The weight of guilt pressed down, but it was too late.
All day, Emily had been a coiled spring at worksnapping at customers, bickering with her colleague, Claire. She worked at a corner shop in Birmingham. Shed been bright at school, top marks even, but none of it had brought her happiness.
“Claire barely scraped through her GCSEs, could hardly string a sentence together, but her dad knew the right peoplegot her into uni, didnt he? Hows that fair?” Emily brooded. “And us? Dad was a hard worker, hands like gold, but no connections, just a bottle for company. Every penny he earned went straight down the pub.”
Her mother, Margaret, worked as a hospital cleaner. Three daughters to feed, a tiny wage, and a cramped terraced house in a Midlands village. They survived, juststretching every pound till it snapped.
On better days, Emily confided in Claire over fag breaks in the stockroom. Other times, theyd row and not speak for a week.
“Mum kept us on a tight leash,” Emily sighed, exhaling smoke. “No dances, no cinema while we were at school. If one of us brought a lad home, shed chase him off. We grew up timid, clueless about life.”
Claire flicked ash. “Blimey, your mum was strict. Mine couldnt care less where I went.”
After school, Margarets daughters went where they could. No money for unijust the veg patch and odd jobs to scrape by. The eldest, Sarah, trained as a seamstress, landed a council flat, and crowed about independence. Never brought gifts, though. Still single at thirty.
The middle sister, Laura, fell for a plasterer named Davea bloke with a quick tongue and a quicker taste for lager. Married him when she got pregnant.
“Fine, well wed,” Dave had shrugged. “Kid needs a dad, dont he?”
Now Laura was trapped, just like Margaretstuck in a grotty bedsit, waiting for council housing that never came.
Emily trained as a hairdresser but wound up stacking shelves. “On my feet all day, wages swallowed by till shortages,” shed gripe.
Then, a stroke of luck. Claire dragged her to a mates birthday. There, she met Tomcharming, fit, all easy smiles. They married fast. The dream crumbled quicker. Behind closed doors, Tom was slovenly, sharp-tongued. A son, Oliver, came. Three years later, she left.
Life tightened. Oliver needed shoes, toys, food. Emily hustledblack-market vodka, market stallsbut pennies didnt stretch.
“Nobody to rely on,” shed weep at night. “Mum brings carrots and spuds from her garden, but that wont buy Ollie trainers.”
Years hardened her. Margarets visits grated most.
One evening, lipstick half-applied, the doorbell shrilled.
“Who the hell?”
Margaret stood there, puffing, carrier bags digging into her palms. The lift had been broken for weeks. Emily forced a smile.
“Didnt expect you tonight, Mum.”
She was meeting Eddiea new bloke, a builder with a sharp mind and sharper wallet. Now this.
Margaret bustled in, chattering. “Nightmare on the bus! Packed like sardines. Then five flights uphonestly!”
Emily stuffed veg into the fridgepotatoes, tomatoes, whatever Margaret could lug from her allotment. Free food, but no help with bills.
Eddie waited in a pub, pint in hand. Emily kissed his cheek.
“Mum turned up unannounced. Old folks, eh?” She smirked.
They drank till last orders. Home at 3 a.m., Margaret sat stiff at the kitchen table. Emily swayed past without a word.
Morning brought a throbbing head and a lecture.
“Out all hours! Ollie came home at eleven, reeking of fags! Youll lose him if you carry on like this.”
Emily glared. “Im a grown woman. Hes fine.”
“Fine? Hes fourteen! Youre so busy chasing men, youll wake up one day and hell be gone. Then youll regret it.”
Emily stormed out. “Hypocrite. We raised ourselves while she scrubbed floors. Her idea of parenting was barking orders. Now she judges me?”
Freedom after Tom had been wildflings, trinkets from men who never stayed. Then Eddie. Solid. Six months in, he proposed.
“Em, lovering, flowers, my heart. Marry me?”
She said yes.
For a while, life glowed. Eddies side gigs paid well. A daughter, Lily, arrived. A proper house, new furniture. Then her sisters descendedSarah and Laura, palms out, begging loans, cast-offs.
Emily snapped. “I owe them nothing.”
She cut ties. Changed her number. Ignored Margarets pleas to visit. Even when illness struck, she stayed away.
“Let the sisters deal with it.”
Years rolled. Another son. Eddie remained steady. Oliver married. Her parents died. She attended the funerals, cold and quick.
Neighbour Joan cornered her. “Youre heartless, Emily. Your mum slaved for you. Your sisters visited. You couldnt be bothered.”
Emily walked off.
“Her honest life got her nothing,” she thought. “No joy, just drudgery. And she robbed us of oursno fun, no sense with men. We fell for every lie.”
Now, older, the guilt gnawed. Sleepless nights. Secret tears. Even church, begging forgiveness.
But Margaret was gone.
Too late.
