The silence in the flat was torn apart by a long, grating hiss the squeal of yet another tin can the brother had pried open, his third for the day. Emily pressed her forehead to the cold windowpane, watching a white vortex outside devour the outlines of a world that should have settled for the evening. It was not a snowstorm but a solid wall of white, relentless, and she felt that stepping into it would erase her forever perhaps a mercy.
Mum, can you send someone else to Aunt Lily? her voice came out hollow, as if from another dimension.
Susan, hurriedly stuffing clothes into a travel bag, sighed irritably. Her fingers fidgeted with straps and zippers.
Do you even realise what youre asking? Shes replaced my mother for me. I cant just leave her alone in this mess. And youre not on your own youve got Arthur.
Exactly. Arthur, Emily said without turning, not wanting her mother to see the traitorous tears glistening in her eyes.
So Ill be cooped up with him for the whole twoweek holiday?
Lord, what has he ever done to you? Hes older, so he must be smarter. Youre not a child any more, yet youre scared of him like a frightened lamb!
Susan snapped the bags zipper shut, a cold shiver racing down Emilys spine. Being alone with a brother who despised her, while her mother pretended nothing was amiss, felt like a nightmare. She stole a glance at the bookshelf, at a thick, worn leatherbound volume. Between its pages of distant voyages lay a ticket to another life or at least it seemed that way.
Her mother hurried to the window and slipped several notes into Emilys hand.
The main cash is in the box on the bookshelf. Arthur knows. And this this is for an emergency. Youre sensible, you know.
Emily nodded, still staring at the book, clutching the money. Suddenly her mother reached for the same volume. The girl tried to speak, leaning forward, but the words were caught. In the next breath her mother already held an envelope that had been hidden between the pages.
Where did you get this? This letter is a century old! Susans tone cracked with alarm.
Emilys cheeks flared.
Mum, could I go to Dad while youre away? she whispered, but the expression on Susans face made the ground beneath her fantasies crumble.
A bitter laugh escaped Susan, and she shoved the envelope back into the book. Which dad? Think hell be waiting with outstretched arms? Maybe his trail has gone cold at that address. She slung the bag over her shoulder and headed toward the hallway. Listen, Im late. Ill be back later. Ive left Aunt Lilys number in my diary call only in a real emergency.
The door slammed, leaving a hollow echo in the hallway. Almost instantly Arthur emerged from his room, reeking of stale whisky and something acrid.
Well, sis, Mums gone. Youre under my wing now, he yawned, a flicker of mischief in his eyes. So, how much pocket money did she slip you?
Moneys in the box, Emily muttered, trying to slip into her room, but he blocked the way.
Im talking about the emergency stash. Think I didnt hear? Dont try to fool me.
Youll never see it!
Ah, you littlebrat! He lunged, and Emily slipped past his arm, bolting into her room and slamming the door shut.
That evening the flat vibrated with bass, his friends raucous laughter shredded the air, and the room grew thick with other peoples perfume and cheap booze. In the darkness Emily fumbled for her backpack. Her plan was mad at dawn she would race to the address scrawled on the yellowed envelope, anywhere but here.
She was drifting off when the door burst open. Arthur stood there with a girl hed dragged in.
Clear this room, we need to talk to Emily, he barked, his eyes a cold glass.
The next seconds flickered like a nightmare. His iron grip, a shove to her back, the slam of the door. Emily awoke on cold concrete in the stairwell, clutching her pack. Arthurs drunken laugh echoed, Scram, you little mouse!
Tears ran down her cheeks by themselves. Night had fallen, and she was perched on the steps, toes tucked into old boots, when a voice called from above:
What are you doing shivering on the floor?
A man in a bulky coat stood there. His face seemed familiar; through blurred tears Emily recognized him theyd lived on the same landing for years, but hed vanished for years at a time.
Brother kicked me out, she sniffed.
And mum?
Gone.
For how long?
Two weeks, maybe.
He shook his head. Well, thats a pickle. Get up, youll catch a cold. Come in, warm up. Im your neighbour, Victor. Ive known you since you were a tot.
