Emmas stepmother clears out all of her mothers things while Emma is at work.
Emma, are you even listening to me? I asked when youll hand in the report!
What? Oh, right, sorry, Sophie. Itll be ready by Friday.
By Friday? Its already Thursday, Sophie snaps, shaking her head. Youve barely been here lately. Is it because of that Lucy again?
Emma clenches her fists under the desk. Just hearing the name of her fathers new wife makes her throat tighten.
I dont want to talk about it.
You should, Sophie leans her chair closer. You need to have a serious talk with your dad. Hes lost his head. He married Lucy only six months after your mothers funeral!
Eight months, Emma corrects automatically. Dads an adult; he knows what hes doing.
Exactlyhe doesnt. Men his age are especially vulnerable. And Lucys young; she probably has her eye on your flat.
Emma wants to argue, but she knows Sophie is right. Lucy is eighteen years younger than her dad. They met at the clinic where she works as a nurse. Back then her dad still drives his wife to treatments.
I have to go, Emma gathers her papers into her bag. We agreed I could leave early today.
Go, go. Just promise youll call if anything comes up, any time.
Emma nods and steps out of the office. A fine October drizzle falls. She pulls up her coat collar and hurries to the bus stop. The ride home takes about twenty minutes, then another five on foot. She used to live with her parents in a twobedroom flat on the third floor of an old ninestorey block. After her mother died she thought about moving out, but the rent in London is skyhigh and her salary is modest.
Her father begged her to stay.
Emma, dont leave me alone, he said. Im as lost without your mother as a man without hands. I need you here.
So she stays, cooking, cleaning, washing, trying to fill the space her mother left. Then Lucy appears.
At first her dad just mentions a nice nurse. Soon he lingers on walks, and six months later he announces hes getting married.
Sweetheart, I cant do this alone. I need a woman beside me. Your mum would understand.
Emma doesnt argue. She quietly slips out of the room and locks herself in. She cries into her pillow until dawn.
The wedding is lowkeyactually, they dont even invite Emma. She learns about it after the fact when her dad brings Lucy home with a new passport stamp.
Meet my wife.
Lucy is tall, dyed blonde, bright lipstick, long nails. She looks about thirtyfive, though her dad claims shes fortytwo.
Hello, Emma, she says, extending a hand. Hope we can be friends.
Emma shakes cold fingers and walks to the kitchen. On a shelf sits her mothers beloved rosepatterned mug. She grabs it, fills it with water, hands trembling.
At first Lucy is cautioussmiles, asks about work, offers help. Emma keeps her distance, replies tersely. She cant forgive her dads rush. Her mother died only weeks ago, and he already has someone new.
Gradually Lucy settles in, rearranges the bedroom furniture, changes the curtains, buys a new set of dishes, and tucks her mothers belongings farther away in a cupboard.
Your mum had great taste, Lucy comments, but thats old. We need a fresh look.
Emma says nothing. The flat belongs to her dad, after all.
A month later the hints begin.
Emma, youre a grown woman now, thirtythree. Time to sort out your own life. Living with us you know what I mean.
This is my home, Emma retorts.
Your dads home, Lucy smooths, and now mine as well.
Her dad never intervenes, as if deaf and blind. He wanders the flat with a blissful smile, constantly hugging Lucy around the waist, calling her pet names. Emma no longer recognises him. Where is the serious, restrained man who spent thirty years with her mother in love and harmony?
After getting off the bus, Emma quickens her step, eager to get home, strip off her wet shoes, and sip a hot tea. Maybe her dad wont be there; he said hed swing by a friends. Then she could sit in the kitchen and remember her mother.
She thinks of her mother every daybaking cabbage pies, reading aloud in the evenings, running her hand through Emmas hair and saying everything will be alright. Even when she was ill and doctors gave up hope, she smiled.
Dont be sad, my girl. Im always with you.
Emma pulls out her keys and opens the door. The flat is quiet. She removes her soaked shoes, hangs her coat, and heads to her bedroom.
She stops at the doorway.
The room looks different. She cant immediately pinpoint whats changed, but the emptiness is so palpable it steals her breath.
She looks around. The bed is where it was, the wardrobe, the desk by the window. But where is her mothers little jewelry box that always sat on the nightstand? Where is the embroidered napkin her mother made before Emma was born? Where are the framed photos?
Emma rushes to the wardrobe, flings open the doors. On the top shelf used to lie her mothers blue shawl, the one her dad gave her on their anniversary. Its gone.
