Emily, are you even listening to me? Im asking when youll hand in the report!
What? Oh sorry, Claire. By Friday everything will be ready.
Friday? Todays already Thursday! Claire shook her head, irritated. Youve barely been here lately. Is it because of that Lucy again?
Emily clenched her fists under the desk. Just the mention of her fathers new wife made her throat tighten.
I dont want to talk about it.
You should, Claire pushed her chair closer. You need to have a serious chat with your dad. Hes lost his head. He married her just six months after your mothers funeral!
Eight months, Emily corrected automatically. And Dads an adult, he knows what hes doing.
Exactly, he doesnt! Men his age are especially vulnerable. And Lucys young; she probably has her eyes on your flat.
Emily wanted to argue, but deep down she knew Claire was right. Lucy was eighteen years younger than her father. Theyd met at the local health centre where she worked as a nurse. Back then Dad still drove Mum to her appointments.
I have to go, Emily gathered her papers into her bag. We agreed I could leave early today.
Go, go. Just promise youll call if anything comes up. Anytime.
Emily nodded and stepped out of the office. A fine October drizzle fell on the streets. She pulled her coat collar up and hurried to the bus stop. The ride home was about twenty minutes, then another five minutes on foot. She had lived with her parents in a twobedroom flat on the third floor of an ageing ninestorey council tower. After Mums death she had wanted to move out, find a place of her own, but her modest salary and the skyhigh rents made that impossible.
Dad had persuaded her to stay.
Em, dont leave me alone, hed said. Im like a ship without a rudder without your mother. I need you close.
So she stayed. She cooked, cleaned, washed, trying to fill the void Mum had left. Then Lucy appeared.
At first Dad only mentioned a lovely nurse. Then he lingered on walks. Six months later he announced he was getting married.
You see, love, I cant do this alone. I need a woman by my side. Your mother would have understood.
Emily didnt argue. She slipped out of the room, shut the door, and wept into her pillow until dawn.
The wedding was a modest affairactually, no ceremony at all. They signed the papers quietly; Emily wasnt even invited. She learned of it later when Dad brought Lucy home, passport seal still wet.
Meet my wife.
Lucy was tall, bleached blonde, bright lipstick and long, painted nails. She could pass for thirtyfive, though Dad claimed she was fortytwo.
Hello, Emily, she extended a hand. Hope we can be friends.
Emily shook the cold fingers and drifted into the kitchen. On a shelf in the corner sat Mums favourite rosepatterned teacup. Emily picked it up, filled it with water, hands trembling.
At first Lucy behaved cautiously. She smiled, asked about work, offered help. Emily kept her distance, answering tersely. She couldnt forgive Dads haste; Mum had died only months ago and hed already moved on.
Gradually Lucy settled in. She rearranged the bedroom, changed the curtains in the sittingroom, bought a new set of dishes and stashed Mums belongings in the back of the wardrobe.
Your mother had taste, Lucy said, but thats all old now. Time for a fresh look.
Emily stayed silent. What could she say? The flat belonged to Dad; formally she was a guest.
A month later Lucy began to drop hints.
Emily, youre a grown woman, thirtythree now. Its time you built a life of your own. Living with us you know.
This is my home, Emily snapped.
Your fathers home, Lucy corrected gently. And now mine as well.
Dad never intervened. He seemed deaf and blind, wandering the flat with a blissful grin, constantly embracing Lucy at the waist, calling her sweet pet names. Emily no longer recognised him. Where was the steady, restrained man who had spent thirty years with Mum in love and harmony?
Leaving the bus, Emily quickened her pace. She just wanted to be home, kick off the wet shoes, sip hot tea, maybe find Dad absenthed promised to visit a friend. Then she could sit in the kitchen and remember Mum.
She thought of Mum every day: the cabbage pies, the bedtime stories, the gentle hand on Emilys head and the promise that everything would be alright. Even when illness stole her strength and doctors gave up hope, Mum still smiled.
Dont be sad, love. Ill always be with you.
Emily fished out her keys and unlocked the door. The flat was quiet. She slipped off the soaked shoes, hung her coat, and headed to her bedroom.
She stopped dead on the threshold.
The room looked different. She couldnt pinpoint what had changed, but a hollow emptiness pressed on her chest, stealing her breath.
The bed was where it had always been, the wardrobe, the desk by the window. But where was Mums little jewellery box that always sat on the nightstand? Where was the embroidered napkin Mum had sewn before Emily was born? Where were the framed photographs?
