The Nasty Old Woman
Emily stepped out of the cab and waited for little Alice to scramble out after her.
“Cheers,” Emily thanked the driver, took her daughter’s hand, and they slowly made their way toward the building. By the low front steps, two elderly ladies sat on a bench.
“Afternoon,” Emily greeted them.
“Afternoon,” one of the women replied. “Who’s lucky enough to be getting a visit from such lovely ladies?”
Emily just smiled. She unlocked the keypad and walked inside with Alice. The moment the door shut behind them, one of the women said loudly, “Saw two young lads carrying boxes and bags in here half an hour ago.”
“New tenants moving into the flat above yours—the one the Clarks are renting out. Brace yourself, Margaret, sleepless nights ahead,” the other woman quipped.
“Try me. If they dare make a peep, I’ll have social services on their doorstep before they know it…”
Emily tuned them out. The lift was waiting on the ground floor, so she and Alice rode up to the fifth.
The flat door was slightly ajar. Inside, two men sat in the kitchen, drinking tea.
“Oh, Emily’s here! We made ourselves at home—hope you don’t mind,” one said with a grin.
She reached into her bag for her wallet.
“Come on, Emily, don’t be like that. Just helping out a mate. Maybe you shouldn’t have left James? You could patch things up. No job—how will you and the little one manage?” He winked at Alice, who giggled.
“We’ll manage. I’m filing for divorce, there’ll be child support. I’m not going back to James. You can tell him that.”
“Alright. But if you need anything, give me a shout. Right, we’ll leave you to it,” Nigel said.
The men left. Emily looked at the boxes piled in the middle of the room and sighed.
“Want to help Mummy unpack?”
“No. I wanna play,” Alice said.
“Fine. Just don’t shout or make noise, or we’ll get kicked out,” Emily warned.
Alice nodded solemnly.
Emily opened the toy box, and Alice immediately pulled out a stuffed teddy bear while Emily started unpacking clothes into the wardrobe.
The flat was small, just one bedroom—but what more did they need? The furniture was decent, the place clean and freshly painted. They’d make do. If they saved and didn’t splurge, they’d be alright.
Later, Emily boiled pasta and sausages—her one luxury brought from home. She mopped the floor, tucked Alice into the pull-out sofa, and nearly collapsed from exhaustion herself. But Alice wouldn’t sleep without a story, so Emily read until her daughter finally drifted off.
She lay down, closed her eyes—and instantly heard James’s voice in her head: *”You’ll come crawling back to me, begging on your knees, and I might just take you back…”* Tears welled up, and sleep vanished.
Emily got up, went to the kitchen, and stood by the window in the dark, staring at the unfamiliar view outside, the deepening twilight…
***
She’d met James at a bus stop. He’d asked which bus went to Wordsworth Street, and she’d rattled off the numbers. Then he’d asked where *she* was headed—just as her bus pulled up. She’d boarded quickly.
“Sorry, I just didn’t know how to talk to you,” he’d called after her, smiling as he hopped on behind her. And she’d smiled back.
That was how it started. Her heart was free, and James—cheeky, charming—won it fast. She’d been sharing a flat with her uni mate, Sarah. Cheaper that way. James had his own place and convinced Emily to move in.
Her strict mother had drilled into her: *Family first, babies in wedlock.* So when Mum called, Emily lied and said she still lived with Sarah.
Two years passed. No proposal. No talk of kids. So when she found out she was pregnant, she didn’t know how to tell him.
“We should think about a bigger flat,” she’d said one day.
“Why?”
“Because there’ll be three of us soon.”
“You’re *pregnant*? And when were you planning to tell me?” he’d snapped.
“I just did. I wasn’t sure before.” She’d fought tears at his reaction.
“I thought you were on the pill.”
“So we could ‘live for ourselves’ and have kids *someday*? I’m keeping this baby, James. With or without you.”
“Right. Bit of a shock, that.”
They’d made up, agreed to save for a mortgage deposit. Then one evening, waiting on the balcony, she’d seen James step out of a car.
“Whose car is that?” she’d asked when he walked in.
“Ours. Mine. Nice, innit?” He’d beamed.
“Since when? With what money?”
“Bought it. Deposit can wait—now I can drive you and the baby. No more crowded buses.”
“That was *our* money! You didn’t even ask me!”
“You didn’t ask me before deciding to have a kid,” he’d shot back.
“*You* were there too!”
Their first real fight. They’d made up, even got married at the registry office—Emily’s dream.
But after buying the car, James was never home. *”Helping mates move,” “driving someone’s family to the countryside.”* She couldn’t check. She fumed, doubted, grew jealous.
“*It’s not just joyriding, love—I’m earning*,” he’d say.
When her contractions started, he wasn’t there. *”Call an ambulance, I’m out of town.”* He did meet her at the hospital, though. At home, a secondhand crib and pram waited—hand-me-downs from a friend. Emily didn’t complain. Babies cost enough.
James kept staying out late. Alice, sensing Emily’s stress, became fussy. He’d stagger home at dawn, shouting, *”Why’s there no breakfast? You’re always asleep!”* She’d explain Alice had kept her up all night.
The fights snowballed.
“You’ve let yourself go,” he’d sneered. *”No wonder I look elsewhere. You’re not interesting anymore.”* Then he’d left. Didn’t come back the next day. When he finally returned, Emily was packing.
“Where d’you think you’re going? Fine. You’ll come crawling back, begging, and I *might* take you.”
Emily had money saved—secretly, after the car debacle. She rented a flat, filed for divorce.
Her neighbours were a volatile couple. Screaming matches, thuds (were they hitting each other?), then drunken make-up sex with blaring music. Some nights, Emily regretted leaving James—until she remembered his words. She was better off.
Sarah got her night-shift gigs. Emily worked through the noise until she couldn’t take it and moved. James’s mate Nigel helped with the boxes.
***
Dawn light crept in. Emily hadn’t slept. She decided to enrol Alice in nursery—then she could work properly. No point delaying.
“Parents join the waiting list at *birth*,” the nursery manager said. *”No staff, no space. I’ll take your girl if you work here as a teaching assistant.”*
Emily agreed instantly. Alice would be close, safe.
Life settled—except for the downstairs neighbour. Every toddler tumble, giggle, or cry provoked ceiling thumps or radiator bangs. Outside, the woman would snap, *”Your brat’s too loud! Can’t even hear the telly!”*
Emily tried explaining: *Kids fall. Kids laugh.* But after the woman’s *”social services”* threats, she backed down. *Better not argue.*
The neighbour was nasty to *everyone*—shrieking at teens (*”Druggies!”*), haranguing beer-drinking blokes. But Emily preferred her to the old flat’s chaos.
Winter came. Alice caught every nursery bug. Then one morning, Emily couldn’t lift her head. A scorching throat, dizzy spells. Alice hugged her, then recoiled. *”Too hot!”*
Thermometer: 39.5°C.
Emily doubled Alice’s leftover meds. They ran out. No energy for the pharmacy. *I’ll tough it out.*
Alice whined on the floor. Emily heard her faintly—then a ringing. The doorbell?
She staggered to the door.
“Drunk, are you? Knew it—” the neighbour barked.
Darkness swallowed Emily.
Later, swaying on a stretcher, she gasped, *”Alice!”*
“*Shh, I’ve got her*,” a familiar voice said.
“*Mum?!*”
“She’s delirious. *Hurry—she’ll croak before the hospital!*”
Two days inThe next time Emily opened her eyes, she saw Margaret—the once-nasty neighbour—holding Alice’s hand with a small, hesitant smile, and in that moment, she knew they’d found their unlikely family.
