Emily Clarke stood at the front door, keys clutched in her hand as if the ringing bell were a stranger. Her coat was damp, the umbrella dripping, and the milk bag shed been carrying bore a torn handle. Evening was slipping away, the hallway already scented with someones dinner and a cats faint perfume.
Behind the door appeared Margaret Whitaker, her scarf knitted, patent shoes polished, a rolling suitcase wobbling, and a steaming bag in her arms. Her voice sounded like an actress from a blackandwhite filmbright, with a hint of drama.
Goodness, dear! Im here for three days, with a cherry pie. Paul loves it, she announced, already stepping into the hallway while Emily only just exhaled. Why didnt you tell me the code had changed? Id already left, then came back with my suitcase, barely found the caretaker and asked him for the new digits.
Emily stayed silent, nodding toward an empty spot over her shoulder as if someone else were standing there, though the flat was unnervingly quiet.
Wheres Paul? Margaret asked, slipping off a shoe and glancing at the entryway where a single coat hook hung unused. No mens jacket, no boots, no trace of his scent or his chaos. Hell be here later, right? Well all sit down for dinner; Ive brought a pot of rice pilaf. Peter, Pauls father, will join us after a quick errand. And Samstill at nursery, I suppose?
Emily managed a faint smile, as though a string had been tugged.
Hes stuck in a meeting, Margaret said, pausing, eyes flickering too fast. She noted a lone cup on the shelf, a halfused bottle of shampoo in the bathroom, childrens drawings on the fridge while Pauls photographs had vanished.
In the kitchen Margaret set the pie on the table, carefully opened the pilaf container, and took Emilys hand. Dont worry, love. Breathe out. Well eat, laugh, and your dad will be here. Hes a good chap.
Emily nodded, sat, lifted her plate but didnt eat. The kettle whistled loudly, as if scolding the silence.
A while later they went to fetch Sam. Margaret carried mittens and a thermos of compote, while Emily walked quietly, clutching her sleeve. In the lift they met their neighbour Linda Harper, who flashed a smile before launching into her rapidfire gossip:
Emily, isnt your ex back with that paintedup lady from the shop? With the pram? He never looks after the child, does he?
Margaret pressed her lips together, avoiding both Emily and Linda. Linda Emily exhaled, barely a whisper.
Tell me what you think. Everyone knows everything anyway.
As evening fell, Margaret pulled a blanket from the wardrobe, folded the sofabed with meticulous care, then paused, holding a pillow as if weighing a secret. Without looking up she murmured, Hes gone? Wheres my son? What happened?
Emily stood in the kitchen doorway, back straight, hands on the kettle. Three months ago. He said he was heading to a meeting and never came back.
Who with? Margaret asked.
Emily said nothing, only stared past her.
Margaret settled on the sofa, placed the blanket beside her, set a small plasticmolded cake on the table. I baked it for you. He told me everything was fine that you all wanted a summer by the sea He
She gasped as if the breath had been stolen up a long staircase. Emily approached, placed a teacup beside her, but didnt touch the cake. The room was hushed; outside the window a distant old doubledeck bus rumbled.
Emily lingered at the window, Margaret unmoving on the sofa. Each lived in her own silence.
A sudden click echoedthe kind of door slam Peter always made, as if to remind the world he was still there. He strode in, brighteyed, wearing a coat with a fur collar, a bag of clementines from Spain and a newspaper tucked under his arm.
Hello, lovelies! Look what Ive broughtclementines, sweet as childhood, he declared, shedding his coat, hanging it, and moving to the kitchen where three gazes met: Emilys tired, Margarets anxious, and a bright, childlike stare from Sam, who, hearing his grandfathers voice, dropped his biscuit, lunged forward, clinging to Peters trousers as if they were a tree, eyes shining.
Whats the quiet about? Peter asked, puzzled. Did I come at a bad time?
Paul Margaret began, but her voice slipped away. She looked at Emily as if asking permission.
Paul left, Emily said calmly, as if shed rehearsed it a hundred times. Three months ago.
The clementine bag thumped softly on the table, the newspaper followed. Peter sat, stared out the window as if searching for an explanation.
You think youve done something wrong here? he shouted suddenly. You drove him away, Emily. Pressured him, hammered him like a nail into wood. He came home looking like a convict!
Peter, Margaret whispered.
What now, Peter? Its all sewn together, and nowhello! You just ruined him, he gestured wildly.
Emily said nothing, just carried a mug to the sink and stood there, back turned, as if deciding whether to leave or stay.
Margarets face paled. She rose, walked to Peter, squeezed his shoulder; he reacted slowly. He told me everything was fine. Sams healthy, youre doing great, planning a holiday. Do you see how he lied? To his mother to me.
Peter lifted his eyes, at a loss for words.
I I thought he stammered. Hes not a child. He decides for himself. Maybe someone else
Hes been with someone for ages, Emily said without turning. He lives with her. The one from work. The one he texted in the bathroom.
Peter stood, went to the balcony, closed the door behind him. A cigarette sparked in the twilight, a lone lighthouse in the gloom. He didnt usually smoke in front of the grandchild, but now he did.
Ill call him, Emily said. Let him explain himself.
