I thought you were a respectable lady, and you live like this in such squalor, the groom said, turning away five minutes before he was due to meet the parents.
Emily, look at this! Its adorable! Lydia Bennett clutched a gaudy tablecloth splashed with enormous, unnaturally bright poppies. Itll sit perfectly on our kitchen table. Its a celebration, not just a meal!
Emily, a twentysevenyearold nurse from the local child health centre, offered a weary smile.
Mother, its plastic. It screams. Lets have something plainlinen, perhaps. White or beige.
Linen! Lydia shouted, waving her hands. Have you seen the price of that fine linen? I found this one at a market discount. Practical, pretty, and cheap! A quick wipe with a rag and its spotless!
Is that really beautiful, Mum? It looks tasteless.
Ah, Em, happiness isnt found in tablecloths, Lydia sighed, but she slipped the plastic cloth under the counter anyway. If only we were healthy, and peace filled the house. All right, lets go; my feet are buzzing.
They walked through the noisy market, and Emily watched her mothersmall, wiry, wrapped in an old but meticulously ironed coat. She was exhausted by the endless pennypinching, the relentless chorus of cheap and practical. She worked oneandahalf jobs, taking night shifts so that they could stretch their meagre wages in their tiny twobedroom council flat on the edge of Manchester. She never complained; she simply dreamed. She dreamed of a day when she could buy her mother not only pricey medication but a beautiful linen clothjust because, with no occasion at all.
Shed met her future prince, Edward, in a coffee shop after a grueling night shift. He sat at the next tabletall, welldressed, a confident smile, an expensive watch glinting on his wrist. He rose and approached her.
Miss, pardon my intrusion, but your eyes look sorrowful. May I offer you a pastry? A little sweet might lift your spirits.
He was charming, gallant, his compliments precise, never vulgar. He immediately recognised her profession. Your hands are gentle, he said. Thats a rarity these days.
Edward worked for a large construction firm, held a senior position, and ferried her around in his polished foreign car to restaurants shed never visited. He gave her flowers that cost as much as half her wages. He spoke of his travels, his future plans. Emily listened, breath held, feeling as if shed stepped into a fairy tale.
He confessed he was tired of predatory, gaudy women who chased his wallet. In Emily, he said, hed found what hed long been searching forpurity, sincerity, integrity.
Youre genuine, he whispered, kissing her hand. Untarnished. I thought that kind no longer existed.
The only thing that unsettled Emily was that he never tried to visit her home. Their meetings always took place in the town centre, or hed pick her up at the bus stop near her flat.
I dont want to inconvenience you, and its getting late; I should wake your mother, hed say.
Emily felt a sting of shame for her peelingpainted block of flats, for the modestness of her flat. She wanted him to see her as a princess, not a shabby drudge.
Six months later he proposed. It was like a dream. An evening in a pricey restaurant, candles flickering. He dropped to one knee, sliding a velvet box containing a sparkling stone across the table.
Emily, I want you to be my wife. I want to wake up beside you every morning. I want you to run my household.
She accepted, tears of joy spilling as she clutched the box to her chest. The fairytale continued.
They arranged for Edward to meet her mother first, then for both families to meet. The introduction day was set for Saturday. Emily and Lydia prepared as if the whole world depended on it. For three days they scrubbed the cramped flat. Lydia retrieved an heirloom china set shed kept for a special occasion. Emily spent her last few pounds on the very linen cloth shed longed forwhite, crisp, starched.
Mother, look how lovely it is! she exclaimed, laying it on the table. Just like in a restaurant!
If only your fiancé appreciates it, Lydia sighed, sliding an apple crumble into the oven. Im nervous, Emily. Hes such a solid man, and were just simple folk.
Mother, he loves me, not our flat! He fell for me as I am!
Edward was due at five. By a quarter to five, Emily stood by the window, eyes scanning the street for his car. She wore her best dress, constantly tugging at her hair.
There! she shouted, spotting a familiar silver sedan easing into the cobbled drive.
She bolted up the landing to meet him. Her heart hammered as if it might leap from her chest. He stepped out, dressed in an immaculate suit, clutching a massive bouquet of roses. He looked like a movie star.
He saw her, flashed his dazzling smile, and headed toward the entrance. At that moment Emily noticed his expression shift. The smile faltered, giving way to a grimace. He entered the dim, damp hallway that reeked of mildew and stray cats, eyeing the peeling plaster, the dim bulb, the scrawled lift doors.
With each step up the stairs his face grew darker. Emily, now on the third floor by her openplan flat, felt her earlier excitement turn to a chilling dread. He stared past her, past the dress, past the bright eyes, and fixated on the shabby coat rack, the worn mat at the threshold. His gaze was cold as ice.
Emily, come in, weve been waiting for you! she stammered, trying to smile.
He looked at her the way one looks at street grime stuck to a polished shoe.
Is this where you live? he asked softly, his voice dripping with contempt.
Yes here
A bitter grin crossed his lips. He glanced at his expensive suit, then back at the decrepit corridor.
Right, he said, extending the bouquet mechanically, as if handing over a useless trinket.
I thought you were respectable, yet you live in such poverty, he declared, his tone flat, as if stating a fact. He turned and descended the stairs without a backward glance.
Emily stood, clutching the absurdly lavish roses, frozen. She heard his footsteps fade, the slam of the stairwell door, the revving of the engine, and then silence.
From the kitchen, her mother emerged, wiping her hands on a teatowel.
So, Emily? Wheres the groom? The crumbles ready
She saw Emilys pale, shocked face, the roses in her hands, and understood instantly. She moved silently, took the flowers from Emily, grasped her icy hand, and led her into the living room.
Sit down, love.
Emily sank onto the sofa, tears held back, a yawning void inside.
He hes gone, Mum.
I see, Lydia whispered, sitting beside her, pulling Emily into an embrace. He said were poor.
Her mother squeezed tighter.
You silly thing. What a blessing, Emily.
What blessing? Emily whispered. He left me. He humiliated me.
Its a blessing that it happened now, not in ten years, Lydia said firmly. Its a blessing that God spared you from that man. Hes not a man at all, just a hollow shell in a fancy wrapper. Do you think he loved you? He only knows how to consume. He never saw you; he saw a picture hed inventedpure, impoverished, a girl he could rescue. When he realised poverty meant a cracked block of flats and a scuffed mat, he fled. Thank God. The rubbish carried itself away.
She smoothed Emilys hair, speaking simply, wisely. About how wealth isnt measured in cash, how honour isnt sewn from a suits price tag, how true love isnt frightened by poverty or cracked walls.
Cry, love, let your grief flow. Then rise, wash your face, and go on living. Youll meet another man, a real one, who loves your soul, not your image. Hell care not whether your tablecloth is linen or plastic. As long as youre by his side.
Emily wept, long and bitter, pressed against her mothers shoulder, mourning not the man, but the shattered fairytale, the naïve belief in magic.
When the tears finally ceased, she rose, approached the table set for a feast that never happened, ran her fingers over the linen cloth.
The crumble must be cold by now, she said.
Its fine, Lydia smiled. Well put the kettle on and have tea. Just the two of us. Today is a celebrationour own little liberation.
They sat, drinking tea with apple crumble, the white linen spread beneath them. It was the most comforting cake and the most heartfelt evening Emily had ever known.
