Its just property, Mum.”* Victoria pulled out her phone, scrolling briskly. *”Youve had your time here, but I cant support you forever.”*
*”Support me?”* Eleanor let out a brittle laugh. *”Darling, I pay the utilities, I clean”*
*”Lets not do this,”* Victoria cut in, wrinkling her nose. *”The decisions made. Leave the keys on the table.”*
She turned to leave, but Eleanor caught her wrist.
*”Wait! At least explainwhy? Whats happened?”*
*”Nothings happened. Its just business, Mum. The flat could fetch more on the market.”*
The door clicked shut, and Eleanor was alone. A dull ringing filled her ears. She sank onto a stool, staring at the spilled tea pooling on the counter. The evening sun glinted off the surface, fractured and fleeting.
As if in a daze, she drifted to the bedroom. Photos lined the wallsVictoria at graduation, radiant in white; the two of them at the seaside, her daughter building sandcastles while Eleanor laughed, shielding them from the tide. Back then, shed sold her cottage to fund Victorias education. Had it been a sacrifice? No. Just love.
*”Sweetheart,”* she whispered, tracing the photo. *”How did we get here?”*
Night crept in. Eleanor mechanically packed her things into an old suitcase, pausing now and then to memorise the flats detailsthe chipped paint shed meant to touch up, the warm glow of her bedside lamp, the geraniums shadow on the wall. Each triviality suddenly precious.
Somewhere deep down, she hoped morning would bring a phone callVictoria admitting it was a mistake, a cruel joke. But the phone stayed silent, and the clocks hands marched on, counting down her final hours in the place shed called home.
The first night was stifling. Eleanor sat on a park bench, clutching her suitcase, watching the stars. Somewhere, people slept in warm beds, while she*God, how had it come to this?*
Shed left the keys polished on the table. A silly impulse, maybe, but she wanted them to shine. Perhaps Victoria would notice and remember how her mother had always cared for the little things.
*”Evening,”* rasped a voice beside her. Eleanor startled. A scruffy man in a worn jacket settled at the far end of the bench. *”Dont mind me. Rough night?”*
She hugged the suitcase tighter. *”No, I just needed air.”*
He chuckled. *”At three in the morning? With luggage?”*
*”Believe it or not,”* she attempted a smile, lips trembling, *”I like night walks.”*
*”Right.”* He pulled an apple from his pocket, offering it. *”Hungry? Just washed it in the fountain.”*
She shook her head, but her stomach betrayed her with a growl. She hadnt eaten since yesterday.
*”Names Simon,”* he said, taking a bite. *”Three months on the streets. Wife kicked me out. You?”*
*”My daughter,”* Eleanor murmured, surprising herself with the honesty.
*”Hmph.”* Simon shook his head. *”Kids these days Different breed. My sons in Canadabeen waiting two years for a call.”*
By dawn, the air turned crisp. Eleanor dozed against the bench, stiff and cold. Simon had gone, leaving her a second apple and an address for a shelter. *”Its warm there,”* hed said. *”They feed you sometimes.”*
As light broke, she stood, stretching her numb legs. Where to go? The shelter felt too final. Maybe Margaret? Her neighbour had always been kind, often dropping by for tea
Knocking on the familiar door took effort. Eleanor raised her hand three times before finally committing.
*”Ellie?”* Margaret appeared in a floral dressing gown. *”Good Lord, whats happened? You look awful!”*
*”Margaret”* Her voice wavered. *”Could I stay with you a few days?”*
Margarets tiny kitchen smelled of sugar and cinnamon. Shed been bakinga morning ritual.
*”Bloody hell,”* Margaret muttered, listening to Eleanors fractured retelling. *”I always said you spoiled her. Remember how she spoke to you at her birthday? And you just took it!”*
*”Please, Margaret”*
*”No, Ellie!”* She slammed a cup down. *”Enough delusions! Shes always been like this. Remember when you drained your savings for her wedding? Not so much as a thank you!”*
Eleanor stared out the window, where the city stirred to life. Somewhere, people hurried to jobs, to families, to certainty
*”Youll bounce back, love,”* Margaret said, squeezing her shoulder. *”You always do.”*
Three days blurred past. Eleanor made herself usefulcooking, cleaning, even fixing Margarets leaky tap. But with each passing hour, she felt more like a burden.
*”Walter!”* she suddenly remembered, flipping through an old address book. A family friend, her late husbands colleague. Hed offered help years ago
Dialling his number took courage. What if hed forgotten her? Worseremembered, but refused?
*”Walter? Its Ellie Ellie Dawson.”*
A