Margaret said nothing, only closed her eyes.
The phone screen flashed Paul. A ring, then a tired voice: Yes?
Come over. Now. Dad and Mum are here. Sam needs to talk. A long pause, then Alright. The line clicked.
Emily looked out the window. Beyond the glass, someone was clearing snow from a path, a white night, hushed.
Twenty minutes later the lock clicked. Paul entered the flat as if stepping into a strangers home, wearing the same puffer jacket from which Emily once pulled out chewing gum and receipts. His hair was a little tousled, a faint scent of foreign cologne lingered. He halted at the doorway.
Hello, everyone, he said hoarsely.
Sam lunged forward but stopped halfway. Paul awkwardly sat, pulling Sam close.
Hey, mate. Hows it going? Sam asked, not accusing, just stating.
Paul pressed Sam to his chest but didnt meet anyones eyes.
Silence draped the kitchen. Peter emerged from the balcony, a wisp of smoke trailing. Margaret stared at her son as if seeing him for the first time.
You told me she began. You told me everything was fine. That Emily was brilliant. That Sam was happy. Did you lie, Paul?
I didnt want to hurt you, he replied.
And her? Margaret nodded toward Emily. Did you not want to hurt her? Or was it easier just to vanish?
Peter whispered, Why did you set your mother up like that?
Paul sat, hands on the table, as if surrendering. Im not answerable to anyone. Not to you, not to her. I left because I didnt want to keep lying. I couldnt be with Emily any longer, nor with you.
You left because it was weaker to stay and speak like a man, Margaret shot back. You betrayed her, us, yourself.
Emily sat in the corner, silent, as if nothing more needed to be known. She already knew everything.
Margaret moved to her son, touched his shoulder; her hand trembled. You were better, Paul. I remember you differently.
He said nothing, simply closed his eyes.
Sam peeked back into the kitchen, this time standing in the doorway, watching.
Paul rose, took a step back, his face hard as a mask. He turned sharply and left, the door closing with a crisp finality, like the period at the end of a chapter.
Morning arrived, grey light spilling over fresh snow on the windowsill. Peter read the paper, Sam ate porridge, Margaret shifted things around the kitchen, and Emily lingered by the window.
Emily straightened, her voice steadier: I can collect the appliances you gave methe microwave, the slowcooker, the kettle. Take them if you wish. I was going to remodel anyway; change wont stop me. It just feels right to clear everything to the ground.
Margaret spun around abruptly. Have you lost your mind? Mornings just begun and youre already talking about property. We have nothing to split. Were not…
Sam, playing with toy cars on the carpet, looked up. Grandma, will Dad come?
Margaret sighed, knelt, brushed his hair. He will, dear, but a bit later. Want to watch a cartoon?
Sam nodded.
Emily stood in the doorway, neither tears nor anger, just a hollow numbness, like the silence after a long roar when only echo remains. She set the kettle on; it chimed like a soundtrack to their quiet. Ahead lay an ordinary day, fresh and new, yet feeling like the first page of a new book.
The air smelled of soap and dry chill. Margaret stood in the bathroom, washing the sink slowly, as if in meditation. Emily entered, reaching for a towel but froze.
Leave it, Margaret said without turning. Ill take it myself.
Emily didnt answer, took a towel, placed it nearby, and waited.
I wasnt angry at you, she finally said. Im just tired of explaining that Im not the only one at fault.
Margaret leaned on the edge of the sink, shaking her head. I was angryat myself. For not seeing, for not wanting to look. I thought you had everything: love, family, happiness. I told everyone that.
Emily nodded. The two women stood in the cramped bathroom, bound by a son, a house, a past.
Sorry, Margaret whispered. For everything. I truly thought you couldnt hold us back. Now I see you were holding us all, even when we didnt need it.
Emily sat on the tubs edge, quietly: Ill keep holding myself. No one else.
From the kitchen came Sams voice, Mum, where are the shark socks? and a thud.
And him, Emily added. Ill keep him a little longer.
They smiled, not bewildered but with a weary, genuine grace.
Later, at the doorway, they embraced for a long time. Peter stood nearby, shifting uneasily from foot to foot.
I was wrong too, he muttered. We men arent taught to speak, not as boys, not later either.
Learn, Emily said. As long as theres someone to talk to.
He nodded.
Sam scrambled, slipped into shoes that didnt quite fit, and raced up the stairs.
Well call you later, Margaret said. Or you call us. Were family now, wherever we end up.
Emily nodded, hugged him.
The flat was nearly emptysimple furniture, boxes against the wall, a solitary mug on the windowsill. Emily dropped a spoon into it, poured hot water, opened the window; a fresh draft slipped in, something new.
Sam lay on the floor, drawing a sky with a green marker.
Why not blue? Emily asked.
Because spring will be green, he replied. And spring is green.
Emily watched his hand sweep across the paper, then adjusted his collar. Shall we get bread later?
Yes! And clementines. With little leaves!
She smiled.
Outside, a tram droned, laughter drifted from the street, light fell on the floor. In that light lay everythingpain, forgiveness, the beginning of something anew.
Emily sat down beside him, simply, without fear. For the first time, there was no fear.
