Clever Timothy
Emily and her mother had been arguing for days. They’d wear themselves out, retreat to separate corners, sulk in silence. But the moment one of them tried to restart the conversation, the shouting would erupt again.
“You never listen to anyone! It’s always your way or nothing. You didn’t listen to Dad either. No wonder he left,” Emily snapped. She knew bringing up her father was a low blow, but her anger carried her away, and she couldn’t stop.
“I’m leaving anyway because I can’t live without Daniel. I love him. I wanted this to be civil, but clearly, that’s not happening. I’m twenty—grown up. Back in the day, girls my age were considered spinsters. Always so perfect, aren’t you? Doesn’t it make you sick? I refuse to end up like you—” Emily caught herself.
“I’m not against it. I *do* hear you. So why not get married if you love each other?” her mother said, almost calmly, unnerved by her daughter’s outburst.
“Here we go again,” Emily groaned. “Marry how? We’re students. Live off you? Or his parents? They’ve already bought him a flat.”
“And how will you support yourselves?”
“I told you—Daniel freelances. Builds websites, writes code. Gets paid for it. Ever heard of working online? We’ll manage, and in a year, we’ll finish uni and marry properly.”
“Then wait a year. What’s the rush? You’re not pregnant, are you?” Her mother’s eyes darted over Emily’s figure.
“No, Mum. But talking to you is pointless.” Emily marched to her room, yanking clothes from the wardrobe, stuffing them into a backpack. When they wouldn’t fit, she hovered by the sofa, unsure what to ditch.
Her mother entered silently. Emily braced for another row—but she just stood there, then left without a word. Minutes later, she returned and dropped a suitcase beside the pile of clothes. The same one she’d taken on spa trips with Dad.
“Thanks!” Emily hugged her. “I’m not vanishing—I’ll visit. Call every day. If you need anything, just say. Daniel and I will help.”
Her mother wilted onto the sofa, covering her face.
“Everyone leaves. Fine then, run off like I’m some monster. He needed me young and healthy, now I’m just in the way. Your father found a younger woman—useless, old me. But when his ulcers acted up or his back went? Suddenly I was good enough to mash his food, press his aches, juice cabbage for him. Now he’s better, off he goes. Well, when his health fails again, he’ll come crawling back. And I’ll turn him away.”
Her voice cracked. “And now you. Why rush? Cooking, shopping, laundry—all on top of studies. That’s a woman’s lot. And if you get pregnant? Why the hurry?”
Emily sat beside her, arm around her stiff shoulders. For a second, she almost caved.
“Just keep dating. Why move out?” her mother pressed.
“Why do people live together? Because they can’t stand being apart. I love him. I’ll visit—promise. Call daily. Want us to move in *here*?”
Her mother jerked upright. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Emily stifled a smile.
Mum had married late. Gran was strict—never let her go. Only after she passed did Mum marry Dad, “jumping the last train,” as they say.
At twenty, Emily was grown; her mother, retired early after her factory shut down. Then Dad’s midlife crisis. She understood. But how to split herself between Mum and Daniel? They’d never coexist. Mum’s temper was legendary, and why try when Daniel had his own place?
“Sorry, Mum. I love you. But I love him too.” She stood, resuming packing.
Once alone, she fished her phone from her jeans.
“Waiting?” she whispered. “Be there soon.”
Backpack on, suitcase rolling, she paused at the kitchen. Mum sat turned toward the window.
“Don’t be cross. I’ll call tomorrow,” Emily said softly.
No response. Her mother sat small and wounded, and Emily’s heart ached—but if she hesitated now, she’d never leave. Daniel was freezing outside. Steeling herself, she stepped out.
They took the bus to save cab fare.
“How’d it go? Big fight?” Daniel squeezed her hand.
“Fine,” she muttered. No details.
“Regretting it?”
“Don’t be daft.” She gripped his hand, leaning into him.
