The dream unfolded in a haze of grey drizzle, the kind that clings to Londons streets like a damp overcoat.
*”Mum matters more to me than you do,”* said the husband, slipping his paycheque into his wallet. *”If youve got a problem with that, you know where the door is.”*
Eleanor stood at the kitchen sink, her fingers slack around a soap-slick plate. It slipped, shattered on the tiles in jagged pieces that skittered across the floor like startled insects.
*”James, what are you saying?”* She turned, voice thin. *”I just asked you to leave half for groceries. The fridge is empty.”*
*”Mums struggling too,”* James snapped, buttoning his overcoat. *”She needs medicine, the heating bills due. But its always about you, isnt it?”*
Eleanor crouched, gathering shards with shaking hands. A sharp edge bit into her finger. Blood bloomed.
*”I dont mind helping your mum. But were people too. We need to eat, to pay the electric.”*
*”Youve got a job,”* he tossed over his shoulder, heading for the door. *”Live on your own wages.”*
*”Theyre half yours! And I pay for Lilys nursery, her clothes”*
James paused in the doorway.
*”Mum raised me alone after Dad died at the factory when I was eight. Two jobs, no holidays, just so I could go to uni. Now its my turn.”*
*”But shes got her pension,”* Eleanor whispered. *”Weve a toddler.”*
*”Pensions pennies. And shes your child too.”*
The door slammed.
Lilys wail pierced the silence from the nursery. Eleanor taped her finger with a plaster and went to her.
*”Mummy, Daddy shouted,”* the girl hiccuped into her shoulder.
*”Just tired, love.”* Eleanor rocked her, staring at the rain-streaked window. The flat was coldcentral heating wouldnt kick in for weeks, and the space heater sat unplugged to save pence. Thirty quid left in her purse till payday. Enough for petrol to work, maybe bread.
Later, with Lily asleep, Eleanor swept up the last slivers of plate. Each one glinted like a tiny betrayal.
Theyd met six years ago at a tech firm in Manchester. James, the new programmertall, quoting Keats between debugging sessions. Shed been smitten. Hed mentioned living with his mum, helping her garden. *How sweet,* shed thought.
Then Lily came. Visits to Margarets grew longer. *”Shes poorly,”* James would say, coming home at midnight. The complaints started next: *”Mrs. Higgins got a new telly, but mines ancient,”* or *”The doctor says these tablets cost eighty quid.”*
First a third of his salary vanished, then half. Eleanors gentle protests sparked fury. *”Selfish,”* hed spit. *”After all she sacrificed.”*
But today*”Mum matters more.”*
The phone rang. Her best mate, Sophie.
*”Ellie, you sound wrecked.”*
The story tumbled outthe paycheque, the thirty quid, the words that carved her heart open.
*”Hes lost the plot!”* Sophie hissed. *”His mums playing him like a fiddle. Go see her flatbet shes swimming in his cash.”*
Margarets Chelsea apartment was a shock: velvet sofas, a telly wider than Eleanors oven, a fur coat draped over a chair.
*”Jamies such a love,”* Margaret simpered, offering tea in bone china. *”Booked me a week in Brighton next month.”*
*”But our Lilys shoes are held with tape.”*
*”Well, you ought to budget better,”* Margaret sniffed.
That night, James admired his mothers new necklace. Eleanor stared at the potatoes boiling for dinner.
*”Lily asked why we never go to the zoo.”*
*”Good. Learns the value of money.”*
The dream logic twisted. Eleanor floated above herself, watching as she packed Lilys tiny socks into a suitcase. Jamess voice echoed from far away:
*”Dont be daft. Wherell you go?”*
*”To people who put her first.”*
Rain blurred the windows as she buckled Lily into the car. The last thing she saw was Jamess silhouette in the doorway, already fading like a figure in a forgotten photograph.
