**Diary Entry**
My own daughter told me today that I had to leave the flat by tomorrow.
The kettle hissed softly on the hob while Elaine sorted through the little boxes of tea. Chamomile, peppermint, Earl Grey Vicky had brought them back from her last business trip to Paris. Elaine smiled wistfully, remembering how her daughter had ceremoniously handed her the keys to this very flat five years ago.
*”Now, Mum, youll have a place of your own,”* Vicky had said. *”No more rented rooms.”*
The old kitchen had become her sanctuarythe worn oilcloth on the table, the geraniums on the windowsill, even the crack in the tile near the stove felt like part of her. She was just about to pour herself a cuppa when the doorbell rang.
Vicky stood there in a sharp business suit, her hair perfectly styled, her expression icy.
*”Mum, we need to talk.”*
Elaine stepped aside, her chest tightening at the tone.
*”Come in, love. Ive just put the kettle onyour favourite, the one you brought back.”*
*”No, thank you.”* Vicky stayed rooted in the middle of the kitchen. *”I wont be long. Mum, you need to be out by tomorrow.”*
Elaine froze, the teapot in her hand.
*”Sorry, what?”*
*”The flat needs to be vacated. Tomorrow. I cant delay it any longer.”*
Hot tea spilled onto her fingers, but she barely felt it.
*”Vicky, I dont understand this is my home. You gave it to me”*
*”Its just a flat, Mum,”* Vicky said, glancing at her phone. *”Youve had your time here, but I cant support you anymore.”*
*”Support me?”* Elaine let out a shaky laugh. *”Love, I pay the bills, I clean”*
*”Mum, lets not do this,”* Vicky cut in. *”The decisions made. Leave the keys on the table.”*
She turned to leave, but Elaine grabbed her wrist.
*”Wait! At least tell me why?”*
*”Nothings wrong. Its just business. The rents going up.”*
The door clicked shut, and Elaine was alone. A dull ringing filled her ears. She sank onto a stool, staring at the spilled tea pooling on the counter, the evening sun glinting off its surface.
In a daze, she drifted to the bedroom. Photos lined the wallsVicky in her graduation gown, beaming in white; the two of them at Brighton, building sandcastles as the waves lapped at their feet. Shed sold her little cottage then to pay for Vickys university. Had it been a sacrifice? No. Just love.
*”Sweetheart”* Elaine whispered, tracing the photo with her finger. *”How did we get here?”*
Night crept in as she mechanically packed her things into an old suitcase, pausing now and then to memorise the flats little detailsthe chipped paint shed meant to touch up, the warm glow of her favourite lamp, the shadow of geranium leaves on the wall. Every small thing suddenly precious.
Somewhere deep down, she hoped the phone would ring in the morningthat Vicky would say it was all a mistake, a joke. But the phone stayed silent, the clock ticking away her last hours in the place shed called home.
The first night was stifling. Elaine sat on a park bench, clutching her suitcase, staring at the stars. Somewhere, people slept in warm beds, while she *How had it come to this?*
Shed left the keys polished on the table. Maybe Vicky would noticeremember how her mother had always cared for the little things.
*”Evening,”* a rough voice said beside her. A scruffy man in a worn jacket sat at the other end of the bench. *”Mind if I sit? You staying out tonight?”*
Elaine tightened her grip on the suitcase.
*”No, Im just walking.”*
He chuckled. *”Three in the morning? With a suitcase?”*
*”Yes, well”* She tried to smile, but her lips trembled. *”I like night strolls.”*
*”Right.”* He pulled an apple from his pocket and offered it. *”Want one? Washed it in the fountain.”*
She shook her head, but her stomach betrayed her with a growl. She hadnt eaten since yesterday.
*”Names Simon,”* he said between bites. *”Three months on the streets. Wife kicked me out. You?”*
*”Daughter,”* Elaine murmured, surprised at her own honesty.
*”Ah.”* Simon shook his head. *”Kids these days Different breed. My lads in Australiabeen waiting two years for a call.”*
By dawn, the air had turned crisp. Elaine dozed against the bench, Simon long gonebut not before leaving her another apple and the address of a shelter. *”Its warm,”* hed said. *”And they feed you sometimes.”*
When daylight broke, she stood stiffly, stretching her numb legs. Where to go? The shelter? No, not yet. Maybe Margaret? The neighbour had always been kind, often stopping by for tea.
Knocking on that familiar door took everything. She lifted her hand, hesitated, then finally rapped.
*”Elaine?”* Margaret appeared in a polka-dotted dressing gown. *”Lord, whats happened? You look awful!”*
*”Maggie”* Her voice wavered. *”Could I stay with you just a few days?”*
Margarets tiny kitchen smelled of sugar. Shed been baking sconesher morning ritual.
*”Bloody hell”* she muttered, listening to Elaines fractured story. *”I always said you spoiled her. Remember when she snapped at you on your birthday? And you just took it!”*
*”Dont, Maggie.”*
*”I *will*, Elaine!”* Margaret slammed her cup down. *”How long will you lie to yourself? Shes always been like this! Remember emptying your savings for her wedding? Not so much as a *thank you*!”*
Elaine stared out the window, where the city slowly stirred. Somewhere, people hurried to work, secure in their homes, their families, their futures
*”Youll bounce back, love,”* Margaret said, squeezing her shoulder. *”You always do.”*
Three days passed in a blur. Elaine made herself usefulcooking, cleaning, even fixing Margarets leaky tap. But with each passing hour, she felt more like a burden.
*”Robert!”* she suddenly remembered, flipping through an old address book. An old family friend, her late husbands colleague. Hed offered help once
Dialling his number took courage. What if hed forgotten her? Worseremembered, but refused?
*”Hello, Robert? Its Elaine Elaine Thompson.”*
Within an hour, she sat in his cramped office at the local shelter, papers piled high on his desk.
*”So your daughter kicked you out?”* He tapped his pen. *”Right. Well, our cook just quit. Temporary, but its something Can you cook?”*
*”Ive done it all my”* She hesitated. *”But where would I live?”*
*”Here,”* Robert said with a smile. *”Theres a staff room. Small, but its yours. Youre tougher than you think, Elaine. Youll manage.”*
That evening, she stepped into the shelter not as a resident, but as staff. The smell of stew mingled with bleach. Voices hummed in the dining hallpeople of all kinds. A bookish old man in a threadbare jacket chatted animatedly with a young mother. Simon (of all people!) was setting tables.
*”Elaine!”* A middle-aged woman beckoned her. *”Im TamaraIll show you the ropes. Dont worry, weve all been through something.”*
Her tiny room was clean, unexpectedly cosy. Elaine sat on the bed, pulling out her phone. Her finger hovered over Vickys number No. Not now.
*”Well then,”* she said to her reflection in the window. *”Life goes on?”*
Three months passed in a blink. Elaine settled into the workcooking for a crowd was oddly fun. Being busy left less room for bitter thoughts.
*”Elaine!”* Tamara popped into the kitchen. *”New girl just came inbarely more than a kid. Fancy making her a cuppa?”*
In the dining hall, a thin girl in an oversized jumper fidgeted with her sleeve.
*”Tea?”* Elaine set down a cup. *”Earl Grey. From Paris.”*
The girl looked up with red-rimmed eyes. *”Ta. You been here long?”
