Are you sure about this, darling?
Helen covered her mothers hand with her own and smiled softly.
Mum, I love him. And he loves me. Well get married and everything will work out. Well build our own family, cant you see?
Her father pushed away his half-eaten cottage pie and stared through the window with a heaviness that pressed on Helens heart. The silence that followed felt endless.
Youre only nineteen, he finally said. You should be thinking about university, about your future career. Not rushing into marriage.
I can handle it, Dad. Helen fought to keep her voice steady, willing them to see what she saw. Jamie has a job, and Im studying. Were not asking you to support us. We just want to be together. To be a family.
Her father only shook his head and stayed quiet.
Helen could tell they didnt approvethe tight line of her fathers mouth, the way her mother fiddled with the hem of her jumper. But they didnt fight her either. Maybe they remembered being young themselves. Maybe they knew that saying no would only push her closer to him.
They had a small wedding in May, simple, but so full of warmth that Helen would always remember it wrapped in a soft happiness. No grand hotels for hundreds of guests, no Rolls-Royces or white doves. Just the people who mattered and a quiet kind of joy.
Their honeymoon was a week in Brighton, a quick escape because Jamie couldnt get more time off workand there wasnt money for more anyway. Yet to Helen, those days felt like a magical pause, floating away from the world. They slept late, had toast and tea on the balcony of their tiny flat, walked along the pier until the lights came on, ate chips from a paper cone, and kissed as if the world might end tomorrow.
And then real life beganwithout the gloss of romance. A rented one-bedroom flat where the draughts in the winter made your toes ache, and the neighbours upstairs stomped so loudly the ceiling seemed to shudder. Jamie would leave early for work, Helen hurried to lectures, and in the evening theyd collapse together, bleary-eyed, reheating something for supper before falling asleep the second their heads hit the pillows.
But even in the everyday grind, something genuine shone through.
Six months later, Helens parents called and asked if theyd come round at the weekend. Helen worried, running through every possible reason, from the serious to the ridiculous. But when she and Jamie arrived, her parents just sat them down in the kitchen, made tea, and quietly pushed an envelope towards them.
This is for you, her father said, looking just past her. For a flat. Even if its a tiny place, at least itll be your own. Enough with paying rent to strangers.
Helen stared at the envelope, unable to make herself pick it up. Her throat closed and her eyes stung with tears.
Dad she started, but he waved away her protest.
Take it. Dont make a fuss. Call it a wedding giftfrom us, a bit late.
A month later, they found a placea little third-floor flat in a block on a leafy street. Twenty-eight square metres, with a kitchen barely big enough for two, windows looking over a small communal garden. For Helen, it was an entire little universe. She picked out the paint, haggled with tradesmen, bought flowers at the market, and made it feel like home herself.
About a year later, as Helen was starting her third year at university, a wave of nausea swept over her. She thought shed eaten something dodgy, or maybe she was just shattered from all the studying. She bought a test, mostly to put her mind at rest.
Two lines appeared, bold and certain.
Helen sat on the edge of the bath, staring at that scrap of plastic. Third year. Degree painfully close. Theyd only just found their feet. Why now?
Jamie got home from work and immediately noticed something was wrong. Helen handed him the test silently, lost for words.
He looked at it for a long time. Then he looked up at her. In his gaze was something that stole her breath away.
Well keep it, he said gently, but firmly.
Jamie, Im starting my third year. How will I?
Well keep it, he repeated, squeezing her hands. Take a year out. Ill work. Well manage. Heor shewill be ours.
She cried on his shoulder: out of fear, out of uncertainty, maybe out of hormones, too but also from happiness, defiant and tough, like weeds pushing through pavement cracks.
Her university granted her a year out with no trouble.
Michael was born in March, while slushy grey snow still coated the streets, but the air already hinted at spring. Seven pounds, six ouncesa perfect little boy. Helen looked at the scrunched-up, red-faced bundle in her arms, stunned that this was realher son. Hers and Jamies.
Her happiness was so big it almost hurt her chest.
Change crept in slowly, like the first cold snap after an Indian summer. Jamie started coming home laterfirst half an hour late, then an hour. Eventually, Helen stopped counting. Hed step into the flat, toss his coat on the peg, and walk past the cot without a glance. He used to swoop Michael up, blow raspberries on his tummy, laugh and kiss his head. Lately, Jamie hardly seemed to notice the baby existed.
You could at least say hello to your son, Helen snapped one evening.
Jamie winced as if shed uttered something vulgar.
Hes sleeping, isnt he? No point waking him up.
Michael was wide awake, watching his father with dark eyes that looked just like Jamies. But Jamie didnt see them, or didnt want to.
Then came the comments. At first, Helen told herself she was imagining it, misunderstanding.
Youre going out in that? he asked one morning, giving her a look up and down.
Helen glanced at herselfjust jeans and a jumper, nothing unusual.
Whats wrong with this?
Nothing really Never mind. He didnt finish, but his sneer said enough.
It got worse, day by day. He no longer hid behind silence.
Do you even look at yourself in the mirror? he spat one night as Helen got ready for bed. Youve let yourself go. Look at the state of you. Youre twenty-two, not fifty.
