**Clever Tim**
Emily and her mum had been rowing for days. They’d wear themselves out, retreat to separate corners, stew in silence, then start up again the moment one tried to make peace.
“You never listen! It’s always your way or no way. You didn’t even hear Dad. No wonder he left you,” Emily shouted, immediately regretting the low blow. But the anger had taken over, and she couldn’t stop.
“I’m leaving anyway—I can’t live without Dan. I love him. I wanted to do this properly, but you’re impossible. I’m twenty, for heaven’s sake! Back in your day, girls were spinsters by this age. You’ve always been so *perfect*. Doesn’t it make you sick? I won’t end up like—” Emily bit her tongue.
“I’m not against it. And I *do* hear you. Why not just get married if you’re so in love?” Mum replied, eerily calm, as if startled by her daughter’s outburst.
“Oh, brilliant,” Emily groaned. “Marry on what? We’re students. Live off you? Or his parents? They’ve already bought him a flat!”
“And how will you afford to live?”
“I *told* you—Dan builds websites, writes programs. He gets paid for it. Yes, Mum. Ever heard of working *online*? We’ll manage, and once we graduate, we’ll marry properly.”
“Then wait a year. What’s the rush? Unless… you’re pregnant?” Mum eyed her suspiciously.
“No, I’m *not* pregnant. This is pointless.” Emily stormed off to her room, yanking clothes from the wardrobe, shoving them into a backpack. When they wouldn’t fit, she stood by the bed, weighing her options.
Mum appeared in the doorway. *Here we go again*, Emily thought. But instead of shouting, Mum hesitated, then left without a word. Perplexed, Emily barely had time to wonder before she returned—placing an old suitcase beside the pile of clothes. The one she’d taken on spa trips with Dad.
“Thanks!” Emily hugged her. “I’m not vanishing—I’ll visit, call every day. If you need anything, just say. Dan and I will help.”
Mum sank onto the bed, covering her face.
“Everyone leaves. Go on, then—act like I’m some monster. Your father only wanted me young and healthy. The moment I got an ulcer or my back went, suddenly I was useful again. Cooking steamed meals, squeezing cabbage juice. Then he bounced back and ran off to some fresh-faced girl. Mark my words, he’ll crawl back when *she* drains him dry. And now you? What’s the hurry? Cooking, laundry, studying—it’s hard enough alone. What if you get pregnant?”
Emily sat beside her, an arm around her stiff shoulders. For a split second, she considered staying.
“Why not just keep dating? Why move out?” Mum pressed.
“Because we *want* to be together. I’ll visit. Promise. Want us to live here instead?”
Mum jerked upright, wiping her face.
“Don’t be daft.”
Emily almost smiled. Mum had married late—Gran kept her on a tight leash. Only after she passed did Mum “catch the last train,” as they say.
At twenty, Emily was grown; Mum, already retired after her factory shutdown. Dad’s midlife crisis didn’t help. She understood Mum’s fear—but how to choose between her and Dan? They’d never coexist. And why bother, when Dan had his own place? Still, Mum dreaded being alone.
“Sorry, Mum. I love you. But I love Dan too.” She resumed packing.
Once alone, Emily fished her phone from her jeans.
“Waiting?” she whispered. “Nearly done.”
She slung the backpack on, wheeled the suitcase out. Mum sat at the kitchen table, stiff-backed, staring out the window.
“Don’t be mad. I’ll call tomorrow,” Emily said weakly.
Mum didn’t stir—just sat there, small and wounded. Emily almost caved, but Dan was waiting outside, probably freezing. She left before guilt could sway her.
A taxi would’ve been nice, but funds were tight. They took the bus.
“How’d it go? Bad?” Dan squeezed her hand.
“Fine,” she muttered. No energy for details.
“Regretting it?”
“Course not.” She gripped his hand, leaning into him.
She called Mum daily between lectures. The complaints were relentless: blood pressure, aching joints. Late November clung to drizzle and slush—miserable even for the healthy.
