“Serves you right, Mum…”
“Mum, someone’s calling you again,” Matthews voice carried from behind Emma.
“Who is it?” Emma turned to face her son.
“Dunno,” he shrugged.
“Fetch me the phone, all right?”
“Right-o,” Matthew shouted, dashing off before returning moments later, shoving her mobile into her hands.
“Ta. Off you goplay. Dinners nearly ready.” As he scampered away, Emma glanced at the screen.
The same number. The hospital. Again. How had they even gotten her number? She clapped a lid over the frying pan, killed the gas, then powered off the phone and tucked it behind the curtain on the windowsill.
Setting the table, her mind churned over the calls. She wandered over to her husband. Oliver was hunched over his laptop. Emma crept up behind him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, resting her chin atop his head.
“Whatre you up to?”
“Oh, just scrolling. Dinner soon?”
“Ready now. Matthew, dinner!” Emma called, straightening up. “Make sure he washes his hands,” she added, but as she turned to leave, Oliver caught her wrist.
“Wait. Who was calling?”
“Dunno. Unknown number. Didnt answer. Thought you were starving?” She pulled free and retreated to the kitchen.
After dinner, she switched the phone back on. Too late nowno one would ring at this hour.
Sleep wouldnt come that night. Why had she answered the first time?
*”This is the hospital. Your mother is with us. Could you come in? There are matters to discuss”*
“Sorry, but I dont have a mother,” Emma had snapped before hanging up. Theyd rung again and again, but shed ignored them. *”Might as well go. They wont stop. Last thing I need is them turning up here. Better if shed just died”* Emma had buried her mother long ago.
Next afternoon, after her shift, she drove to the hospital. The ward managers office smelled of antiseptic. The moment she stepped in, the man in the white coat looked up from his paperwork.
“Finally. Name?”
“Emma.”
“Middle name?”
“Just Emma,” she said flatly.
“Why havent you visited your mother? Were discharging her, and you ignore our calls. Not very responsible.”
“I told youI dont have a mother,” Emma repeated, irritation flaring.
“And who, pray tell, is Margaret Anne Whitmore to you?”
The doctor studied her. It took every ounce of will not to snap *”Never heard of her.”* But he wouldnt drop it.
“Howd you get my number?” she countered.
“In her phone. Saved as Lovely Em.”
“And howd *she* get it?”
“Youd have to ask herif she could speak.” He spread his hands.
“She cant talk?”
“Cant speak, move, walk. Paralysed after a stroke. Didnt you know? How could you, Emma”
“Serves her right.” The words slipped out before she could stop them.
“Pardon?” The doctors eyes narrowed.
Emma met his gaze. “You heard me. She dumped meleft me at some relatives and vanished. The relative shoved me into care. Twenty years, no word. She was dead to me. Hows that for a bedtime story, Doctor?”
His expression softened. “Thats between you two. But we cant keep her here. If you refuse to take her?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then shell go to a care home. Youre her only family, so we needed”
“Ill sign whatever,” Emma cut in. She hadnt dared hope itd be this easy.
“Dont rush. Theres a catch. She needs round-the-clock care. State homes wont take her. Private ones will, but its costly.”
Emma repeated, “Im not taking her.”
“And if you didnt exist? Whod handle it then?”
“Social services. But well need your consentfinancial guarantees”
“Can I go?” She hovered by the door.
The doctor handed her a card. “Address and number. Shes in Ward Four.”
The corridor stretched endlessly. Part of her wanted to bolt; another part craved to see her mothers punishment firsthand.
Ward Four held three beds. Two women stared blankly; the third lay still, eyes shut. Emma stepped toward herthen spun on her heel and left.
Shed glimpsed her mother six months ago. The woman had aged decades. Pity flickered, but Emma stamped it out.
The drive home was a haze. *”Shes still my mother. But she abandoned me. Would she have cared if Id suffered? Why should I care now?”*
The doctors card led her to social services. Daily, before or after shifts, she filed paperwork. They warned of possible court proceedings. *”Just get it over with.”*
“Youve been off lately. Something eating at you?” Oliver asked one evening.
“Just knackered. Works mad.” She leaned into him. *”Thank God Ive got him. I cant lose him. Ill do thisfor us, not her.”*
***
Once, Emma had parents. Their faces had blurred, but she remembered the shouting. Mum was always late; Dad yelled. Little Em would pretend to sleep, waiting. Sometimes shed drift offonly to wake to screams.
Then one day, Mum didnt take her to nursery. Instead, she left Em with a scowling woman. *”Back soon,”* Mum promised. She never returned. The woman called the police. Mum vanished; Em went into care.
Years later, before leaving the home, Em begged the matron for the womans address.
*”Your mum got knocked up by some bloke, then trapped another into marrying her. He twigged you werent his, so they rowed. When she started stepping out, he kicked you both out.”*
The “fathers” details were in the file. Em never sought him. He was nothing to her.
After care, she trained as a hairdresser, scraped by in a dingy flat. Oliver walked into her salon one day. They married despite her protests: *”Your parentsll never accept a care-leaver.”*
Oliver lied: *”Her dad was an engineer, mum a doctorboth died in a crash.”* Almost true.
*”Lyings wrong. What if they find out?”*
“They wont.”
His parents welcomed her. For once, life was kind. A son, Matthew, arrived. Then her mother reappearedcalling out in the playground as Em collected Matthew.
*”Youve mistaken me. Dont come back, or Ill call the police.”*
She hadnt seen her since. Until now.
***
Emma couldnt forgive. Twenty years of silence. How could she? Now her mother lay helpless. The logical choice was to walk away. But OliverOliver wouldnt understand. *”Shes your mother,”* hed say. His parents were decent. Hed never grasp the truth.
She visited a church, confessing to the vicar. No lectures, just quiet understanding. *”Do what you can. Pray for herand yourself. Hatred will rot you from within.”*
Her mother went to a modest care home. Emma topped up the fees, telling Oliver she was covering extra shifts. *”Done. Shes safe. They wont let her out.”*
Leaving work one evening, she ducked into the church. Light streamed through stained glass. She didnt prayjust stood, begging forgiveness for them both.
Footsteps. A hand on her shoulder. She whirledOliver.
“Whatre you doing here?”
“I followed you. Knew you were hiding something.”
Outside, she told him everything.
“I cant forgive her. But Im paying for her care. Thats why Ive been working so much.”
“Why hide it?”
“I thought youd guilt me into taking her in. I couldnt bear that. Not after what she did. I was scared youd leave.”
“Plonker.” He pulled her close. “Thought you were having an affair. All the calls, the sneaking about”
“Idiot. I love *you*.”
“Will your mum recover?”
“Doubt it. Dont call her that.”
“Forgive yourself, Em. Youve done more than most would. Just dont shut me out again, yeah?”
