“You’ve got nothing to say to me.” Katy flung her hand toward the door, glaring at her mother. “Just go!”
Katy stormed out of college and walked the opposite way from the bus stop. International Women’s Day was just around the corner, and she still hadn’t bought her grandma a gift. She just couldn’t decide. Hurrying toward the shop, a muffled phone ringtone buzzed from her bag. She stopped, fished it out—Grandma calling.
“Nan, I’ll be home soon,” Katy said.
“Alright,” came the quiet reply.
Something in her voice felt off—like she was holding something back.
“Are you okay?” Katy asked quickly before the call could drop.
“I’m fine. Just… come home soon.” And just like that, the line went dead.
Katy shoved the phone back into her bag, turned on her heel, and marched toward the bus stop, her mind racing. *What’s going on? Why’s Nan acting so weird?* She thought about calling back but then spotted her bus rolling up and broke into a jog.
*Maybe someone nicked her purse at the shops and she’s upset? Or her blood pressure’s gone sky-high again? Ugh, why’s this bus crawling? At this rate, I’d get there faster on foot.* The city blurred past the windows as she chewed her lip, frustration and worry gnawing at her.
Finally, her stop. She practically leaped off the bus and power-walked home. As she turned into their street, her eyes flicked up to their flat’s window—still light out, but the bedroom lamp was on. A cold twist of dread hit her stomach, and she broke into a run. At the front door, she fumbled through her bag.
“Where *are* they?!” she muttered, jabbing her hand deeper.
Then—*click*. The door opened, and there stood Nan, tense as a coiled spring.
“Were you just waiting behind the door?” Katy blurted.
“Come inside,” Nan said quietly, stepping aside.
Katy strode into the hallway, studying her grandmother. No question—something was wrong.
“What’s happened, Nan?”
Nan glanced toward the half-shut living room door, then leaned in, voice hushed. “We’ve got company.”
“Who?” Katy whispered back, the unease contagious. Her mind flashed through faces—who’d turn up unannounced and rattle Nan like this?
“You’ll see. Get your coat off.”
Katy shrugged out of her jacket, then froze. Hanging next to Nan’s was a woman’s coat she didn’t recognise. Below it, a pair of pristine white boots. The kind Katy had always wanted but could never afford.
She shot Nan a questioning look, but Nan just gave her a nervous glance and pushed the living room door open. Katy smoothed her hair, then stepped in.
Normally, they’d have just the lamp on this time of evening. But tonight, the overhead light blazed. Movement by the sofa caught her eye—a woman in a black dress stood up, her collarbones jutting sharply above the neckline. Dark hair messily pinned up, strands escaping. Exhausted eyes. She looked wrecked. Or ill. Or like she’d just come from a funeral.
Her smile at Katy was stiff, forced. And then—*recognition*. The word “Mum” flickered in Katy’s mind and vanished just as fast. Fourteen years. Fourteen years since she’d seen her. But she *knew*.
The woman’s smile faltered as she took in Katy’s expression. What had she expected? A hug? Tears?
She’d been pretty once. Now, she just looked worn out. Black did nothing for her—aged her ten years. How old was she? Nan said she’d had Katy at nineteen. Katy was twenty now, so… thirty-nine? She looked older. Life hadn’t been kind.
“Hello, love,” the woman said. “Look at you—all grown up. Beautiful. Nan says you’ve got a boyfriend.”
Katy shot Nan a glare. *Really?* Nan ducked her head. The woman took a step forward—Katy stepped back. The woman froze, awkward. Katy’s chest burned. She wanted to run. Wanted to never see her again. Too much hurt. Too much anger.
“Why are you here?” Katy’s voice was ice.
“I… came back. Your birthday’s soon.” The woman tried another smile. It died under Katy’s stare.
“Two weeks. Bit late to remember, isn’t it? Where’ve you been? Not a single call. Nothing.” Each word sharper than the last.
“Katy, she sent money,” Nan cut in softly.
“Oh yeah, a whole thousand quid! That kept us in pasta and rice for *months*. Could’ve just transferred it again. Why show up now? Run out of cash?” Katy scoffed, but her glare didn’t waver.
“I don’t want your money. I don’t want *you*. Don’t come to my birthday. You’ve seen me now—just go back wherever you came from.”
Still, the woman didn’t move.
“After school, Nan would tell me you’d called. Said you sent your love, promised you’d visit. I actually *believed* her. Waited like an idiot. But you never called back. I figured it out eventually—Nan was lying to spare me. So I played along to spare *her*. We’ve been lying to each other for *years*.”
Katy’s throat tightened. “I told my mates at school you’d rung, sent loads of money for presents. That you were saving up for a flat, that you’d come get me soon. And I *believed* it. Because the truth—that you just left and forgot me—was too brutal.”
“I *did* think about you—”
Katy talked over her. “I went to college after GCSEs. Learned to sew so I could help Nan. By the next year, I was making dresses for her friends. They paid me pennies, but I was so proud. While other girls were out partying, I was hunched over a sewing machine.”
“Please, love, I’m sorry—”
“Don’t call me that!” Katy’s voice cracked. The china in the cabinet rattled.
“Why *are* you here? Did your bloke dump you? Found someone younger? Serves you right. Now you know how it feels.”
“Katy,” Nan scolded.
Katy shut her up with a look.
“Why’d you even let her in? She ditched *both* of us. Look at her—dressed like she’s in mourning. Pathetic.” Katy’s stare drilled into the woman. “You never cared how we managed. Oh, except for that grand a year. Real sacrifice, that.”
“Just let me explain—”
“I don’t *want* to hear it. Too late for excuses. You’ve got *nothing* to say to me.” Katy jabbed a finger at the door. “*Leave*.”
“Katy, she’s your *mother*—” Nan tried.
“And where was she when I was sick? *You* sat up with me, crying because you couldn’t fix it. When I was in hospital, *you* brought me soup. Other kids had their mums kissing them goodnight—” Katy’s voice broke. She swallowed hard. “*Go*.”
Shoulders slumped, the woman shuffled toward the hall. Katy stepped aside. A wave of cloying, sickly-sweet perfume hit her. The entire room reeked of it. How hadn’t she noticed before?
Nan followed her out. Katy bolted to the kitchen, wrenched the window open, and gulped in cold air, trying to scrub the stench from her lungs. London’s noise rushed in—honking cars, shouting. She breathed through her mouth, forcing herself calm.
“Shut that, you’ll catch your death,” Nan murmured behind her.
Katy slammed the window and turned. “She gone?”
“Gone. I should’ve warned you. She just… turned up.”
“Did you give her money for a flat?” Katy demanded.
Nan sighed. “Yes. She’s my daughter. Foolish, but still mine.”
“She’ll be back for more.”
“Says she’ll find work.” Nan rubbed her forehead. “I’m not making excuses for her. But I had to try.”
Katy said nothing. Nan sighed again and left.
That night, curled up with Dan—back from visiting his dad up north—Katy poured it all out.
“I don’t *feel* anything for her. Just rage,” she muttered into his shoulder.
He kissed her hair. “Give it time.”
She didn’t. The birthday gift her mum left went straight in the bin. For Nan’s sake, Katy gritted her teeth through the occasional visits—always when she wasn’t home. Even skipped inviting her to the wedding. Finished her fashion degree online. Had aYears later, holding her own daughter tight, Katy finally understood the crushing weight of love—and just how far some people fall short of it.
