The Trouble with a Coat
Emily sat at her computer, though her eyes weren’t on the screen but fixed outside the window. The last warm days of September lingered, but her thoughts weren’t on the weather—they were on the unexpected bonus burning a hole in her pocket.
“Oliver needs new trainers. The lad’s growing like a weed. A jacket, too, but he’ll have outgrown it by spring. Maybe I should save for a holiday instead—finally take him to the seaside next summer…” Her musings were cut short when Rebecca swept into the office.
“What d’you think, then? Just bought this coat—cost a fortune, but it’s worth every penny. Suits me, doesn’t it?” She twirled, arms wide, flaunting the sleek wool blend.
“New boots, too? Suede?” chimed in Sarah, Emily’s desk neighbour. “Walk through one puddle on these streets, and they’ll be ruined.”
“Maybe I should buy a new coat too,” Emily thought. “I’ve worn the same one four winters now. But Mum… Mum’d never let me hear the end of it. Nearly forty, and still terrified of her opinion. I’ve earned this money. I should spend it how I like. Rebecca’s only a few years younger, but acts a decade more carefree. Then again, she hasn’t got a ten-year-old son or a mother who still treats her like a child.”
The girls bickered good-naturedly until Rebecca huffed, “Oh, sod off, the lot of you. I’m off to show the girls in Accounts.”
“Wait—” Emily called after her. “Where’d you get it?”
“Fancy it yourself?” Rebecca grinned, fishing a discount card from her pocket. “Here—shop’s address is on the back. Decent savings, too.”
“I was just asking,” Emily mumbled, eyeing the card.
“Live a little, Em. Right, I’m off.” Rebecca flounced out, leaving the card behind.
“You really thinking of splashing out?” Sarah asked, peering over her monitor.
“It’s impractical. Rebecca gets driven everywhere—you’ll be crushed on the bus in that. And your mum… Christ, she’ll bury you in that coat,” Sarah said, and they both snorted with laughter.
“Easy for you—you’ve got a husband buying you new things every season. I’ve spent my life scraping by—mortgage first, then groceries, then whatever’s left for Ollie. If I’m lucky, I grab something on sale.” Emily sighed.
“Then stop dithering and go after work. Honestly, you dress like a librarian. No offence. Rebecca’s a flirt, but you’re the pretty one. Get yourself something nice—men notice that. And don’t listen to your mum. Treat yourself.” Sarah winked and ducked back behind her screen.
***
Emily had married late. With a mother like hers—a strict former maths teacher—it was a miracle she’d married at all. She’d spent her life terrified of disappointing her, chasing top marks, never stepping out of line.
Not that she blamed her mum. She’d raised Emily alone after her father drank himself into oblivion when Emily was five. Money was always tight; pride came before comfort. The divorce left them with nothing but empty promises. By the time Emily was ten, he’d vanished entirely—no child support, no word.
She’d graduated with first-class honours, built a career, but her love life stalled. Men liked her; her mother didn’t like them. Too handsome (he’ll stray), too broke (after your flat), too divorced (a liability). By the time she met Mark—the one her mother grudgingly approved of—her friends were on second marriages, their kids in school.
The wedding was quiet. Oliver arrived soon after. Then the sleepless nights began, the arguments. Mark came home one evening and said he’d fallen for someone else.
Emily packed up Oliver and moved back in with her mother. For months, she hoped Mark would change his mind. He never called.
“I told you this would happen. You’re too trusting,” her mother scolded. Emily bit her tongue—fighting only upset Oliver.
Time softened things. Her mother doted on Oliver, but Emily’s every move was scrutinised. When Oliver started nursery, she returned to work—only for him to catch every bug going. Her mother, now retired, took over childcare. Money was tight, but they scraped by, saving for that seaside trip. Oliver grew bright and loving. For him, she endured anything.
***
Outside the boutique’s gleaming doors, Emily hesitated. If she walked away now, she’d never come back. Steeling herself, she tugged the door open. Bells chimed overhead.
