COUNTER MOVE
“Lucy, who’s that woman?” John whispered, ensuring nobody else in the train compartment could hear.
“What woman?” Lucy looked up from her phone, where she was typing a message to a friend.
“The one over there… By the last window. She keeps staring at us. I’d say it’s downright shameless.”
Lucy rose slightly to see the woman her husband mentioned. Her expression shifted instantly, but she quickly masked it with indifference and shrugged nonchalantly. “No idea.”
“Don’t lie,” John exclaimed, “I saw the look on your face when you saw her. Who is she?”
“She’s my mother,” Lucy confessed after a pause, deciding it was better to tell the truth, just in case.
“Your mother?” John was astonished. “You always told me you didn’t have one.”
“That’s still true…”
“I’m confused,” John studied his wife’s face intently. “Care to explain?”
“Let’s talk about it at home…”
“You’re not even going to say hello? Does she live here, in our city?”
“Please, John, let’s discuss this later at home,” Lucy’s voice was pleading, tears welling up in her eyes.
“Alright,” John muttered, turning towards the window, sulking.
Lucy didn’t attempt to console him; she was relieved, grateful for a temporary reprieve. Though peace was elusive as childhood memories flooded her mind…
***
Lucy didn’t remember her father, only knew from her mother’s words that he was a “terrible” person.
Yet, her mother always said Lucy was incredibly lucky to have such a wonderful stepfather. Lucy remembered him well since she was about eight, though she failed to see what was so remarkable about him: rude, cruel, tight-fisted. “Why does mum love him so much?” young Lucy often wondered, hiding in a corner to avoid her stepfather. He never hit her or openly humiliated her, but he never regarded her as a person either. He never called her by name and looked at her like she was invisible.
Whenever he spoke to his wife about Lucy, it went something like this:
“The girl doesn’t know how to behave…”
“Your daughter disrupts my peace…”
“Explain to her that it’s too early to be meeting boys.”
“Have you seen her report card? Look at it! I’m ashamed she lives in my house!”
“In his house! Yet, isn’t it our flat, mine and Mum’s?” Lucy would think as a teenager, remembering clearly how they moved there after her grandmother passed away.
Once when her stepfather repeated this for the umpteenth time, Lucy couldn’t hold back and snapped at him:
“This isn’t your house but ours! If you don’t like it, leave! No one will miss you!”
Her stepfather charged towards her, appearing as though he’d cover her mouth, but stopped himself last moment. He turned sharply to her mother, forcing a command through gritted teeth:
“Make sure I never see her again!”
Her mother grabbed her by the hand, dragging her out of the room with the words: “Of course, dear, everything will be as you want…”
She always looked at him as if he were a deity, obeying without question, serving him, speaking in an exaggeratedly sweet voice, always eager to please.
Why? Lucy couldn’t understand.
She knew with certainty: if her stepfather wished, her mother would easily cast her out.
“What do you think you’re doing?” her mother hissed at Lucy that day. “Don’t you dare speak that way with your father!”
“He’s not my father!” Lucy yelled, “and never will be!”
“That doesn’t matter! He feeds you, clothes you, and what do you do… Just ungrateful!”
“I didn’t ask to be born!” Lucy cried through her tears. “I didn’t ask to be raised! You should’ve given me to someone instead of suffering through it!”
“You should’ve been!” her mother shot back. “No one wanted you! Your father ran away the moment you were born! You’ve ruined my life!”
Hearing those words from her mother, Lucy felt a surge of hatred, pushing her mother aside with all her might and fleeing the flat.
No one chased after her. No one cared where she was or what happened to her during the week she stayed away.
At the age of fifteen, what could she have done? Nothing.
Friend after friend took her in for a few days, but that couldn’t solve her problems. She had to return.
With shaky hands, Lucy opened the front door.
“You’re back?” her mother asked, “Go to your room and don’t come out until I call you.”
“She must have persuaded him,” Lucy thought, quickly slipping back into her room.
From that day, her stepfather stopped mentioning Lucy. He acted as though she didn’t exist.
Her mother, of course, supported him in this: not inviting Lucy to meals, not caring about her affairs, not attempting to talk.
Lucy understood clearly: they’ve made up their minds about her. They were probably waiting for her to finish school…
And they were right. As soon as Lucy received her diploma, her mother hinted that it was high time she prepared to live on her own.
“When you turn eighteen, you’ll have to find your own way,” she declared, falling silent once more.
Lucy pondered for a while and decided to apply to university. First, this would allow the family some space, and second, it offered accommodation for out-of-town students. This meant she’d have a place to stay for at least five years…
Lucy didn’t get into university. Or rather, she was accepted, but only with a need to pay the fees. She knew no one would pay for her education, but she informed them anyway:
“Mum, congratulate me, I’m a university student.”
Her mother looked at her indifferently: “And?”
“Well, there’s the matter of tuition fees… Not much…”
“Don’t even think about it. You won’t get a penny for your nonsense! Haven’t we invested enough in you? And what have we got in return? Just stress! Now, we also have to pay for your schooling?”
“Sorry. Of course, you shouldn’t,” replied Lucy. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
“Exactly: shouldn’t have. You should be finding a flat for yourself.”
“Mum, but I can’t afford to pay for one…”
“Get a job then, instead of thinking about studying. I’m giving you one more month… Then you’re on your own.”
“One month isn’t enough,” Lucy attempted to stir some sympathy. “Could I stay with you for at least another six months?”
