Behind my backFor heavens sake, quit playing the heroine and pretending youve got everything under control, Olive said, laying a sack of diapers and a tin of baby porridge on the kitchen table. Ive seen your Instagram postsso polished. If only you knew the truth.
Ivy didnt even glance at her sister. She stared at her phone, face as hard as stone. From the next room a twoyearolds wail cut through the air: little Charlie, Ivys son, demanding attention. Ivy stayed frozen.
Charlie, Im coming! a voice called from the master bedroom, and their mother hurried in to rock the baby.
Olive shrugged off her coat, draped it over a chair and turned back, irritation buzzing like a live wire. Tell me honestlydo you really think youre coping, that youre a brilliant mum? Or are you just parroting the same slogans from parenting blogs?
Ivy sighed, paused, but never lifted her eyes.
I never asked you to buy anything, Olive said.
Right, you didnt. As usual, you sit there hungry, swaddled in dirty nappies while Mum serves soup and the supermarket delivers diapers. Then you pretend to be the strong, independent woman again.
Silence settled, even Charlies cries faded behind the wall. Only the soft, soothing murmur of the mothers voice lingered. Olive closed her eyes for a heartbeat.
All of them were exhausted after eighteen months.
Ivy had left her husband when Charlie was barely six months old. She walked out in a blaze of scandal, lambasting him for not even being able to rinse a plate or change a nappy. Simon, her ex, simply shrugged. He juggled two jobs, returned home late, sometimes fell asleep on the sofa, but he triedwashing bottles, hauling groceries, even crooning lullabies, however offkey.
Hes betrayed us, Ivy had whispered. He chose his work over us.
Olive shrugged. Everyone gets to make their own choices.
Except when that choice meant leeching off someone elses neck while proudly refusing child support. Ivy now lived like a holiday resort: Dad paid the bills, Mum cooked, and she posted glossy essays on resilience and female independence.
Their mother drifted into the room, two pale crescents under her eyes.
Charlies finally asleep, thank God. Olive, why are you picking on Ivy again?
I? Picking on her? Olive laughed, on the brink of hilarity. You barely even wipe his bum, and she doesnt even flinch. Shes happy with everything.
Im not asking for anything. No one owes anyone anything! Ivy snapped.
Sure, you owe nothing. You just lounge here and enjoy the comforts.
A memory flickered: two months earlier Dad had postponed getting a crown fitted yet again.
Never mind, Ill wait, hed said, smiling at Mum. We need to clothe Charlie; hes growing out of his old ones.
Dad never complained. The family later discovered he was skipping his vital medication because there was no money for it. Olive quietly transferred cash, hoping it would reach the pharmacy.
Ivy sprang up, slipping past Olive, fleeing the conversation as she always did.
Olive dont be like that Ivy
Whats Ivys problem? Shes comfortable. Its her pride that will ruin you all. Money cant be solved with empty promises. Youve had a stroke, Dads heart is feeble, and she pretends to be the heroine of a Hollywood melodramalonely, proud, misunderstood.
Mum stared at her daughter with a gaze full of ache. Everyone understood, yet none could act.
Olive walked toward the door, paused, wanting to say something warm, something that would keep Mum from weeping after she left.
Goodbye, Mum. Check the firstaid kit and speak to Dad. Ill bring the tablets tomorrow, just in case they run out.
Ol thank you, Mum whispered, gratitude heavy.
Olive left without looking back, knowing she would see tears later.
A week slipped by. Olive came less often, not out of spite but to avoid witnessing the familys unraveling. She delivered money, medicine, a toy for Charlie, then vanished. Ivy accepted everything with a blank stare, as if it were the natural order.
One morning, while scrolling through contacts, Olive stumbled on a forgotten name: Kyle. Hed once worked with Simon. Hope sparked like a sudden flash. Perhaps this was a sign.
Three days later she met Simon in a tiny café on a cobbled lane. She fidgeted with a napkin. Simon arrived five minutes late, apologising, his gaunt face thinner than before.
You see, he began after Olives long tale, Im not abandoning my son. Ive tried to fix things. Yet every time I send money, she sends it back and throws a fit.
They wont last much longer, Olive sighed. Dad halves his tablets. Mum refused a rehab. And Ivy she clings to her stubborn principles. No ones to blame for that.
Simon nodded, his eyes lit with a resolve to solve the knot.
