“We’re better off without your advice,” said the daughter before leaving for her friends house.
“Mum, wheres my blue jumper? The one with the high neck?” shouted Emily from the hallway, rattling the coat hangers.
Margaret set aside the book shed been reading about diabetes-friendly meals and rose from the sofa.
“Its in the wash, love. Why do you need it? Its ten degrees outside.”
“Im going to Sophiesher house is freezing. Mum, wheres the grey cardigan, then?”
“Which grey one? You said just yesterday it was dull.” Margaret walked to the wardrobe and began sorting through the clothes. “Here, take the pink one insteadit suits you.”
Emily peeked out from the hallway and frowned.
“Im going to a friends, not on a date. Pinks too fancy.”
“Looking nice never hurts,” her mother smiled. “Remember what I always told you? First impressions matter. So both looks and brains are important.”
Emily rolled her eyes and pulled on the first jumper she found.
“Emma, love, are you sure youre just going to Sophies? Maybe stay home instead? Her parents are awayitll just be you two. You know, at your age” Margaret hesitated, searching for the right words.
“Mum, Im seventeen. What, do you think were going to take drugs or something?” scoffed Emily, fastening her coat.
“No, of course not, butwhat if someone else shows up? Like boys? Emma, you know how things are these days. Why not invite Sophie here? Ive made soup and baked some rolls.”
Emily froze, then slowly turned around.
“Mum, enough! Stop controlling me! Im old enough to decide where I go!”
“But darling, Im not controlling youI just worry! Youre my only child. If something happened”
“Nothings going to happen! God, why cant you just trust me?” Emily yanked up her zip angrily. “Im going to my friends to study history, notI dont know what youre imagining!”
“Im not imagining anything,” Margaret said, hurt. “Its just that in my day, girls behaved differently. They consulted their parents.”
“Exactly! Your day! Things are different now, Mum!”
Margaret sighed, leaning against the doorframe. Yes, times had changed. And so had her daughternothing like shed been at seventeen. Back then, Margaret had already been working at the factory, helping her mother raise three younger brothers. The idea of casually visiting friends was unthinkable, and if she did, she always asked permission, reporting every detail.
“Emma, I dont mind you going to Sophies. But promise youll call me in a couple of hours, let me know how you are. All right?”
“Mum, why?” Emily groaned. “Am I five years old?”
“No, of course not. But itll put my mind at ease. Please.”
Emily hesitated, then nodded.
“Fine. Ill call. But not every half-hour, deal?”
“Deal,” Margaret smiled in relief.
Her daughter left, and Margaret returned to her book, though she couldnt concentrate. Her thoughts kept drifting to Emily. Growing up, pulling away. It was natural, but letting go was harder than shed imagined.
Once, Emily had shared everythingsecrets, questions, seeking advice. Now she was distant, answering in monosyllables, quick to irritation. Margaret wondered if she was doing the right thing, trying to guide her, to steer her clear of mistakes.
Her own mother had been strict, demanding. No liberties allowedshe always knew where her daughter was and what she was doing. And Margaret was grateful for that. Maybe that was why she feared letting Emily goafraid that without her watchful eye, her girl would make foolish choices.
The phone rang an hour later.
“Mum, its me. Everythings finewere doing history homework. Sophie says hi.”
“Thank you for calling. What time will you be back for dinner?”
“Probably around nine. Still loads to do.”
“All right. Ill warm up the soup for you. Take care.”
“Mum, stop! Im practically next door, not trekking across the globe. Bye.”
Margaret hung up, shaking her head. Yes, next door. Sophie lived two houses down. Yet her worries made it feel as though Emily had crossed continents.
Maybe she was smothering her? In her youth, Margaret had a friend, Lucy, whose mother monitored her every move. Lucy had complained of suffocating under such carethen, at eighteen, shed run off with the first man she met, just to escape. The marriage failed, leaving her miserable. Margaret didnt want that for Emily.
But letting go was terrifying. The world wasnt what it used to be. The news was full of missing girls, bad influences. And Emily was still so trusting, so naiveclever, yes, but inexperienced.
By eight oclock, Margaret was anxious. Too early to call, but unease crept in. What if something had happened? What if the girls had gone somewhere, and Emily was too embarrassed to say?
At half past, she gave in and dialled. The phone rang endlessly before an unfamiliar mans voice answered.
“Hello?”
“Sorry, may I speak to Emily? This is her mother.”
“Who? Theres no Emily here.”
Margarets blood ran cold.
“What do you mean? Is Sophie there?”
“Sophie? No. You sure youve got the right number?”
“Yessorry.” She hung up, hands shaking.
What was happening? Where was her daughter? Had she misdialed? But she knew the number by heart. Sophies father mustve returned early, unaware the girls were home alone.
Or had they gone out? But Emily had promised to call if plans changed!
Margaret paced the flat, glancing out the window every few minutes, hoping to spot Emily returning.
At nine, Emily called.
“Mum, Im on my way. Be home in ten.”
“Emma! Where were you? I called Sophiessome man answered, said no one was there!”
“Oh, thats Uncle Mark. Sophie and I went to the libraryneeded books for our history project. I told you we were doing homework.”
“But why didnt you tell me youd left the house?”
“Mum, we just went to the local library! Whats the big deal?”
“Emma, we agreed! You promised to call if plans changed!”
“They didnt change! We were working, just not at home! You cant expect me to call for every little thing!”
Margaret bit back her replythat this wasnt little, that shed been worried. She didnt want to argue.
When Emily returned, Margaret laid the table, reheated the soup, and brought out the rolls. Emily ate in silence, answering questions curtly.
“Hows Sophie? Her parents back?”
“Dads home. Mums back tomorrow.”
“Whats the project on?”
“World War II. The Blitz.”
“Oh, fascinating! My grandfatheryour great-grandfatherwas just a boy during the Blitz. He used to tell”
“Mum, Im tired. Can I go to bed?” Emily interrupted.
“Of course, love. Goodnight.”
Emily left, and Margaret cleared the table, her heart heavy. Something was wrong, but she couldnt place it. Once, Emily had loved family stories, asking about grandparents. Now, a wall stood between them.
Days later, Margaret ran into Sophies mother, Sarah, at the shops. Theyd known each other for yearstheir daughters had been friends since primary school.
“Sarah! How was your trip?” Margaret greeted her.
“Lovely! Though Mark fell illwe cut it short. Hows Emily? Sophie says shes been down lately.”
“Down?” Margaret frowned. “I thought she seemed more independent. Used to tell me everything, now she keeps to herself.”
“Thats normal,” Sarah smiled. “Theyre growing up. Sophie announced yesterday she wants to skip uni and train as a hairdresser. Can you believe it?”
“Really? Thats not so badgood hairdressers earn more than some engineers.”
“Margaret!” Sarah gasped. “A hairdresser? Shes brilliant at maths! She should study computing, become a programmer. I told her it was nonsenseshes too young to know whats best.”
Margaret nodded, though something twisted inside. Was it right to dismiss a childs dreams so outright?
“And Emily? Any plans?” Sarah asked.
“Wants to study literature. Loves books. Though I suggested medicinesteady work.”
“Literatures noble! Tricky job-wise, but if shes talented”
Margaret left, pondering Sarahs words. Literature degrees werent known for job security. Teaching paid poorly. Medicine was stable, respected.
At home, Emily was hunched over her desk, writing.
