Emily Clarke watches the new wife of her father cart away all of her mothers things while shes at work.
Emily, are you even listening to me? I asked when youll hand in the report!
Sorry, Rachel. By Friday everything will be ready.
Friday? Its already Thursday, Rachel says, shaking her head in disapproval. Youve barely been in the office lately. Is it because of that Laura again?
Emily 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, she says.
Dont shut yourself off, Rachel leans her chair closer. You need to have a serious chat with your dad. Hes lost his head. He married herLaurajust six months after your mothers funeral!
Eight months, Emily corrects automatically. Dads an adult, he knows what hes doing.
Thats the pointhe doesnt. Men his age are especially vulnerable. And Lauras young; she probably has her eye on your flat.
Emily wants to argue, but she knows Rachel is right. Laura is eighteen years younger than her father. They met at the city health centre where she works as a nurse; back then her dad still drove his wife to appointments.
I have to go, Emily gathers her papers into her bag. We agreed I could leave early today.
Just promise youll call if anything comes up, any time, Rachel says.
Emily nods and steps out of the office. A light Manchester drizzle drips down. She pulls up her coat collar and hurries to the bus stop. The ride home takes about twenty minutes, then a fiveminute walk. She still lives in the twobedroom flat on the third floor of a ninestorey council block that she shares with her parents. After her mothers death she thought about moving out, maybe renting a place of her own, but her wages are modest and the housing market in Manchester is so steep she couldnt even cover a months rent.
Her father persuaded her to stay.
Emily, dont leave me alone, he had said. Im lost without your mother. I need you here.
So she stayed, cooking, cleaning, washing, trying to fill the hole her mother left. Then Laura appeared.
At first her dad only mentioned a nice nurse in passing. Then he started taking longer walks, and six months later he announced he was getting married.
Sweetheart, I cant do this by myself. I need a woman by my side. Your mum would understand.
Emily doesnt argue. She just slips out of the room, locks herself in, and cries into her pillow until dawn.
The wedding is a quiet affairno one even invites Emily. She learns about it after the fact when her dad brings Laura home, passport stamp in hand.
Meet my wife, he says.
Laura is tall, bleached blond with bright lipstick and long nails. She looks about thirtyfive, though her father insists shes fortytwo.
Hello, Emily, she extends a hand. Hope well get along.
Emily shakes the cold fingers and walks into the kitchen, where on a shelf sits her mothers favourite rosepatterned mug. She picks it up, fills it with water, her hands trembling.
At first Laura behaves carefully, smiling, asking about work, offering help. Emily keeps her replies short, unable to forgive her fathers haste. Her mother died only months ago and he already has another woman.
Gradually Laura settles in. She rearranges the bedroom furniture, changes the curtains in the living room, buys a new set of dishes and shoves her mothers things into a cupboard.
Your mum had good taste, Laura says, but its all old now. Time for a fresh look.
Emily says nothing. The flat legally belongs to her father; she is merely a tenant.
A month later Laura starts dropping hints.
Emily, youre thirtythree now, its time you think about your own life. Living with your parents forever you know what I mean.
This is my home, Emily retorts.
Its your dads home, Laura corrects softly. And now its mine too.
Her father never intervenes; he seems deaf and blind, wandering the flat with a blissful smile, constantly hugging Laura around the waist and calling her sweet nicknames. Emily no longer recognises the man who once lived a calm, steady life with her mother for thirty years.
After getting off the bus, Emily quickens her pace, eager to strip off her wet shoes and brew a hot tea. She hopes her father isnt there; he promised to visit a friend. If hes not, she can sit in the kitchen and remember her mother.
She thinks of her mother every dayhow she baked cabbage pies, read aloud in the evenings, stroked Emilys hair and promised everything would be alright. Even when illness took its toll and doctors gave up hope, her mother kept smiling.
Dont be sad, love. Im always with you, her mother used to say.
Emily grabs her keys, opens the flats door. Its quiet. She removes the soaked shoes, hangs up her coat and heads to her bedroom.
She stops at the threshold. The room looks different. She cant pinpoint exactly what changed, but the sense of emptiness hits her like a punch to the stomach.
She looks around. The bed, the wardrobe, the desk by the window are all still there. But where is her mothers little jewellery box that always sat on the nightstand? Where is the embroidered napkin she made before Emily was born? Where are the framed photographs?
