Leave the keys and get out, says my son as I slip the shops back door after my shift.
Mrs. Harper, youre still staying late again? Come home, youre exhausted! Lucy, my colleague, pokes her head into the storeroom where Im sorting invoices. The youngsters are glued to their phones, and youre the only one pulling the weight!
Yes, I just need to finish this, Lucy. Theres an inspection tomorrow and Mr. Smedley will be on my case, I adjust my slipping glasses and bend over the paperwork again.
Forget about Mr. Smedley! Youre sixtytwo, you should think about yourself!
I smile wryly. Think about myself easy to say. Whats there to live on? My pension is a pittance. Thats why Im stuck in this little grocery shop from sunrise to nightfall, just to scrape together a few pounds.
Dont worry, love, Ill be home in half an hour too, Lucy sighs, then leaves, waving goodbye. I stay alone in the quiet storeroom, the air smelling of cardboard and something sour. Behind the wall, the last shoppers argue at the till, then the door clicks shut and the shop empties.
I finish the last line, file the papers, stand up and stretch. My back aches after a day of standing, loading stock, stocking shelves. My legs throb, swollen, the shoes digging in. I change into my old coatworn at the sleeves but still sturdyand step outside. Evening is falling. November is bleak and damp, the wind slipping under my collar. I wrap a scarf around my neck and head for the bus stop.
The minibus is stuffy and cramped. I squeeze between a chatty lady with shopping bags and a young man with headphones. I watch the streetlights flash past, shop windows, passersby. I think about dinner at home. Tom must be hungry, but then again, he promised to eat with his fiancée, Ethel.
I purse my lips. Ethel Shed entered Toms life six months ago. A brightlooked, gingerhaired girl with long nails and a loud laugh. From the start, I sensed she wasnt the kind of daughterinlaw Id hoped for, yet Tom was smitten, glowing like a lightbulb. He kept telling me, Mum, dont worry, Ethels lovely. You just havent met her properly yet.
Wed met her enough to know: she treats our flat as if it were her own, plopping onto the sofa, turning on the telly, demanding tea or coffee, looking down at me as if I were staff. Mrs. Harper, could you wash the kettle better? There are streaks! or Could you please keep it down? My head hurts! Tom pretended not to hear, hovering around Ethel like a bee. I kept quiet, not wanting to ruin his happiness.
I remembered raising Tom alone. My husband, Colin, left when our son was three, running off with a younger woman. I was left with a baby, no home, crashing into the council flat of Colins parents. I scraped together rooms in hostels just so Tom had a bed. I worked two jobsby day in the library, by night scrubbing office floors. Every penny went to his clothes, shoes, schoolbooks, while I wore the same patched dress, mending it myself. When Tom went to college, I rejoiced. He did well, got a job at the factory, earned a decent wage. All those years I saved every penny.
Finally I could buy a onebedroom flatan old council house on the outskirts, but it was mine. Tom and I moved in, and I wept with joy. I put the title in his name, thinking it would be easier for him, a young man, to own his home. He hugged me, kissing my cheek, Mum, youre the best. Ill never leave you. Well always be together. I believed him, truly.
Then Ethel appeared, and things shifted. Tom began staying out later, coming home late, and eventually Ethel started sleeping over. I slept on the kitchen sofa while the young couple took the bedroom. It was uncomfortable, but what could I do? The youth needed space.
Ethel started hinting that the flat was cramped. Tom, how are we supposed to live three of us? No privacy! she complained. Tom brushed it off, Ethel, shes my mother. Shell stay for now.
I heard those words, and a cold knot formed inside me. Could my son really think of kicking me out? No, it had to be Ethels influence.
The minibus stopped. I get off and walk the three blocks home, my legs dragging, fatigue weighing more than the physical strain. Im drained, both body and spirit. I reach the thirdfloor landing, unlock the door with my key, and step inside. The hallway light is on, voices drift from the flat. I pull off my coat, set my shoes aside, and head toward the kitchen, but Tom appears in the corridor, his face pale, tension in his jaw. Ethel stands behind him, a smug smile on her lips.
Wait, Mum, Tom says, blocking my way.
Whats wrong, Tom? I ask, my voice trembling. Are you ill? You look so pale
No, Im not ill. We need to talk.
