Don’t make me stand out in the cold! barked a voice from the buildings intercom. Let me in right now!
I pressed the release button and stepped away from the panel.
Five minutes later my mobile buzzed. I glanced at the screen: an unknown number. I didnt answer. It rang again, and again.
After the tenth buzz I finally picked up; I knew she wouldnt give up that easily.
Olivia! my mother shouted.
Oh, come off it, Mum, arent you a little harsh? Im coming to you with my whole heart, Ive got no one else to turn to. Victor dumped me, sold the flat, and now Im crawling around in corners! she wailed. Can you imagine? Your mother, a respectable teacher with a degree, wandering round other peoples rooms
She was talking about Victor, the man shed left twentyfive years ago for a new town, leaving me, then eight, with my dad.
Youre a grownup now, love, and Mum has a right to her own happiness, shed told me then.
I was standing in the hallway in my nightshirt, watching her apply bright scarlet lipstick in front of the mirror. It was very fashionable, and Mum looked stunning
I asked when shed be back, and she, smiling sweetly, said shed call sometime. I pressed, asking if she could take me with her. She repeated the same line about personal happiness and that I was old enough to manage on my own.
Lets be straight, I said coolly into the handset, what do you need?
A long pause stretched. All I could hear was her heavy breathing.
Olivia, why are you she muttered. Im not some beggar Im still your mother
Ah, mother, I laughed. The one who left me. Look, spare the melodrama. How much?
I need a decent flat, at least a onebedroom she said. And some money for living say fivethousand pounds to start.
Oh my, I thought, shes really making demands.
Sorry, love, youve got the wrong address, I replied. I cant help you.
But her voice suddenly took on a demanding tone. I heard you have
I smirked. Shed heard
Listen, Mum, I said coldly, pay attention. You made your choice twentyfive years ago. You chose Victor, a fresh start and your own happiness. I was left with Dad, who worked two jobs, attended every parentteacher meeting, helped me with homework, and kept vigil by my bed when I was ill. He never remarried, fearing a stepmother would hurt me
Olivia! Mum snapped impatiently. But I called you, wished you happy holidays
Twice a year. And five minutes of chitchat. How are you, dear? Doing well at school? Nice one. Bye, Ive got to go. Remember?
She fell silent.
And when I was sick, I continued. Remember? I was fourteen, spent two weeks in hospital Dad called you, asked you to come. You said Victor had important business and you couldnt leave him.
Silence.
And my graduation I pressed on. You promised to turn up. I even picked a dress, thinking youd see the woman Id become: pretty, successful, a medalwinner. You didnt show up because Victors daughter from his first marriage had a wedding.
Olivia, you cant Mum finally muttered, embarrassed. I was young, foolish
You were thirtyfive, Mum, not eighteen! I snapped. Dad died three years ago, a heart attack at work, on his second job he never gave up, even though I was already earning enough to support him
I heard her sobbing in the handset, but my heart stayed stonecold. Shed taught me that, after all, never to melt into a puddle of whimpering.
Victor left you, huh? I went on. Found someone younger? Got tired of you? Whatever. But you suddenly remembered you have a daughter. A successful daughter. Convenient, isnt it?
Youre cruel, Olivia. Heartless. I I dont recognise you! she shrieked.
How can you not recognise me when you never raised me? You dont know I love chamomile tea, that Im terrified of spiders to the point of hysteria, that I had a miscarriage two years ago and was bedridden for three months, that I divorced because my husband cheated and I couldnt forgive him.
Olivia she whispered.
And you know what? I actually earn well. I have a threebedroom flat, a car, a decent bank account. Those fifty thousand pounds are peanuts to me. I could help you. But I wont, because that would betray Dads memory the man who truly was my parent.
But Ill be out on the street! she wailed.
No, you wont. Im not a saint, but the world isnt devoid of decent folk. Besides, youre not that old yet; you have hands, legs, a head, an education, experience, old contacts. You could work as a nanny, cleaner, security guard Dad never shunned any job for my sake. What have you achieved that he didnt?
She began to cry louder, but her tears didnt move me.
Want to hear a story? I said suddenly, not even knowing why. When I was twelve I wrote you a letter. Five pages long, gushing about how much I missed you, how I wanted to spend holidays together, how I dreamed the three of us you, me and Dad could be a family again. Childish nonsense, of course.
Dad gave me your address, and I mailed it. I waited for a reply, checking the postbox every day. A month later a postcard arrived: Olivia, I got your letter. Not a good time for a visit. Study hard. Mum.
The line went dead.
Do you know what I realised then? I asked quietly. I have no mum. Theres a woman who gave birth to me, but theres no mother. I accepted that. Thanks to Dad, who was always there. I grew up without a mum, learned to cope. And now you want me to let you back into my life? On what grounds?
Im ill, Olivia, she whispered suddenly. Diabetes, high blood pressure, a dodgy heart. Youre my last hope! Without you
Ill pay for your tests at a good clinic, I replied dryly after a pause. And any medication you need. Thats all. Dont call again. Dont show up. You had a chance to be my mother, but you turned it down twentyfive years ago. There wont be a second chance.
