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Mary felt ill as soon as her boots touched the chilly platform at Paddington.
She barely managed to stumble to the nearest dustbin, doubling over, her expensive coat pressing against the iron, frost-crusted rimeverything suddenly small and muffled.
Miss, are you feeling all right? came a warm London accent from behind.
Go away
Mary straightened up, blinking. Around her, people drifted by in quilted jackets and hats, lugging battered suitcases and net bags full of potatoes. The air reeked of diesel, cheap cigarettes, and that peculiar mustiness of an English town in winterthe kind of damp and old that always made her temples throb.
She loathed this city. Hated it with a clear, antiseptic hatredthe kind you could only feel if youd escaped fifteen years ago, done everything to blot out the way back.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket: Dad.
Mary, where are you? Im waiting outside in the car.
Ill get a cab, she cut him off. Dont bother. Just give me the address for the hospital.
Mums not at the hospital, love. Got discharged yesterday. Blood pressure dropped. They sent her home. Im just round
At home? Marys jaw clenched hard. Youve got to be kidding. So you lot had me racing back here forwhat? A bit of a turn?
Dont get shirty, love. Mums missed you. Shes made some pastries.
Pastries, for heavens sake?
She hung up.
***
The house she grew up in seemed smaller than ever.
Mary stood in the tiled entryway, staring at the battered door covered in old green leatherette. The neighbours ginger cat was already winding round her ankles, leaving tufts of orange hair on her boots. It smelled of cabbage soup, cats, and something sticky-sweet. It always did. Always.
She didnt bother knocking.
Mum sat in the kitchena tiny, silver-haired figure in a faded dressing gown with her nightie peeking out beneath.
Seeing her daughter, Mums hands flew up, her face lighting up, flashing joy and guilt at once. Mary recoiled inside.
Mary! Darling! I thought youd be later
I asked you not to lie. Mary left her boots on, standing in the middle of the grey corridor. Do you know I nearly lost a contract coming here? I spent the night on the train so I could see you in intensive care, and youre youre baking?
Mum curled inwards, hands falling to her lap.
Im sorry, love. Didnt mean to give you a fright. Just a bad turn Oh, but Ive missed you.
Thats called lying. Mary kicked off her boots and flung them into the corner. Wheres your blood pressure machine? Lets measure it, then Ill go book a hotel. I cant sleep here.
Darling, please
Mum, the toilet leaks, the radiators are barely lukewarm, and the neighbours swear so loud the walls shake. Iphysicallycant stay.
She strode into the kitchen and dropped into a chair. A plate sat on the table: golden pastries, still warm, sweet scent curling upward. Mary didnt look once.
Blood pressure thing. Where is it?
Mum fetched the battered device old, rubber bulb, frayed cuff.
Whats this? Mary grimaced. Couldnt you buy a normal one? I sent you money.
I put it in your savings account, love. Just in case. You never know.
Oh, Mum
Mary pumped up the cuff. The numbers swam before her eyes.
One sixty over ninety. Have you been eating tablespoons of salt?
Only a pinch, honest
Fine. Ill get proper tablets tomorrow. And a decent machine. Im tired. Where can I sleep?
Mum bustled off to make up a bed. Mary sat staring out the kitchen window at uniform, grey tower blocks and thought, Just dont get stuck. Leave tomorrow. Leave, leave, leave.
***
Mary didnt sleep.
The sofa was too short, springs digging into her back. Through the wall, the neighbours started shoutinga slanging match, then came the crash of a row. She could hear a womans shriek, a mans curses, the walls almost vibrating.
Mary stared at the ceiling. A crack ran across itshe remembered it from childhood. Back then, it looked like a lightning bolt. Now it was just a reminder the house was slowly collapsing.
Near dawn, exhausted, she fell into a dreama strange floating world where she was a little girl once more, trailing after her mother through the high street market. Hot jam tart in hand, dusted with sugar, she was gloriously happy, utterly light.
Mary woke up crying.
Tears slid down her cheeks and she couldnt stop them, burying her face in the sheet, sobbing quietly.
Next door was silent. Only the old clock ticked, the same one Mum had threatened to throw out a hundred times.
Mary? Mums voice murmured at the door. Are you awake?
I am, Mary answered, raw.
Theres someone here for you.
Who?
Im not sure. Some girl says shes Emma? Do you remember her?
Mary sat up, heart jolting. Emma? Which Emma?
She wrapped her dressing gown tight and went to the door.
There stood Emmawith the same ash-blonde ponytail, the same dimples. Her eyes were duller now, blue circles beneath. Her oldest school friend, the one shed abandoned without a word the day she left for London.
Hi there, Emma said. Your mum told me you were home. Thought Id pop by. Fifteen years, eh?
Mary hesitated. She wanted to say something sharpHow did you find me? Im very busybut found she couldnt.
Come in, she said.
They settled in the kitchen. Mum took the hint and left for next door. Emma cupped her mug in both hands, shivering a little.
Im married, Emma announced. Got a daughter. Sophie. Shes sevenstarts school soon.
Congratulations, Mary nodded.
And you? London treating you well?
All right.
Married?
I was.
How come?
Mary shrugged. She wasnt about to explainthe husband who left, the flat, the car, the promotion that felt like nothing after lights went out at night. She was alone. Utterly alone.
Our natures didnt fit, she said.
Emma nodded, sipping her tea in quiet. Then suddenly:
I forgave you, you know.
For what? Mary blinked.
