**A Daughter for Herself**
Faith stepped into the flat and paused, listening. She shrugged off her coat, kicked off her shoes, and hurried straight to her mum’s room.
Mum lay on the bed, atop the duvet, eyes shut, hands folded over her chest.
“Mum?” Faith gasped, her voice tight.
Mum blinked slowly. “What are you shouting for?”
“You scared me! Lying there like—” Faith bit her lip.
“Just waiting for me to pop off, are you? Don’t worry, it won’t be long,” Mum grumbled. “Why are you so late?”
“Honestly, Mum, must you be so dramatic? I was terrified! I just stopped at the shop after work. Fifteen minutes, that’s all,” Faith defended herself. “Do you need anything? I’ll go make dinner.”
Mum had been poorly for as long as Faith could remember. Trips to the GP were as routine as clockwork. She’d come home grumbling that doctors were useless, overpaid, couldn’t diagnose a cold if it slapped them.
Mum had Faith late, at forty. “A daughter for myself,” as people say. No father in the picture. Any questions about him were swiftly shut down. As a girl, Faith had scoured the two measly photo albums in the house but found not a single snap of any man.
“Burned them all. Why keep pictures of a traitor?” Mum had sniffed when Faith asked. “Men can’t be trusted, love. Best keep your distance.”
School trips longer than a day? Out of the question.
“We’ve no money for gallivanting. Plenty of time for that when you’re grown. And what if I fall ill while you’re gone? Drop dead, and there you’d be—all alone in the world.”
At the slightest fuss, Mum clutched her chest. Faith would panic, dash for the pills—she’d long memorised which were for the heart, which for nerves. It’s why she’d dreamt of being a doctor, to fix Mum properly.
But no medical school in their town. Studying elsewhere? Unthinkable. Who’d look after Mum? Money was tight as it was, worse now Mum was on pension. So after school, Faith got a job.
A small solicitor’s office near their flat had no “Help Wanted” sign, but Faith went in on a whim. As luck would have it, they needed someone.
Only a handful of staff worked there. At the front sat a pregnant girl managing appointments, phones, and—unofficially—mopping up. She’d been begging the boss to hire a cleaner. Faith arrived just in time.
Polite and quiet, she seemed trustworthy. They took her on. Mopping wasn’t just an end-of-day chore—if rain dragged muck inside, Faith swabbed the floors mid-shift. The rest of the time, she helped file papers, greet clients, make copies. The secretary taught her to use a computer.
When maternity leave came, they didn’t bother replacing her. Efficient Faith knew the ropes. Now she earned double—proper chuffed, she was.
At school, Faith had fancied a boy from the next block. They’d walked home together; he’d even asked her to the cinema twice. That’s when Mum warned her: lads only want one thing. Take advantage, then vanish—leaving her to raise a baby alone, just like Mum had.
“Did Dad trick you too?” Faith had ventured. “Is that why you burned his pictures?”
Mum flinched but recovered fast. “No, it wasn’t like that. We loved each other. Married, had you. He still left me—found someone younger, prettier. Men always stray. Trust none of them.”
That she’d had Faith unmarried and “for herself” went unmentioned.
The boy went off to uni. They barely saw each other after. Then she spotted him with a girlfriend. He looked right through her. “All traitors,” Mum’s voice echoed.
Young male clients tried chatting Faith up. She turned them all down. Between Mum’s ailments—spiking blood pressure, bad back, creaky joints—she rushed home after work.
If a suitor dared appear, Mum would ring, claiming another heart episode. Uncanny timing. Faith would bolt home, dial 999. Each time, the paramedics shrugged it off—just a jab, then gone. But the bloke? Never waited around.
Youth slipped by while Mum lingered, “ill” more often, rarely leaving bed. Men stopped noticing Faith—drab clothes, hair pinned back, bare-faced beside glossy coworkers.
Once, when Faith called an ambulance—again—the doctor pulled her aside.
“Not my place, but your mum’s playing you. She’s fine. Aches? Standard at her age. Blood pressure? Textbook. You need to stand firm, live your own life.”
“How dare you?” Faith snapped.
“I’ve been here before. Her health’s average for her years. She could manage alone. You can’t abandon her, but you don’t owe her your whole life. Marry, have kids—before it’s too late. Hire a carer.”
Faith fumed—but later, the words nagged. Had she really seen nothing, done nothing? One awkward school kiss at thirty-plus? Was Mum faking to keep her trapped? Impossible!
Then, one icy day, Faith nearly slipped outside their flat. Strong hands caught her. She turned—a man smiled back.
“Ta,” she mumbled.
“Let me walk you.” He took her bag, headed for the door.
“How’d you know where I live?”
“Know loads about you. My aunt won’t stop singing your praises.”
“Who’s your aunt?”
“Margaret from the fifth floor.”
“Oh! You’re visiting?”
“Staying a bit. Parents died years back. Came to tend graves, sort paperwork.”
“Where from?”
“Canada. Born here, but relatives took me in after uni.”
They’d lingered at her door too long.
“Aunt says you care for your mum. Fancy a cuppa sometime? Just a natter.”
She liked him.
“Maybe,” Faith said, flushing prettily. She fumbled with her keys.
“I’m Michael. You’re Faith. Lovely name. So, settled?” He handed back her bag.
She nodded, dashed inside. Heart racing, cheeks burning.
“Who were you yapping with?” Mum barked.
Faith jumped. She unpacked shopping, stalled, then faced Mum’s squinty glare.
“Margaret’s nephew. From Canada. Just bumped into him.”
“Eyes all starry? Don’t lie. Asked you out, didn’t he?”
“No! Making dinner.” She fled.
All night, she thought of Michael—then resolved to refuse him. Mum was right. He’d fly back to Canada, leave her alone.
Mum sulked through dinner, “took poorly” after.
“Call an ambulance, love,” she whispered, eyelids fluttering.
Faith didn’t rush. Remembering the doctor, she fetched pills instead.
“Enough, Mum. Take these. You’ll live.”
Next day, Faith met Michael at a café. He told her of Canada, Niagara Falls… Soon, he waited for her after work daily. One evening, he admitted he adored her—wanted her to come to Canada.
“I fancy you too. But I can’t. Mum’s not as sick as she pretends, but I can’t leave her.”
“No hassle. Bring her.”
“No.” Faith shook her head. “The flight’d kill her. The heat, too. And she’d never agree.”
“Let me talk to her. Our healthcare’s top-notch—”
“Can’t cure old age. Go without me.”
“Faith, think. There’s time. I’d stay, but my life’s there. I’ll hire the best carer—got mates, cash—”
She shook her head.
As Michael’s departure neared, Faith wavered. Mum’s warnings warred with her desire not to lose him. Coincidentally, Margaret left town—best friend taken ill.
Michael met her after work, as usual.
“Invite me up,” she said.
She’d decided: better now with Michael than never with anyone. He spoke of love, begged her to come. She stayed the night. When he slept, she dressed, slipped home. She left for work next morning, avoiding Mum’s room—couldn’t bear lies or more “I’ll die” dramatics.
Michael flew to Canada alone.
“So you gave in? What if you’re pregnant? He’s gone, hasn’t he? Know how hard it is, raising a child alone?” Mum pounced.
“How’d you know he left?” Faith narrowed her eyes.
Mum blinked rapidly.
“Who told you? You never leave the flat—can’t even get out of bed. You’ve been lying all this time? Just to keep me from marrying, leaving? Made me your unpaid carer? How could you? IFaith looked at her mother, tears in her eyes but her voice steady for the first time: “No, Mum—it’s you who’ll never understand, but I won’t make the same mistakes with my daughter.”
