23October
The intercom buzzed, a sharp voice demanding, Dont make me stand out in the cold! Let me in now! I pressed the release button and stepped back from the panel.
Five minutes later my mobile rang. An unknown number flashed on the screen. I let it go to voicemail. It rang again, and again. By the tenth ring I finally answered; I knew she wouldnt stop until she got through.
Emily! my mother shouted, breathless.
Honestly, Mum, youre being cruel, she huffed. Im coming to you with everything I haveno one else can help me. Victor dumped me, sold the flat, and now Im scrambling for a room! She rattled off her woes. Can you imagine? Your mother, a welleducated teacher, wandering through other peoples places
She was talking about Victor, the man she left twentyfive years ago to move to Birmingham, abandoning me, then eight, with my father.
Youre a grownup now, Emily, and I deserve a little happiness, shed told me back then.
I remembered standing in the hall in my nightdress, watching her apply a bold scarlet lipstick in front of the mirror. She looked stunning.
I asked when she would return. She smiled gently and said shed call sometime. I then asked whether she could take me with her. She brushed it off, repeating the same line about personal happiness and that I was old enough to manage on my own.
Lets be straight, I said, my voice cold into the receiver. What do you need?
A long pause stretched, only her laboured breathing audible.
Emily, why are you Im not a beggar, you know Im still your mother
A mother, right, I laughed. The one who left me. Enough with the sentiment, how much?
I need a decent flat, at least a onebedroom, she said. And money to live on maybe fivethousand pounds to start with.
I blinked. Wow, those are lofty demands.
Im afraid youve come to the wrong person, I replied. I cant help you.
Come on now, her tone turned demanding. Ive heard you have
I smirked. Shed heard
—
Listen, Mum, I said, icy, you made your choice twentyfive years ago. You chose Victor, a new life, and your own happiness. I was left with Dad, who juggled two jobs, attended every parentteacher meeting, helped me with homework, and sat by my bedside when I was ill. He never remarried because he feared a stepmother would hurt me.
Olivia! Mum snapped impatiently. But I called to wish you happy holidays
Twice a year, five minutes each. How are you, dear? Studying? Good girl. Bye. Remember?
She fell silent.
When I was ill I continued. You were 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.
My graduation I pressed on. Dad begged you not to invite you, but you called anyway, promising to come. I picked out a dress, hoping youd see how far Id comepretty, successful, a medalist. You never showed because Victors daughter from his first marriage was getting married.
Emily, you cant, she finally muttered, embarrassed. I was young, foolish
You were thirtyfive, Mum, not eighteen, I snapped. Dad died three years ago of a heart attack at his second job, the one he never quit even when I could’ve supported him.
—
I could hear her sobbing through the handset, yet my heart stayed stonecold. She had taught me never to melt into weakness.
Victor left you, didnt he? Found someone younger? Or just grew tired of you? It doesnt matter. But you suddenly remembered you have a daughtera successful one. Convenient, isnt it?
Youre cruel, Olga. Heartless. I I dont recognise you! she shouted.
How can you not recognise me when you never raised me? You dont know I love chamomile tea, that I panic at the sight of spiders, that I suffered a miscarriage two years ago and was bedridden for three months, that I divorced because my husband cheated and I couldnt forgive him.
Mum she whispered.
And you know what? I earn well enough. I own a threebedroom flat, a car, a solid bank account. Those fifty thousand pounds are peanuts to me. I could easily help you. But I wont, because it would betray Dads memorythe man who truly was my parent.
But Ill be out on the streets! she wailed.
No, you wont. Im no Good Samaritan, but the world isnt without decent people. Youre still young enough, you have hands, legs, a brain, education, experience, old contacts. You could be a nanny, cleaner, security guard Dad never shied away from any work for me. What makes you any better than him?
She was crying louder, but her tears didnt move me.
—
Do you want me to tell you a story? I asked, almost without thinking. When I was twelve, I wrote you a long letterfive pagesabout how much I missed you, wanted to spend holidays together, dreamed of the three of usme, you, and Dadbeing a family again. Childish, of course
Dad gave me your address, and I sent the letter. I waited for a reply, checking the mailbox every day. A month later your card arrived: Emily, I got your letter. Its a bad time for a visit. Study hard. Mum.
The line went silent.
What did I realise then? I whispered to myself. I have no mother. Theres a woman who gave birth to me, but not a mother. I accepted that. Thanks to Dad, who was always there. I grew up without a mum, learned to survive, and now you want me to let you back into my life? On what grounds?
Im ill, Emily, she said suddenly, voice thin. I have diabetes, high blood pressure, my hearts failing. Youre my last hope. Without you
Ill pay for your checkup at a good clinic, I replied flatly 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.
