**Clever Timmy**
Mum and Emily had been rowing for days. They’d wear themselves out, retreat to separate corners, stew in silence, then—just as one of them calmed down—it would flare up again.
“It’s impossible to talk to you!” Emily shouted. “You never listen. Your opinion’s the only one that matters. You didn’t even listen to Dad. That’s why he left.” The words were low, and she knew it, but the anger had its grip on her now.
“I can’t live without Dan. I love him. I wanted to leave on good terms, but clearly that’s not happening. I’m twenty—grown! Girls my age used to be called spinsters. You’re always so ‘proper.’ Doesn’t it make you sick? I won’t end up like you—” Emily bit her tongue.
“I’m not against it,” Mum said, eerily calm, as if afraid of her daughter’s outburst. “I hear you perfectly. Why not just marry him if you love each other?”
Emily groaned. “Oh, brilliant. Marry on what? We’re students. Live off you? Or his parents? They’ve already bought him a flat.”
“How will you afford to live?”
“I told you—Dan works. Builds websites, writes small programs. Gets paid for it. Ever heard of working online, Mum? We’ll manage. We’ll marry after graduation.”
“Then wait a year. What’s the rush—are you pregnant?” Mum’s eyes raked over Emily’s figure.
“No! This is pointless.” Emily stormed off, yanking clothes from her wardrobe, shoving them into a backpack. When it wouldn’t zip, she stood there, frustrated.
Mum appeared in the doorway. *Here we go,* Emily braced herself. But Mum just stood there, silent, then left. Confused, Emily hesitated—until Mum returned minutes later, dropping a suitcase beside the mess. The same one she’d taken to the seaside with Dad.
“Thanks.” Emily hugged her. “I’m not disappearing. I’ll visit. Call every day. Need anything, just say—we’ll help.”
Mum sagged onto the sofa, face in her hands.
“Everyone leaves. Go on, run. Like I’m some monster. Needed when I was young, now just a burden. Your father found someone younger—needed me when his stomach acted up or his back went. Made his special juices, steamed his meals. Then, soon as he felt better—off he went. But he’ll crawl back. And I won’t forgive him.”
She looked up, sharp. “And now you? Cooking, shopping, laundry—and studies? What if you get pregnant? Why the rush?”
Emily sat beside her. Mum’s shoulders were rigid with hurt. For a second, she wavered.
“Stay. Keep seeing him—why move out?” Mum pressed.
“Why do people live together? Because they can’t bear to be apart. I love him. I’ll visit. Promise. Want us to move in *here* instead?”
Mum jerked back. “Don’t be daft.”
Emily almost smiled. Mum had married late—Gran kept her on a tight leash. Only after she’d passed did Mum “catch the last train.”
At twenty, Emily was grown; Mum, already retired. The factory shut down, pensioned off the older staff. Then Dad’s “midlife nonsense.” She understood. But how to split herself between Mum and Dan? They’d never share a roof. Mum’s pride, Dan’s flat—better this way. She was just scared of being alone.
“Sorry, Mum. I love you. But I love Dan too.” She stood, resuming packing.
Once alone, Emily pulled out her phone. “Waiting?” she whispered. “Be there soon.”
She slung the backpack on, wheeled the suitcase out. Mum sat at the kitchen table, back turned.
“Don’t be cross. I’ll call tomorrow,” Emily said softly.
Mum didn’t move. She looked so small, so *wounded*, that Emily’s chest ached. But if she softened now, Mum would reel her back in. Dan was waiting outside, probably freezing. So she left, quick, before doubt caught up.
A taxi would’ve been nice, but money was tight. They walked to the bus stop.
“How’d it go?” Dan squeezed her hand. “She put up a fight?”
“Fine,” Emily muttered. No details.
“Regretting it?”
“Course not.” She pressed closer.
