Mother brought home new “husbands” now and thenEmma remembered three. None of them stayed; they drifted away. Mother wept, hugged her, and whispered, “Dont fret, love. Our turn for joy will come.” Then shed leave for work.
The last one lingered two weeks, but when Mother stopped buying him whisky, he grew sullen and vanishedtaking her pearl earrings from her trinket box. She never reported him. Said it was her own fault.
Five quiet years followed. Emma dared hope they might live peacefully, just the two of them. But no such luck. At fifteen, Mother fell in love. She gushed about how fine he was, how devoted. Emma was gladperhaps Mother had found happiness at last.
When she brought Robert home, Emma liked him too. A man near forty, well-dressed. At supper, he drank only a single whisky. They talked of many things; his jokes were sharp. Emma retired early, leaving them in the kitchen, expecting to find him there at dawn. Instead, the door slammed an hour later.
Come morning, Mother still adored him. Said he worked at the town hall, so respectable, so mindful of her reputation. Hed suggested they move to his flat after marrying, but theyd wait a yearlet Emma finish school. His place needed refurbishing.
Emma listened, admiring Mothers glow. At thirty-six, shed stopped tending to herself, resigned to loneliness. Now she was radiant.
They married just before term began. Emma studied for her GCSEs. Robert offered help; she thanked him but declined. Tactful, he always knocked before entering her room. They grew friendly. Over supper, she shared school worries. He listened, earnest.
Mother blossomed. Robert spoiled herpearls at her ears, soon a gold chain at her throat.
The year flew. The flat was ready. Robert asked if Emma might join them. “Plenty of space.” But school-leavers crave independence. She couldnt support herself yet, but Robert waved it off. “Enroll at the polytechnic. Ill see you placed well afterward.”
Before they left, Robert clasped her shoulder. “Visit often. Well pop by tooyour mother or me. If you need anything, ask. Were family now.”
They gifted her a locket for graduation. She adored it, studying her reflection for days.
When choosing it, Mother fretted, “Isnt she too young for such gifts?”
Robert chuckled. “Who else will give her pretty things?”
Mother beamed. Shed married the best of men.
Alone, Emma was lonely at first, visiting often. Gradually, she adjusted. Sometimes Mother dropped by with groceries or cash. Sometimes they met in the high street. Busy lives, busy jobs.
Emma loved college. Weekends, shed visit, sharing news.
One visit, they announced Roberts year-long assignment abroad. Mother would join him. “Well send money,” he promised.
Emma saw them off at the station. Mother teared up; Emma laughed. “Mum, Im nearly seventeen! Ill be fine.” They hugged, smiling, and the train carried them away.
They lived far off. At Christmas, they visited briefly, showering Emma with gifts she spent the evening unwrapping.
Then Mother called: the assignment stretched to two years. Robert would fetch spare belongings and let the flat. Shed come too, but work held her.
Returning from lectures, Emma heard rustling in her room.
“Hello! Youre here already?”
“Emma! Hullo. Just clearing space.” Robert eyed her, startled. The girl had changedwomanly curves, subtle makeup. Lovelier, older.
She tossed her bag down. “Let me change, then Ill fix supper.”
In the hall mirror, he watched her undress. Soft curves. He shook his head. Foolish thoughts.
They dined, chatting. Emma made up their old bed for him, then retired. She heard him shower, pace the kitchen. Robert couldnt settle. That glimpse in the mirror haunted him.
Emma turned a pageand he stood in her doorway. Strange gaze. Just a towel round his waist.
“Did you need something?”
Three days later, he left. Emma sighed, willing memory to fade. Three months passedthen he was back. It happened again.
Shame clung like grime. Then worse: she was pregnant.
She rang repeatedly. He always promised to call back. Finally:
“Miss me that much?”
“Im pregnant.”
“Bloody hell! How?”
A promotion loomed; this could mean prison.
“Emma, Ill send money. Deal with it. No one can know.”
She clutched her head. The scandalexpulsion, pointing fingers. If the fathers name surfaced, the family would crumble. Mother couldnt survive it.
A week later, Robert arrived with cash and an addressa cottage three hundred miles north. “They wont terminate without parental consent. Go there. Find some village midwife. Pay her.”
Terrified, Emma wept. He embraced her. “No one can know. Its worse for everyone if they do.”
He left next dayMother unaware. A week later, Emma followed.
The village was bleak. She found the cottage, fumbled for the key. Settling in, she sought the midwife. A gap-toothed crone pointed toward the woods.
The woman scowled. “What dyou want, sinner?”
Emma trembled. The crone relented, offering water.
“Please, can you”
“Speak plain, girl. You want me to murder your babe?”
Emma fled, the hags laughter chasing her.
What now? Alone in this godforsaken place…
Andrew returned after serving time for manslaughter. A brawltwo thugs assaulting a girl in an alley. One struck his head on the kerb. Turned out to be some officials son. He took the full sentence.
The village had been his grans. After prison, he craved quiet. The cottage stood isolated. He gardened, sold organic produce. City folks paid well for such things. He saved for a proper Land Rover.
Dawn fishing was best. That morning, checking nets, he spotted a girl on the cliff. A bundle in her outstretched arms. He understoodand plunged into the river.
He surfaced, clutching the infant, as Emma released her grip.
Thena cry. Her daughters cry.
She tore off her jacket, kicked off boots, and leapt.
Andrew swaddled the baby in his coat when the splash came. Emma dove, surfaced, dove again. Panic would drown her. He waited, then swam out as she sank.
Dragging her ashore, he staggered home.
Inside, he tended the babyumbilical stump unclipped, lungs strong. A makeshift bottle from his grans old lamb-feeding gear.
Emma woke to ammonia fumes.
“Who?”
“Andrew.”
She remembered. “I need” Rising, she collapsed. He caught her, showed her the child.
“Give her back! Whyd you take her?”
Bewildered, then furious, he laid the baby beside her and left.
Emma wept. “Forgive me… I lost my mind…”
He returned. “Who are you?”
“Just… passing through.”
“Stay if you like.” Hed not admit his loneliness.
Next day, he fetched suppliesnappies, a crib. The clerk congratulated him; he grimaced.
Returning, he found Emma nursing. She flushed. He unpacked, then hunted grans old cradle.
Days passed. Emma confessed everythingthe stepfather, the forced encounters, the midwife, the birth alone, the cliff.
Andrew listened. That evening, he rang a contacta council bigwig who owed him.
Next morning, officials arrived. The registrar balked at Emmas age.
“Theres a way,” she said. “Marry her. List the child as yours.”
Andrew grinned. “Fancy a wedding, love?”
Emma smiled shyly.
That night, they toasted with winea sip for Emma, after feeding the baby.
“Call your mother,” Andrew urged.
“Mum? Its me.”
Silence, then a shriek. “Emma! Where are you?”
“Im fine. Married now. A baby girl. Well visit soon.”
“Where? Give me the address!”
“No. Well come when were ready.”
She hung up. Life could beginif Andrew didnt tire of them. But he seemed content.
Months later, they drove to see Mother. Emma trembled; Andrew held her close.
In the driveway, Mother scanned passing cars, ignoring their Land Rover.
Andrew lifted the baby, helped Emma out.
“Mum?”
She turned. “Emma!”
They embraced.
“Roberts guttedcalled away on business.”
Emma and Andrew exchanged glances. Shed prayed hed be gone.
“Just a quick visit,” Emma said. “Farm chores wait.”
