The air in the small London flat was thick with unspoken tension. William barely registered the steam rising from his tea as he stared blankly at the newspaper in his lap. The headline about pension reforms blurred before his eyeshis mind still reeling from last night’s conversation with Emily.
Margaret entered the sitting room carrying a tray with two china cups and a plate of digestives. Her son didn’t even glance up. She set the tea beside his armchair and settled across from him, her sharp eyes studying his face.
“You’re miles away today,” she observed.
“Just work,” William muttered, finally folding the paper. “Thanks for the tea.”
Margaret sipped hers slowly, watching him over the rim. At sixty-four, she carried herself with the same unyielding posture she’d had all her life, her piercing gaze betraying a woman who never accepted evasion.
“William James,” she said sternlyusing his full name, just as she had when he was a boy caught in some mischief. “Enough hedging. I saw you with that girl yesterdayEmily, was it?outside the building.”
William nearly choked on his tea. His mother had always known how to catch him off guard.
“Mum, what does Emily have to do with anything?”
“I wasn’t born yesterday. Thirty-five years I’ve raised youyou think I don’t know when something’s weighing on you?” She set her cup down sharply, the china clinking. “Out with it.”
He stood, crossing to the window. Late autumn had stripped the trees bare outside. The same emptiness gnawed at himwhether from the conversation ahead or the sinking knowledge that his mother already understood his intentions.
“I want to marry her,” he said without turning.
The silence stretched so long he finally looked back. His mother sat perfectly still, hands folded in her lap, wearing an expression he remembered from childhoodthe one that preceded a serious talk.
“Son, dont marry a girl with nothing to her name,” she said bluntly. “Im begging you.”
The words cut deeper than he’d expected. Not because they were a surprisehe knew his mother had never warmed to Emilybut hearing them aloud was like a punch to the gut.
“Mum, what does money have to do with it? I love her.”
“Love, love,” she sighed, shaking her head. “And how will you live? You earn pennies at that museum, and she makes even less at the library. What about children?”
“Well manage. People get by on less.”
His mother rose abruptly, crossing to the cabinet to pull out an old photo album. She flipped through the pages, stopping at one.
“Look,” she said, jabbing a finger at the faded image. “Your father and me, young and happy. Do you know what came after?”
William knew the story, but she was determined to tell it again.
“We lived in a cramped flat, scraping by on his salary alone. I couldnt workyou were small, then your sister came. Money ran out by the twentieth of each month. We borrowed from neighbours, ate potatoes and carrots for days on end. Remember how your father snapped at us when the stress got too much?”
“I remember,” William said quietly. “But times are different now.”
“Times change. People dont.” She shut the album with a thud and sank back into her chair. “Poverty eats away at love like rust. First, its petty argumentshe wants meat, but theres only pasta in the budget. Then its bigger rowsshe needs a new dress, he needs shoes. Soon enough, you cant even stand the sight of each other.”
“Emily isnt like that. She doesnt ask for luxuries.”
“Not yet. But what happens when she sees her friends moving ahead? When your children start school and you cant afford proper uniforms?”
William returned to his chair, picking up his lukewarm tea. His mothers words stung because they held truth. Hed lain awake thinking the same things.
“So what do you suggest? Stay single forever?”
“Find a proper girl. Educated, with a decent job. Remember Claire Whitmore? Works in finance now, makes good money. Clever, pretty”
“Mum, Im not interviewing for a job. Im talking about marriage.”
“Dont play the romantic,” Margaret snapped. “At your age, its time to use your head, not just your heart. Youre thirty-fivepast the Romeo and Juliet stage.”
William winced. His mother had a knack for striking where it hurt most.
“So what, happiness is built on money now?”
“Not on money, but certainly not without it.” She stood, collecting the cups. “Fine, I wont lecture you. Youre a grown mansort it out yourself. But remember my words when life becomes unbearable.”
Left alone, William found no peace. His mothers warnings looped in his mind, crowding out every other thought. He reached for his phone to call Emily, then stopped. What would he say? How could he explain his mothers disapproval?
That evening, Emily called first.
“Hi, how are you? You seemed off yesterday.”
“Just tired,” he lied.
“I saw the most gorgeous dress today,” she said, her voice brightening. “In that boutique near Hyde Park. Blue silkso lovely. A bit pricey, though…”
Something twisted in his chest. Coincidence? Or was his mother rightwas Emily already hinting at expenses?
“How much?” he asked, forcing his voice steady.
“Three hundred pounds. I know its a lot, but its perfect for the work gala. Id love to look nice…”
Three hundred. Half his monthly wage. William swallowed hard.
“Well see,” he said vaguely.
“Are you upset? Im not demanding itjust sharing.”
“No, its fine. Just thinking.”
After hanging up, William sat staring at the wall. Emily hadnt demanded anythingjust voiced a wish. But three hundred pounds That could feed them for a month. Or go toward a wedding.
Thoughts of a wedding led to more calculations. Renting a flatat least a thousand a month. His museum salary: £1,500. Hers at the library: £1,200. £2,700 between them. Minus rent left £1,700. Food, transport, utilities, emergencies…
At breakfast the next morning, his mother acted as though nothing had happenedserving porridge, sipping coffee, asking about his day. But William felt her watching. Waiting for him to realise shed been right all along.
“Mum, how did you and Dad meet?” he asked suddenly.
Margaret raised an eyebrow. “Havent I told you? University. He was a year aheadhandsome, clever. All the girls fancied him.”
“What drew you to him?”
She stirred her coffee, thoughtful. “Truthfully? His looks first. Then his ambition. He had plansengineering, good money. Said hed provide for his family.”
“And did he?”
“At first. Landed a decent job after graduation. Then the recession hit, his firm downsized…” She set her cup down, gazing out the window. “I didnt love him for his money. But knowing he could support us mattered. A woman needs securityespecially with children.”
“And if hed been poor from the start?”
“I dont know,” she admitted. “Mightve walked away. At twenty, love feels like enough. At forty, you know better.”
William finished his porridge in silence. Her words settled heavily, impossible to refute.
Work offered no distraction. Leading tours, reciting facts about ancient relics, his mind circled back to his own modern dilemmas. His colleague Sophie noticed.
“Youre off today. Whats wrong?”
“Nothing. Personal stuff.”
“Ah. Woman trouble,” she smirked. “You and Emily serious, then?”
“We were,” he said, though his certainty had frayed.
“She doesnt work?”
“She does. At the library.”
“Oh.” Sophies tone said everything. “Ever thought of switching jobs? Private galleries pay better.”
“Tried. They want languages, client experience…”
“Right.”
She walked off, leaving William to dwell on her reaction. Even colleagues saw ittwo meagre salaries werent enough.
That evening, he met Emily in the park. She chatted about work, new library acquisitions, her voice light. He barely listened, studying her instead. Prettychestnut hair, warm brown eyesbut dressed plainly in worn jeans and a faded jumper.
“I did the maths today,” she said suddenly. “What wed need if we married.”
William tensed. “And?”
“If we rent a one-bed flat further out, wed scrape by. Maybe no savings, but wed be together.”
Her smile was so trusting it shamed him. Emily didnt crave luxuries. Shed live modestly just to be with him.
“What about children?” he asked. “How would we manage?”
“Like everyone does,” she shrugged. “Mum raised my brother and me on a nurses wage. We turned out fine.”
He remembered Emilys childhoodc