The words knocked the breath out of her. She stood in her old nightdress, frozen. Yes, shed put on weight after the baby, hadnt bounced right backbut still. Was this fair?
Jamie, I only just had Michael Her own voice sounded small and pathetic.
That was over a year ago. A year! Other women are running marathons by now, and you
He broke off, waved his hand and walked out. Michael started crying in his cot, woken by their raised voices.
Shut him up! Jamie shouted from the kitchen. He never stops no one can get any sleep!
Helen gathered her son, holding him close, her tears slipping onto his soft hair. He quieted, soothed by her warmth, as she swayed in the dark, consoling both of them.
She had no one to talk to about it. Well, she didher parents. But each time Helen picked up the phone to call her mum, she saw her fathers serious face: Youre only nineteen. You ought to think of your future. Theyd warned her. And she hadnt listened, certain that love could conquer all.
Should she really go crawling back, admitting theyd been right? That shed been a foolish, starry-eyed girl whod thrown her life away? She imagined her mothers tears, her fathers cold silence, and she put the phone down, swallowing her pain. I started this, she thought. Ill sort it myself.
One day Helen took Michael for his usual walk. She circled the block and reached the little park under the bare plane trees dotted with benches. Then, rummaging in her bag for wipes, she realised shed forgotten Michaels snack.
She rushed home.
Letting herself in, Helens heart froze. There was a strange pair of shiny red high heels by the door.
Her feet carried her through the flat before her mind could shout stop, leave it, turn back.
The bedroom door stood ajar.
She saw enough. More than enougha stranger in her bed, on her sheets. Jamie, who barely flinched, didnt even bother to lie or cover himself.
He glanced over at Helen in irritation, as if shed burst in like an annoying fly.
What did you expect? Look at yourselfyouve let yourself go. Im twenty-five, not dead. Ive got needs, and at home Ive got a wife whos a state to look at.
Helen gripped the doorframe for support. The stranger on the bed hurriedly pulled the duvet up to her chin, pretending none of it was happening.
Get out. Helen barely recognised her own voice, low and rough. Get out of my flat. Now.
The woman scrambled for her clothes. Jamie smirked, watching.
Dont make a fuss, he said when the woman had left. Honestly, it happens to everyone. Nothing dramatic. Its normal.
Normal?
Yeah. You think your mums dad never cheated? You really think Im the only man who does this? Half of them do, and their wives put up with it they understand. Especially with a kid. Who else would have you now, Helen? A single mum? So dont be melodramatic. No one else wants that sort of baggage.
Helen barely remembered what happened nextbundling up Michael, calling a cab, blurting out her parents address. The whole way she gazed blankly from the taxi window, stroking her sons little back, burnt out inside.
Her mum opened the door, took one look at Helens face, and wrapped her in a tight, wordless hugthe same hug as all those childhood times when Helen ran home, knees scraped, in tears.
Mum, I started Helen, but her mum just shook her head.
Later. Come in, sweetheart.
Her father came out of the kitchen at the commotion. Looked at Helen, then at his grandson. His face turned to stone.
Whats happened?
Helen poured it all out in a torrent the criticism, the coldness, the red shoes, the no one wants you with baggage. Her father listened in silence. Then he rose, took his coat from the stand.
Come on.
Where? Helen could barely comprehend.
To him.
Dad, dont. Ill sort it
Leave Michael with your mum. And come on.
Jamie opened their door as if nothing unusual had happened. Helens father walked in, scanned the flat. Then turned to Jamie, his voice low and steadya voice that made Helens stomach twist.
Right. Heres whats going to happen. Youre going to pack your bags and go. This is my daughters flat. Bought with our money. Youve no right to stay here.
When Jamie started to mention joint assets, his rights, Helens father cut him off.
Rights, is it? Lets talk about rights. About the way you treated my daughter. About the insults, the strangers you brought to her home. Ill tell you now: in half an hour, if youre not gone, Im calling the police. And yes, I can afford a good solicitor if I need to. Now get out.
Jamie left. Packed his bag and walked out, not saying a word. Helen watched the door close behind him.
Why didnt you come to us earlier? her father asked once they were alone.
I thought you warned me. I thought youd just say it was my own fault.
Her father turned, eyes kind and waterythe sort of look that made Helens breath catch.
You are our daughter. Always. There will never be a time you cant come home. Never. Do you understand?
Helen stepped forward and hugged him tightly, like she had as a child, sobbing all the anguish of the past months away.
***
Two years later, Helen sat on the floor of the same little flat, watching Michael concentrating hard on stacking colourful blocks. A degree certificate, earned through determination and long nights of study, lay nearby. Her phone pingeda notification that maintenance had been received.
Michael looked up, grinning his fathers lopsided grin. But, at last, it didnt bother her.
Mummy, look!
I see, love. What a wonderful tower.
The sun was setting outside, draping the room in soft orange glow. Helen watched her son and smiled. Things hadnt turned out as shed dreamed, but she realised: sometimes you build a happy ending out of the pieces youre given. You may not get the life you planned, but you can still build a good oneespecially when you know you are never, ever truly alone.
