I thought you were respectable, and youre living in such poverty, he said, then walked out five minutes before we were even introduced to his parents.
Emma, look at this little beauty! Linda beamed, holding up a gaudy tablecloth covered in huge, garish poppies. Itll be perfect on our kitchen table just right for a celebration, not a dinner!
Emma, twentyseven, a paediatric nurse, gave a tired smile.
Mom, its plastic and it screams. Lets get something simple, like linen. White or beige would do.
Linen, yes! Linda snapped her fingers. Did you see the price of that fancy linen? I found this one on the market at a bargain. Practical, pretty and cheap! Just wipe it with a cloth and its spotless!
Honestly, Mom, that looks terrible. Its tasteless.
Oh, dear Emma, happiness isnt found in tablecloths, Linda sighed, but she still tucked the plastic one under the counter. If only we were healthy, the world would be ours. Anyway, lets go, my feet are tingling.
We strolled through the noisy market. Emma glanced at her mother a small, wiry woman in an old but freshly ironed coat. She felt exhausted by the endless scrimping, the constant cheap and practical. Emma worked oneandahalf jobs, took night shifts, just to keep them both afloat in their tiny twobed flat on the edge of Manchester. She never complained; she just dreamed. She dreamed of the day she could buy her mum not only expensive medication but also a lovely linen tablecloth just because, no reason needed.
She met her future prince, Arthur, in a café after a grueling night shift. Hed slipped into the seat opposite her tall, welldressed, with a confident smile and a flashy watch. He made the first move.
Excuse me, miss, I couldnt help noticing your sad eyes. May I treat you to a pastry? A little sweetness might do you good.
He was charming, gentlemanly, offering compliments that were precise and gentle, never crude. He guessed she was a nurse straight away. You have kind hands, he said. Thats a rarity these days.
Arthur worked for a big construction firm, held a decent senior role, and drove a sleek foreign car hed whisked her to restaurants shed never been to. He bought her flowers that cost almost half her salary, regaled her with stories of travel and future plans. Emma listened, breath held, feeling like shed stepped into a fairytale.
He confessed he was tired of greedy, flashy women hunting his wallet. In Emma, hed found what hed been searching for honesty, sincerity, decency.
Youre genuine, he whispered, kissing her hand. Untarnished. I thought people like you didnt exist anymore.
The only thing that made Emma a bit uneasy was that he never tried to come to her flat. They always met in the centre, or hed pick her up at the bus stop near her house.
I dont want to impose, and its already late, Id hate to wake your mum, hed say.
Emma felt a twinge of shame about their shabby council block, the peeling paint, the modest décor. She wanted him to see her as a princess, not a scruffy neighbour.
Six months later he proposed. It felt like a dream. An evening in an upscale restaurant, candles flickering. He dropped to one knee, presented a velvet box with a sparkling stone.
Emma, will you marry me? I want to wake up with you every morning. I want you to be the lady of my home.
She said yes, tears of joy spilling as she clutched the box. The fairytale kept going.
They agreed hed meet her mum first, then theyd both visit his parents. The introduction day was set for Saturday. Emma and Linda prepared as if it were the event of a lifetime. They scrubbed the flat for three days. Linda hauled out an old china set shed saved for a special occasion. Emma spent her last cash on that very linen tablecloth crisp, white, starchfinished.
Look, Mum, how beautiful it is! she cooed, laying it out. Like a restaurant!
Just hope your fiancé likes it, Linda sighed, sliding an apple crumble into the oven. Im nervous, love. Hes such a solid sort, and were ordinary folk.
Mum, he loves *me*, not our flat! He fell for me as I am!
Arthur was due at five. By 4:45 Emma was at the window, scanning for his car. Shed dressed in her best dress, fussing with her hair.
Here he comes! she shouted, spotting the familiar silver saloon easing into the courtyard.
She bolted down the stairwell, heart pounding as if it might leap out of her chest. He stepped out, impeccably suited, clutching a massive bouquet of roses, looking like a movie star.
He saw her, flashed that dazzling smile, and headed for the front door. Then Emma noticed his expression shift. The smile faded, replaced by a grimace. He entered the dim, damp, catsmelling hallway, eyeing the cracked plaster, the dull bulb, the scuffed lift doors.
He climbed the stairs, each step making his face look harsher. Emma stood on the thirdfloor landing, her excitement turning to cold dread. He stared past her, past the pretty dress, past the sparkling eyes, and peered into their modest entryway at the old coat rack, the worn mat.
He stopped a metre away, not looking at Emma at all. He glanced into their tidy but plain hallway, his gaze icy.
Arthur, come in, weve been waiting for you! she stammered, trying to smile.
He looked at her like a man looks at mud on a polished shoe.
Is this where you live? he asked softly, but his tone dripped contempt.
Yes here
A bitter grin curled his lips. He glanced at his expensive suit, his polished shoes, then back at the shabby corridor.
Right, he said, handing her the bouquet as if it were a pointless token.
I thought you were respectable, yet you live in such poverty, he said, flatly, as if stating a fact. Then he turned and walked down the stairs without looking back.
Emma stood, clutching the extravagant bouquet, unable to move. She heard his footsteps fade, the door thud, the engine start, then silence.
From the kitchen, Linda emerged, wiping her hands on an apron.
So, Emma? Wheres the groom? The crumbles almost ready
She saw Emmas pale face, the roses in her hands, and understood everything. She quietly took the flowers, grasped Emmas icy hand and led her inside.
Sit down, love.
Emma sank onto the sofa, not crying, but feeling a huge, black void inside.
He hes gone, Mum.
I see, Linda whispered, sitting beside her, wrapping an arm around Emmas shoulders. He said were poor.
She held Emma tighter.
Youre a fool, love. What a twisted happiness this is, Emma.
What happiness? Emma whispered. He left me. He humiliated me.
The lucky thing is it happened now, not ten years from now, Linda said firmly. The good news is God kept that man away from you. He was nothing but a shiny wrapper with nothing inside. Do you think he ever loved you? He only knows how to consume. He didnt see you, just the fantasy he built a pure, poor girl he could rescue. When he saw that poverty isnt a pretty picture from a book but a peeling block and a worn mat, he fled. Thank God. The rubbish took itself out.
She ran her fingers through Emmas hair, speaking simple, wise things. About wealth not being about money. About integrity not measured by a suits price tag. About real love not fearing poverty or cracked walls.
Cry, love, cry. Tears wash the hurt away. Then youll get up, wash your face and keep going. Youll meet someone else, a real one, who loves your soul, not your image. He wont care whether your tablecloth is linen or plastic. Hell only want you near him.
Emma finally broke down, sobbing into her mothers shoulder, mourning not the man, but the shattered fairytale, the lost belief in miracles.
When the tears stopped, she stood, walked to the table set for a celebration that never happened, ran her hand over the white linen.
The crumble must be cold by now, she said.
Dont worry, Linda smiled. Well put the kettle on and have tea together. Just the two of us. Todays our little celebration a celebration of freedom.
They sat down, sipping tea with apple crumble on a freshly set white linen cloth. It turned out to be the most delicious crumble and the warmest evening Emma had ever known.
