The ache of remembering, the impossibility of forgetting
April had been kind with its warm weather, but early May brought an unexpected cold snap—even a flurry of snow over two days. The long holiday weekend was just around the corner.
“I’ve decided to visit Mum’s grave. It’s been too long,” Mary told her daughter the evening before the holiday.
“How long will you be gone? Staying with relatives?” asked Eleanor.
“Relatives…” Mary hesitated. “Mum died young. I never knew my father. No brothers or sisters. I’ll stay with my cousin. She’s living in our old flat. Meant to call ahead, but I never saved her number. Or maybe she never had one. Doubt she’ll be away. Honestly, I planned to make it a day trip—there and back.”
“Can I come? I’ve never even seen where you grew up.”
“I thought you’d have plans. Didn’t want to impose. Of course, let’s go. More fun together,” Mary brightened. “You lived there till you were three. Don’t remember?”
Eleanor paused, then shook her head.
“Nina visited once when you were older. When she found out I wasn’t coming back, she asked to stay in the flat. Always dreamed of leaving the village. I helped her sort the paperwork back then. We’ll stay with her if we don’t make it back in time.”
Early the next morning, they headed to the station. As they waited for the coach, Mary glanced around. A few faces looked familiar, but no one acknowledged her—not that she could’ve placed names anyway. The coach was packed, nearly every seat taken.
“You’re nervous, aren’t you? Facing the past, all those memories,” Eleanor murmured, leaning closer as they settled in.
“The past isn’t always bright and happy. Some things… aren’t worth remembering,” Mary sighed.
“You mean your dad?”
“Him too. Let’s not talk about it now,” Mary said, sharper than intended.
“Fine.” Eleanor slumped back, staring ahead.
The coach pulled away, rolling through the town Mary once called home. The engine’s hum was soothing. Eleanor’s head drooped onto her shoulder—asleep.
Mary envied her. She watched the blur of trees through the window, willing herself to nap, but nerves won out. For years, she’d locked those memories away, but now they clawed their way free, rattling her peace and making her question this trip altogether.
***
The setting sun warmed the faces of two friends lounging on the balcony.
“Last exam tomorrow, then freedom! We’ll apply to uni and just… wait. Actively,” added Helen, grinning. “Sleep in, swim, wander—do whatever we want.”
Molly rocked on her stool, palms tucked under her thighs.
“Something wrong? You look pale,” Helen frowned. “Or is it… you know?”
“What?” Molly snapped, avoiding her gaze.
“You know what. The girls are whispering about you and Nick…” Helen trailed off, studying her.
Molly froze mid-rock.
“Don’t be daft. Nothing happened with Nick. Let’s go inside—Mum’ll be home soon and bite our heads off if we’re not ‘revising.’” She slipped through the balcony door.
The front door clicked open. Her mother, bags in hand, eyed them.
“Finished studying, then?”
“Hello, Auntie Olivia. Yes, we’ve been revising together,” Helen squeezed past toward the door. “I’ll head off, yeah?”
“Go on, chatterbox. Tomorrow’s big enough for gossip,” Olivia sighed, hauling groceries to the kitchen.
Molly followed.
“You’re pale. Feeling ill?” Her mother peered into the fridge. “You’ve not eaten?”
“Not hungry. Too hot. I’ll go study.” She retreated to her room.
Molly left the prom early, stomach churning. She sat shivering on a bench in the next estate until the cold drove her home.
“Back so soon?” Her mother set aside her knitting.
Molly sank onto the sofa.
“What’s happened?” Her mother’s voice tightened.
The pink party dress only accentuated Molly’s pallor.
“Mum… I’m pregnant,” she blurted, bracing.
“What? How—Nick? I knew those cinema trips would lead to trouble—” Her mother clutched her chest.
“Not Nick.” Molly bit her lip hard.
“Then who? Good Lord—were you—?” Her mother gasped, eyes shut, gulping air. “Why didn’t you say? He should’ve been—”
“I was scared. Everyone would’ve pointed… Mum—” Molly’s voice trembled.