His flat was empty, dusty, smelling of solitude and yesterdays stew. While he heated a pot of spaghetti with canned meat, Emily, stunned by the sudden kindness, spilled out her desperate plan to find her father using the address on the envelope.
Victor chuckled, placing a plate before her. Dont catch a fever. Youll survive the night, and come morning well see what to do. I had a brother too a storm of a bloke, not a man. I know how that feels.
He laid a blanket on his sagging sofa, and that night became the border between two lives. Emily slipped into strange dreams, fleeing her brothers glassy stare, only to wake in Victors quiet, if cramped, flat across the hall.
Thus began a peculiar friendship. She visited whenever the house filled with drunken shouts. He listened in silence, sometimes sharing fragments of his own tale wanderings, loss, a family that had sailed away. He became her quiet harbor, an anchor in the raging sea of her existence.
The final straw came when Arthur, unable to locate the cash box, turned the flat into a courtroom, shouting threats. His hand rose to strike, but Emily, heart hammering, twisted away and bolted into the stairwell.
Leave and youll never find your way back! he roared after her.
Mum will return, and youll regret this! she shouted, sprinting toward a familiar door.
May your spirit never haunt this place again! were his last words.
Victors door opened before she could even knock. He glanced at her tearstreaked face, at the tiny backpack, and without a word let her inside.
Fine, I cant go back there, she breathed, feeling the weight lift from her shoulders.
He nodded, his gaze steady and understanding.
Then stay here until Mum is back. After that who knows? He closed the door, leaving behind not just a noisy brother but an entire era of fear and solitude. Beyond that door something new began. For the first time in ages, Emily felt that this new might not be as terrifying as shed imagined.
***
Victor awoke from a strangers sobbing that had pierced the thin wall of his dream. He lay still, staring at a ceiling drenched in predawn gloom. The crying was familiar, bitter, like smoke from an autumn fire. Is it Emily again?
Recent weeks had left him split in two. The city, heavy with the memory of old mistakes, pressed on his shoulders. Six months of freedom after his last runin was not enough to catch his breath. His exwife had vanished, erasing herself from his life. His plan was simple: head to an old comrade, disappear into the countryside, start afresh. Then this girl appeared a stray on his doorstep that made him doubt his escape. He felt sorry for her, yet feared any attachment would turn against him.
A timid knock sounded at his door.
Uncle Victor, I know youre leaving. I saw your suitcase. Take me with you. I need to see my dad. Heres the address. She thrust a crumpled slip of paper at him, and Victor whistled low, feeling his meticulously built plans crumble under her gaze.
I cant stay. Arthurs gone feral, and Mum Mum only shows up when she needs a meal or the flat cleaned. Just get me to his train, then Im on my own! Her voice trembled with desperation.
Emily, are you out of your mind? What if they blame me for kidnapping you? He tried to argue, but her huge, clear eyes, full of tears, silenced him. Fine, I wont leave you in a ditch. Does your dad know youre coming?
She nodded quickly, turning toward the window. A lie hung thick between them, unspoken.
Thank you, Uncle Victor! Thank you! she sobbed, hope cracking in her voice.
Call your dad, warn him, he said wearily, already knowing the call would never happen.
The train carriage smelled of boiled potatoes, sausage, and dust; outside, dusk painted the snowy fields in ghostly silhouettes. Emilys heart pounded, then steadied, as she thought: soon she would meet him. Who would he be? Would he be happy?
Victor, unable to leave her alone in the unknown, bought tickets to the town where her father lived. He decided to head straight there and then move on. While she slept, a crumpled note slipped from a shelf and fell onto the table. Victor picked it up and, without thinking, read:
Dear Vera, happy birthday. Wish you joy. Sorry everything turned so foolish. Kiss my daughter for me. Love, Igor. He folded the letter gently and, when Emily awoke, handed it to her.
Sorry, didnt mean to read it. Its from him?
She nodded silently.
Tell me honestly, did you call him? Is he waiting?
She lowered her head.
No. I only have the address. Ive never seen him.
Victor exhaled sharply. Good grief, Im a fool! Are you sure he still lives there?
No Mum said he might have moved. But I feel hed protect me! Hed never let anyone hurt me! Her voice trembled with fierce belief.
