THE COUNTER-STRIKE
“Claire, who is that woman?” Michael asked quietly, ensuring the other passengers couldn’t hear.
“What woman?” Claire looked up from her phone, where she was busy texting a friend.
“Over there… see? By the last window, she’s watching us non-stop. Frankly, she’s staring quite shamelessly.”
Claire rose slightly to get a glance at the woman her husband meant, and her expression instantly changed. But she quickly composed herself, feigning indifference with a shrug. “I have no idea.”
“Don’t lie,” Michael was annoyed. “I saw your face when you looked at her. Who is she?”
“She’s my mother,” Claire admitted after a pause, deciding it was better to tell the truth. Just in case.
“Your mother?” Michael was shocked. “You told me you didn’t have a mother.”
“I do… and I don’t.”
“I’m confused,” Michael looked at his wife curiously. “Care to explain?”
“Let’s talk at home.”
“Aren’t you even going to go up to her? Is she living here in our town?”
“Michael, please, we’ll discuss this at home,” Claire pleaded, tears welling up in her eyes.
“Fine,” her husband retorted, turning to look out the window. He was hurt. Claire didn’t try to console him. She was relieved to be left alone for a bit. Although, there wasn’t much peace in her mind. Memories from childhood began to surface…
—
Claire didn’t remember her father. Her mother only mentioned he was a “terrible man.”
But her mother often said Claire was lucky to have a wonderful person in her life – her stepfather. Claire remembered him well from the age of eight. She couldn’t see what was so wonderful about him. He was rough, angry, tight-fisted. “Why does mom love him so much?” little Claire wondered, hiding in a corner to avoid Uncle Pete. No, he never hit her or openly insulted her. But he didn’t acknowledge her as a person either. Never called her by name. Looked through her as if she were invisible.
If he spoke to his wife about Claire, it went somewhat like this:
“The girl doesn’t know how to behave…”
“Your daughter interrupts my peace…”
“Tell her it’s too soon to be hanging out with boys.”
“Have you seen her report card? Look! I’m ashamed she lives in my house!”
“My house! Doesn’t it matter that this is our apartment from my grandmother?” Claire recalled thinking as a teenager. She clearly remembered moving there with her mom when her grandmother passed away. One day when her stepfather repeated this phrase for the thousandth time, Claire lost her temper and retorted:
“It’s not me, but you who lives in our home! If you don’t like it, leave! No one will shed a tear!”
Her stepfather lunged at her, as if wanting to silence her, but stopped at the last moment. He turned sharply to his wife and hissed through his teeth:
“Make it so I don’t have to see her again!”
Her mother grabbed Claire by the hand, leading her out of the room:
“Of course, dear, it’ll be just as you want…”
She always looked at him as if he was a deity, obeyed him unconditionally, served him, and spoke in a sugary tone, trying her best to please. Claire didn’t understand why. But she knew one thing: if her stepfather wished, her mother would simply throw her out of the house.
“What do you think you’re doing?” her mother hissed at Claire that day. “Never talk to your father like that!”
“He’s not my father!” Claire shouted, “He never will be!”
“That doesn’t matter! He feeds you, clothes you, and you… Ungrateful child!”
“I never asked to be born!” Claire screamed through tears. “I never asked to be raised! You should have given me away if I was such a burden!”
“You should have been!” her mother snapped back. “But no one wanted you! And your father ran off as soon as you were born! You’ve ruined my entire life!”
Hearing those words, Claire felt such hatred that she pushed her mother aside with all her strength and darted out of the apartment. No one chased after her. And during the week she was gone, no one bothered to check where she was or how she was doing. Claire was fifteen then… What could she do? Nothing.
Friends took her in for a few days each, but this didn’t solve the problem. She had to return. With trembling hands, Claire opened the front door…
“So you’re back?” was all her mother said. “Go to your room and stay there until I call you…”
“Guess she managed to talk him around,” Claire thought as she slipped into her room. From then on, her stepfather never mentioned Claire again. He behaved as if she didn’t exist… Of course, her mother supported him in this: didn’t invite her to meals, wasn’t interested in her affairs, didn’t try to speak with her. Claire understood clearly: they had already made a decision regarding her. They were just waiting for her to finish school…
She didn’t misjudge. As soon as Claire received her diploma, her mother hinted that it was time to start her independent life.
“When you turn eighteen, off you go,” her mother stated and fell silent again.
Claire thought it over and decided to apply to university. First, it would get her out of the family home, and second, the university offered dorms to out-of-town students. Meaning, for at least the next five years, she’d have a place to live…
But she didn’t get into the university. Or rather, she did, but only on a fee-paying basis. She knew no one would shell out for her education, but still, she informed them:
“Mom, congratulate me, I got into university.”
Her mother looked at her indifferently:
“And?”
“Though, I need to pay for my education… Not much…”
“Don’t even think about it. Not a penny for your whims! Haven’t your father and I invested enough in you?! And what did we get? Just more headaches! And now we should pay for your studies too?”
“Sorry. Of course, you shouldn’t,” Claire replied, “I shouldn’t have told you.”
“Exactly: shouldn’t have. Now hurry, find yourself a place.”
“But mom, I can’t pay for it…”
“Get a job since you’re so bent on studying. I’m giving you one more month… Then you’re out.”
“A month is too short,” Claire attempted to evoke compassion from her mother. “Could I stay with you for at least half a year?”