A saleswoman materialised instantly. “Hello! Our new autumn-winter collection’s just in, with discounts on last season’s. Coats, jackets—what can I show you?” Her smile was warm, unbothered by Emily’s nervousness or her worn blouse.
“A coat, please.”
“Size ten, yes? This way.” She led Emily to the back. “You’ve lovely legs—no need to hide them.” She selected a camel wool blend and guided Emily to the fitting room.
It hung like a sack. Emily’s heart sank.
“Not the one? Try this.” The woman handed her a cream-coloured coat.
Emily gasped. It skimmed her waist, ended just below the knees—perfect. She stood taller, chin up.
“Gorgeous. Wait—” The woman returned with a blush-pink scarf, draping it artfully. “It’s as if it was made for you. We’ve had eyes on this piece, but it suits no one—until now.”
Emily glanced at the price tag and winced.
“Don’t fret—it’s last season’s, and the size is rare. I’ll give you a discount. One moment.”
Emily nearly bolted. Too expensive, too pale. Then the woman returned with a shoebox.
“Try these ankle boots. All sizes in stock.”
Flustered, Emily obliged. They fitted like a dream—the heels impossibly comfortable. She barely recognised herself in the mirror.
“Taking them?”
“Yes,” Emily blurted, terrified she’d back out.
The bonus vanished, plus a sliver of her wages. “Mum’ll murder me,” she thought, handing over her card.
“Keep the coat on. I’ll bag your things.” The woman beamed. “New winter stock arrives next month—do come back.”
All the way home, Emily rehearsed excuses. Too self-conscious for the bus, she walked, hyperaware of strangers’ glances. Only at her doorstep did she realise she’d concocted no plausible lie.
Her mother met her in the hallway. “Where’ve you been—” She froze, staring.
“Mum, don’t be cross. A girl at work lent me her discount card—”
“You spent your whole pay? Oliver needs shoes. We were saving for the seaside—”
“Mum, you look beautiful!” Oliver bounded in. “Ignore Gran. I don’t need shoes yet—it’s nearly winter. We’ve ages to save. You should dress like this always.”
Emily ruffled his hair, grateful.
“Dress like this? With what money?” her mother snapped.
Oliver fled. Emily hung the coat carefully, bending to unzip her boots.
“Boots too? Selfish girl—what’ll we eat?”
“Mum, stop. We won’t starve. I didn’t touch my wages, just a bit of the bonus. I earned it. Can’t I have one nice thing? I’m nearly forty—”
The row erupted anyway. Emily fled to Oliver’s room, slamming the door.
Later, ashamed, she found her mother at the kitchen table, weeping.
“Mum, I’m sorry. D’you want me to buy you something too?”
“Don’t bother. I’ll be dead soon.”
“Don’t be daft. You could remarry.”
“Remarry? Been there. No thanks.” Her mother sniffed. “It’s too light, that coat. Should’ve picked darker.”
“But it’s pretty.” Emily kissed her cheek.
***
The next morning, Emily wore the coat to work.
“In that? What if it rains?” her mother fretted.
“I’ve an umbrella,” Emily said, rushing out.
Some habits never changed. Her mother saved clothes for “best.” Maybe today was best.
By lunchtime, grey clouds smothered the sky. As Emily stepped off the bus, rain spat down. Her umbrella jammed. A Range Rover sped through a puddle, drenching her coat in filthy spray.
The driver braked hard, striding over. “Christ—why stand so close to the kerb?”
“You were speeding! Couldn’t you avoid the puddle?” Emily’s voice cracked.
“I’ll buy you a new one.”
“You can’t. It’s one of a kind.” She swiped at the stains.
“Don’t—you’ll smear it. I’ll drive youThe Range Rover’s owner, a kind-eyed man named James, insisted on taking her to his sister’s dry cleaners—and a year later, as Emily stood beside him in a sunlit registry office, Oliver grinning with a ring pillow in hand, she realized sometimes the best things in life come splashed with a little chaos.
