— Mum, my trainers are completely thread‑bare! — Charlie stood in the hallway, nervously tugging at the hem of his T‑shirt.
— What do you mean thread‑bare? We only bought them two months ago!
Emma almost dropped the dishcloth. That was the last thing she needed. A whole week until the next payday and not a penny in her purse.
— I’ve got no others, — her son whined. — I wear them every day.
— Probably playing football again? — Emma tried to keep her voice steady, though inside she was simmering.
Charlie snorted and looked away. Lucy — the younger sister, forever his staunch defender — jumped in:
— Mum, what’s wrong with you? All boys play football! Are we supposed to sit on the bench now?
Emma sank heavily onto a stool. Daughter, if only you knew how close I was to cracking…
— I get it, love. But you need to hear me too: the mill shut down, dad… — she faltered — dad stopped the maintenance payments. How am I supposed to get money for new trainers?
— What does that have to do with us?! — Charlie exploded. — You shouldn’t have had us if we’re going to suffer like this!
He stormed out, slamming the door. Emma stayed seated, staring ahead. She wanted to sob until it hurt, but tears were only allowed after the children were asleep. Now there was no time. In a few hours she had to be at work.
Work… She had been on the production line for ten years, even a shift supervisor. Then — bang! — it all ended. The mill closed. They’d hoped it was temporary, but luck never turned. Some businessman bought the site and filled it with outsiders brought in on night buses.
James was linked to the mill too. After the shutdown he did a stint as a minicab driver, and then… she recalled that night. He packed his bag and said:
— Emma, times are rough… Living feels like being buried alive.
She had laughed then, thinking he was joking. She suggested they run away together somewhere better. He looked dead serious:
— No, I’m going alone. I can’t take it any longer. I’m about to lose my mind.
— And the kids? They’re your kids, James!
— What can I do? Call me a bastard if you like, but I’m leaving. It’s decided.
And he vanished. That’s when genuine terror seized her. Charlie goes to school, Lucy is still little… Even if you count only food and bills — money is needed. Jobs in the city are scarce. There’s a line even for cleaners, and half the applicants have degrees.
For two days she roamed the town — first places that promised decent wages, then places that paid something, and finally places that weren’t sure they’d ever pay at all. Now there are plenty of such firms where you wait for your salary longer than for the Second Coming.
By some miracle she landed a job as a cleaner in an office block. These offices have multiplied — people sit, shuffle papers, but what they actually do is a mystery. They paid, of course, a laughably tiny sum, but at least something. Meat was out of reach, oil a luxury, yet survival was possible. But when it came to shoes or clothes… that’s when the borrow‑and‑repay cycle began.
She’d long ago sold her gold chain and even her wedding band. Nothing of value remained.
— Charlie! Lucy! I’m leaving! — Emma shouted.
A murmur rose from the room. No one came to see her off. Ah, she’d spoiled her children… but what could she expect? Other kids flaunt new stuff, and mine make do with whatever they have.
She stepped out of the house with a heavy heart. On the way she thought of James. She had filed for divorce after he left, and for maintenance too. No point — zero. Either he’s unemployed or hiding. Not a penny in a year.
She hadn’t married him out of a grand romance. It just seemed right at the time. He worked at the mill, didn’t drink, a decent sort. They’d dated briefly, then he said, “Emma, why drag this out? We’re a good match.” And indeed we were. Both homebodies, disliking noisy crowds… Who could have guessed he’d walk away? If anyone had predicted it, she wouldn’t have believed.
At the office it was immediately clear something was amiss. The ladies whispered, no one was working.
— Why the long faces? — Emma asked.
— Emma, didn’t you hear? They were gearing up for a big contract, but now everything looks to be falling apart.
— Really?
— The intel’s solid. If it’s as bad as they say, Peter will be sacked. And with him, all of us. He’s no fool — won’t take the blame himself.
Emma felt her legs go weak. Damn… I was just about to ask for an advance…
— Why? — Sarah was surprised.
— Charlie needs trainers. I’ll ask for an advance.
— Bad timing… But try. At least you’ll find out what’s what.
Gathering her thoughts, Emma knocked on the manager’s door.
— May I come in?
David Morgan wanted to send her away, but recognizing the cleaner, he waved her in:
— Come in.
He remembered the HR lady had mentioned: husband left, two kids, starving. One thought sparked in his mind…
— Hello, David. I wanted to speak with you…
— Sit down, — he tried to smile.