Okay, lets talk. Ill just change first, finish dinner
No dinner! Tom snaps. Listen, Ethel and I have decided we need the flat, just the two of us. You understand?
I stare at him, heart pounding, ears ringing.
How just the two of us? I manage.
Thats it. Were getting married, we need space. You work, you have a salary. You could rent a room somewhere.
My flat? The one I saved for all these years? Its mine! I gasp.
Its in your name, yes, but technically its under my name now. So Im telling you to move out.
Tom! I clutch the banister, my legs wobbling. Are you serious? Im your mother!
Thats why you should understand! Toms voice cracks with irritation. I need to build my life. Youre always under my feet! Ethels right, we need to live separately.
Ethels right I repeat, looking at my daughterinlaw, arms crossed, smirking. So shes the one who convinced you?
No, I wasnt convinced by anyone! I made the decision myself! Were adults, we have the right to our own lives!
My life Tom, think! Where will I go? I have no money for a flat! My pension is a joke! I saved for this house my whole life!
Dont make a drama, Mum, Tom says, turning away. Youll find something. A room in a shared house, maybe a flatshare, or stay with someone.
A shared house? At my age? Sixtwo? My voice shakes. Thats absurd! Wake up!
Its not absurd! Tom shouts, and I step back, stunned. He has never raised his voice at me before. Enough blackmail! Ive decided. Leave the keys and disappear! Thats it!
Silence falls. My son, the boy I raised, fed, educated, tells me to leave. I slowly reach into my bag, pull out the bunch of keys, and place them on the hallway shelf, hands trembling.
Alright, I whisper, Alright, Tom. If thats your decision.
I pull my coat back on, slip into my shoes, grab my bag, and walk out, the door snapping shut behind me. I stand on the stairwell, bewildered, unsure where to go. My feet carry me down the street, tears streaming cold, bitter down my cheeks.
I wander until I reach the door of my old friend Claras flat two streets away. Clara lives alone in a twobedroom council flat; her husband died years ago, her children moved away. I press the buzzer, lean against the door, and after a moment, Clara opens it, eyes widening at my tearstreaked face.
Emma? Oh my goodness, whats happened? she cries, pulling me inside. She leads me to the kitchen, sits me down, and hands me a cup of tea.
I pour out everythingEthel, Tom, the nights argument, my fear of having nowhere to go. Clara listens, nodding, shaking her head.
This is outrageous! How could he do that to you? she says.
I dont know what to do, I sob. I have nowhere.
Stay with me, Clara insists. I have a spare room, you can sleep there until you sort things out.
Cant be a burden
No burden! Weve known each other since school! Come stay, thats final.
I gratefully squeeze her hand, relieved that someone hasnt turned their back.
That night I lie on the sofa in Claras spare room, unable to sleep, thoughts swirling, wondering what comes next. In the morning Clara brews strong tea, makes toast, and says, Emma, go to work as usual today. Then well think about the next steps.
I go to the shop, spend the day behind the counter in a fog. Lucy checks in a few times, but I wave her off. In the evening I return to Claras flat, where she has news.
Remember Nina from the library? she asks. She recently became widowed, lives alone in a onebedroom flat. I called her; shes willing to rent a room to youfor a modest fee, of course, but far cheaper than a shared house.
I exhale, a bit of relief. I move in with Nina a week later. Shes an elderly lady, kind but strict, laying down the house rules immediately:
I go to bed early, no noise after ten. We share the kitchen in turns. Dont waste electricity.
Understood, I reply.
My new room is tiny, barely eight square metres, just enough for a bed and a nightstand. I leave most of my belongings in Claras flatTom never answers my calls.
Life settles into a new rhythm. I rise early, catch the bus to the shop, return to Ninas flat for dinner, eat alone, then retreat to my cramped room, stare at the ceiling, and think of Tom. Why did he act like this? Did his love for me evaporate, or did Ethel poison him?
I recall Tom as a childfunny, sweet, bringing me drawings from kindergarten: Mum, this is for you! I made it myself! He learned to ride his bike, fell, bruised his knees, but never cried: Im a man, men dont cry! He once stood up for a girl being bullied at school, came home with a black eye but proud: Mum, I couldnt let her get hurt! He was a good, fair boy. Where did that Tom disappear to?
