William barely looked up from his newspaper when his mother called him for tea. The article about pension increases wasnt sinking inhis mind was still spinning from yesterdays conversation with Emily.
Margaret entered the room carrying a tray with two teacups and a plate of digestives. Her son didnt even glance up. She set his cup on the side table and took her seat opposite him, studying his face.
“Youre awfully quiet today.”
“Just work,” he muttered, finally folding the paper. “Cheers for the tea.”
Margaret sipped hers slowly, eyes never leaving him. At sixty-four, she still sat straight as a rod, and the sharpness in her gaze betrayed a woman who always got to the truth eventually.
“William James,” she said sternlyfull name, just like when he was in trouble as a boy”stop dodging. I saw you chatting with that… whats her name… Emily by the door yesterday.”
William nearly choked on his tea. His mother had a knack for ambushing him.
“Mum, whats Emily got to do with anything?”
“Dont play daft. Forty years Ive known youyou think I cant tell when somethings weighing on you?” Margaret set her cup down with a clatter. “Out with it. Whats on your mind?”
He stood and walked to the window. Late autumn had stripped the trees bare, and his chest felt just as hollowwhether from the looming conversation or the nagging suspicion his mother was right, he couldnt say.
“I want to marry her,” he said, back still turned.
The silence stretched so long he finally glanced over. His mother sat perfectly upright, hands folded, wearing the same expression shed had before every serious childhood lecture.
“Son, dont marry a penniless girl,” she said bluntly. “Im begging you.”
The words stung more than hed expected. Not because they were a shockhe knew Margaret had never warmed to Emilybut hearing it out loud made it real.
“Mum, since when do you care about money? I love her.”
“Love, love,” she sighed, shaking her head. “And how will you live? You earn peanuts at that museum, she makes even less at the library. How will you raise children?”
“Well manage. People get by on less.”
Margaret stood abruptly, crossed to the cabinet, and pulled out a photo album. She flipped through it and jabbed a finger at a faded snapshot.
“Look. Your father and me, young and in love. Know what came next?”
William knew the story but let her continue.
“We lived in a cramped flat, scraping by on his wages. I couldnt workfirst you, then your sister. Money ran out by the 20th of the month, we borrowed from neighbours, lived on potatoes for days. Remember your dad snapping at us over nothing?”
“I remember,” he said quietly. “But its different now.”
“Times change, people dont. Poverty eats love like rust. First its bickering over takeaways vs. pasta, then its her needing shoes, him needing a coat. Soon enough, you cant stand the sight of each other.”
“Emilys not like that. She doesnt ask for much.”
“Not yet. But when her mates start buying houses? When your kids need school uniforms?”
William slumped back into his chair, picking up his lukewarm tea. His mothers words hit hard because they were true. Hed lain awake worrying about the same things.
“So what? Stay single forever?”
“Find a proper girl. Educated, decent job. Remember Lucy Clarke? Works at Barclays now, good salary. Bright, pretty too.”
“Mum, Im not hiring a receptionist. Im getting married.”
“Dont be romantic,” she cut in. “At thirty-five, its time to use your head, not your heart. Romeo and Juliet died young for a reason.”
William winced. She always knew where to stick the knife.
“So happiness is just a fat bank account?”
“Not just money, but you cant be happy without it.” She gathered the cups onto the tray. “Fine, Ill drop it. Youre a grown man. But remember this when youre counting pennies.”
Alone, William found no peace. Her words looped in his head, drowning out everything else. He reached for his phone to call Emilythen stopped. What would he say? That his mother thought she wasnt good enough?
Emily rang that evening.
“Hey, you okay? You seemed off yesterday.”
“Just tired,” he lied.
“I saw the prettiest dress today,” she sighed dreamily. “That boutique near the park. Blue, gorgeous. Bit pricey, though…”
A cold needle pricked his chest. Coincidence? Or proof his mother was rightwas Emily already hinting at spending?
“How much?” he asked, forcing calm.
“Three hundred quid. I know its steep, but its perfect for the work do…”
Three hundred. Half his paycheque. William swallowed hard.
“Well see,” he said vaguely.
“Are you upset? Im not demanding it, just saying”
“No, its fine. Just thinking.”
After hanging up, he stared at the wall. Emily hadnt demanded the dressjust shared a wish. But three hundred quid could feed them for a month. Or go toward a wedding.
Wedding math led to worse sums: a flatat least £1,200 a month. His museum salary: £1,800. Hers: £1,300. Total: £3,100. Minus rent: £1,900 left. Food, transport, clothes, emergencies…
At breakfast, Margaret acted normalserved porridge, sipped coffee, asked about his day. But her expectant gaze said it all: she was waiting for him to admit shed been right.
“Mum, how did you and Dad meet?” he asked suddenly.
She raised an eyebrow. “University. Him in second year, me in first. Handsome, clever. All the girls fancied him.”
“What did you like about him?”
She stirred her coffee, thoughtful.
“Honestly? His looks first. Then his ambition. He wanted to be an engineer, earn well, provide. Said hed take care of his family.”
“And did he?”
“At first. Good job out of uni. Then the factory closed, recession hit…” She set down her cup. “I didnt marry him for money. But knowing he could provide mattered. Women need security, especially with kids.”
“If hed been poor from the start?”
“Dunno,” she admitted. “Mightve said no. At twenty, love conquers all. At forty, you know better.”
William finished his porridge in silence. Her words sat heavy, impossible to argue with.
At work, he couldnt focus. Guiding tours, droning about artifacts while his mind churned. Colleague Sarah noticed.
“Youre miles away. Girl trouble?”
“Something like that.”
“Ah. Serious with Emily, then?”
“Serious,” he said, though less sure now.
“She work?”
“Library.”
“Ah,” Sarah said knowingly. “Well, salaries there… Ever thought of switching jobs? Private museums pay better.”
“Need languages, wealthy client experience…”
“Right.”
Sarah walked off, leaving William to stew. So it wasnt just his mother. Others saw it tootwo measly salaries wouldnt cut it.
That evening, he met Emily. She chatted cheerfully about library books, oblivious to his distraction. He studied herpretty, with dark hair and grey eyes, but dressed plainly in old jeans and a worn jumper.
“Hey,” she said suddenly, “I did the maths on our budgets if we married.”
He tensed. “And?”
“We could manage a one-bed on the outskirts. Tight, but doable. Wed be together.”
Her trusting smile made him ashamed of his doubts. Emily didnt crave luxuriesshed live frugally just to be with him.
“What about kids?” he asked.
“Like everyone does. Mum raised my brother and me on a nurses wage. We turned out fine.”
He pictured her childhoodhand-me-downs, no holidays. Did he want that for his kids?
“Dont you want more? A house, holidays?”
“Course. But if we cant, its okay. As long as were together.”
Walking her home, he stayed quiet. Emily squeezed his hand but said nothing. At her door, she turned.
“Youre hiding something. Whats wrong?”
“Mums against us.”
“Oh,” she said softly. “Thinks Im not good enough.”
“Its not that”
“Then what? That Im poor? That I cant give you a posh life?”
He opened his mouthno words came. Because shed nailed it.
“Lets take a break,” she said calmly. “Think things over. Maybe shes right.”
She vanished inside without looking back. William stood there, feeling
