“You can always go back to your village,” my husband said when I lost my job.
“Emily, why so quiet? Your soups getting cold,” William tapped his spoon against the edge of the bowl, frowning at me.
I lifted my head slowly, setting my phone aside. All day, Id been calling contacts, searching for any kind of work, but the answer was always the sameno openings, budget cuts, recession.
“Sorry, just thinking,” I picked up my spoon and tried the soup. Id made it from scratch that morning, just how Will liked itthick with leeks and barley. Now it tasted pointless.
“Whats on your mind?” He sipped the hot broth, glancing at me. “Still the job?”
“What else? Sarah says theyre downsizing in her department too. And Lucy from Accounts has been out of work for three months.”
“Oh, come off it!” He waved a hand. “Youll find something. Theres no rush.”
“Will, Im forty-three. Whos going to hire me at this age? They all want young graduates with computer skills. What do I have? A lifetime behind a shop till.”
“So what? Its honest work.” He finished his soup, reaching for bread. “Speaking of, this breads stale. When did you buy it?”
I stayed silent. Id bought it two days ago, cutting corners wherever I could since the grocery store let me go. Wills construction wages barely covered rent, and even those came late half the time.
“Why not visit your sister?” he suggested suddenly. “Stay with her a week, clear your head. Ill manage here.”
My younger sister, Sophie, lived in London, working as some big-shot manager. She only called on holidays.
“Why would I go? Shes got her own life, her own family. And we dont have train fare to spare.”
“Well manage. Listen” He stood, walking to the window. “Why not stay with your mum? In the village. At least theres homegrown potatoes, fresh milk. You wont starve.”
I froze mid-bite. My mother lived in Little Ashford, sixty miles away. Last time Id visited was three years ago for Uncle Geoffs funeral. The place was dyingonly pensioners left.
“Youre serious? Send me back to the village?” I stared at him. “What about you?”
“What about me? Ive got work. Cant just drop everything.”
“For now, you mean,” I muttered.
“Dont twist my words! Im not saying forever. A month or two, maybe something turns up here. Better than moping about.”
“Moping?” I stood, clearing the table. “Who cleans this house? Who cooks, does the laundry? Who waited in A&E for hours when your back went out?”
“Well, thats different,” he shrugged. “You know what I meant. I just” He scratched his neck. “If you want, go back to your village. Itll be quieter. No job stress.”
His words stung like a slap. *Back to your village.* As if this hadnt been my home for twenty years. As if I didnt belong.
“My village?” I repeated. “And this houseis it not mine? Have I been a guest here two decades?”
“Emily, dont” He faltered at my tone. “I didnt mean it like that.”
“You meant it exactly like that. Unemployed wife in the way. Easier to shove her off somewhere.”
“Dont be daft!” He flopped onto the sofa, flicking the telly on. “Im knackered, and youre picking fights.”
I washed up in silence, drying my hands roughly. His voice played on a loop in my head*back to your village*casual, almost relieved.
That night, he dozed off to some football match while I lay awake. Remembering how wed metme at twenty-three, fresh in the city, renting a bedsit, working at a corner shop. Will was a stock boy then, handsome, persistent. Six months of flowers, cinema dates. After the wedding, we got a flat, then a mortgage. I moved to a supermarket, became supervisor, then department manager.
And now? Hed packed me off like unwanted clutter.
“Mum? Its midnight,” my daughter Hannah mumbled through the phone.
“Sorry, love. Didnt check the time. How are things?”
“Fine. Whats wrong? You sound odd.”
Hannah lived in Manchester, worked at a bank, newly married. We barely spoke weekly.
“Nothing. Just missed you. Hows James?”
“Hes good. Mum, seriouslyare you okay?”
I almost told herabout the job, Wills wordsbut stopped. Why burden her?
“Everythings fine. Sleep tight.”
Next morning, Will brought me tea in bed, kissed my cheek.
“Sorry if I upset you. Only wanted whats best.”
“I know,” I forced a smile.
“Listenasked the lads at work. Dave says his missuss office needs a bookkeeper. Might suit you?”
“Im not a bookkeeper.”
“You could learn. Take a course.”
“Courses cost money, Will. Lots of it.”
“Well sort it.” He brushed it off. “If youre keen.”
I was keen. But every job ad stung*”Sales assistant wanted, under 30.” “Must know Excel.” “No applicants over 40.”*
“Claire, hi,” I rang my old coworker from the shop. “Any news there?”
“Emily! Thought youd forgotten us. Found anything?”
“Not yet. Hows the store?”
“Bleak. Two more got the chop last weekTina and Brenda from dairy. Rumor says more coming.”
“And the manager?”
“Acting like its business as usual. But the new owners gutting the place.”
I hung up, watching kids play outside. Life went on. Mine had stalled.
“Ill visit Mum,” I told Will at dinner.
“How long?” He didnt look up.
