— Mum, my trainers are completely worn out! — Michael stood in the doorway, nervously tugging at the hem of his T‑shirt.
— What do you mean worn out? We only bought them two months ago! — Margaret, hands trembling around a rag, almost dropped it. That was the last thing she needed right now: a whole week until payday and not a penny in her purse.
— I have no others, — her son whined. — I wear them every day.
— Probably playing football again? — Margaret tried to keep her voice steady, though inside she was boiling.
Michael snorted and looked away. Sophie, his younger sister, the ever‑defender of her brother, stepped in.
— Mum, what’s wrong with you? All the boys play football! What, are we supposed to sit on the bench now?
Margaret sank heavily onto a stool. Daughter, if only you knew how close I am to breaking down…
— I understand everything, love. But you have to understand me too: the plant shut down, dad… — she faltered — dad stopped paying maintenance. Where am I supposed to get money for new trainers?
— What does that have to do with us?! — Michael exploded. — You shouldn’t have had us if we’re going to suffer like this!
He bolted up and stormed out, slamming the door. Margaret stayed seated, staring ahead. She wanted to cry until it hurt, but tears were only allowed at night, when the children were asleep. Now there was no time. In a few hours she had to go to work.
Work… She had been a line‑operator at the car plant for ten years, even a team leader. Then — bang! — it was all over. The plant closed. They hoped it was temporary, but luck didn’t smile. A developer bought the site and filled it with outsiders who arrived on night buses.
Robert was connected to the plant too. After it shut, he tried a stint as a cab driver, and then… she remembered that evening. He packed his things into a duffel and said:
— Margaret, times are hard now… Living feels like burying yourself alive.
She had laughed then, thinking he was joking. She suggested they run away together somewhere better. He looked dead serious.
— No, I’m going alone. I can’t take it any longer. I’m about to lose my mind.
— And the kids? They’re your kids, Robert!
— What can I do? Call me a bastard, but I’m leaving. I’ve decided.
And he vanished. That’s when real fear struck her. Michael went to school, Sophie was still little… Even if you count only food and utilities — money is needed. Jobs in the city are scarce. There’s a line even for cleaners, and half the applicants have university degrees.
For two days she prowled Manchester, first to places that promised decent pay, then to those that offered at least something, and finally to those that didn’t even know if they would ever pay. Now there are plenty of firms where you wait for your salary longer than for the Second Coming.
By some miracle she landed a job as a cleaner in an office block. Those offices have multiplied — people sit, shuffle papers, but what they actually do is a mystery. They paid, of course, a laughably small amount, but at least something. Meat was unaffordable, oil a luxury, yet survival was possible. When it came to shoes or clothes… the borrow‑and‑repay cycle began.
She had long since sold her gold chain and her wedding band. Nothing valuable remained.
— Mike! Sophie! I’m leaving! — Margaret shouted.
A muffled murmur rose from the flat. No one came to see her off. Ah, she had spoiled her children… but what could she expect? Other kids flaunt new stuff, and hers wear whatever they have.
She stepped out with a heavy heart. On the way she thought of Robert. She had filed for divorce after he left, and for maintenance too. No use — zero. Either he doesn’t work or he’s hiding. Not a penny in a year.
She hadn’t married him out of great love. It just seemed right at the time. He worked at the plant, didn’t drink, was decent. They dated briefly, then he said, “Margaret, why drag this out? We’re a good match.” And indeed they were. Both homebodies, disliking noisy crowds… Who could have guessed he’d do this? If anyone had predicted it, she wouldn’t have believed.
At the office it quickly became clear something had happened. The women whispered, no one was working.
— Why the long faces? — Margaret asked.
— Margaret, you didn’t hear? They were prepping a big deal, but now everything looks to be collapsing.
— Really?
— Information is confirmed. If it’s as bad as they say, Peter Palmer will be sacked. And with him, all of us. He’s not a fool — won’t take the blame himself.
Margaret felt her legs weaken. Damn… she was just about to ask for an advance…
— Why? — Olivia, surprised, asked.
— Michael needs trainers. I’ll ask for an advance.
— Bad timing… but try. At least you’ll find out what’s what.
Gathering her courage, Margaret knocked on the manager’s office door.
— May I come in?
Andrew Andrews, who might have brushed her away, recognised the cleaner and waved her in.
— Come in.
He remembered the HR lady mentioning a husband who’d left, two kids, starving. An idea formed in his mind.
— Hello, Andrew. I wanted to talk…
— Sit down, — he tried to smile.
