That summer’s day by the river…
Vera’s family had always been close-knit. When she was in Year Four, her little sister, Lillian, was born. Vera adored being the elder sister, her mother’s little helper, pushing the pram while Mum made dinner or tidied the flat.
When Lillian was old enough for nursery, they wouldn’t take her—too many children, too few staff. No one wanted to work with toddlers for pittance wages. The headmistress promised a place if Vera’s mum took a job there. She agreed, though the pay was less than her old job.
Lillian had been sickly since birth, coddled by everyone. At nursery, she was never out of Mum’s sight. After school, Vera often popped by for leftovers—nursery meals like custard and jelly, which most children turned their noses up at, but Vera loved.
Once she’d had her fill, she’d collect Lillian and mind her till Mum got home. She adored her sister then—before Lillian grew sharp-tongued and difficult.
Lillian was four when their father died. That summer was sweltering, three straight weeks above thirty degrees. At weekends, everyone fled the stifling city for the countryside or the riverbanks.
That morning, their parents packed sandwiches and water, taking the girls to the river. The banks were packed—hardly room to swing a cat. People cooled off in the sun-warmed water, children splashing near the shallows while adults kept watch. Lillian paddled at the edge, Vera making sure she didn’t wander deeper.
When Dad plunged into the water with a splash, Vera thought he was just swimming. But he swam further, heading toward two lads in the middle of the river.
At first, she thought they were mucking about. Who’d let teenagers swim so far out? The river was wide—a strong swimmer might struggle to cross it, yet no one tried. But these lads had reached the middle.
One kept sinking, the other diving after him. Only when she saw Dad swimming toward them did she understand—they weren’t playing. They were drowning.
No one else noticed amid the laughter and splashing. Vera barely registered Lillian at her feet, her eyes fixed on Dad and the boys.
He reached them, grabbed one, and began dragging him back, swimming one-handed to keep the lad’s head above water. The other boy clung to him, slowing him down.
“He’ll drown them both!” Vera cried.
Two men nearby looked up, then rushed to help. Others turned, watching as the men took over with the lads. Vera waved in relief—until she realised Dad was gone.
“Dad!” she screamed. Mum came running, clutching Lillian.
“Where—?”
Vera pointed. “He’s not there!”
Mum scanned the river, sometimes saying, “There he is!”—but Vera shook her head. The men brought the lads ashore, then went back for Dad.
When they pulled him out, he was already gone. Mum refused to believe it, refused to leave. Vera held a sobbing Lillian.
After the funeral, Mum moved through the flat like a ghost. Vera took Lillian to nursery, dashed to school, then collected her again. Lillian whined, wanting Mum to fetch her instead.
“Mum’s poorly,” Vera said.
“Then I want Dad,” Lillian sniffled.
At home, Mum lay on the sofa, facing the wall. She wouldn’t eat. Frightened, Vera fetched their neighbour, who talked some sense into her. Soon Mum was up, cleaning, then back at work—to Lillian’s delight.
For a while, they managed. The railway, where Dad had worked, gave them a small pension. There were savings, too, and Mum brought home uneaten nursery food. Vera suspected she skipped meals to feed them.
When Vera finished school, she wanted to work, not study. But Mum insisted she enroll part-time—”Your dad would’ve wanted it.” So Vera chose the course with the most funded places. The job prospects mattered little; as Mum said, “A certificate opens doors.”
Years before, Dad had bought land, dreaming of a house with a garden. He’d only laid the foundations when a friend offered to buy it. Mum sold it for the asking price, and the money helped for a time.
Lillian grew demanding—new clothes, a phone, a tablet. “All my friends have them!” If refused, she’d scream that no one loved her, even running off twice.
“Are we paupers? I won’t eat nursery slop!” she’d sneer. She never visited Mum at work like Vera had, preferring to roam with friends till curfew. Her grades were dismal.
One summer, the neighbour’s nephew, Oliver, visited, and Vera fell for him. When his holiday ended, he begged her to come to London. She longed to, but how could she leave Mum with Lillian? So she stayed. He promised to call.
By winter, Lillian wanted a fur coat like her friend’s.
“Work for it, like I did—delivering papers, scrubbing floors,” Vera said.
Lillian threw a tantrum. Mum borrowed money and bought the coat.
“Why indulge her? She’ll never stop!” Vera argued.
“She’s growing up without a father. Who’ll spoil her but me?”
“She’s not a child! You wear the same coat every winter, like some pensioner, while her wardrobe bursts!”
Vera regretted staying. Oliver called, even visited at Christmas. Lillian barely scraped through school, showing no interest in further study.
When Oliver returned the next summer, Vera’s leave was denied. They snatched evenings together before he left abruptly, citing a hiking trip.
That evening, Vera found a note: “Gone to London. Don’t look for me.”
She pieced it together—Lillian, pretty and reckless, had caught Oliver’s eye. He admitted it when she called, promising to send Lillian home. “Tell Mum not to worry.”
Mum found Vera in tears.
“Where’s Lillian?”
“Run off with Oliver.”
Mum paled. “Find her!”
“She’ll come back,” Vera said bitterly.
A year later, Lillian returned—with a baby.
“Her name’s Amelia,” she said, dropping a bag of clothes and formula.
“Whose child is this? Oliver’s?”
Lillian turned to leave.
“Wait! You’re leaving her?”
“You’ll care for her better than I could.”
Mum wailed when she saw the baby. “Why didn’t you stop her?”
“And leave the child alone? I’m not like her.” Vera sighed. “She named her Amelia, like a stray kitten.”
They kept the baby. Lillian’s signed adoption papers sealed it.
Six years later, Lillian returned. Amelia shied away from her.
“Why’s she staring?” the girl whispered.
“You’re pretty, that’s all,” Vera soothed.
Alone, Vera was blunt. “Why come back? You gave her up. Leave.”
Lillian looked weary, chain-smoking by the window.
“Just wanted to see you.” Mum fretted over her health, but Lillian brushed it off. “I’ll go soon.”
That night, Vera found her in the kitchen.
“Are you all right?”
“Don’t lie—you hate me.” Lillian stubbed out her cigarette. “But thanks for Amelia. You’re a better mother than I’d have been.”
In the morning, she was gone—money left on the table.
“Let her live her life,” Vera said.
But worries gnawed at her. Lillian didn’t look well.
Time passed. Mum’s health declined—heart troubles, aching joints. “Promise you’ll help Lillian if I die,” she’d say. Vera agreed, though she’d no idea where to find her.
Then the hospice called.
Lillian was skeletal, barely recognisable. “Thanks for coming,” she whispered. “How’s Mum?”
“Gone. Six months ago.”
Tears spilled. Vera wiped them away.
“I remember the river,” Lillian murmured. “I saw Dad drown. Always thought it was my fault.”
“Don’t be daft. I couldn’t have saved him.”
“You were strong. You could’ve…”
She died the next day, buried apart—no room beside their parents.
Amelia grew to resemble Lillian, though she hated visiting the grave. “It’s like looking at my own tombstone,” she’d say.
Soon, Vera knew, she’d be alone. And always, she’d remember that summer’s day by the river…