“A week. Maybe more.”
“Fine. Ill fix the shed while youre gone.”
“The shed? Youve said that for months.”
“Well, now Ill have time. Be quicker without you nagging.”
*Without you nagging.* Another barb lodged in my chest.
I packed lightjeans, jumpers, a coat. Will saw me to the bus, pecked my cheek.
“Call when you arrive.”
“I will.”
“Say hi to your mum. Tell her Ill visit soon.”
I nodded, knowing he wouldnt. Will hated the village”nothing to do, too many midges.”
The bus to Little Ashford took three hours. Fields and hedgerows blurred past. The farther from the city, the lighter I felt. Maybe Will was right. Maybe I needed this.
“Emily!” Mum hugged me on the doorstep. “You shouldve called! Id have made steak pie.”
“Last-minute decision. Missed you.”
She studied me. Mum always knew.
“Wheres Will? Too busy?”
“Work. Hell come later.”
“Right.” She didnt press.
The house smelled of hay, fresh milk, hearth smokejust like childhood, only smaller.
“You know where everything is,” she said. “Ill wring a chickens neck for supper.”
“Mum, dont. Im not hungry.”
“Not hungry? Youre skin and bone. Doesnt Will feed you?”
“He does. Just… tired.”
She stroked my hair. “Talk when youre ready.”
For days, I restedslept late, helped in the garden, visited neighbors. Empty houses everywhere. The village was fading.
“Remember Betty Hawkins?” Mum asked over tea. “Your classmate.”
“Of course. How is she?”
“Gone to her son in Leeds. He put her in a home. Can you imagine?”
“Why?”
“Says hes too busy. Wife works, kids need ferrying. Betty got in the way.”
I shuddered.
“And her cottage?”
“Sold. Son needed cashsome loan.”
“Betty agreed?”
“What choice? Shes seventy-six. Couldnt manage alone.”
That evening, I met Mrs. Wilkins, my old primary teacher, shuffling to her gate.
“Emily! How youve grown! Still picture you reciting *The Owl and the Pussycat* at assembly.”
“You havent changed.”
“Rubbish! Im eighty next year. Children are in Bristol. Visit once a yearif they remember.”
“Why not move to them?”
“And leave? My whole lifes here.”
Walking home, I thought of her, of Betty, of Mum. Once vibrant, now alone with memories.
“Mum, ever thought of moving to town?” I asked at supper.
“In winter, yes. But where? Your place? What if Will minds? Ive my ways…”
“Youre my mother. Youd always be welcome.”
“I know, love. But best not test it.”
“And if you fall ill?”
“Ill manage. Always have.”
Wills words echoed*back to your village*and I realized: I feared hearing that from Hannah one day.
On day four, Will called.
“Hows your mum?”
“Fine. Managing.”
“When are you back?”
“Not sure. Might stay longer.”
“What? What about the house? What about me?”
“Youll cope. You said youd work faster without me.”
“Em, I didnt mean”
“Then what *did* you mean?”
Silence.
“Fine, stay awhile. But not too long. I miss you.”
*Miss you,* I repeated after hanging up.
“Will?” Mum asked.
“Yeah.”
“Does he?”
I thought. Strangely, I didnt miss him. For once, I felt calmno dinners to rush, no complaints to endure.
“Honestly? Not yet.”
“Think carefully, love. Anger passes.”
“Mum, did you and Dad argue?”
“Course. But he never made me feel unwanted.”
That night, I sat with Mrs. Wilkins as she knitted.
“You know what Ive realized?” she said. “We taught our children to take, not give. Sacrificed everythingso they expect it.”
I pondered her words. Id given everythingto parents, husband, daughter. And when Id served my purpose? *Back to your village.*
“Mum,” I said at breakfast, “what if I stayed?”
“How?”
“Live here. Help you.”
“And Will?”
“He said hed manage.”
She hesitated. “Do you *want* to stay? Or is it pride?”
“I dont know. But here… I feel needed.”
Two days later, Will arrived, hovering at the gate.
“Hi,” he said awkwardly. “Time to come home.”
“Whose home?”
“Emily, enough! The house is a mess.”
*Your* mess, I thought.
“Will,” I said quietly, “if *youd* lost your job, would I have sent you away?”
“Thats different.”
“Why?”
“Because Im the breadwinner!”
“And Im what? Your support system? Useful till Im not?”
He flushed. “I messed up. Lets go back.”
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“I need to think. About us. About who I am without you.”
He left next morning, baffled. The old Emily wouldve caved.
“Love,” Mum said as the bus disappeared, “he mightve learned.”
“Maybe. But *I* need to learn. If I can stand aloneor if Ive forgotten how.”
“Will you look for work here?”
“The school needs a cleaner. Pays peanuts, but its something. And your garden needs hands in spring.”
She hugged me. For the first time in years, I was home.