Emily called daily between lectures. Mum complained of aching joints, unseasonal November damp making everything worse. The litany of ailments wore thin. “Take a pill, rest”—what else was there to say? Calls grew fewer.
Come weekend, Emily visited alone.
“Want me with you?” Daniel offered.
“Best not. To her, you’re Enemy Number One. Stay, work.”
She bought mandarins and a Victoria sponge. The flat reeked of antiseptic—alarming. Mum lay on the sofa, towel on her forehead.
“Mum! Should I call an ambulance?”
“They came. Gave a shot, left,” came the weak reply.
“Brought your favourite cake. I’ll put the kettle on.”
In the kitchen, Emily sighed. “Playing it up. Wants me guilty. Probably faked the ambulance call too.”
She peeled a mandarin. “Remember how you’d buy me oranges when I was ill?” She left before Mum could refuse.
They ate cake, Mum perking up. Asked about their life, why “that boy” never visited. Resigned to Emily’s move, she still scorned Daniel.
“He wanted to come, but I thought he’d irritate you. Next time. Or visit us?”
“When I’m better,” Mum hedged.
By goodbye, they were almost easy again.
“Need money?” Mum asked at the door.
“We’re fine. And you—don’t lug shopping. Tell me; I’ll bring it.”
“I’ll manage.”
Mum shuffled, hand on her back—uncharacteristic theatrics. Emily hugged her. “Love you. I’ll call.”
Daniel was typing when she returned.
“How was it?”
“Fine. She asked after you. I said we’d go together next time.”
“Progress!”
“Eating tonight?”
“Swamped. Promised a fast turnaround for good pay.”
“They won’t stiff you like last time?”
“Nah. Send half first, rest after payment.”
Emily reheated spaghetti bolognese.
Next day, outside Tesco, a muddy stray blocked their path. His mournful eyes pinned Emily.
“Waiting for his owner,” Daniel said, tugging her away.
“Owned dogs aren’t this filthy.”
“Em, he’s mangy. Come on.”
The dog trotted after them.
“I can’t leave him.”
“Crafty bloke. Playing you like your mum does.”
Emily brightened. “Let’s clean him up—take him to Mum! He’s housebroken. She’ll have to care for him, walk him.”
“Genius,” Daniel agreed.
The dog balked at their building.
“Coming or not?” Daniel faux-slammed the door. The dog darted in.
“Bath first,” Daniel said, herding him to the tub.
“Need help?” Emily knocked.
“Nah. Man-to-mutt talk.”
Post-bath, the dog flopped under the table.
“Feed him. Don’t scare him,” Daniel advised.
He ate daintily, eyes begging for seconds.
“More won’t hurt?” She gave extra pasta.
Full, he retreated under the table.
The vet next day confirmed he was newly stray, just flea-ridden. Vaccinated him as precaution.
Returning home, they found him dozing on the sofa—he jumped down guiltily.
Sunday, they took him to Mum.
“She’ll boot all three of us,” Daniel said.
“Surprise! We brought company.” Emily beamed.
Mum’s face lit up—then fell at the dog.
“You got a *dog*?”
“Not exactly. He’s yours. Well-behaved—good for walks.”
“Where from?”
“Neighbours moved, abandoned him,” Daniel lied.
“Absolutely not! My back’s killing me!”
But when she sank onto the sofa, the dog curled at her feet.
“See? He’s chosen you,” Emily said.
“Crafty thing,” Mum said, not unkindly.
They left before she reconsidered.
“Clever boy. Knew how to stay,” Daniel grinned.
Mum’s calls now gushed about “Timothy”—named after her childhood dog. No more ailments.
Then, a Saturday call: “Come over.”
“What’s wrong? Timothy misbehave?”
“Timothy’s a saint. Your father’s back. Skin and bonesEmily and Daniel arrived to find her father slumped at the kitchen table, looking frail and humbled, while Timothy sat loyally beside Mum’s chair, his tail thumping softly against the floor as if to say, “This is how it should be.”