“How long? Half a year? No way. I barely convinced your father to endure your presence. Moreover, we’ve planned some renovations. Want to turn your room into a bedroom. In short: a month, no more…”
Claire rented a place. It was a stretch to call it an apartment. A small outbuilding in a remote area. Lacked amenities. Had a stove. But it was cheap…
When Claire left her family home, her mother gave her a fork, spoon, plate, mug, table knife, and a small saucepan. Then, after considering, she added a towel and an old set of bed linen.
“Take this as well,” she said, avoiding Claire’s eyes and handing her a small packet. “Good luck, my dear. I hope you’ll grow up and understand me.”
“Thank you, mother,” Claire replied. “Can I come back later for my winter clothes?”
“Just don’t delay too much, or you might not find them when you come back…”
“Would you really throw them away?”
“Me – no, but your father might not like seeing them. You understand, don’t you?”
“I understand,” Claire hugged her mother. “Well, I’m off now…”
And so, at eighteen, Claire ventured into independent life with her mother’s blessing…
The money her mother gave her lasted until her first paycheck. Claire was frugal with every penny, even avoiding transport by walking to the factory. On getting her first salary, she felt rich! Bought cereal, pasta in bulk, a bottle of vegetable oil, and a whole bucket of potatoes. She also needed shampoo, soap, toothpaste…
After buying all essentials, Claire tallied up and, placing a small amount in a pretty envelope, resolved: little by little, she’d save up for her own place.
She went to see her mother about a month later, hoping for a warm welcome (still naively believing her mother would be glad to see her) and to collect her winter clothes. Summer had ended, and it was getting chilly outside.
A young man opened the door.
“Hey, got the wrong door?” he asked cheerfully.
“I’m here to see my mother,” Claire said, caught off guard.
“Oh… you must be Claire? Come in. She’s not here now, but you can wait.”
“I’ll wait,” Claire said confidently and walked into the kitchen.
The young man tried to chat with her, but Claire gave such a look that he quickly disappeared. Her mother returned. Didn’t show much enthusiasm. When Claire asked about the young man, her mother replied:
“That’s Oliver. My husband’s son from his first marriage.”
“Why’s he living here? You planned to do renovations.”
“He won’t stay long. Just settling in the city, finding a job, and then moving to his place.”
“I see,” Claire replied, “I took my shoes and coat…”
“Take everything. Don’t leave a thing behind. Tired of shifting them around.”
“How could it be tiring? I’ve only been gone for two months.”
“Don’t be cheeky,” her mother snapped. “You’re here, take everything.”
“Won’t you even ask how I’m doing?”
“Not interested,” her mother clearly didn’t want (or maybe couldn’t) to speak in front of Oliver.
“Well, no surprise,” Claire said, heading for the entrance hall…
“Shall I walk you out?” Oliver appeared from nowhere. “How’ll you carry such a massive bag?”
“I’ll manage,” Claire replied and left the flat.
A few months later, she visited again. This time to collect her down jacket. Again, Oliver opened the door. This time her mother was home. When Claire asked:
“Is he still here?” her mother erupted:
“None of your business! He’ll stay as long as he wants! He’s here to visit his father!”
“And I was here with my mother,” Claire noted. “But that didn’t save me.”
“Don’t compare! This is different!”
“What’s different?” Claire asked firmly. “What’s the difference?”
“I don’t need to explain myself to you!” her mother shouted. “This is my home, and I decide who stays.”
“I see.”
“What do you see?!”
“That a stranger is dearer to you than your daughter,” Claire said with calm certainty, further infuriating her mother.
“I have no daughter!” she declared. “And Oliver – he’s the son of the man I love! He means more to me than a son!”
“Congratulations,” Claire now looked at her mother, as though a complete stranger. “In that case, I no longer have a mother.”
Claire walked out. Certain it was for good.
For four years, she didn’t make contact. No calls, no visits.
And now, this unexpected encounter…
—
While Claire was lost in her thoughts, her mother rose from her seat and approached her daughter. Michael stood up, offering his place.
“Hello,” Claire heard the painfully familiar voice she had tried to forget.
“Hi,” she barely managed to say.
“And who is that?” her mother nodded towards Michael.
“My husband.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“We’re doing well too. Dad’s working, and Oliver has a girlfriend now. Really sweet, calm. Wedding’s next month. I’m going to be a grandma soon. Such happiness! We decided to use your room for the baby. Started the renovations already. Bought the best wallpaper, with cute children’s patterns. Oh, and we’re buying a country house. Nearby. A child needs fresh air, vitamins. Searching for something affordable, with a liveable cottage and a river or lake closeby.”
Claire listened to all this chatter, unable to figure out why this essentially alien woman was sharing all of it.
“When did you get married?”
“Two years ago,” Claire replied automatically.
“Thinking about kids?”
“Our son’s nearly a year old.”
“So, I have a grandson?”
“Do you?” Claire finally turned to face her mother.
“Yes, I do,” her mother faltered for a moment. “You’re my daughter.”
“You’re mistaken, ma’am. My mother passed away four years ago…”
Her mother turned pale. Silently, she stood and headed for the exit. Claire turned back to the window, feeling no pity… for this woman. Michael, who had been thoughtfully observing them both and listening in, suddenly realized: they were complete strangers.
And he decided he wouldn’t pry into his wife’s past. It seemed daunting to even peek behind that curtain.