No, no, no
Her hands shake as she rummages through the remaining items. Her mothers robe, her books, the photo album at the bottomnone of it is there. Everything has vanished.
She bolts into the hallway, bursts into the master bedroom. That room too is stripped bareher mothers perfume that sat on the dresser, her comb, even the little makeup bag Emma never wanted to throw away.
Whats happening? she whispers.
The flats front door opens and voices drift in.
what a relief, finally rid of this clutter, Lucy says. I dont understand why we keep dead peoples things. Its an unhealthy attachment.
Youre right, love, her dad replies. We need to move on.
Emma steps into the hallway. Her dad and Lucy stand by a coat rack, peeling off outerwear. When they see her, Lucy smiles.
Oh, Emma, youre home. Weve been tidying up while you were away.
Where are mums things? Emmas voice comes out hoarse.
What things, dear?
All of themjewelry box, photos, books, clothes! Where is everything?!
Lucy sighs as if its a trivial matter.
I took them out. Gave some to the church, tossed the rest. Emma, your mum passed more than a year ago. Its time to let go.
You what did you do?!
Emma feels the floor give way beneath her. Her dad stands silent beside Lucy, watching her.
Dad, did you hear what she said? She threw mums things away!
Emma, dont shout, her dad finally says. Lucys right. You cant live in the past. Its an unhealthy attachment.
Unhealthy? Emma cant believe her ears. Thats my mothers memory! Its all I have left!
You still have the memories, Lucy says gently. Isnt that enough?
Not enough, Emma insists. I need the things.
Give them back right now.
Im afraid thats impossible. The containers already gone.
Which container?
The rubbish bin, Lucy shrugs. It was full of junkold dresses, yellowed papers. I kept a few photos; theyre still in the wardrobe.
Emma steps closer; Lucy instinctively backs away.
You had no right, Emma whispers.
Im the lady of the house now. I decide what stays and what goes.
Youre not the lady! Youre a stranger! Emmas voice cracks into a shout.
Emma! her dad raises his voice for the first time. Apologise at once. Lucy is my wife and you must respect her.
Respect her? The woman who threw away every reminder of my mum?
Your mum is dead, he says harshly. You need to accept that.
How can you say that? You lived with her for thirtyfive years! She died and youre already with someone else?
Enough, he waves a hand. Im tired of this. Tired of your constant hints, your silence, the way you stare at Lucy. I have a right to be happy.
At the cost of my mothers memory?
Memory isnt the issue. I love Lucy. I want to live with her. If you cant accept that
He doesnt finish, but Emma understands.
Fine, she says. Ill move out.
Emma, wait, Lucy interjects. No ones kicking you out. Just set some rules. This is our homemy dads and mine. You can stay if you respect our boundaries.
What boundaries? Emma asks, weary.
For example, dont enter our bedroom. Dont touch my things. Dont turn the flat into a museum of your mother.
Emma looks at her dad, who avoids her gaze.
Alright, she says. As you wish.
She returns to her room and shuts the door. She collapses onto the bed, hugging herself. She wants to cry, but tears wont come; only a cold, allconsuming emptiness remains.
All the things that held her mothers scent, her bracelets, the little box she opened each night for mums rings and brooches, the album of trips to the country house, birthday celebrations, lazy Sunday walks in the parkeverything is gone, dumped with the trash.
Emma gets up and walks to the window. Outside, night has fallen. A few pedestrians rush home, sheltering from the rain under umbrellas. Somewhere, in a skip, her mothers belongings lie mixed with rubbish and greasy bags.
Theres a knock at the door.
Emma, may I come in? her dads voice asks.
She doesnt answer. The door cracks open and he steps in.
Sweetheart, lets talk.
About what? Emma asks without turning.
Lucy just wants the best for us. Shes trying to make the house cosy.
By throwing away everything that reminds me of mum?
Her dad sighs.
Emma, I know its hard. It was hard for me too. But life goes on. I met Lucy, and she gave me a chance to feel alive again. Is that so bad?
And mum? Have you forgotten her?
No, of course not! I remember Nora every day. She wont come back, but I cant spend the rest of my life in mourning.
Emma turns to see her dad, hunched, looking older despite being sixtyfive. Lucys presence seems to have given him a new spark.
Dad, Im not against your happiness. But why destroy the memory of my mother?
Lucy didnt destroy it. She just cleared away the clutter that held us back.
It held me back.
Emma, please give us a chance. Give Lucy a chance.
Good people dont dump other peoples things without asking.
Her dad shakes his head.
Youre stubborn, just like your mother. Nora was the same.
