The cold, grey London afternoon seeped through the curtains as Eleanor stood motionless by the window, her daughter Lily asleep in her arms. An hour had passed since she’d watched the car disappear down the street, yet still she waitedfoolishly hoping for headlights to reappear, for James to stride back through the door laughing it off as some cruel joke.
It had happened so suddenly. James had returned from his office in Canary Wharf, unusually quiet. When she found him packing his suitcase in their cramped Battersea flat, her stomach dropped.
“Where are you going?” she’d asked, voice trembling.
“I’m leaving. For someone who actually sees me.” His words were ice.
“James, this isn’t funny. Did something happen at work? Is this a business trip?”
“Christ, Eleanor, listen! Im done. Its always Lily with you. You dont even look at me anymore.”
“Keep your voice downyoull wake her.”
“There! Again! Its only ever about her.” His lip curled. “Your husband walks out, and you”
“A real man wouldnt abandon his wife and child,” she whispered, turning away before he could see the tears. She knew himone more word, and it would erupt into a scene. Gathering Lily from her cot, she retreated to the kitchen, where he wouldnt follow. There was nothing of his left there to take.
The night stretched on, sleepless. Who could she call? Her mother had barely acknowledged her since the wedding, too wrapped up in her golden childEleanors younger brother. Friends were no use; they had their own families to tend to. By dawn, exhaustion dragged her under. When she tried Jamess number, the call dropped instantly. A text buzzed in reply: *Dont contact me again.*
Lilys whimpers pulled her back. No time to crumble. She had a daughter to care for. But the numbers in her wallet and bank account made her blood run cold. Even if the landlord delayed rent until her benefits came through, it wouldnt be enough. Food. Bills. She couldve taken remote work, but James had taken his laptop. Two weeks left in the flattwo weeks to figure out survival.
Every call to agencies ended the same: no one would hire a single mother. Even mopping floors required childcare she didnt have. Moving to a cheaper place? Impossible. Her brothers family already overcrowded their mums two-bed in Croydon. The only option was a grim bedsit, its walls thin enough to hear every argument, every bottle smashed in the hall.
Five days before eviction, the doorbell rang.
Margaret Harrington stood on the threshold, Jamess mother, her sharp eyes scanning the half-packed boxes. Eleanors stomach twisted. Their relationship had always been poison wrapped in politeness. From their first meeting, Margaret made it clear: Eleanor wasnt good enough. Visits were a minefield of backhanded compliments*Darling, do you ever dust?*and untouched meals (*This slops fit for pigs*). When Lily was born, Margaret had demanded a paternity test, only softening once the babys resemblance to James became undeniable.
Now, here she was, lips pursed. “Pack properly. Youre coming with me.”
Eleanor blinked. “Iwhat?”
“Must I repeat myself? Youre moving in. Unless youd rather shack up with your mother and her zoo of a household?”
“You knew?”
“Of course I knew. That useless boy finally phoned. My house has space.”
The Harringtons three-bedroom in Richmond was a world away from Battersea. Margaret showed them to a room*properly made up, see?*and when Eleanor finally ventured to the kitchen, the woman sighed.
“Eleanor, I know weve been… unkind to one another. But try to understand. Forgive me, if you can.”
“You only wanted what was best for him.”
“Best?” Margaret scoffed. “I was selfish. Today, he called, proud as you please, boasting about his new girl. I raised a coward. His father left us when he was three months oldhe knew how it felt. Yet he did the same.” Her voice cracked. “Stay as long as you need.”
Eleanor couldnt speak. Tears splashed onto the table.
“None of that,” Margaret snapped, but her hand covered Eleanors. “Consider it penance. Well manage. Roof over our heads. When you find work, Ill mind Lily.”
By Lilys first birthday, they were inseparable. Balloons bobbed in the lounge, the scent of apple pie warming the air. When Lily toddled toward them, Margaret gasped. “Look! Her first proper steps!” They caught her as she toppled, laughing.
The doorbell rang again.
James stood there, a blonde woman clinging to his arm. “Mum. Were moving in.”
Margarets smile vanished. “Like hell you are.”
“Its my home too”
“Five months, James. Not a word. And now you bring *her*?”
The womanAngelicaflinched as Margaret stepped closer. “This is Lilys day. You forgot, didnt you?”
Jamess gaze flicked to the decorations, the cake. “I thought the divorce”
“Finalised *tomorrow*, thanks to your no-shows. And if you doubt shes yours, get a DNA test. Waste your money. Now get out.”
When the door slammed, Eleanor hesitated. “Margaret… hes your son. I could leave”
“He *is* my son. But no child of mine treats his own this way. Wives come and go. Children dont.”
Four years later, Margaret cornered Eleanor in the kitchen. “How long dyou plan to hide that solicitor from me?”
Eleanor flushed. “Youyou knew?”
“Please. Youve been grinning like a schoolgirl for weeks. Bring him round.”
“Youre really alright with it?”
“Long as he treats you and Lily right.”
At the wedding, Margaret toasted Edward with rare warmth. “Dont think this means Im retiring from Lily-duty,” she warned.
“Mum,” Eleanor laughed, “she adores you.”
When their son Oliver was born, Margaret claimed him instantly. “Another grandchild. And not the last, I hope.”
James married Angelica, moved to Manchester. Margaret heard snippets through cousins*hes fine, seems happy*and though shed never say it, she kept his childhood photo tucked in her drawer. But here, in this house, she had a daughter now. Two grandchildren. A family.
And room, she insisted, for more.