“How long? Six months? No way. I barely convinced your father to tolerate your presence. Besides, we’re planning a renovation. We want to make your room into a bedroom. In short: a month, no more…”
So Lucy rented a flat. Calling it a flat was generous. A small annex in a suburban house. No conveniences. A wood stove. But it was cheap…
When she left her childhood home, her mother handed her a fork, spoon, plate, mug, dinner knife, and a small saucepan. Then, after a pause, added: a towel and an old set of bedding.
“Take these,” she said, avoiding eye contact and giving Lucy a small bag. “Good luck, my dear. I hope you grow up and understand me.”
“Thank you, Mum,” replied Lucy. “Can I pick up my winter clothes later?”
“Just don’t take too long, or you might not find them…”
“Would you really throw them away?”
“Not me, but your father might not like it. You understand…”
“I understand,” Lucy embraced her mother. “Well, I’m off…”
At eighteen, with her mother’s blessing, Lucy stepped into independence.
The money her mother gave lasted until her first paycheck. Lucy scrimped every penny. She didn’t even use public transport, walking to the factory instead.
When she received her first paycheck, she felt like a millionaire! She bought staples in bulk: grains, pasta, a bottle of cooking oil, and a bucket of potatoes.
She needed shampoo, soap, toothpaste…
Once she bought the necessities, Lucy calculated her remaining money, setting aside a small amount in a pretty envelope, deciding to slowly save up for a place of her own.
About a month later, Lucy decided to visit her mother, naively believing her mother would be happy to see her. Plus, she needed to collect her warm clothes: summer had ended, and it was getting chilly.
A guy opened the door.
“Hey, mistaken the door?” he greeted cheerfully.
“Actually, I’m here for my mum,” Lucy said, flustered.
“Oh… You must be Lucy? Come in. Mum’s not home, but you can wait for her.”
“I’ll wait then,” she said resolutely and headed to the kitchen.
The guy tried engaging Lucy, but her look deterred him, and he quickly retreated.
When her mother returned, she wasn’t particularly glad to see Lucy. To Lucy’s inquiry about the young man, her mother replied:
“He’s Alex. My husband’s son from his first marriage.”
“Why is he living with you? I thought you’d planned renovations.”
“He’s here temporarily. Settling in the city, getting a job, then moving out.”
“I see,” Lucy shrugged. “I’ve taken my shoes and jacket…”
“Take everything. It’s a pain shuffling your stuff around.”
“When did it become a pain, Mum? I haven’t been here for just two months.”
“Mind your tone,” her mother snapped. “Take everything while you’re here.”
“Aren’t you even curious how I am?”
“It doesn’t interest me,” her mother clearly was uneasy talking in front of Alex.
“Well, you haven’t surprised me,” Lucy said and headed towards the door…
“Need a hand?” Alex offered suddenly. “That bag looks hefty.”
“I’ll manage,” Lucy replied, leaving the flat…
A few months later, she returned, now for her winter coat, and again Alex opened the door. This time her mother was home. Lucy asked:
“Is he still here?” prompting her mother to exclaim:
“It’s none of your business! He’ll stay as long as he wants! Besides, he’s visiting his father!”
“I used to live here with you,” Lucy remarked, “but it didn’t seem to save me.”
“Don’t make comparisons! This is different!”
“What’s different?” Lucy asked firmly. “How?”
“I don’t have to justify myself to you!” her mother shouted. “This is my home, and I decide who stays!”
“I see.”
“What do you see?!”
“That a stranger means more to you than your daughter,” Lucy replied steadily, driving her mother into further rage.
“I have no daughter!” she declared. “And Alex is my beloved’s son! He means more than a son to me!”
“Congratulations,” Lucy retorted as if her mother were a stranger, “then, I guess I no longer have a mother.”
She left, sure it was for good.
For four years Lucy vanished, making no contact.
And then, the unexpected encounter aboard the train…
***
Lost in memories, Lucy saw her mother rising from her seat and approaching.
John stood, offering her a spot.
“Hello,” Lucy heard the painfully familiar voice she had tried so hard to forget.
“Hi,” she mumbled in return.
“Who’s this?” her mother nodded towards John.
“My husband.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“We’re doing well too. Dad still works, and Alex’s found a lovely, calm girl. They’re getting married next month. You know, I’m going to be a grandmother soon. It’s such a joy! We’re thinking of giving the nursery your old room. Renovations have started. We bought top-of-the-line wallpaper, with a children’s theme. Also, we’re planning on buying a cottage, somewhere nearby. Fresh air and vitamins are crucial for the baby. We’re looking for an affordable place, but it should be livable and near a river or perhaps a lake…”
Lucy listened, unable to fathom why this essentially unfamiliar woman was telling her all this.
“And when did you get married?”
“Two years ago,” Lucy replied automatically.
“Thinking about children?”
“Our son is almost a year old.”
“So, I have a grandson?”
“You?” Lucy finally turned to her mother.
“Me,” her mother faltered briefly, “you are my daughter, after all.”
“You’re mistaken, ma’am. My mother died four years ago…”
Her mother paled, silently standing and heading for the exit.
Lucy turned to the window, feeling no pity for… this woman.
John had silently observed them throughout, listening intently.
And then it struck him: they were complete strangers!
He decided never to ask Lucy about her past. Somehow, he dreaded unraveling the mystery…
