**Shell Manage**
Alison grew up in an orphanage, surrounded by children just like her and the carers who stood in place of family. Life had never been sweet to hershed learned early to stand up for herself and defend the younger ones. A fierce sense of justice burned inside her; she couldnt bear to see the weak bullied. Sometimes she took the blows herself, but she never cried. She knew she was suffering for what was right.
Shed been christened Alison, but in the orphanage, theyd shortened it to Allie. The day she turned eighteen, they sent her out into the worldalone, unprepared. The only thing she had was her training as a cook, and a part-time job as a kitchen assistant in a small café. They gave her a room in a bleak council flat, but it was barely livable.
By then, she was already seeing Vincent, three years older, who drove a delivery van for the same café. Before long, they were living together in his grandmothers old one-bed flat.
“Alison, just move in with me,” hed said, eyeing the broken lock on her flat door. “This place is a dump. Needs proper fixing up.” She agreed without hesitation.
Vincent appealed to herolder, steadier. But one evening, when the talk turned to children, his tone turned sharp.
“Cant stand the little ankle-biters. Nothing but noise and trouble.”
“Vincent,” she said, startled, “but if its yoursyour own flesh and bloodhow could you say that?”
“Drop it,” he cut her off. “Ive said my piece. End of.”
The words stung, but she told herself hed change his mind. Maybe once they married. Maybe then.
At the café, Alison worked hard, even covering for head cook Valerie when she called in sickagain. Everyone knew Valeries “migraines” were just hangovers.
“One more slip-up, and youre out,” the manager, Max, warned her. But Valerie was a brilliant cook, and the regulars loved her.
“Your chefs top-notch, Max,” friends would say.
So Valerie clung to her job, weathering the warnings. She knew Alison was capablequick, dedicated, cooking with heart. Even Max had started noticing.
One day, Alison overheard him talking to the floor manager.
“If Valerie skips again, shes done. Alisons young, but shes got the knack. Shes reliable.”
She didnt catch the rest. But the words stuck.
*Max sees something in me.* Still, she pitied Valeriekind, but ruined by the bottle. She kept the conversation to herself, not even telling Vincent.
Time passed. Valerie vanished for a week. Alison took over, and not a single customer complained. When Valerie finally returned, she was a wreckshaking hands, dark circles under her eyes.
Max walked into the kitchen, his voice clipped.
“Valerie. My office. Now.”
She was sacked. Moments later, Max addressed the staff.
“From today, Alisons head cook. Youve got talent. Room to grow. Dont let me down.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, nerves fluttering. The responsibility was dauntingbut the pay was solid.
That evening, Vincent brought home champagne.
“To your promotion,” he smirked. “Knew youd get there.”
Theyd lived together for years, yet hed never once mentioned marriage. She wondered if a child would change his mind.
Then the test came back positive.
She was overjoyed. *No family of my ownbut soon, therell be someone.* She cradled her still-flat stomach, smiling.
Vincent came home to her glowing face.
“Whats got you so happy?”
“I saw the doctor today,” she said softly. “Were having a baby.”
His face darkened. He stared at the floor, voice flat.
“Not happening. Get rid of it, or get out. I told youI dont do kids.”
No shouting. Just icy finality. Shed hoped, foolishly, hed soften. Instead, he twisted the knife.
“Youve got no one. Nowhere to go. Think hard, Alison.”
The next day, after her shift, she packed her things and left.
The council flat door creaked open, revealing peeling paint, a damp smell, dead flies on the windowsill. A rusty bed, a rickety table, a wardrobe with a broken door.
She set down her baga few clothes, some books, plates. Her hand drifted to her stomach.
*Well manage.*
Through the thin walls, a drunk neighbour bellowed curses. She flinched, then squared her shoulders.
“Welcome home, Allie,” she whispered.
The shared kitchen was grima greasy stove, a fridge that hummed too loud, cockroaches skittering near the bin.
Back in her room, she bolted the door. The ache in her chest threatened tears, but she swallowed them. For the first time, she felt free.
*”Where will you go?”* Vincent had sneered.
Well, shed gone. To this shabby roomhers alone. Shed make it work.
She grabbed a bucket, an old shirt for a rag, and got to work.
By nightfall, the room was clean. The window gleamed. The air smelled fresh.
She made a list: bedding, towels, soap, a new lock. Shed ask Pete, the building handyman, to fit it.
Life settled. Pete was kind, always cracking jokes. At the café, a new waiter, Timothy, watched her with quiet interest. Everyone knew about the baby.
One evening, he walked her home. Out of politeness, she invited him for tea.
That night, she saw the warmth in his eyesand panicked. *Im pregnant.*
But Timothy kept coming. Then, one day, he spoke.
“Marry me, Alison. Youre alone. So am Ijust an old gran back in the village. I love you. And the babyhell be mine too.”
She hesitated.
“Timothy, look” she gestured to her belly.
He shook his head, smiling. “I want a big family. Lots of kids.”
She thought of Vincents coldness. Timothy was differentsteady, kind.
She said yes.
When the time came, he drove her to the hospital, waited, then raced home to repaint the room, set up the crib.
He met her at the hospital gates with flowers. When she stepped inside the flat, she barely recognised it.
Timothy had hung balloons. The walls were fresh. The crib stood ready.
She smiled through tears.
*Well manage.*
