**Ill-Timed Love**
Alice peeked into her mother’s room, saw she was asleep, and quietly closed the door.
“Alice,” her mother called suddenly, her voice weak.
“Yes, Mum.” Alice stepped back in. “I thought you were sleeping. Do you need anything? I was just going out with the girls for a bit.”
“Go on, I’ll rest,” replied Julia, closing her eyes. Even lifting her heavy lids took tremendous effort.
Alice exhaled in relief and hurried to get dressed. Since her mother had fallen ill, she’d grown used to moving silently. She descended the stairs without a sound. At the front door, her classmate Michael Tucker was waiting.
“Took you long enough,” he grumbled instead of greeting her.
“I was making Mum some soup. Where are we going?” Alice smiled, trying to smooth things over.
“She’s still sick?”
“Yes, she just fell asleep. Not long, alright? In case she needs me,” Alice pleaded.
“Relax, she’ll sleep it off,” Michael said carelessly.
Alice bit her lip. She hadn’t told anyone what her mother was really suffering from. She didn’t want pity or panic at school.
“Great, now it’s raining. Let’s go to Jake’s—his parents are at their cottage,” Michael whispered, pulling her close, trying to kiss her. Alice sharply turned her head away.
“What are you doing? Someone could see.”
“Who? Your mum’s asleep. So, are we going?”
Alice hesitated. The last time they’d gone to Jake’s, Michael had been too forward. She liked him, but he rushed things.
“Alice, just for half an hour. I promise I won’t push,” he begged. The rain was coming down harder now.
“Fine, but not for long,” she agreed.
“Of course.” Michael tried to hide his grin.
Jake opened the door and smirked when he saw them.
“Come in.”
Alice didn’t move. She didn’t want to be alone with the two boys.
“Downloaded a brilliant film yesterday,” Jake said. Michael kicked off his trainers and followed him inside. Alice considered leaving, but she didn’t want to go home either.
She closed the door, entered the room, and sat beside Michael. He immediately draped an arm over the sofa behind her. Jake brought out cans of lager. Alice refused hers, so Michael took it. She shot him a look but said nothing.
The film was good, pulling her in from the start. She only snapped back when she felt Michael’s hot, searching hand under her jumper. She jerked away, but he held her shoulder, his other hand squeezing painfully.
“Stop, that hurts!” she cried.
He loosened his grip, and Alice sprang up. Jake was gone—she hadn’t even noticed him leave.
“Alice, sorry,” Michael muttered.
“You promised!” she flared.
“Come on, why are you acting like it’s your first time? I love you.” He stood too.
It was the first time he’d said that, and Alice couldn’t bring herself to push him away. He kissed her, his breath stale with lager. His hands grew rough, insistent.
“Don’t… I have to go,” she gasped, shoving him.
Suddenly, Michael grabbed her and threw her onto the sofa, pinning her down. Alice fought desperately, kneeing him hard between the legs.
He cursed and rolled off. Alice scrambled up, snatched her trainers, and fumbled with the door.
“Suit yourself,” he shouted after her.
She fled down the stairs in her socks, stopping only to pull on her shoes when she realised he wasn’t following.
How could she have trusted him? Her mother was ill, and he… All he wanted was one thing.
At home, she scrubbed her face and neck clean of his clammy kisses. Then she sat in the dark, wondering—what if Mum died? She’d be entirely alone. How would she survive? In two months, she’d turn eighteen, and her father’s child support would stop. No money, not even enough for a prom dress. But none of it mattered, so long as Mum got better.
She’d guessed her mother had cancer. The illness felt graver than Mum let on. Typing the medication names into a search engine confirmed it.
Her phone buzzed. Michael: *Alice, I’m sorry.* She didn’t reply. The messages kept coming—apologies, then anger, then crude words. She turned the phone off.
Before bed, she checked on her mother.
“Mum, are you awake?”
Julia opened her eyes with effort.
“Do you need anything? Water? The loo?”
Julia barely shook her head and closed her eyes again.
In the morning, a crash jolted Alice awake. She bolted to her mother’s room. Julia was struggling to stand, gripping the bedframe, her legs trembling. A chair lay overturned.
Alice rushed to help, startled by how light and frail her mother felt as she eased her back into bed.
“Why didn’t you call me?” Alice scolded.
“Thought… I could do it,” Julia panted, as if she’d been running.
“I’ll make you tea.” Alice hurried to the kitchen.
Her mother took a few sips, then refused more. She hadn’t eaten in days, barely used the loo.
Alice’s heart was heavy. She wanted to stay, especially after last night. But exams were coming. She decided to skip the last lesson, history, and come home early.
When she returned, her mother was asleep. Alice checked repeatedly, but Julia hadn’t moved. Something felt wrong. She touched her mother’s bony shoulder—and knew.
She fled, hand over her mouth, unsure what to do. A neighbour—retired, always home—took one look at her face and understood. She called an ambulance, then the undertaker.
After they took her mother away, Alice opened every window to air the flat. The neighbour collected money from other flats, brought it to her. At school, parents and classmates chipped in too. Mum’s colleagues arranged the funeral.
Alice moved through those days in a daze. The woman in the coffin was a stranger—she avoided looking, remembering her mother as she’d been before.
One day, rifling through papers, she found an old exercise book. Pages filled with her mother’s handwriting. A diary? But no dates. She began to read—scattered memories. Why these?
*How old was I when I met David? A year younger than Alice is now. His surname caught my eye—Bennett. Asked if he was related to the poet. He laughed, saying no.*
*Too soon, I met him. Seven years older, he seemed so grown. I didn’t realise it was love—real, lasting love. He never demanded anything. What could I have given him anyway? Young, foolish, I didn’t appreciate him, didn’t understand, and lost my chance.*
*Love comes too soon for some. I wanted dances, stuffed toys, not French perfume. Even Alice is more mature than I was. I was still in school. Of course, he didn’t wait—married someone else. Hurt like hell when I found out. Said he loved me, then married her. Not long after, I met Robert, my future husband, at a dance. I wasn’t thinking ahead—school, university. Just dates, films, laughter. He failed his exams, joined the army. We wrote occasionally, no real plans. Two years of service. By the time he came back, I was at uni. A few flings, nothing serious.*
*Robert had grown up. I liked that. He got a job, proposed quickly. I panicked—too young, not ready. He left, offended. I missed him but pride stopped me reaching out. Days later, he returned as if nothing happened.*
*He was my first. I’d imagined romance, tenderness—instead, it was clumsy, awkward, disappointing. No thrill, no joy, no desire for more…*
*We married three months later. The wedding’s a blur. Everyone hugging me, my veil crooked by evening, hair a mess. Silly games, forced kisses in front of everyone. Spent half the night trying to comb out hairspray tangles. Robert was asleep when I left the bathroom—our first night as husband and wife.*
*I juggled studies, chores, cooking—badly at first. Stress, exams, Robert demanding attention. Fights. Then pregnancy, sickness, birth…*
*He strayed. Came home late, if at all. A messy divorce. Harder alone with a child.*
*I thought of David often. Older, wiser, steadier. Maybe it would’ve been different. We idealise those we lose, don’t we?*
*Then this illness—lightning from a clear sky. Fatigue, fainting at work. The diagnosis—no cure. I refused chemo. Knew it’d kill faster. Every morning, grateful to wake. They gave me months—I’ve had two years. But the end’s near. My poor girl, all alone. No one else. Just let me last till her exams…*
Later, the writing steadied, as ifAlice closed the diary, tears rolling down her cheeks, and whispered, “Thank you, Mum—your love led me to where I needed to be.”