Emily lunged to the wardrobe, flung the doors open. On the top shelf had rested Mums blue shawl, the one Dad had given her on their anniversary. It was gone.
No, no, no
Her hands shook as she rummaged through the remaining items. Mums nightgown, her books, the photo album at the bottomnothing. Everything had vanished.
She bolted into the hallway, burst into the master bedroom. Everything was cleared out there too: Mums perfume on the dresser, her hairbrush, even the small makeup bag Emily had never dared to discard.
Whats happening? she whispered.
The front door opened, voices drifted in.
what a relief, finally rid of all this junk, Lucy said. I dont understand why anyone clings to the things of the dead. Its unhealthy.
Youre right, love, Dad replied. We have to move on.
Emily stepped into the hallway. Dad and Lucy stood by a coat rack, stripping their jackets. Seeing her, Lucy smiled.
Ah, Emily, youre home. We were just tidying up while you were out.
Where are Mums things? Emilys voice was hoarse.
What things?
All of them! The box, the photos, the books, the clothes! Where is everything?
Lucy sighed as if it were a trivial matter.
I took them away. Gave some to the church, threw the rest out. Emily, dear, your mum passed more than a year ago. Its time to let go.
You what did you do?!
Emily felt the floor drop out from under her. Dad stood beside Lucy, silent, watching.
Dad, did you hear what she said? She threw Mums things away!
Emily, dont shout, Dad finally spoke. Lucys right. You cant live in the past. Its an unhealthy attachment.
Unhealthy attachment? Emily could not believe her ears. Thats my mothers memory! Its all I have left!
You still have the memories, Lucy said gently. Isnt that enough?
Not enough, Emily replied firmly. I need more.
Return everything, now.
Im afraid thats impossible. The containers already gone.
Which container?
The rubbish bin, Lucy shrugged. It was full of old stuff, yellowed papers, dresses. I kept a few photos; theyre still in the wardrobe.
Emily stepped closer. Lucy instinctively moved back.
You had no right, Emily whispered.
Im the lady of the house now. I have full authority to decide what stays and what goes.
Youre not the lady! Youre a stranger! Emilys voice cracked.
Emily! Dad raised his voice for the first time. Apologise at once. Lucy is my wife; you must respect her.
Respect her? The woman who dumped everything that reminded me of Mum?
Your mother is dead, Dad said harshly. Shes gone, understand? Its time you accept that.
How can you say that? You lived together for thirtyfive years! She gave birth to you!
Enough, Dad waved a hand. Im tired of this. Tired of your constant hints, your silence, the way you stare at Lucy. I have a right to be happy.
At the cost of Mums memory?
Memory isnt the issue. I love Lucy. I want to live with her. If you cant handle that
He didnt finish, but Emily understood.
Fine, she said. Ill move out.
Emily, wait, Lucy interjected. No ones throwing you out. Lets set some ground rules. This is our home, Dads and mine. You can stay, but you must respect our boundaries.
What boundaries? Emily asked, exhausted.
No entering our bedroom, no touching my things, no turning the flat into a museum of your mothers life.
Emily looked at Dad, who avoided her gaze.
Alright, she said. Whatever you say.
She retreated to her room, shut the door, sat on the bed and clutched her head. Tears wouldnt come; instead a cold, allconsuming emptiness settled over her.
Mums belongings. The only tangible link to the woman who had comforted her, the box she opened each night for Mums rings and brooches, the album of holidays, birthdays, park walks. All gone, discarded like rubbish.
She rose, walked to the window. Night had fallen. A few pedestrians hurried home, umbrellas bobbing in the drizzle. Somewhere, in a skip, her mothers things lay mixed with kitchen waste.
A knock sounded at the door.
Emily, may I? Dads voice.
She didnt answer. The door cracked open, Dad stepped in.
Darling, lets talk.
About what? Emily asked without turning.
Lucy just wants to make the house nicer. She didnt mean to hurt you.
By throwing everything that reminded me of Mum away?
Dad sighed.
Emily, I know its hard. It was hard for me too. But life goes on. I met Lucy, and she gave me a chance to feel alive again. Is that wrong?
And Mum? Youve forgotten her?
No, I remember Natalie every day. She wont come back, but I cant spend the rest of my life in mourning.
Emily turned, seeing Dad older, hunched, his sixtyfive years etched in his face, yet a flicker of Lucys vitality in his eyes.
Im not against your happiness, Father. Im just angry you destroyed Mums memory.
Lucy didnt destroy it. She just cleared away the clutter that kept us from moving forward.
The clutter was my mothers presence.
You still have the memories, Emily. Isnt that enough?