— Thanks, I’d rather stand. Could you give me an advance? My son’s trainers are completely thread‑bare, he has no shoes for school…
The manager looked at her, then broke into a satisfied grin:
— Still, sit down. I have something to tell you too.
He paused, choosing his words. The money was clearly needed for more than footwear — that was obvious. So he’d probably agree.
If he could prove the contract’s collapse wasn’t his fault, the owner would stay quiet. But if they decided to fire him anyway — an audit would start. Then the whole thing would unravel, exposing fake documents. The only way out — pin it all on the chief accountant. They’d worked on the scheme together, but he’d later made “crazy nonsense” changes that offended him. Now the moment of truth had arrived.
— What needs to be done? — Emma asked.
— Don’t be scared, — David warned. — For this amount, the job will… not be exactly clean.
Emma felt her palms sweat. David noticed her confusion and quickly scribbled a number on a slip of paper.
She nearly fell from her chair. This sum could change their lives: pay debts, clothe the kids, even fund some repairs.
— What exactly must I do? — she managed to whisper.
— Swap the files in the chief accountant’s folder. She always carries it. Bring me the old ones, replace them with these.
— So she… will suffer?
— She’ll lose her job, of course. But with her experience she’ll find another in a week. Don’t worry. I’ll pay well for this. Think it over until evening. The boss arrives in two days — everything must be ready. And not a word to anyone.
Emma rose mechanically and left. Colleagues swarmed her:
— So? Did he give the advance?
She first nodded, then shook her head, waved her hand, and slipped into her tiny flat.
God, what to do? Her first impulse was — no way! But if she refused, he’d find someone else. Someone would agree for the cash. And take it, pretending to cooperate? Dangerous. She has children…
A knock sounded.
— Yes?
Helen Clarke, the chief accountant, entered.
— Hello, Emma. David left, and I wanted to speak with you.
Emma sprang up:
— Good you came!
And began to sob, unable to hold back the tension.
Helen perched on a crate:
— I thought as much. He wants to make me the scapegoat?
They talked briefly. Before leaving, Helen handed her an envelope:
— There’s a little here, enough for trainers. I have no more on me.
— Thank you… — Emma whispered, crying.
— Don’t turn it down. Until evening.
At home her children greeted her. Charlie first:
— Mum, I’m sorry. I just…
— It’s alright, love. Take this — here’s the money for trainers. I’ve also bought a cake. We have guests today. Will you help tidy up?
— Of course, Mum!
Emma tried not to dwell on the deal with David. But only because Helen had asked her. The manager’s cash lay in the bag — she hadn’t even touched it.
That evening Helen returned with another visitor. Emma had never seen the big boss before. When the door opened…
— Tom? Sorry… Thomas…
The man froze in the doorway:
— Emma? It can’t be!
They’d been in the same class. Then Emma went to technical college — her parents had died, she had to fend for herself. Tom stayed, finished school, and a year later his family moved away.
They’d been good friends, but Emma always kept her distance. Worlds too different.
They stayed up late. The children were already asleep when Helen stood:
— I must go. You probably still have a lot to discuss.
Tom saw her out:
— Thanks, Helen. I’ll rest. A week will be enough for me to sort everything here.
They were left alone in the kitchen, silent.
— Well, Emma, tell me, — Tom finally said. — How did the girl who explained physics to me end up as a cleaner?
She sighed and began. About college, the mill, marriage…
— So you went straight into the mill after school? And married right away?
— Choices were limited. I just wanted peace. You remember how I lived? Parents… every day was drinking or fighting.
Tom drummed his fingers on the table:
— I remember. Listen, Emma, you’ll go back to study.
— Are you mad? At my age?
— Everyone studies! Me too. Don’t argue. I’ll fund you. And help in other ways — I’ve got plenty of time. I just got divorced. Then you’ll return to the company. Not as a cleaner, of course.
— Tom, I can’t…
— Remember when you told me the same when I explained the problems?
Emma smiled through tears:
— I recall. I even hit you with a textbook and told you — don’t say that again!
— Exactly! And now I don’t want to hear it. Give me your ex’s details. He owes something to his children.
Three years later Emma Valentine ran the business. She could have taken it over earlier — Tom had offered long ago. But she chose to finish her accelerated course first.
Now she was unrecognisable. Posture, style, manners — everything changed. She felt like a different person: strong, confident, loved.
Who would have thought that a school physics problem would one day be the seed of such a life?