— Thanks, but I’ll stay standing. Could you give me an advance? My son’s trainers are completely worn out, he has no shoes to go to school…
The manager looked at her, then broke into a satisfied grin.
— Still, sit down. I have something to tell you too.
He paused, choosing his words. The money was clearly needed for more than that — it showed. So he’d probably agree.
If he could prove the deal’s failure wasn’t his fault, the owner would stay silent. But if they decided to fire him anyway — an audit would start. Then the whole fraud would surface. The only way out — pin it on the chief accountant. They had plotted together, but he had made changes she called “mad nonsense.” He’d taken offence. And now, the moment of truth.
— What needs to be done? — Margaret asked.
— Don’t be scared, — Andrew warned. — For this amount, the task won’t be… clean.
Margaret felt her palms sweat. The manager noticed her confusion and quickly scribbled a number on a slip.
She almost fell off her chair. That sum could change their lives: pay off debts, clothe the kids, even fund some repairs.
— What exactly must I do? — she managed to say.
— Swap the documents in the chief accountant’s file. She always carries it with her. Bring me the old ones, put mine in their place.
— So she… will suffer?
— She’ll lose her job, of course. But with her experience she’ll find another in a week. Don’t worry. I’ll pay well for this. Think it over until evening. The boss arrives in two days — everything must be ready. And not a word to anyone.
Margaret rose mechanically and left. Colleagues swarmed her instantly.
— So? Did he give the advance?
She nodded, then shook her head, waved her hand, and slipped back to her tiny flat.
God, what to do? Her first impulse was — no way! But if she refused, he’d find someone else. Someone would agree for the cash. And take it, pretending to cooperate? Dangerous. She has children…
A knock sounded at the door.
— Yes?
Olivia Graham, the chief accountant, entered.
— Margaret, Andrew has left, and I wanted to talk.
Margaret sprang up.
— Good you’re here!
She began to sob, the tension breaking her.
Olivia sat on a crate.
— I thought as much. He wants to make me the scapegoat?
They spoke briefly. Before leaving, Olivia handed her an envelope.
— There’s a little here, enough for the trainers. I have no more.
— Thank you… — Margaret whispered, sobbing.
— Don’t refuse. Until evening.
At home the children greeted her. Michael first:
— Mum, I’m sorry. I just…
— It’s okay, love. Here — take this, money for the trainers. I even bought a cake. We have guests today. Will you help clean up?
— Of course, Mum!
Margaret tried not to think about the deal with Andrew. But only because Olivia had asked her. The money from the manager lay in the bag — she hadn’t even touched it.
That evening Olivia returned with another visitor. Margaret had never seen the big boss before. When the door opened…
— Victor? Sorry… Ivan Nichols…
The man froze in the doorway:
— Margaret? It can’t be!
They’d been in the same class. Then Margaret went to vocational college — her parents died, she had to fend for herself. Victor stayed, finished school. A year later his family moved away.
They’d been good friends, but Margaret always kept her distance. Worlds too different.
They stayed up late. The children were long asleep when Olivia stood.
— I have to go. You probably still have a lot to discuss.
Ivan saw her out:
— Thanks, Olivia. I’ll rest. A week will be enough to sort everything here.
They were left alone in the kitchen. Silence.
— Well, Margaret, tell me, — finally said Victor. — How did the girl who once explained physics to me end up as a cleaner?
She sighed and began. About college, the plant, marriage…
— So you went to the plant right after school? And married straight away?
— Choices were limited. I just wanted peace. You remember how I lived? Parents… every day was drinking or fighting.
Victor drummed his fingers on the table:
— I remember. Listen, Margaret, you’ll go back to school.
— Are you mad? At my age?
— Everyone studies! Me too. Don’t argue. I’ll support you financially. And generally help — I have plenty of time. I just got divorced. Then you’ll return to the plant. Not as a cleaner, of course.
— Victor, I can’t…
— Remember, I said the same when you explained the problems?
Margaret smiled through tears:
— I remember. And I hit you with a textbook and told you — don’t say that again!
— Exactly! And now I don’t want to hear it. Give me your ex’s details. He owes something to the children.
Three years later Margaret Valentine owned the business. She could have taken it earlier — Victor had offered long ago. But she chose to finish school, even on an accelerated track.
Now she was unrecognisable. Posture, style, manners — everything changed. She felt like a different person: strong, confident, respected.
Who would have thought that a single physics problem in school would one day be the beginning of such a life?