Her mother pulled her close.
“We’ll go to the clinic. How far along?”
“I’ve been. They said… with my blood type, it’s too risky. And I’m too far gone already.”
“Dear God,” her mother whispered. “Alright. A baby’s not the end. We’ll manage. But tell me—who is he?”
Molly pulled away.
“No. I hate him. If you think I’d marry him, I’d rather drown myself.”
“What?”
They talked—and wept—till dawn. Molly wouldn’t be starting uni that year. She’d move to the city, find work. Her mother would help with rent.
And so it went. Molly left, took a job as a hospital cleaner. Her mother visited weekends.
One day, the ward sister noticed Molly’s rounding belly and called her in. Molly confessed, begged not to be sacked.
“Not disclosing the pregnancy—fine. But lifting buckets? Have sense! No husband? Thought as much. Christ, what am I to do with you? Can’t toss you out. I’ll move you to reception. Manageable?”
Molly nodded, swallowing tears. In late October, she had a girl. Her mother met her at the hospital.
“Home we go. I’ve bought everything. Aunt Nina helped. No one blames you. And the rest? They’ll gossip, then forget. Look at this beauty—our little Eleanor.”
Returning to her hometown made Molly shudder. Twice, she spotted Simon pushing the pram and turned away. But he either didn’t recognize her or didn’t care, walking right past. A year later, she enrolled in uni, distance learning.
When she learned her attacker had married (she’d glimpsed his bride in the park during photos), she didn’t exactly find peace—but she stopped flinching at accidental run-ins.
“Mum, don’t argue—I can’t stay where everything reminds me…”
When Eleanor turned three, Molly finally moved to the city, leaving her daughter with her mother at first. She found work, a flat, then brought Eleanor to her.
She buried the memories deep, refusing to let them surface. But she adored her daughter—couldn’t imagine life without her. The circumstances of Eleanor’s birth? Best not to dwell.
At nine, Eleanor fell ill. Molly brought her to the city for treatment at the oncology centre. Her mother never came home. She died two years later. Molly buried her back home, beside Gran.
A year after, her cousin Nina asked to live in their flat—since Molly wasn’t returning. Molly visited the grave twice, but mostly lit candles at the local church, scribbling prayers for the dead.
***
Newbuildings and cranes loomed ahead. Mary fidgeted. Eleanor woke, yawning.
“Did you sleep? Is this your town?” She squinted at the passing buildings.
The coach stopped at a small station. They stretched their stiff legs.
“Going to Aunt Naomi’s?”
“No, the cemetery first. We’ll stop by after if there’s time.” Mary headed for the bus stop.
Noticing Eleanor’s glum face, she pulled out sandwiches and water.
Eleanor devoured half in one bite.
“You?” she mumbled.
“Not hungry.”
Mary gazed at her hometown, memories flooding back, her heart racing. At the cemetery, she froze—everything had changed. They wandered, checking dates on headstones.
“Let’s rest.” Mary sank onto a bench. “Like she’s hiding. Probably cross I stayed away so long.” She eyed the sea of graves, fresh flowers piled on new plots.
“Stay here. I’ll keep looking.” Eleanor jumped up.
“Don’t go far—it’s still a cemetery.”
“Good we came straight here. No rush. Mum… are you really angry with me?” Mary watched Eleanor weave between graves. “Where’s she going? That’s the new section—”
The cemetery’s silence unnerved her, life’s brevity pressing in. Mary was nearing the age her mother had been. “Gone too soon. Worried for me, for Eleanor. If I saw Simon now, I wouldn’t run. I’d tell him exactly what he did—to me, to Mum.”
She lost sight of Eleanor and stood, scanning the graves. “Holding onto hate will kill me faster than Mum. Where is she?”
“Mum!” Eleanor’s voice rang out. “Over hereAs the years passed, Mary learned to carry the weight of her memories not as a burden, but as proof of her strength, and when Eleanor graduated university with honors, she realized—some scars fade, but the love they once obscured only grows brighter with time.
