**Diary Entry 27th October**
“Mum, Ill be there,” I muttered, barely glancing up from the newspaper. The article on pension increases wasnt sinking inthe words blurred as my mind kept circling back to last nights conversation with Emily.
Mum walked in, carrying a tray with two cups of tea and a plate of digestives. I didnt even look up. She set the tea on the side table by my armchair and sat across from me, studying my face.
“Youre miles away today.”
“Just work,” I grunted, finally folding the paper. “Thanks for the tea.”
Mum sipped hers quietly, eyes never leaving me. Sixty-four, but she carried herself straight as a rod, her sharp gaze betraying a woman whod always rooted out the truth.
“William Henry,” she said firmly, using my full name like she did when I was in trouble as a boy, “stop dodging. I saw you talking to that whats her name Emily by the door yesterday.”
I choked on my tea. Mum always had a knack for ambushing me.
“Mum, whats Emily got to do with anything?”
“Dont take me for a fool. Raised you forty yearsthink I dont know when somethings eating at you?” She set her cup down with a clatter. “Out with it. Whats on your mind?”
I stood and walked to the window. Late autumnbare trees, grey skies. The emptiness outside mirrored the hollowness in my chest.
“I want to marry her,” I said, back still turned.
The silence stretched so long I finally glanced over. Mum sat stiffly, hands folded in her lap, wearing the same expression shed had before every serious talk in my childhood.
“Son, dont marry a girl with nothing,” she said, eyes locked on mine. “Im begging you.”
The words stung more than Id expected. Not because they were surprisingI knew Mum disliked Emilybut hearing it aloud was like a punch.
“Mum, since when do you care about money? I love her.”
“Love, love,” she shook her head. “How will you live? You earn pennies at that museum; she scrapes by at the library. What about children?”
“Well manage. People survive worse.”
Mum shot up, marched to the cabinet, and pulled out an old photo album. Flipped to a page, stabbed a finger at a picture.
“Look. Your father and me, young, in love. Know what came next?”
I knew the story, but she was hellbent on retelling it.
“Lived in a bedsit on his wagesI couldnt work with you and your sister so young. Money ran out by the 20th. Borrowed from neighbours, ate potatoes and carrots for days. Remember your dad snapping at us?”
“I remember,” I said quietly. “But times are different now.”
“Times change; people dont.” She snapped the album shut. “Poverty eats love like rust. First its petty rowshe wants steak, but its pasta. Then bigger onesnew shoes, new dress. Soon you cant stand the sight of each other.”
“Emilys not like that. She doesnt ask for much.”
“Not yet. What happens when she sees her friends lives? When your kids need school uniforms?”
I slumped back into my chair, gripping the cold tea. Mums words cut deep because they were true. Id lain awake worrying about the same things.
“So what? You want me alone forever?”
“Find a proper girl. Educated, steady job. Remember Lucy from down the road? Works in finance nowbright, pretty thing.”
“Mum, Im not hiring an employee. Im getting married.”
“Dont be daft,” she snapped. “Youre thirty-fivenot some lovesick Romeo.”
I winced. Mum always knew where to dig.
“So happiness is just money now?”
“Not moneybut you cant have it without.” She gathered the cups. “Fine, Ill drop it. Youre a grown man. But remember this when life gets hard.”
Alone, her words gnawed at me. I reached for my phone to call Emilythen stopped. What would I say? That Mum was right?
Emily called that evening.
“Hi. Youve been off. Everything alright?”
“Just tired,” I lied.
“Saw the loveliest dress today,” she sighed. “That boutique near Hyde Park. Blue, perfect for the office party. Bit pricey, though…”
My chest tightened. Coincidence? Or was Mum rightwas this the first hint of trouble?
“How much?” I asked, forcing calm.
“Four hundred quid. I know its steep, but its just so”
Half my monthly wage. I swallowed hard.
“Well see,” I said vaguely.
“Youre upset,” she murmured. “I didnt mean”
“No, its fine. Just thinking.”
After, I stared at the wall. Emily hadnt demanded itjust shared a dream. But four hundred quid? A months groceries. Or wedding savings.
Wedding. Renta grand a month minimum. My museum salary: £1,800. Hers: £1,300. £3,100 total. Minus rent: £2,100. Food, bills, transport God forbid anyone fell ill.
Next morning, Mum served porridge like nothing had happened. But her eyes said it allshe was waiting for me to admit she was right.
“How did you and Dad meet?” I asked suddenly.
She raised a brow. “University. He was seriouswanted to be an engineer, make good money.”
“Did he?”
“At first. Then the recession hit” She stirred her tea. “I didnt marry him for money. But knowing he could provide mattered. Women need securityespecially with children.”
“What if hed been broke from the start?”
“Honestly? Mightve walked away. At twenty, loves enough. At forty? You know better.”
Work was a blur. My colleague Sarah noticed.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
“Just stuff,” I shrugged.
“Girl trouble? Emily?”
“Yeah,” I said, though Mums words had planted doubt.
“Library wages wont cut it. Ever thought of private galleries? Better pay.”
“Need languages, client experience…”
“Right,” she said, walking off.
Even colleagues knewtwo paltry salaries wouldnt work.
That evening, Emily met me, chatting about new library books. I barely listened, studying her. Prettydark hair, grey eyesbut her jumper was frayed, jeans years old.
“I did some sums,” she said suddenly. “If we married, we could afford a one-bed in zone 3. Tight, but wed manage.”
She smiled so earnestly, guilt twisted in me. Emily wasnt after luxuriesjust me.
“What about kids?” I asked.
“Like everyone does. My mum raised us on a nurses wage. We turned out fine.”
I thought of her childhoodhand-me-downs, no holidays. Did I want that for my kids?
“Dont you want more? A house? Holidays?”
“Of course,” she said softly. “But if not as long as were together.”
Walking her home, I stayed silent. At her door, she turned.
“Youre hiding something. What?”
“Mum doesnt approve.”
“Ah.” Her voice cracked. “Because Im not good enough?”
“Its not”
“Because Im poor?”
I couldnt lie.
“Lets take a break,” she whispered. “Maybe shes right.”
She left without looking back.
Mum took one look at me and knew.
“Fell out?” she asked, pouring tea.
“She said we need time.”
“Smart girl.” Mum nodded. “She sees sense.”
“Could you at least try to like her?”
Mum sighed. “Its not her, love. But happiness without money? Thats for books. Not real life.”
Days passed. No calls.
Saturday, Emily rang.
“Lets talk,” she said.
We met in the park. Calm, distant, she cut to the chase.
“We should end this.”
My stomach dropped.
“Why?”
“Your mums right. Well struggle. And you know itthats why you hesitated.”
“But I love you.”
“And I love you,” she said softly. “But loves not enough. Youll resent me. Ill feel like a burden.”
I didnt argue.
“Find someone better,” she whispered, kissing my cheek. “Ill be fine.”
At home, Mum saw my face.
“Over?”
“Yeah.”
“Regrets?”
“Dont know yet,” I admitted.
She squeezed my shoulder. “Itll pass. Youll find real lovewithout counting pennies.”
I nodded