A month passes, I lose weight, look gaunt. Nina worries, Emma, you need to eat properly! You dont look like yourself.
Im not hungry, I reply.
One evening a stranger calls.
Hello, is this Toms mother?
Yes, who is this?
My name is Irene, I live upstairs in the building. I need to speak with you.
Im cautious but agree to meet at the café downstairs. Irene is a pleasant woman in her forties.
Emma, Ive been thinking whether I should tell you or not, but you deserve to know. She leans in. Your son and his girlfriend are up to something. Theyre throwing parties, music till dawn, neighbors have complained. But its more than that. Ive seen men come with bags, and a strange smell from their flat. I think theyre involved in something illegal.
I turn pale.
You think
Im not accusing, just saying what Ive seen. Its up to you what to do.
I leave the café in a daze, wondering if my son has fallen in with a bad crowd. I decide to act. The next day I take a halfday off, go to their flat, climb to the third floor, and wait at the door. Music blares inside, voices, laughter. I ring. No answer. After a long pause the door bursts open and Ethel stands there, hair disheveled, eyes red.
What do you want? she snaps.
I need Tom.
Hes not here.
Im not believing you.
The door slams shut, and Im left on the landing, helpless.
I sit on the stair, watching the lights flicker in the flat, shadows moving. Suddenly Tom appears, thin, shirt wrinkled, looking at me.
Mum what are you doing here?
I jump up.
Tom! Whats happened to you? You look unwell.
Im fine, he mutters, avoiding my gaze.
The neighbours are saying somethings going on. What are you doing?
Were just living our lives! he shouts.
My son, I can see somethings wrong. Let me help you. Lets get out of here.
Where to go? You have nowhere!
Ill find something. Were family, I cant watch you ruin yourself.
He tries to push past me, but I grab his sleeve.
Let go! he snarls, pushing me hard. I stumble, fall onto the pavement. He pauses, eyes flickering with fear and shame.
Mum I didnt mean to he says, reaching out to help me up. I pull myself up, dust off my coat.
Tom, look at yourself. What happened to the boy who used to bring me drawings? The boy who stood up for others?
He looks away, rubbing his face.
I dont know, Mum. Everything got tangled. Ethel says one thing, I say another. Her friends its all messy.
Try saying no, I urge.
He wont leave. Im scared to be alone.
Then let her go! Shes destroying you!
He sighs, then quietly: I see it now. But Im terrified.
I step closer, hug him, his shoulders shaking against mine.
Youre not alone, Tom. Im here, always.
He sobs, clinging to me. We stand together under the streetlamp, the cold night wrapping around us.
Sorry, Mum. Ive been a fool.
No fool, just lost. We can fix this.
We talk long into the night. He tells me how Ethel pulled him into shady dealings, debts, fear. I listen, running my fingers through his hair, soothing.
You must get away from her. Understand? Its not too late.
How can I? The flat is in my name; I cant just kick her out.
You can. Its yours. Tell her to leave. If she refuses, call the police.
I ask, Will you come back?
If you want me, he says, Ill try.
I want you.
He nods, wiping tears.
That evening he returns to the flat, confronts Ethel, ends the relationship. She throws a tantrum, threatens him, but he calls the constable, and she is taken away.
A week later I step back into the flat, Tom meets me at the door with a bouquet of fresh flowers.
Welcome home, Mum.
I clutch the flowers, crying with relief. Together we clean the mess Ethel left, throw out rubbish, air out the rooms. Tom washes the floors, I launder the curtains.
It feels like old times, I say with a grin.
It does, he replies. Mum, Ive learned what matters. Family, not lovers or friends. Youre the only one Ill never betray. Hear that?
Loud and clear, son.
We sit at the kitchen table, tea steaming, rain pattering against the window, the flat warm and cosy. I look at Tom, grateful that we survived.
Months later Tom starts a new job, comes home on time. I keep working at the shop, but now I return to a happy home, knowing Im needed.
Six months pass and Tom meets a modest, kind girl, Katie. She helps me in the kitchen, chats with me, and I instantly think, Thats a good match.
Mum, what do you think of Katie? Tom asks.
Shes a lovely girl. Hold onto her.
And as the kettle whistles softly, Emma watches Tom and Katie laughing over a shared mug of tea, finally feeling that the years of hardship have given way to a quiet, lasting peace.