He leaves, closing the door softly. Emma opens the wardrobe and searches for the photos Lucy mentioned. She finds a plastic bag on the top shelf containing three pictures: her mum at their wedding, mum holding a baby Emma, and mum smiling on a garden patio in a straw hat.
She grabs her phone and calls Sophie.
Hey, can I crash at yours?
Whats happened? Sophie asks, alarmed.
Ill explain when I get there. Can I come?
Of course, come quickly.
Emma packs a bag, tucking the three photos, spare clothes, and her mothers old makeup bag. She rushes out. In the kitchen, her dad and Lucy sip tea, Lucy chatting animatedly, the dad nodding.
Im leaving for a couple of days, Emma says.
Where to? her dad asks.
To a friend.
Dont be foolish, Lucy interjects. Everyone quarrels sometimes. Lets just start fresh.
Start fresh? You threw away my mothers memory. How do you expect me to forget?
They were just things!
To me they were the last link to my mum.
You still have the memories, dont you? Lucy replies. Isnt that enough?
It isnt. Emma says firmly.
She walks out into the evening rain, the streets glistening. She heads toward Sophies flat, about a fifteenminute walk away. Sophie opens the door as if shed been expecting her.
Youre drenched! Let me get you a towel.
Sophie hands her a towel, leads her inside. A warm, cosy flat smells of fresh baking. A plump ginger cat curls on the sofa.
Dry off, then tell me everything.
Emma recounts the day. Sophie listens, her face turning grey.
Shes gone mad? Sophie exclaims. How can anyone just toss someone elses belongings?
She thinks shes the lady of the house.
And your dad just goes along?
He said it was time to let go.
Sophie mutters a curse under her breath.
Maybe not everythings lost. When did they take the skip?
This afternoon, I think. Lucy said its already gone.
Did you call the council?
I tried, but they said once its on the landfill, you cant retrieve anything.
Sophie sighs.
Nothing left then.
I just need to feel something of mums touch sometimes.
Sophie pulls her into a hug.
I get it. Youll always carry her with you. No thing can replace that.
They sit together until the night deepens. Sophie eventually heads to the kitchen.
Did you eat today? she asks.
I cant remember.
Lets get you something, then you can sleep. Tomorrow well figure out what to do.
Sophie tries to distract Emma with work talk, news, anything, but Emmas mind loops around Lucys betrayal and her fathers silence.
That night Emma barely sleeps, tossing on the cot Sophie set up on the sofa. The ginger cat snuggles against her, purring, but it offers little comfort.
In the morning Sophie leaves for work, telling Emma to rest and not think too much.
Later, Emmas phone rings several times. Its her dad. She lets it go to voicemail.
A text from Lucy arrives in the afternoon:
Emma, can we meet and talk? I didnt mean to hurt you. I just want to sort things out.
Emma stares at the screen, then types back:
Where?
Maybe the café near your flat, the one that used to be a bakery.
Okay, six p.m.
She puts the phone down, wondering what Lucy really wants.
At six, Emma sits at a small table by the window. Lucy is already there, nursing a coffee. She offers a tentative smile when Emma arrives.
Thanks for coming.
Emma sits, saying nothing. The waitress approaches, but Emma declines.
I wont stay long.
Lucy takes a sip, then puts the cup down.
Emma, I get that youre angry. But try to understand me. I married your dad, moved into his flat, and everything was filled with another womans stuffphotos, dresses, even the scent of her perfume. I felt like an intruder in my own home.
Thats not my home, Emma replies calmly. Youre just living in it.
Im his wife. By law its my home too.
So its about the flat?
No! Its about respect. I want you to respect me, for your dad to see me as his partner, not a replacement for Nora.
He married you. Isnt that enough?
It isnt when he still looks at Noras portrait, when her clothes hang in the wardrobe, when his daughter sees me as an enemy.
Emma sighs.
Ive never been your enemy. It just hurts to see dad forget mum so quickly. They were together thirtyfive years. He married you less than a year after she died.
He hasnt forgotten her, Lucy says quietly. He just doesnt want to be alone. He cant cope with solitude.
And I? Was I not enough?
Youre his daughter. Thats different.
Emma knows Lucy has a point, but accepting it feels unbearable.
Fine, suppose I agree. But why dump mums things? You could have asked.
I wanted to surprise your dad. He complained the flat was cramped, needed to clear out the old stuff. I just helped.Emma finally accepted that some memories could live on without the objects, and she chose to rebuild her life alongside both her father and Lucy, hoping the future would honor her mothers love without erasing it.
