Shes not my mother, Emma.
Emma? Who needs her? Let her go to the care home.
Aunt Margaret, its a shame Olivia said, voice trembling.
You feel sorry? Then take her, you selfrighteous fool sneered Mary, tucking a stray grey strand behind her ear and pulling on a kitchen apron. Ive got work to do, the husband will be home soon, the grandchildren will be back from their lessons, and all my pots are empty. See? Ive enough of my own to manage!
I see. Ive got three of my own to look after, where would I put Emma?
Then whats the point of this chat? Mary concluded, ushering the niece toward the door. The care home is the only place for her, a drab lodging for the lost, damn it
***
Emma, the girl spoken of by her relatives Mary and Olivia, lost her parents in early childhood, and soon after, the grandparents who had raised her until she was six. In truth, the court had stripped her of both parents.
My mother started drinking back in school, thirtyyearold Emma told her friend Julia later, eyes distant. My grandparents, her parents, blamed themselves. They spoiled me, let me do anything, never pushed me to study. I barely passed school, mostly getting twos. At sixteen I gave birth to a daughter, Sophie, with a boy my age, Simon, who was also fond of spirits.
Thats horrific, Julia whispered, shocked. Emma had never spoken of those details before.
I was brought up by my maternal grandparents. On my fathers side there was nothing but a line of drinkers, generation after generation. A dynasty of alcoholic men. I know it sounds awful, but that was my world.
Julias face grew pale.
What happened to your grandparents? Why did they die so early? she asked.
Granddad had a weak heart, and Grandmum couldnt live without him. Within a year she fell seriously ill and passed. My mother was their late, only, and beloved child, so they dote on her, but they still left us too soon. Theyd have lived longer, if not for the strain, Emma sighed.
And then? Julia pressed, voice barely audible.
They sent me to a childrens home. No relatives wanted to adopt me. That I learned latereveryone disowned me. As for my father
What about him?
I spent three years in the home. Its terrifying to recall; I cried every day. They placed me in a boarding school attached to the home, but I could not keep up. There was no preparation, and although many of us were from similar backgrounds, I lagged behind. I remember a maths teacher berating me, saying, Children of drinkers are born stupid, theyll stay that way. It cut deep.
My father, Simon, had not forgotten me. In those three years he fought to regain his parental rights, she said, a faint smile breaking through.
He cared? Julia asked, astonished.
Imagine it, no! He quit drinking outright, suddenly. By then he owned a crumbling cottage in a village; his own mother had died in a drunken brawl. One bleak morning, after a night of heavy drinking, he stared at his own ruin and realised his life was meaningless. In a drunken trance he saw his mother, who he had never buried because there was no money. He wrote a refusal to the state, but the same day he drank again, his pockets still full.
In his nightmare his mother, fierce and gaunt, warned him she would never forgive his cruelty, and that shed see to it that hed be buried like a dog once his liver gave out. She swore his end was near.
Well meet soon! Then Ill have my revenge, you wretched son, the spectre snarled. She looked like a witch from a dark tale, greyhair, unkempt, toothless, draped in tatters.
Simon jolted awake, the room spinning, and clutched at his eyes, trying to erase the image. Then he remembered his daughter.
Emma Emma, Emma Theres something worth living for! Youll never get me, old hag! It was because of you I started drinking! At twelve you offered me a drink, and everything went wrong. You ruined an innocent childs soul he howled into the empty kitchen.
He wept drunken tears, then, fueled by rage, vowed to quit. Friends mocked him, tried to pull him back, but he stood firm.
Im only twentyfive, I have my whole life ahead! Ill recover, Ill get Emma back! he declared to his old mates, shooing them from his cottage.
He found work, saved enough to repair the cottage, gathered the necessary papers and filed a court case to restore his parental rights. He even approached Emmas mother, Nora, his former love, proposing they start anew, sober, raising their daughter together. She rebuffed him, sending him away, preferring the chaos of tavern life.