Dont you remember? You left without saying goodbye, never called. We were like sisters, always sharing secrets. First I cried, then I was furious. After a bit, I understood: you had your life to build. Me too. And now, here we sit, drinking tea. Im glad to see you.
Marys eyes stung. She turned to the window to hide them.
Emma, I was stupid. Im sorry.
Emma smiled. Oh, everyone is sometimes.
They talked and talked, Emma sharing stories of her husband (works at a factory, drinks, but hes kind) and spirited Sophie (has turned every wall into a picture). Mary found she was genuinely interested, more than shed thought possible.
You know, Emma joked as she was leaving, Come round tomorrow for supper? Ill make stew. Sophie will want to draw you.
I I dont know
Come on, Emma squeezed her hand. Your mum says youre here till Wednesday. Lets have a bit of how things were.
Mary nodded.
***
The next day, Mary set off for the chemists.
She had a listblood pressure pills, a proper monitor, and anything else that might be useful. She wandered through her old city, noticing for the first time that it wasnt so terrible. Trees frosted silver, children lugged sledges, old women sat gossiping on benches. Just life, going on.
There was a queue at the chemist. Mary joined the end. Ahead, a woman shuffled from foot to foot, her carrier bag bulging with groceries, breath ragged.
Are you all right? Mary asked.
Its just my heart, dear. Ill grab a pill, Ill be fine.
Looking closer, Mary saw how pale she waslips tinged blue, beads of sweat on her brow.
Sit over there, Mary said. Ill fetch it. What do you need?
Nitroglycerine, love. Bless you for being kind.
Mary bought the medicine and handed the woman a tablet. She slipped it under her tongue, closing her eyes. A minute passed, her colour returned.
Thank you, lovely. Are you not from round here?
I am, Mary said suddenly. Born and raised.
Mary left the shop smiling.
***
Evening found Mary at Emmas.
Emma lived in a faded block on the fifth floorno lift. Mary trekked up the battered stairs, thinking, God, Ive forgotten what these smell like. But tonight, it didnt matter.
A skinny girl with pale hair and enormous eyes opened the door.
Are you Auntie Mary? Mum told me to wait for you.
I am, Mary smiled.
Im Sophie. Come in, were having stew tonight.
The flat was poor but spotless. Scruffy furniture, faded wallpaper, picture-layered walls. The rich smell of stew and baking hung in the air.
Emma bustled in. Oh, Mary! Take your coat off, sit. Sophie, fetch the spoons!
They gathered round the table. Mary ate, feeling warmth blossom inside. She hadnt tasted food this good in years. Hadnt sat amongst friends, without pretense or bravado, in a long, long while.
Will you draw me something? Mary asked Sophie.
Sophie regarded her, solemn. Youre pretty. Ill draw you.
Go on, Mary grinned.
The girl brought out her sketchbook and pencils, settling at the table.
Mary sipped her tearich with cherry jamchatting to Emma.
Do you have any children? Sophie asked, pencil scratching away.
No, Mary replied. I couldnt.
Why not?
Sophie! Emma hissed.
Its fine, Mary laughed softly. Sometimes thats just how life goes, Sophie.
Sophie looked up, serious-eyed. Dont be sad. Youre still young. Anything could happen.
Mary chuckled. Thank you, sweetheart.
Sophie slid her drawing over. It was of a woman in a long dress, a crown on her head, ringed with flowers.
Thats you, Sophie explained. You look like a princess. But sad. Ill draw a sun next to you and then youll be happy.
Marys throat closed painfully.
Thank you, darling. Ill hang it up when I get hometo London.
Will you come back again?
I will, Mary promised, and for the first time, she meant it.
***
Mary returned to her mothers late, her heart unexpectedly light.
How was it? Mum asked.
Lovely, Mum. Really lovely.
Mary sat beside her, took her handwarm and rough, with dark brown age spots.
Mum, Im sorry. For everything.
Oh, love. What for?
For for being ashamed. Of you. Of this place. Of myself. I thought I was better because I left. But I wasnt. I was just running away.
Mum stroked her hair, just as shed done in childhood.
You didnt run, Mary. You survived. It was like that here: move away or drink yourself under. Im glad you left. Just dont forget us altogether.
I wont, Mary whispered. I promise.
***
Next morning, Mary had to leave.
Dad drove her to the station. Mum stood on the chilly platform, tiny in her old coat, waving her hand.
Marys chest ached as she watched.
Just come again soon, love, Dad said, clearing his throat. Were not getting any younger, your Mum and me.
I will, Dad. I promise.
Settling into the train, Mary checked her phone: a message from Emma Come see us again. Sophie keeps asking when Auntie Mary will visit. She likes you a lot.
Mary smiled and tucked the phone away.
The train pulled out. Grey tower blocks flashed by, then rows of garages, frost-nipped fields. And as she gazed out, Mary realisedno headache, no nausea, no urge to close her eyes and pretend none of this existed.
She unfolded Sophies drawingthe princess, the half-finished sun.
Out beyond the city, a real sun rose above the English fields. Large, red, real.
***
A week later, Mary sent Emma some money. Just because. For Sophieart supplies, club fees.
Emma protested, but Mary wouldnt hear it.
Six months on, she returned, without a word, ticket in hand. No plans, no meetingsjust the urge to be back.
The three of them sat round the kitchen tableMary, Emma, Sophieeating stew, laughing.
And Mary thought that perhaps, just perhaps, this was happiness: to be needed. For no reason at all.