Victor only shook his head, watching her tuck the paper away. A sudden, sharp thought struck him about his own stalled life. Had he not taken that crooked road, he might have had a family. Perhaps this girl was the echo of that missed chance.
They finally reached the town, spent a day searching. The listed flat turned out to be occupied by strangers. A neighbour, who had overheard their conversation, felt sorry for Emily and, digging through a notebook, found a new clue a village where Igor was said to have gone for inspiration.
They rattled to the remote village in a creaking bus. A gaunt old woman, dry as last years grass, met them at the doorway of her dilapidated cottage, suspicious.
No money for you! Were fed up with city folk! she barked.
Were not after cash, Emily whispered. I Im your granddaughter.
The woman gasped, studied her face, and let them in. After feeding them broth, she talked at length about her son talented yet unmoored, forever chasing a phantom happiness.
Grandma, where is he now? Emily asked, unable to hold back.
The address was Im not sure its still right she sighed.
Victor, listening silently, leaned toward Emily and whispered, Why do you need a father youve never met?
Uncle Victor, I feel everything will work out, she replied, her faith stubborn and naïve.
The new address led them to a bland, fivestorey block on the outskirts. The clock read half past five as they climbed to the correct floor. They knocked long and hard until a hoarse, irritated voice called from behind the door:
Who the devils knocking?
A gaunt man with a rumpled, sleepless face appeared. The stench of old booze and damp clung to him.
You Igor Saville? Emily asked.
Yes. You here for an interview? We never arranged that
Were here on personal business. May we come in? Victor stepped forward.
The flat was dim and cluttered. Igor shoved empty cans aside and gestured to a chair.
Do you know Vera? Emily ventured, her legs feeling weak.
Vera Saville? The cook? Yeah, we met a few times. She later said she was pregnant. The child wasnt needed, so we parted ways. Not sure who the father was He stared at Emily, then asked, What do you want?
Im your daughter. Daughter of that Vera.
He froze; a grimace crossed his face, more disgust than surprise.
And what? What do you expect?
The world collapsed in an instant. Emily bolted, fleeing the apartment without a thought. Victor caught her in the street. She sobbed, tears streaming down her pale cheeks.
I dont want to live, Uncle Victor! Why am I useless? I found him and lost him again!
Hold on, Emily! Dont speak nonsense. Life is like a pendulum it swings hard one way, then gently the other. Youre still a child, and you have a whole life ahead. Fate doesnt spare the brave and stubborn. Happiness and love will find you.
Please call Mum, she croaked, her head bowed, as if shed already returned home and was going mad.
Vera arrived on the first available flight. In the airport, ignoring the crowd, she seized her daughter, holding her tightly for what seemed an eternity, swaying silently. She was gaunt, greyhaired from sleepless nights, yet in her arms lay the whole universe.
Darling why didnt you call? Ive gone mad! The police were about to be called She led Emily to a quiet corner, eyes flicking to Victor, who lingered a few steps away.
He he didnt bother you?
No, Mum. Hes a kind soul, better than any father I could have married.
Oh, my girl Vera sighed.
The plane climbed, the setting sun bathing the cabin in a crimson glow. Below, the world stretched out, while Victor stayed on the ground, his own path now pointing toward honest work and a new life. He promised to write.
Well get Arty into that clinic you mentioned. Hes with Aunt Lily now. He wont touch you again. Im sorry I didnt see it sooner, Veras voice trembled.
Nothing, Mum. Well get through. The important thing is were together, Emily whispered, watching the clouds drift past the window.
Months later a letter arrived. The envelope was rough, the handwriting shaky yet firm. Emily imagined the senders face lined, eyes perpetually sorrowful yet understanding. He wrote that hed found a job, a roof over his head, and that happiness required hardly anything at all. She read the letter again, pressed it to her chest, and walked to the window. Outside, the first autumn leaves twirled in the breeze, and her heart felt calm and bright. The road home was longer than shed imagined, but at last she had found him not the phantom father of childhood dreams, but a steady, quiet harbour that had always waited. She sat at the table and began to write her reply.