She rushes to the wardrobe, flings the doors open. On the top shelf used to be her mothers blue shawl, the one her father gave her on their anniversary. Its gone.
No, no, no she whispers.
Her hands shake as she rummages through the remaining items. The cardigan, the books she carefully kept, the photo album at the bottomnone of them are there. Everything has vanished.
She dashes into the hallway, bursts into her parents bedroom. Everything there is stripped away tooher mothers perfume bottle, her comb, even the cosmetics bag she never threw away.
Whats happening? she mutters.
The flats front door opens and voices drift in.
What a relief, finally getting rid of that clutter, Laura says. I dont understand why we should keep the deads stuff. Its an unhealthy attachment.
Youre right, dear, her father replies. We need to move on.
Emily steps into the hallway. Her father and Laura stand by the coat rack, removing their jackets. When Laura sees her, she smiles.
Ah, Emily, youre home. We were just tidying up while you were out.
Where are Mums things? Emilys voice comes out hoarse.
Which things, love?
Everything! The box, the photos, the books, the clothes! Where is it all?!
Laura sighs as if the matter is trivial.
I took them to the church, threw away some bits. Emily, your mum passed more than a year ago. Its time to let go.
What did you what did you do?! Emily feels the floor drop out from under her. Her father stands silent beside Laura, looking away.
Dad, did you hear what she said? Shes thrown Mums things away!
Emily, dont shout, her father finally says. Lauras right. You cant live in the past. Its an unhealthy attachment.
Unhealthy attachment? Emily cant believe what she hears. Those were memories of my mother! The last thing that connects me to her!
You still have the memories, Laura says gently. Isnt that enough?
No, Emily replies firmly. It isnt enough.
She demands they bring everything back.
The containers already gone, Laura says.
The container?
The rubbish bin, Laura shrugs. It was full of old junktattered dresses, yellowed papers. I kept a few photos, theyre still in the wardrobe.
Emily steps closer; Laura instinctively steps back.
You had no right, Emily says quietly.
Im the lady of the house now. I have every right to decide what stays and what goes.
Youre not the lady! Youre a stranger! Emilys voice cracks.
Emily! her father raises his voice for the first time. Apologise at once. Laura is my wife, you must respect her.
Respect her? The woman who threw away everything that reminded me of Mum?
Your mother is dead, her father says harshly. Shes gone, understand? You need to accept that.
How can you say that? You lived together for thirtyfive years! She gave birth to you! And now you
Enough, her father snaps, waving his hand. Im tired of this. Tired of your constant hints, your silence, the way you stare at Laura. I have a right to be happy.
At the cost of Mums memory?
Memory isnt the issue. I love Laura. I want to live with her. If you cant accept that
He doesnt finish the sentence, but Emily gets the picture.
Fine, she says. Ill move out.
Emily, wait, Laura interjects. No ones kicking you out. Lets set some ground rules. This is our homeyour fathers and mine. You can stay if you respect our boundaries.
What boundaries? Emily asks, exhausted.
Dont enter our bedroom. Dont touch my things. Dont turn the flat into a museum of your mother.
Emily looks at her father, who avoids her gaze.
Alright, she says. Whatever you say.
She returns to her room and slams the door, sits on the bed and wraps her arms around her head. She wants to cry but the tears wont come; a cold, allconsuming emptiness fills her instead.
She thinks of the jewellery box she opened each night, the amber beads and brooch her mother loved, the scrapbook of trips to the countryside, birthdays, Sunday walks in the park. All of it has been tossed like rubbish.
She gets up, walks to the window. Outside, darkness has fallen. A few pedestrians hustle home, ducking under umbrellas. Somewhere in the citys landfill, her mothers keepsakes lie mixed with trash.
A knock sounds at the door.
Emily, may I come in? her fathers voice says.
She doesnt answer. The door cracks open and he steps inside.
Sweetheart, lets talk.
What about? Emily asks without turning.
Laura just wants the best for you. Shes only trying to make the house cosy.
By throwing everything that reminds me of Mum away?
Her father sighs.
Emily, I know its hard. It was hard for me too. But life goes on. I met Laura, and she gave me a chance to feel alive again. Is that a bad thing?
Did you forget Mum?
No, of course not. I remember Natalie, every day we spent together. She wont come back, but I cant spend the rest of my life in mourning.
