Its no longer my place to be a mother to you, I said, my eyes glued to the carpet.
Look, well have to sell the flat and the car, Simon muttered, not daring to meet my gaze. These people wont leave us alone. It isnt just me thats at risk you and Mary are in danger too.
What about going to the police? I asked.
The police? I owe them, you know. The interest is stacking up so fast I could choke on it. Youll be staying with my mother for a while, youll see.
And you?
Ive got to get out of here. I wont be able to settle any of the debts the business has already been ripped apart. Im heading north, where the contractors are paying decent wages. Maybe everything will settle down there.
I understood the situation was spiralling when grimlooking men with obvious criminal records started turning up at our door, demanding to speak with Simon outside. Hed come back from those talks looking hollow, sometimes angry, and began shouting at Mary for the slightest slipups. She was only four, after all, and certainly not a trained dog.
Simons business was a mystery. Yes, his firm sold computer hardware online, but I never knew where the laptops and monitors came from. Most likely they were counterfeit whole batches had to be pulled from the market every few weeks. To keep afloat he kept borrowing, and sometimes he managed to wriggle out of a jam. This time, however, he couldnt.
I had grown up in a village, and without a city flat I could have stayed with my parents. I didnt want to quit my job, though I was the deputy headmistress at a prestigious private school where English is the main subject, and there was a real chance of becoming headmistress when Mrs. Susan Whitaker retires next year. Walking away would have been foolish.
Living under my motherinlaws roof was never going to be a holiday either. From the start our relationship was strained. I was the unwanted daughterinlaw because you can see the village on the other side of the road. When I finished university with top marks and landed a post at the English specialist school, she called me an exotic foreigner who should stick to making borscht. Yet Simon praised my borscht, saying it was the best hed ever tasted. The only problem was time the afterschool clubs ran almost till dusk, leaving little room for home cooking.
Mrs. Whitaker was delighted with her granddaughter, but with me she was scarcely polite:
Good wives never run off to the North.
Its not me hes running from, its his creditors. Hes drowning in debt.
And what have you been looking at? A good wife keeps the finances in order. This is a business for you, but in our house everything used to be called the household. Youve never managed to cook a decent dinner for your daughter.
When I have time, I cook.
Then why dont you have time? Whats this school that runs lessons until night? Ill come and have a look. I cant have you turning into a shrew instead of a proper wife.
She turned up at the school one evening to inspect. She left more complaints than compliments. Everything was written in foreign script, which she loathed, and the cats roaming the corridors drove her mad. Its unsanitary, she hissed. This is a school, not a zoo. Decent women wont work in such chaos. She kept eyeing the tall, lanky teacher, Mr. David Spencer, as if trying to strip him with a glance.
David was an English teacher who, I suspect, liked me, but he never crossed the line he knew I was married.
The cats, you see, were part of a British educational method: proximity to animals is said to make children kinder. So the school kept a few British Shorthair cats that were allowed to wander onto desks during lessons. They were mostly wellbehaved, though occasionally mischievous.
Simon sent occasional emails about where he was and what he was doing, but he stopped altogether after a while. I grew uneasy perhaps the creditors had tracked him down. My motherinlaw, however, remained optimistic:
If theyd found him, theyd have stopped coming around here.
Then why did he go silent?
You dont understand. Hes a solid lad; he wont stay single forever.
A year later, just before the end of the school term, Simon wrote that he had met another woman and was now living with her. He didnt consider it an affair because we were never legally married. He said nothing about Mary, as if she didnt exist. Mrs. Whitaker seized on this:
It seems he knows Mary isnt his.
How can that be? She was born while we were together.
Born by me, not by him is that possible?
Stop this nonsense, mother!
Im no longer your mother. I might be a grandmother to Mary, but from today on, call me Elizabeth Marlowe, or nothing at all.
It was clear we had to leave the flat that had belonged to my motherinlaw. I could barely picture the future. Renting a place was expensive, and I still had to raise Mary. I could push through, but why stay in a city where, apart from my daughter, nobody else remained? My own parents, hearing about my woes, were urging me to return to the village. Theres always a teaching post in the countryside schools are always shortstaffed.
Headmistress Whitaker put my resignation on hold:
Girl, dont get carried away. I intend to keep the school running, and the boards fine with it.
But where will Mary and I live?
Ill talk to the board. They might fund a bit of rent or give us a loan. In the meantime, move into my cottage. The terms ending, Mays here, and you wont need to heat it much. My husband and I only go there on weekends. In the summer, you can take a holiday and then head to your parents.
The lanky David offered to drive us with his van. All we had left were a few clothes and a modest set of dishes. On the way, he asked:
Where will you stay in winter?
Mrs. Whitaker promised to find something to rent.
And why bother? I have a spare onebedroom flat. I stay with my mum most of the time shes ill and cooks for me. You cant survive on frozen dumplings and instant noodles forever.
Itll work out. Ill go back to the village in summer, maybe stay there for good.
What about our school? Youre being set up as headmistress
I was always being pitched for marriage. Schools are everywhere.
At the cottage Mary thrived the fresh air flushed her cheeks pink, and she grew stronger. She became fast friends with Mrs. Whitaker and her husband, and we all felt like one big family.
The old life slipped farther away. It was a shame how things turned out, but perhaps it was for the best. Simon would have abandoned us anyway; he never wanted to go through the registry office.
David drove us back to the village with Mary in tow. We arrived at dusk, unloaded the few boxes, and David began to pack up, but my motherinlaw stopped him:
Stay a while, where will you go tonight? Ill fetch fresh milk and well have supper.
I followed her, sighing:
How could you think David was a suitable match for my daughter?
Isnt that obvious?
No, theres nothing between us, nor any plans.
Dont delude yourself. I see the way he looks at you. Mary could easily end up with him
From a distance I watched David and Mary laughing together. Who knows? Maybe something could happen.
The thought warmed my heart, calming it like a childhood memory.
