The Grumpy Old Woman
Emily stepped out of the cab and waited for little Amelia to climb out after her.
“Cheers,” Emily thanked the driver, took her daughter’s hand, and they slowly walked toward the building. Two elderly ladies sat on a bench by the low front steps.
“Good afternoon,” Emily greeted them.
“Afternoon,” one of the women replied. “And who might you be visiting, love?”
Emily only smiled. She unlocked the keypad and entered the building with Amelia. The moment the door closed behind them, one of the women said loudly that she’d seen two young men carrying boxes and bags inside half an hour ago.
“New tenants moving into the flat above yours, the one the Wilsons rented out. Brace yourself, Mary—sleepless nights ahead,” the other woman muttered.
“They’ve picked the wrong one. Let them try making noise. I’ll report them to social services quick as you like…”
Emily didn’t hear the rest. She reached the lift, which was already on the ground floor, and they rode up to the fifth.
The flat door was slightly ajar. Two men sat in the kitchen, drinking tea.
“Oh, Emily’s here. We just put the kettle on. Hope you don’t mind us making ourselves at home.”
Emily reached into her bag for her purse.
“Em, don’t. We’re just helping out, no strings. Maybe you were too hasty leaving James. You could patch things up. You’re not working—how will you manage with the little one?” He winked at Amelia, who grinned back.
“We’ll manage. I’ll file for divorce, get child support, maternity pay. I’m not going back to James. You can tell him that.”
“Suit yourself. But if you need anything, give us a shout. Right, we’ll let you settle in.”
The men left. Emily looked at the boxes scattered across the room and sighed.
“Fancy giving Mummy a hand unpacking?”
“No. I want to play,” Amelia said.
“Alright. Just don’t shout or make too much noise, or we’ll get in trouble,” Emily warned.
The girl nodded solemnly.
Emily opened a box of toys, and Amelia immediately pulled out a stuffed bear. Meanwhile, Emily began filling the wardrobe with clothes from the bags.
The flat was small—one bedroom. No need for anything bigger. The furniture was decent, the place was clean. They’d manage if they budgeted carefully.
Later, Emily boiled pasta and heated up sausages she’d brought with her. She mopped the floor, then settled Amelia to sleep on the unfolded sofa. Her own eyes were heavy, but Amelia insisted on a bedtime story. By the time the girl drifted off, Emily was exhausted. She rested her head on the pillow and closed her eyes—only for James’s words to echo in her mind:
*”You’ll come crawling back to me, begging on your knees, and I’ll think twice before taking you in…”*
Tears stung her eyes. Sleep was gone.
Emily got up and went to the kitchen. She didn’t turn on the light, just stood by the window, gazing at the unfamiliar view, at the deepening twilight…
***
She’d met James at a bus stop. He’d walked up and asked which bus went to Wordsworth Street.
Emily thought for a moment and listed the numbers. Then James asked where *she* was headed.
Her bus pulled up just then, and she hurried aboard.
“Sorry, I just didn’t know how else to talk to you,” he’d said, stepping on after her with a grin. She’d smiled back.
That was how it started. Emily’s heart was free, and James—cheerful, charming—won it quickly. She’d been sharing a rented flat with a uni friend, splitting costs. James had his own place, small but his. He persuaded her to move in with him.
Emily’s mother was strict, raised her to believe in marriage before children. So whenever Mum called, Emily lied, saying she still lived with her friend.
Two years passed with no proposal. No mention of children. Then Emily realised she was pregnant.
“We should think about a bigger flat,” she’d said one evening.
“Why?” James frowned.
“Because there’ll be three of us soon.”
“Are you serious? And when were you planning to tell me?” James snapped.
“I’m telling you now. I wasn’t sure before.” She swallowed tears at his reaction.
“I thought you were on the pill.”
“So I could live for myself and have kids *someday*? I’d never get rid of it. With or without you, I’m keeping this baby.”
“Bloody hell. Out of nowhere…”
They made up, agreed to save for a mortgage deposit. Then one evening, waiting on the balcony, Emily saw a car pull up. James stepped out.
“Whose car is that?” she asked, meeting him downstairs.
“Ours. Nice, isn’t it?” He beamed.
“*Yours.* Where’d you get the money?”
“Saved up. The flat can wait—now I can drive you and the baby. No more crowded buses.”
“That was *our* savings! You didn’t even ask me!”
“You didn’t ask me about the baby,” he shot back.
“It takes two, James!”
Their first real fight. They patched things up, even married at the registry office—to Emily’s relief.
But after buying the car, James started coming home late. Helping mates, he said. Driving someone’s family to their countryside home, moving boxes for a friend. Emily had no way to check. She seethed, doubted, grew resentful.
“I’m not joyriding—I’m earning extra,” he’d say.
When her contractions started, James wasn’t home. She called. “Can’t make it, I’m out of town. Call an ambulance.”
He met her at the hospital, at least. At home, a secondhand crib and pram waited—hand-me-downs from his mate’s grown child. Emily didn’t complain. Babies needed so much; they had to save.
Still, James stayed out late. Emily waited, fretted. Amelia picked up on her tension, fussed, barely slept. James rolled in at dawn, ranting about cold dinners, unmade beds. Emily argued back—Amelia had kept her up all night, she was exhausted.
Grievances piled up like snowdrifts.
James said Emily had let herself go. That it was *her* fault he didn’t want to come home, that other women paid him attention. That she bored him now. Then he left. Didn’t come back the next day, either. He reappeared as she packed.
“Where d’you think you’re going? Fine. You’ll crawl back, begging. And I’ll decide if I want you.”
Emily had savings—started stashing cash after the car stunt. She rented this flat, filed for divorce.
Her neighbours here were a rowdy couple. Screaming matches, maybe even blows—the woman sometimes shrieked for help. Then they’d make up, booze blaring, music at full volume.
Some nights, Emily regretted leaving. Then she’d remember James’s words, his contempt, and steel herself—she’d done the right thing. A friend hooked her up with night gigs. She worked through the yelling next door until she couldn’t take it and moved again. A mate of James’s helped haul their things.
***
Dawn crept through the window. Emily hadn’t slept. She decided to enrol Amelia in nursery—then she could find proper work. No point delaying. She visited the nearest one.
“Parents join the waiting list at birth. Didn’t you know? Nurseries are oversubscribed, understaffed. I’ll take your girl if you work here as an assistant.”
Emily agreed without hesitation. Amelia would be close, cared for. She could feed her, change nappies.
Things improved—except for the downstairs neighbour. If Amelia fell, cried, even laughed too loud, the woman banged her ceiling with a broom or rapped the pipes. Spotting Emily outside, she’d snap, “That child of yours never shuts up! Can’t hear the telly!”
Emily tried explaining—Amelia was small, still unsteady. But the threats about social services loomed. She bit her tongue, promised to keep quiet.
The woman was a proper battle-axe. Emily had seen her screeching at teens in the courtyard, calling them layabouts, chasing them off. Even men with pints got an earful. She had opinions on everyone.
Still, Emily preferred her to drunken neighbours. Then winter hit. Bugs swept through the nursery. Amelia caught everything. One morning, Emily woke dizzy, throat slashed with pain. She touched her forehead—burning.
Amelia cuddled close, then jerked away. “Hot!”
The thermometer read 39.6.
Amelia’s leftover medicine ran out fast. Emily should’ve gone to the chemist, but she was too weak. *Young, I’ll shake it off,* she thought.
Amelia whined on the floor. Emily heard her as if throughEmily closed her eyes, listening to Amelia’s quiet breathing, and for the first time in months, she smiled—because no matter how hard life got, she wasn’t alone anymore.