Emily looks at her father, now sixtyfive but looking younger, perhaps because Laura has given him a new spark.
Dad, Im not against your happiness. I just cant understand why you had to destroy my mothers memory.
Laura didnt destroy it. She just cleared away the things that were holding us back.
It was *her* that was holding us back, Emily retorts.
She pulls her phone and calls Rachel.
Hey, can I crash at yours?
Whats happened? Rachel asks, instantly alarmed.
Ill explain when I get there. Is that okay?
Of course, come over.
Emily packs a bag, tucks three photographsher mother at her wedding, with a baby Emily on her lap, and at the cottage smiling in a straw hatplus a spare outfit and her cosmetics. She heads out.
The rain has turned into a downpour as she walks the fifteen minutes to Rachels flat in Salford. Rachel opens the door, surprised by Emilys drenched state.
Good God, youre soaked! Get out of that coat, Ill fetch a towel.
Inside, the flat is warm, smelling of fresh pastries. A plump ginger cat curls on the sofa.
Dry off, Rachel hands her a towel. Tell me whats going on.
Emily recounts everything. Rachels face hardens.
Shes gone mad? she exclaims. How could she dump someones belongings?
She thinks shes the lady of the house.
Hows your dad?
Hes backing her. He says I should let go.
Rachel curses under her breath.
Maybe we can call the housing office? Whats the managing company?
Junction Property, I think.
Rachel dials, is shuffled between operators, finally gets a clerk.
Good afternoon, have the bins on Oak Street, number 32, been emptied today? the clerk asks.
Yes, they have. Where do they take the waste?
To the landfill, sir. Its hopeless to retrieve anything specific now.
Rachel hangs up, looks at Emily.
Its gone, then, she says, hugging her friend. But you still have the memories. No thing can take that away.
Emily nods, tears finally spilling. I just wish I could touch something that still smells of Mum.
Rachel squeezes her tighter. I get it. Im here for you, whatever you need.
They sit together until the street outside grows black. Later, Rachel prepares a simple dinner.
Did you eat today? she asks.
Cant remember, Emily admits.
Rachel serves her a plate, promising theyll figure out the next steps in the morning.
That night Emily lies on a foam mattress Rachel set up in the living room. The ginger cat curls up beside her, purring. She stares at the ceiling, phone buzzing with a message from Laura.
Emily, can we meet and talk? I didnt mean to hurt you. I just want to sort things out.
Emily reads it, then replies, Where?
Maybe the café near your flat, where the old bakery used to be.
Okay, sixpm.
She puts the phone down and wonders why Laura wants a meeting. Is it another attempt to push her out?
At six, Emily arrives at the café. Laura is already at a table by the window, fiddling with a coffee cup. She gives a tentative smile when Emily sits down.
Thanks for coming.
Emily does not answer, just pushes the menu away. The waitress approaches, but Emily declines.
I wont stay long, Laura says, taking a sip.
Emily sighs.
I understand youre angry, Laura continues. I married your dad, moved into his flat, and everywhere I saw his late wifes thingsphotos, dresses, even her perfumeI felt like an intruder.
This isnt your flat, Emily says calmly. Youre just living in it.
Im his wife. Legally its mine too.
So its about the flat?
No! Its about respect. I want you to see me as a partner, not as a replacement for Natalie.
Didnt he marry you because he still looks at his late wifes portrait? Laura asks.
Yes, because the wardrobe is full of her dresses.
Laura narrows her eyes. Its not about the flat. Its about being respected. I want my dad to see me as his wife, not as a standin for a dead woman.
Emily leans back.
Ive never been your enemy, she says. It just hurts to watch my father forget Mum so quickly. They were together for thirtyfive years. He remarried less than a year after she died.
He hasnt forgotten, Laura whispers. He just doesnt want to be alone. He needs someone.
And I was there too, Emily replies. I was his daughter.
Emily knows Lauras point, but accepting it feels unbearable.
Fine, she says. What do you want from me?
An apology, Laura says. Im sorry for what happened. I cant bring back the things, but I can promise not to do it again.
Emily stands. Im leaving.
Laura reaches for her hand. Will you go back?
I dont know, EmilyEmily took a steady breath, stepped out of the café, and resolved to rebuild her own life, carrying her mothers memory in her heart rather than in any discarded trinket.