She called Mum daily between lectures. Always the same: blood pressure, joints aching. Late November, but wet sleet made even the healthy miserable. Emily cheered her on, but the litany of ailments wore thin. *Take a pill, rest*—what else was there? Calls grew fewer. She’d visit next weekend.
“Want me with you?” Dan offered.
“Better not. Right now, you’re enemy number one. Don’t need a scene.”
She bought mandarins, a cake. Opening the door, the reek of smelling salts hit her—unnerving. Mum lay on the sofa, towel over her eyes.
“Bad? Need an ambulance?”
“They came. Gave me a shot.”
“I brought cake. Put the kettle on.”
Emily’s jaw clenched. *Playing it up. Wants guilt.* “Called an ambulance for drama, didn’t you?” she thought. But she’d warn the neighbors, just in case.
She peeled a mandarin. “Remember buying these when I was ill?” She ducked out before refusal came.
Mum ate it. Over tea, the towel came off. She perked up, asking about their flat, why *he* never visited. Dan. Resentment lingered there.
“He wanted to come. Thought he’d irritate you. Next time. Or visit us?”
“Maybe when I’m better,” Mum hedged.
By the end, they chatted almost like before.
“Money tight?” Mum asked as Emily left.
“We’re fine. Need anything, just ask. Don’t carry shopping alone.”
“I’ll manage.”
At the door, Mum shuffled, hand on her back—*new theatrics*. Emily hugged her. “Love you. I’ll call.”
“How was it?” Dan asked, keys clacking.
“Alright. Asked about you. Next time, we’ll both go.”
“Progress.”
“Eating in?”
“Swamped. Big project—good pay if I finish fast.”
“They’ll stiff you again?”
“Nah. Send half first, rest after payment.”
Emily sighed, reheating pasta and sausages.
Next day, outside the shops, a grubby dog blocked their path. Mud-caked, eyes pleading. Emily froze.
“He’s waiting for his owner,” Dan said, tugging her.
“With that coat? Doubt it.”
“Nance, come on. Could be sick.”
But the dog trotted after them.
“We can’t leave him.”
“Crafty beggar. Playing you like your mum does.”
Emily gasped. “Wait—that’s it! Clean him up, take him to Mum. She’ll have to care for *him* instead of wallowing.”
Dan grinned. “Genius.”
The dog followed them home, balking at the door.
“Coming or not?” Dan fake-slammed it. The dog darted in.
“Bath first,” Dan said, herding him to the bathroom.
“Need help?” Emily tapped the door.
“Nah. Man’s work.”
After a messy wash, the dog bolted under the table.
“Don’t scare him. Feed him,” Dan said.
He ate neatly, licked the bowl, eyed Emily for seconds.
“More won’t hurt,” she said.
Full, he retreated under the table again.
Next day, the vet declared him flea-ridden but healthy—just lost recently. Vaccinated, just in case.
Emily worried he’d wreck the flat, but he’d napped politely. Sunday, they took him to Mum.
“She’ll chuck us all out,” Dan muttered.
“Surprise! We brought company,” Emily chirped.
Mum’s face lit up—then fell. Just a dog.
“*You* got a pet?”
“Not quite.” Emily nudged the dog forward. “He’s well-behaved. You’ll walk him—”
“Where’s he from?”
“Neighbors moved, abandoned him,” Dan lied.
Mum huffed. “My back’s killing me, and you bring strays?”
But the dog flopped at her feet.
“See? He’s chosen you,” Emily said.
“Sly thing,” Mum muttered, no real bite.
They fled before she changed her mind.
Now, calls were about *Timmy*—Mum’s childhood dog’s name. No more ailments.
Then, one Saturday, Mum called *them*.
“Everything okay? Timmy misbehave?”
“Timmy’s perfect.” A pause. “Your father’s back. Skin and bone. That gold-digger”Your father’s back—skin and bone, like a scarecrow in his own suit, and that gold-digger left him high and dry, but I suppose even old fools deserve another chance, just like stray dogs.”
