28 April
I woke to Mick’s frantic voice at the doorway, his old trainers barely holding together. “Mum, they’re completely ruined!” he whined, tugging at the hem of his T‑shirt.
“How can they be ruined? We bought them just two months ago,” I snapped, half‑laughing, half‑panicking. The rag I was ironing slipped from my fingers. I could feel the weight of the week until my next paycheck, and not a single penny in my purse.
“I’ve got nothing else,” Mick muttered, eyes downcast. “I wear them every day.”
“Probably because you’ve been playing football again?” I tried to keep my tone calm, even though my stomach was churning.
Mick snorted, but before he could answer, Sophie – my younger daughter, ever the defender of her brother – stepped in. “Mum, what’s wrong with you? All boys play football! Are we supposed to sit on the bench now?”
I sank onto the kitchen stool, the world feeling heavier than ever. If only my children knew how close I was to breaking down.
“I understand, love, but you need to understand me too,” I said, voice trembling. “The factory shut down, and Dad… Dad stopped sending maintenance payments. How am I supposed to afford new shoes?”
“What does that have to do with us?” Mick exploded, his face flushing. “You shouldn’t have had us if we’re just going to suffer like this!”
He stormed out, slamming the door behind him. I sat there, staring at the floor, wanting to cry until it hurt, but tears were a luxury for the night when the house was quiet. In a few hours I had to be at work.
Work. I’d spent a decade at the Whitby Textile Mill, even leading a team. Then, just like that, it was gone. The new owner brought in a crew of outsiders who arrived on night buses, and the promises of a temporary closure evaporated.
Ron, who’d once been a taxi driver after the mill closed, had told me one bleak evening, “Marion, times are terrible. Life feels like digging your own grave.” I laughed then, thinking he was joking, and suggested we run away together. He stared at me, serious. “I’m leaving, alone. I can’t take any more. I’m about to lose my mind.”
“And the kids?” I shouted.
“It’s my decision,” he said, and walked out, disappearing into the cold. That night real fear settled in my bones. Mick goes to school, Sophie is still little, and the bills keep piling. Jobs in Manchester are scarce; even janitorial posts attract graduates.
For two days I roamed the city, chasing adverts that promised decent pay, then something, then nothing at all. By some miracle I landed a cleaning job at a newly‑sprouted office block in the city centre. The pay was laughably low, but at least it was something. Meat had become a treat, oil a luxury, but I could survive. Shoes and clothes, however, were a different story – the “borrow‑and‑repay” cycle began.
I’d already sold my gold chain and wedding ring; nothing of value remained.
“Mick! Sophie! I’m leaving!” I shouted, the words echoing in the empty hallway. No one came to see me off. I’d spoiled my children, but what else could I expect? Other kids flaunted new gadgets while mine made do with what we had.
I walked out with a heavy heart, thoughts of Ron drifting through my mind. I’d filed for divorce after he vanished, even claimed maintenance, but the courts gave me nothing. Either he was unemployed or in hiding – not a penny reached me in a year.
I hadn’t married Ron out of great love; it just seemed right at the time. He was steady, didn’t drink, and we clicked instantly. Who could have guessed he’d abandon us?
At the office, the atmosphere was tense. The girls whispered, heads down.
“Why the long faces?” I asked.
“Marion, did you hear? They were prepping a big contract, but now everything’s falling apart.”
“Really?”
“It’s confirmed. If it goes badly, Pavel Lawson will be sacked – and with him, all of us. He’s not a fool; he won’t take the blame.”
My legs went weak. I’d just been about to ask for an advance.
“Why?” asked Alla, surprised.
“My son needs shoes. I’ll ask for an advance.”
“Timing isn’t great… but try. At least you’ll know where you stand.”
I knocked on the manager’s door.
“Come in,” Andrew Clarke said, waving me in despite his own frustration. He remembered the HR note about a single mother with two kids. A thought sparked in his mind.
“Hello, Andrew. I need to speak with you.”
“Please, have a seat,” he offered, though I stood. “I need an advance – my son’s trainers are gone, and he can’t go to school without shoes.”
He stared at me, then a thin smile broke across his face. “Sit down, then. I have something to tell you as well.”
He hesitated, choosing his words. The money I needed was clearly more than just for shoes, and I sensed he was weighing his options.
“What do you need me to do?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“Don’t be alarmed,” he warned. “What I’m asking isn’t exactly clean.”
Sweat gathered on my palms. He scribbled a figure on a scrap of paper – enough to change everything: pay the debts, clothe the kids, maybe even fix the roof.
“Exactly what needs to be done?” I managed.
“We need the chief accountant’s file swapped. She always carries it. Bring me the old documents, replace them with these.”
“So she… will suffer?”
“She’ll lose her job, certainly. But with her experience she’ll find another within a week. I’ll pay well for it. Think it over until this evening. The boss arrives in two days; everything must be ready. And not a word to anyone.”
I rose mechanically, the office buzzing around me. Colleagues crowded, asking, “Did he give you the advance?” I nodded, then shook my head, and slipped away to my tiny flat.
What was I to do? My first instinct was to refuse, but if I didn’t, someone else would take the job. I had children to think about.
A knock at the door.
“Yes?” I called.
Olivia Bennett, the chief accountant, entered.
“Marion, Andrew just left. I wanted to speak with you.”
I jumped to my feet. “Good you’re here!” and tears broke free.
She perched on a box, eyes soft. “I thought as much. He wants to make me the scapegoat?”
We talked briefly, then she handed me a small envelope.
“It’s not much, but enough for the trainers. I don’t have more.”
“Thank you…” I whispered, sobbing. “I won’t refuse, at least until this evening.”
At home, Mick greeted me first.
“Sorry, Mum.”
“It’s alright, love. Here’s the money for shoes. I’ve even bought a cake – we have guests today. Could you help me tidy up?”
“Of course, Mum!”
I tried not to dwell on the deal I’d struck with Andrew, but Olivia’s envelope sat heavy in my bag, untouched.
That evening Olivia returned with another visitor – a man I’d never seen before. When the door opened, he froze.
“Victor? Oh, it can’t be!”
We’d been classmates. After finishing school, my family’s circumstances forced me into the textile mill, while Victor stayed on, later moving away. We’d remained acquaintances, always keeping a polite distance.
He and Olivia lingered in the kitchen after the children were asleep.
“I have to go. You probably still have a lot to sort out,” Olivia said.
Victor watched her leave. “Thanks, Olivia. I’ll rest. A week should be enough to settle things.”
Silence fell between us.
“Marion, tell me,” Victor finally said, “how did the girl who once helped me with physics end up cleaning offices?”
I sighed, recalling the path from vocational college to the mill, the hurried marriage, the collapse.
“Did you go straight into the factory after school? Married right away?”
“My options were limited. I just wanted peace. You remember my background – parents fighting, drinking, chaos every night.”
He tapped the table. “I remember. Listen, you’ll go back to school.”
“Are you mad? At my age?”
“Everyone studies now. I’ll support you financially. I’ve just divorced, so I have time. You’ll return to the firm, not as a cleaner, of course.”
“I can’t…”
“Remember when you told me not to give up?”
I chuckled through tears. “I hit you with a textbook and said, ‘Don’t ever say that again!’”
“Exactly! Now I need you to give me your ex’s details. He owes his kids.”
Three years later I run the very business that once threatened to crush us. Victor offered help long ago; I chose to finish my accelerated programme first.
Now I stand transformed – posture, style, confidence all different. I feel strong, capable, and valued. Who would have guessed that a physics problem in school would be the seed of this whole life?
— Marion.
