“Your mum’s here to pick you upget your things ready.”
Every kid in care supposedly dreams of hearing those words. But Emily flinched as if shed been slapped.
“Come on, love, why are you just sitting there?”
Mrs. Whitmore stared at her, baffled. Life in a childrens home wasnt exactly a picnicsome kids even ran away to the streets. Yet here was Emily, being handed a ticket back to her own home, and she looked about as thrilled as someone told theyd won a tax audit.
“I dont want to go,” Emily muttered, turning to the window. Her mate Sarah shot her a sideways glance but kept quiet. Sarah wouldve given anything to go homeif she had one worth returning to.
“Emily, whats got into you?” Mrs. Whitmore pressed. “Your mums waiting.”
“I dont want to see her. And Im not going back.”
The other girls perked up, ears practically twitching. Mrs. Whitmore decided this wasnt a conversation for an audience.
“Come with me.”
She led Emily to an office and gave her a sympathetic look. “Your mums made mistakes, yes. But shes trying. They wouldnt let her take you otherwise.”
“You think this is her first try?” Emily scoffed. “This is my second stint in care. Last time, she played the perfect mumhid the bottles, cleaned up, even got a job. When social services checked, it was all sunshine and roses. Then they gave me back, and she went right back to her old ways. She only wants me for the benefits.”
“Emily, I cant change that. And homes still better, surely?”
“Better?!” Emilys voice cracked. “Have you ever gone to school in trainers with holes when its freezing? Ever hid in your room praying your mums drunk mates dont barge in? Why hasnt she lost custody yet?”
Tears welled up. The home wasnt paradise, but at least she had meals and safety. Home was another story.
“I cant help,” Mrs. Whitmore sighed.
She felt for Emilybright, sharp, a rarity in care. Maybe her mum had been someone once, before the bottle took over. In seven years, Mrs. Whitmore had never met a kid who refused to go home.
“Cant I live on my own? Get a job, rent a room?”
“Not till youre eighteen.”
“Im nearly sixteen!”
Mrs. Whitmore privately agreed Emily was too grown for her age. But rules were rules.
“You need a proper guardian. Anyone else who could step in? Maybe petition for custody?”
“Theres no one. Nan made things bearable, but shes gone. Now its just unbearable.”
“Your dad?”
“Dead. Drank himself there.”
Emily said it flatly, like stating the weather.
“Any relatives on his side?”
Emily paused. “Think his mums alive. Never met her. She cut him offcant blame her.”
“Heres the plan,” Mrs. Whitmore leaned in. “Try living with your mum. Ill look into your nan. Deal?”
Emily nodded. What choice did she have?
Her mum put on a showsobbing, begging forgiveness, clinging to her. Emily stayed cold. She knew the act would drop the second they got home.
It did. Day one, her mum held it together. Day two, she came back from the shop with vodka.
Back to hell. Mum lost her job. Emily endured.
Then, one night, a drunk bloke stumbled into her room. She fought him off, shaking. Enough.
Mrs. Whitmore had given her number. Emily called. “Its the streets or care again.”
“I found your nan,” Mrs. Whitmore said. “Ill talk to her. If she agrees and her place checks out, she could get custody.”
Emily insisted on going. She didnt know her nan, but hoped she wouldnt turn her away. Just two years till freedom.
The door opened to a woman in her sixtiestall, poised.
“Can I help you?”
“Margaret Dawson?” Mrs. Whitmore verified.
“Yes.”
“Im your granddaughter,” Emily cut in. No point dancing around it.
“Excuse me?”
“Your sons daughter.”
Margarets face stayed neutral. “And what do you want?”
“Can we talk?” Mrs. Whitmore interjected before Emily could blurt more.
“Fine. Briefly. Ive work soon.”
Over tea, Margaret eyed Emily like shed landed from Mars. Mrs. Whitmore laid out the mess.
“Emily might go back into care. Or you could take guardianship.”
“Why would I?”
“Shes your flesh and blood.”
“I dont know her. Frankly, Id rather forget my son ever existed.”
“Margaret, shes living in squalor”
Emily cut in. “Look, I dont know you, and honestly? Id love to forget my parents too. But the law says I need a guardian. Im not after your moneyjust a roof till Im eighteen. Ill buy my own food, get a job after GCSEs. The state pays you to keep meconsider it a pension boost. If I had other family, I wouldnt be here.”
Mrs. Whitmore shot her a glare. But Margaret looked impressed.
“They say alcoholics kids are slow. Clearly not. So, two years, then you vanish?”
“Promise.”
“Fine. Rules: Dont call me Nan. Dont touch my things. No friends over. Clear?”
“Crystal.”
Paperwork flew. Emilys mum lost custody. Margaret became her guardian.
Emily played tough, but fear gnawed at her. Two months till school endedno money. What if Margaret really let her starve?
That first evening, Margaret called her to dinner. Proper foodreal, homemade. Mum had barely cooked; Emily never learned.
Next day, Margaret eyed Emilys battered trainers and sighed. “After school, were buying decent shoes and clothes.”
“Ive no money.”
“My treat. Cheaper than the shame of you looking like that.”
Emily shrugged. Fine by her.
Margaret loaded her with geareven asked her preference, which stunned Emily.
A week later, Margaret summoned her. “Hows school?”
“Alright.”
“Show me your grades.”
Emily grinned. “Its all online now.”
“Good grief. Since when is paper scarce? Fine, show me the digital doom.”
Her grades were solidEmily had long known no one would hand her a future.
“Good. Youre staying for A-levels. Then uni. Understood?”
“Understood.”
Emilys chest swelled. Shed wanted this but never dared hope.
Slowly, the wall between them crumbled. Margaret asked about her lifesometimes, fleetingly, about her son. Ashamed, maybe, to admit she cared.
Emily aced her A-levels, got into uni. Margaret even hired tutors those last two years.
That summer, Emily got a job. Shed agreed to move out after schooluni halls awaited.
Then, late August, Margaret had a heart attack.
Emily found her on the floor, unconscious. For one terrible moment, she thought she was gone.
But Margaret pulled through. At the hospital, Emily burst in.
“Nan!” She caught herself. “Margaret.