Not enough, Emily said firmly.
She grabbed her phone and called her friend Claire.
Claire, can I crash at yours?
What happened? Claires voice tightened.
Ill tell you when I get there.
Come over now.
Emily packed a bag, slipped the three remaining photosMum at a wedding, Mum holding a baby Emily, Mum smiling in the gardeninto it, added a change of clothes and her makeup bag, and left the flat.
In the kitchen, Dad and Lucy were drinking tea, Lucy chatting animatedly, Dad nodding.
Im leaving for a few days, Emily announced.
Where to? Dad turned.
To a friend.
Emily, dont be foolish, Lucy intervened. Well all have a fresh start, no?
From what? Emily asked, sarcasm thin. You dumped my mothers memory. How do you expect me to forget?
They were just things! Lucy said.
To you, just things. To me, the last link to Mum.
You have the memories, Lucy repeated. Isnt that enough?
Not enough, Emily replied.
She walked out into the worsening rain, the streets slick with water. Claires flat was a fifteenminute walk away. Claire opened the door as if expecting her.
Youre soaked! Quick, get the coat off, Ill get a towel.
Inside, a warm, homely scent of fresh baking filled the room. A plump ginger cat curled on the sofa.
Dry off, Claire handed a towel. Tell me what happened.
Emily recounted everything, her voice growing hoarse.
Shes gone mad? Claire exclaimed after Emily finished. How can someone just throw away a dead persons belongings?
She thinks shes the owner.
And your dad?
He sided with her. Said I should let go.
Claire frowned.
Have you tried calling the waste service?
They cleared it this afternoon, Lucy said.
What about the skip?
I asked, they said its already at the landfill. Everythings mixed up there.
Claire stared at Emily, sympathy in her eyes.
Youre right, you cant clinging to things. But you still have Mum inside you.
I need to touch something that still smells of her, you know?
I get it, Claire said, pulling Emily into a hug. Well figure something out.
They sat together until night fell, the city lights flickering outside. Later, Claire prepared dinner.
You ate today? she asked.
I cant remember, Emily admitted.
Then let me feed you, and tomorrow well think of a plan.
Emily tried to focus on the conversation, but her mind replayed the same questions: How could Lucy do this? How could Dad allow it? What now?
That night, Emily slept on a sofa mattress Claire had set up. The ginger cat curled under her arm, purring. She barely slept.
Morning came, Claire left for work, telling Emily to rest.
Dont think about it, Ill be back tonight.
Emily brushed her teeth, brewed coffee, stared out at the overcast sky. Her phone rang several timesDads number. She let it go to voicemail.
After lunch, a message popped up from Lucy.
Emily, can we meet and talk? I didnt mean to hurt you. I just want to sort things out.
Emily stared at the screen, then typed back.
Where?
Maybe the café on Willow Street, the one that used to be a bakery?
Sixp.m.
She set the phone down, wondering what Lucy wanted. Was it another attempt to push her out?
At six, Emily arrived. Lucy was already at a corner table, stirring her coffee. When Emily sat down, Lucy gave a tentative smile.
Thanks for coming.
Emily remained silent. The waitress approached, but Emily declined.
I wont stay long, Emily said.
Lucy took a sip, then placed the cup down.
Emily, I get why youre angry. I didnt think before I acted. I felt like a stranger in my own home, surrounded by someone elses past.
This isnt my home, Emily replied calmly. You just live in it.
By law its mine too, as Davids wife.
So the flat is the issue?
No! Its the respect. I want to be respected, for David to see me as his partner, not as a replacement for your mother.
He married you. Isnt that enough?
Not when every day he looks at his mothers portrait, when the wardrobe still holds her dresses, when Im constantly reminded Im intruding.
Emily sighed.
Lucy, I was never your enemy. It just hurts to see Dad forget Mum so quickly. They were together thirtyfive years. He married you less than a year after she passed.
He didnt forget her, Lucy said quietly. He just cant be alone. He needs someone.
And I? Emily asked. I was there too.
Youre his daughter. Thats different.
Emily knew Lucy had a point, but accepting it felt like a knife.
Fine, suppose I accept it. Why did you throw Mums things away? You could have asked.
I wanted to surprise David. He complained the flat was cramped, that we needed to clear out the old stuff.
You threw everything that reminded me of Mum.
I kept the photos! The most important ones!
Three photos out of hundreds.
Lucy leaned back, eyes tired.
What do you want from me? An apology? IEmily took a deep breath, nodded, and walked out, knowing she would rebuild her own life beyond the wreckage of the past.