Lets do this: Ill transfer money to you, youll distribute it. Send receipts or photosno need for paperwork, just trust. I just want Charlie to have a normal life and my parents not to suffer because of this mess.
Olive hesitated, feeling the betrayal of her sisters pride, yet she sent the first transfer: £120. She handed the cash to Mum, who only raised an eyebrow at the amount, not the gestureOlive had helped before.
Another smaller sum followed for Dads medication, then a tiny parcel for Charlies shoes.
Ivy pretended not to notice, or perhaps she truly didnt see.
One evening Olive dropped by for half an hour. Ivy was in the bathroom, Charlie watched cartoons, Mum rolled out dumplings, Dad kneaded the dough.
Olive, we bought Charlie a new coat with your money! Mum beamed. Youre such a dear. Were getting uncomfortable accepting help maybe well manage on our own soon?
A blush flushed Olives cheeks. Shed taken undeserved praise before, each time it pressed on her conscience. Now the whole chain of aid threatened to snap.
Mum I need to tell you and Dad something. Its not meits Simon. Hes helping, she murmured.
Silence hung. Dad stopped rolling, Mum froze with a spoon midair.
Simon? Mum echoed. Ivy told us hed vanished.
Yes, and he said Ivy blocks his calls, ignoring him everywhere, Olive added, feeling the weight of untold stories. Truth always sits somewhere in the middle. What matters is the help.
Mum and Dad took the news with an odd calm, now more willing to accept the cash without shame.
But a fresh problem surfaced.
Thanks to Simon, things are a bit lighter, Mum whispered to Dad while budgeting for the next month.
Mum didnt know Olive was still awake, her ears sharp as a nightjar.
Then the flood began.
Youre taking my exhusbands money behind my back? Traitors! Ivy stormed into the kitchen. Youve all conspired!
A full interrogation followed. Mum cracked under the pressure, then Ivy began calling Olive in the dead of night.
You thought you were clever, sneaking everything? Youve humiliated me! My child doesnt need your handouts!
Olive, halfasleep, yawned, Im just doing what you cantno strength, no conscience. Stop blaming the sick for the healthy.
Enough! We dont need anyones help! Ill survive on my own! Ivy shouted, slamming the door, pushing Charlies stroller to the street, disappearing into the night without a word of where she was headed.
A phrase from her friend Laura floated in Ivys mind, spoken half a year earlier: If you need anything, call me. Those words, once pretty, now felt like a single thread to cling to.
Laura didnt refuse. She welcomed Ivy, kissed Charlie, set a modest meal on the table, and gently probed what had happened.
Its stifling here, Ivy muttered. I want to live alone, even if its just for a while.
Lauras first night was quiet; she even seemed to enjoy the company. By morning, Ivys habits grew oddleaving dishes piled, complaining about salt or fat.
One day Ivy raided a cupboard for a sealed jar of coffee, unasked, hoping it was a stash for gifts. That evening she begged Laura for a loan, saying her last penny went on nappies.
Laura forced a tight smile, promised to think. Later, as Charlie finally slept, Laura approached Ivy.
Ive got a situation. Artem is coming from Kent. Wed arranged this ages ago you understand?
Im supposed to leave? Ivy asked, panic rising.
Its not that maybe you have another place to stay?
Yeah, Ill manage, Ivy whispered, knot tightening inside.
The next morning she packed in silence, cheeks wet, while Laura moved about the kitchen, never meeting her eyes. Ivy dressed Charlie, trudged through the hallway, and slipped out without a goodbye.
Standing outside the flat, she felt hollow, ashamed, frightened. Options swirled like knives. Returning to her parents? No. Their pills and retreats were a faroff nightmare. With Laura, everything was already clear.
She recalled Simons desperate wish to reconcile. Shed ignored him, but now he was the only lifeline left. She dialed his number.
Hello?
Its Ivy. Charlie and I could we stay with you for a few days?
A pause, then a cautious, warm voice: Of course.
The call ended, and a tentative new life beganawkward, trustless, but alive.
Olive learned of the reunion first. Her parents tried to call Ivy, got no answer, gave up after three days. On the fourth day, Olive finally reached her.
Hello?
Yes, Ivy replied, voice thin. Were at Simons. Ill call back later.
Simons? Is Charlie okay?
Yes, were fine.
Olive raised an eyebrow, surprised but smiling faintly. Better this than being a weight on her parents necks. She hoped Ivys stubborn pride wouldnt drive another wedge.
