**Diary Entry 12th October**
Bloody hell, Mum
“Mum, someones calling again,” Matthews voice rang out behind Emily.
“Who is it?” She turned to look at her son.
“Dunno.” He shrugged.
“Fetch me the phone, will you?”
“Gimme a sec,” Matthew shouted, darting off only to return moments later and shove her mobile into her hand.
“Ta. Go on, play. Dinners nearly ready.” As he scampered away, Emily glanced at the screen.
Again. The same numberhospital calling. Howd they even get her number? She clapped the lid on the frying pan, turned off the hob, then powered down her phone and stuffed it behind the curtain on the windowsill.
Setting the table, she couldnt shake the calls from her mind. Later, she found her husband, James, at his computer. She crept up behind him, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and rested her chin on his head.
“Whatre you up to?”
“Just scrolling. Dinner soon?”
“Its ready. Matthew! Dinner!” she called, straightening up. “Make sure he washes his hands,” she told James, turning to leave, but he caught her wrist.
“Wait. Who called earlier?”
“Dunno. Didnt recognise the number, so I ignored it. Thought you were starving?” She tugged free and headed back to the kitchen.
After dinner, she switched her phone on. Too late for anyone to ring now.
Sleep wouldnt come that night. Why had she answered the first time?
*”This is Hospital. Your mothers been admitted Could you come in? There are matters to discuss”*
“Sorry, but I dont have a mother,” Emily had snapped before hanging up. Theyd rung relentlessly since, but shed stopped picking up. *”Might as well gothey wont stop otherwise. Last thing I need is them turning up here. Wish shed just died”* Shed buried that woman long ago.
The next day, she left work at noon and drove to the hospital. The ward managers office door swung open the moment she mentioned shed been summoned.
“Finally. Your name?”
“Emily.”
“And your surname?”
“Just Emily,” she said flatly.
“Youve not visited once, Emily. Were discharging her, yet you ignore our calls. Not very decent, is it?”
“I told youI dont have a mother,” she repeated, irritation creeping in.
“And who, exactly, is Margaret Anne Wilson to you?”
The doctor studied her. It took everything not to say shed never heard the name. But he wouldnt drop it.
“Howd you even get my number?” she countered.
“From her phone. Youre saved as Emily, my girl.”
“And howd *she* get it?”
“Ask her yourselfif she ever speaks again.” He spread his hands.
“She cant talk?”
“No speech, no movement. Paralysed after a stroke. You didnt know? Hows that possible, Emily”
“Serves her right.” The words slipped out before she could stop them. Drunk words, sober thoughts.
“Pardon? Did I hear that right?” His eyes narrowed.
Emily held his gaze.
“Yeah. You heard right. She dumped me, shoved me into careno, worse. Left me with some relative and vanished. *That* woman dumped me in care. Twenty-odd years without a wordshe was dead to me. Hows that for a story, Doctor?”
His expression softened.
“Not my business, is it? No point keeping her here. If you refuse to take her Am I clear?”
“Crystal.”
“Then well transfer her to a care home. Youre next of kin, so we needed”
“Ill sign whatever,” Emily cut in. She hadnt expected it to be this straightforward.
“Dont rush. Theres a catch. She needs full-time carecant eat, move, nothing. Council homes might refuse her. Private ones cost a pretty penny.”
“We treat people, Emily. Arranging care isnt our job. Thats on family. Think it overcan you cover the fees?”
“I already said no,” she repeated. “What if I didnt exist? Whod deal with her then?”
“Social services. Well send the paperwork, but we need your consent. Payment guarantees, you understand”
“Can I go?” She hadnt moved from the doorway.
The doctor handed her a card. “Address and number. Shes in Ward Four.”
Walking down the corridor, Emily warred with herself. Part of her wanted to bolt. Another part wanted to *see*to revel in the justice of her mothers punishment.
She pushed the ward door ajar, then stepped inside. Three women lay in beds, all around the same age. Two stared blankly at her. The third sleptor pretended to. Emily took one step toward her, then spun on her heel and left.
Shed glimpsed her mother six months ago but hadnt recognised the withered stranger shed become. Pity flickeredbrief, unwelcomebefore she smothered it.
The drive home was a blur of doubts. *Shes still my mother. Leaving her like this is cruel. But where was she when I needed her? Twenty years of silencewhat right does she have to demand anything now?*
*Let them deal with her. But then what does that make me? And if James finds out? Hed never understand. His parents are decent. Hed hate me for this. His mum accepted mea care-home girlinto their family. I owe her. I owe him.*
The doctors card led her to social services. Daily, before or after work, she filed paperwork. They warned her about court, but she just wanted it over.
“Youve been off lately. Whats eating you?” James asked one evening.
“Just tired. Works mad.” She leaned into him. *Thank God for him. I cant lose him. Ill do whats necessarynot for her. For us.*
***
Once, Emily had a father and mother. Their faces had blurred with time, but theyd existed. Memories tangled with fantasies: Mum always late, their shouting matches. Little Emily would pretend to sleep, waiting, only to jolt awake when the fights began.
Then one day, Mum didnt take her to nursery. Instead, she left her with a scowling stranger. “Back soon,” shed lied. The woman called the police when she never returned. Mum vanished. Emily wound up in care.
For years, she waited. Eventually, she stopped. Care wasnt kind. Before leaving, she begged the matron for the relatives address.
The woman spat out the truth: Mum had trapped some bloke with a pregnancy, married another. When he realised Emily wasnt his, the fights started. Then Mum ran offwith Emily in towonly to abandon her too.
The “fathers” details were in the file, but Emily didnt care. He was nothing to her.
After care, she trained as a hairdresser, scraped by in a grim little flat. She met James at the salon. He liked the quiet, pretty girl. They dated. When he proposed, she refused. “Your parents wont let you marry a care-home girl.”
James lied for her. *Her parents were a teacher and a nursekilled in a crash. Nearly true.*
“Lyings wrong. What if they find out?” shed protested.
“They wont. Besides, its barely a lie.”
They married. Her mother-in-law welcomed her. Finally, happiness: a family, a son, Matthew. Then *she* reappearedshouting Emilys name outside the nursery.
“Youve got the wrong person. Dont come back, or Ill call the police.”
Emily never saw her again. But the damage was done. She knew it wasnt over.
***
Could she forgive twenty years of abandonment? Now the woman was helpless, broken. The logical choice was to walk away. But James James would *care*. “Shes your *mother*,” hed say. His parents were lovelyhe wouldnt understand. No. He could never know.
Pity? Maybe a flicker. But *she deserved this*. Still Emily went to church. The vicar listened, didnt scold. “I understand,” he said. “But shes still your mother. Do what you can. Pray for herfor yourself. Hatred will rot you from inside.”
Shed never know why her mother stayed away. No excuse could justify it.
They placed her in a modest care home. Emily topped up her pension. To James, she lied: extra shifts, covering for colleagues.
*Done. Shes someone elses problem now.*
Leaving work one evening, she stopped at the church. She didnt attend servicesjust lit a candle, whispered