Emily offered hollow comfort. *Take a pill, rest.* Soon, the calls grew sparse. She planned a weekend visit.
“Should I come?” Dan asked.
“Better not. To her, you’re the villain. Let’s avoid a scene.”
She brought oranges and a Victoria sponge. The flat reeked of cough syrup—an immediate red flag. Mum lay on the sofa, a towel over her forehead.
“You okay? Need an ambulance?” Emily perched nervously.
“They came. Gave an injection and left.”
“I’ll make tea.” Emily fled to the kitchen. *If she’s really bad, I’ll ask the neighbours to call. But she’s probably exaggerating—guilt-tripping me. Bet she never called anyone.*
She peeled an orange, delivered it wordlessly before Mum could refuse.
Mum ate it. Over tea, she brightened, peppering Emily about their life. “That boy” (never *Dan*) still annoyed her. She’d accepted the move—but not him.
“He wanted to come, but I thought he’d just upset you. Next time. Or visit us?”
“If I’m feeling better,” Mum deflected.
By the end, they chatted easily—almost like before.
“Need money?” Mum asked as Emily left.
“We’re fine. And don’t lug shopping alone—just ask.”
“I’ll manage,” Mum said airily.
In the hallway, she shuffled, clutching her back—an act, surely. Emily hugged her, promised to call.
“How was it?” Dan asked, typing away when she got home.
“Fine. She asked why you didn’t come. Next time, we’ll both go.”
“Progress.”
“Hungry?”
“Swamped with work. Promised good pay if I finish fast.”
“They’ll stiff you again,” Emily warned.
“Nah. I’ll send half first, get payment, then the rest.”
She sighed, reheating spaghetti bolognese.
—
Next evening, a soggy, mud-caked mutt blocked their path outside Tesco. His mournful eyes fixed on Emily.
“He’s waiting for his owner,” Dan said, tugging her away.
“Owners don’t let dogs get this filthy,” Emily countered.
“He’s probably sick. Let’s go.”
The dog trailed them.
“We can’t leave him!” Emily stopped.
“Clever bloke. Playing you like your mum does.”
“Wait—what if we clean him up and take him to Mum? He’s not a pup—won’t wreck the house. She’d have to care for him, walk him…”
“Genius,” Dan agreed.
The dog hesitated at the lobby door.
“Coming or staying?” Dan fake-slammed it. The dog bolted inside.
“Bath first,” Dan herded him toward the bathroom.
“Need help?” Emily knocked.
“Nah. Man-to-man talk.”
Post-bath, the dog hid under the table, dodging the hairdryer.
“Feed him instead,” Dan suggested.
The dog ate neatly, then begged for more.
“Will it hurt him?” Emily dished out extra pasta.
Full, he retreated under the table.
The vet next day declared him recently stray—just fleas, no real harm. Vaccinated him, just in case.
They worried he’d trash the flat, but he behaved.
Sunday, they took him to Mum’s.
“She’ll chuck us all out,” Dan muttered.
“Surprise! We brought someone,” Emily announced.
Mum’s face lit up—hoping, Emily realised, for Dad.
“Who—?”
Emily stepped aside. The dog trotted in.
Mum’s smile vanished.
“You got a *dog*?”
“Not exactly. He’s yours. Well-behaved—good for walks.”
“Where’d he come from?”
“Neighbours moved, abandoned him,” Dan lied.
“Absolutely not! My back’s killing me!”
But when Mum sat, exhausted, the dog curled at her feet.
“See? He’s chosen you,” Emily said.
“Crafty thing,” Mum grumbled—no real venom.
They left before she could protest.
“Smart dog. Knew exactly how to stay,” Dan laughed.
Now, Mum’s calls were about *Tim*—named after her childhood pet. No more ailments.
Then, a Saturday morning call:
“Come over. Now.”
“WhatMum’s voice trembled with unreadable emotion as she added, “Your father’s back—sick as a dog and twice as sorry, so I suppose he’ll have to stay… and Tim’s already taken a shine to him.”