When my father finally came for me, I could hardly believe my luck, Emma recalled, tears glistening. Id resigned myself to a life in the care home, as if it were a prison for the rest of my days.
Poor, miserable child, Julia whispered, her own eyes moist.
From that day everything changed. My father worked hard; social services visited often at first, but there was no cause for complaint. I feared stern aunties, convinced Id be sent back to the home. They haunted my dreams for years, the home itself a lingering nightmare. Now I look at my father with awe. He was just a lad then, no education, no family support, yet his determination reshaped my fate.
When Emma was in Year9, Simon arranged to buy a flat in the city and leave the dilapidated cottage behind, not just for comfort but so Emma could finish eleven years of schooling and then go to university. He sold the cottagenow sturdy after his renovationsand used savings from a job at a newly built warehouse that employed many villagers. The warehouse had revived the local economy, offering honest work to those eager to improve their lives.
Nora, however, continued to drink, drifting from one lover to another, living in squalor. Emma ashamedly avoided her, fearing a sudden encounter on the street.
Emma and her father moved into a modest onebedroom flat in the city. Simon divided the space, giving each a tiny room. Their lives improved. Emma enrolled in Year10 at a new school where no one knew her past or her mothers drunken reputation. Her mother, a gaunt figure, could spend hours wallowing in filthy puddles, snoring loudly, begging strangers for a few pence for another drink.
That was the mysterywhere did she find the money? Emma told Julia, hands gesturing wildly. She meant nothing to me, yet I felt ashamed as if I were partly to blame.
Youve twisted it, Julia replied. What does it matter to you?
It doesnt, Emma sighed. It disgusts me.
At twentyfive, Emma lost her father.
Probably the lingering effects of his old excesses, Emma explained to Julia. The doctor said something about my heart. It happened so fast. I was left completely alone.
Im sorry, Julia murmured. Why tell me now?
Because Im fed up.
With whom?
Them, Emma said, voice low. They call, they text. I blocked the numbers, but they keep popping up from other contacts.
Who are them?
Relatives on my mothers side, the ones who never were my mother. Olivia, her husband, Aunt Margaret, her daughter a whole bunch. We grew up in a tiny village, so when I returned from the care home to my father, they knew where I lived. They sent gifts, visited, asked after me out of politeness and respect for my late grandmother. They even came to my fathers funeral, helped a little financially. Now my mother, bedridden, is in their care. No one wants to look after her, and theyre trying to push her onto me.
How awful! She isnt even my mother! She had her parental rights taken away! Let them go to hell! Julia snapped.
They wont go! They gnaw at my nerves, sending videos of her lying helpless, eyes rolling Its terrifying. I couldnt sleep that night, haunted by her twisted face.
Delete those videos! Block them all! Julia urged, frantic.
Im moving. Ive looked at flats in the neighbouring town; they wont find me there. Ill change my number, keep my address secret, take the train to work each day, Emma said quietly.
Youre strong. Youll manage, Julia replied, embracing her friend. Ill miss you.
Ill be nearby, Emma managed a faint smile. Im sick of this whole ordeal. They prey on my pity, beg for my compassion. If it were for my father, Id give everything to keep him alive; he deserves admiration. She shes an animal, not a mother. Shes not my mother.
***
Early morning, Emma waited on the station platform for the commuter train to her new job. She had moved as planned. The oneroom flat, though compact, felt vast compared to the cramped quarters her father had once carved out.
She liked the new place, finally free from a past that clung like a stubborn shadow. Occasionally she wondered about her mother, whether she was still alive, but she brushed the thought aside, realizing even that faint worry was unearned.
Emma cut ties with Aunt Margaret and Olivia, unaware that the wellmeaning relatives, after losing contact, had conspired to have Nora placed in a state care home, where she now lay motionless on a governmentrun cot, left to contemplate the emptiness of her life.
