Wear it carefully, my dear, its not just goldtheres family history in it, Margaret gently passed the velvet box to her daughter-in-law. It belonged to your great-great-grandmother. It survived the war, the Blitz, rationing. My mother used to say, back in 46 a sack of flour was offered for this ring, but Grandma refused. She kept it. She said you cant replace memories with bread, hunger can be endured, but memory is irreplaceable.
Emily, a young woman with impeccably manicured nails and always-stylish hair, flipped open the box. Under the chandeliers glow, a sizeable garnet gleamed dully, nestled in an intricate, antique gold setting. It was hefty, and nothing like the dainty, near-invisible rings favoured by her generation.
Wow. Its, um, substantial, Emily murmured, turning it over in her hands. You dont see pieces like this anymore. Very retro.
Its not retro, Emilythis is vintage, an antique, Margarets son, Peter, corrected her gently from the table where he lounged after a hearty dinner, watching the women with a fond smile. Mum, are you sure? You always said it should stay in the family.
Well, Emily is family now, Margaret said kindly, though inside, she felt uneasy. Parting with the ring took all her resolveit was her talisman, her thread to generations past. But she saw how Peter doted on his wife, how he tried to please her. She decided: let this be a gesture of goodwill. Let her daughter-in-law feel truly accepted. Youve been together three yearsthick as thieves, the two of you. Its time. I want it to safeguard your marriage as it did my parents.
Emily tried the ring on. It slipped loosely over her ring finger, swaying side to side.
Its lovely, she remarked, though Margaret didnt hear the awe shed hoped for. Instead, it sounded politely grateful. Thank you, Margaret. Ill take care of it. I may need it resized or Ill lose it.
Do be careful with the jeweller, Margaret warned, springing up. Its old golda Victorian assay, so delicate, so soft, the experts say. The stone tooyou dont want to risk a scratch. Better wear it on your middle finger if it fits.
All right, Ill figure it out, Emily snapped the box shut and placed it beside her handbag. Peter, we should get goingearly start tomorrow. Got to nip into the bank before work to sort out the car loan.
As they left, Margaret watched their shiny SUV pull away and felt an unexpected emptiness. It was as if shed parted with some of her strength. She pushed the thought aside. Best to look ahead. Young people had their own values these days, their own ideas, but family memory was strongit would defend itself.
The week passed in its usual busy rhythm. Margaret, though retired, never stayed stilldoctors appointments, the greengrocer for fresh cheese, brisk walks in the park with her neighbours. Life in the city kept her perpetually in motion.
On Tuesday, the weather turned. Grey clouds slid across the sky, a fine, cold drizzle fell that even her umbrella couldnt fend off. Margaret was heading back from the chemist when she decided to take the shortcut through an alley lined with tiny shopsshoe repairs, dry cleaners, and, of course, those ubiquitous pawnshops.
She kept her eyes down, dodging puddles. Glancing up, she caught sight of the gaudy sign: PAWNSHOPGOLDELECTRONICSOPEN 24 HOURS. The window glared with light, tempting passersby with the promise of quick cash. Margaret normally hurried past such places, convinced they reeked of other peoples misfortune. But today, she slowed.
Her gaze swept over rows of mobile phones before drifting to a shelf of jewellerythin chains, crosses, wedding bands: someones discarded hopes. And then, her heart skipped a beat. Then another, thumping so loud she could hear the roar in her ears.
There it was, centre stage on a velvet stand.
No mistakethere wasnt another ring quite like that. The deep, wine-red garnet stared out at her in protest from behind the glass. The distinctive gold setting, petal-like around the stone, the barely visible scratch inside the band that only she would know.
Impossible, Margaret breathed, hand pressed to her chest. Oh God, this cant be.
Her legs nearly gave way. Maybe it was just a lookalike. They made copies these days, after all
She pushed through the heavy door, hit by the stale scent of dust and air freshener. Behind the tall counter, separated by bulletproof glass, sat a young man, half-watching his phone.
Good afternoon, Margarets voice trembled, and she cursed herself for it.
The young man looked up, bored.
All right. Buying, pawning, selling. What can I help you with?
I Id like to see that ring. The one with the garnet. In the window.
Sighing, he dragged himself over, unlocked the cabinet, and set the stand into a tray that slid across to her.
Vintage, he grunted. Heavy piece, original 22-carat stamp, not many like it. Genuine stone, been checked. Price is on the tag.
Margarets hands shook as she picked up the ring. Her fingers knew its weight, its warmth. Turning it overthere was the scratch. There the worn stamp, just as she remembered.
It was hers. The very ring shed entrusted to Emily only last week.
Her vision blurred. Her throat closed up. How could this be? Just a week Only one week! Her grandmother had gone hungry through the war and wouldnt sell. Yet these two well-fed, well-dressed, with a car
How much? she croaked.
One thousand, two hundred pounds, the man replied, unmoved. Thats scrap gold value, plus a bit for the stone. Unusual shape. Bit big.
One thousand, two hundred pounds. That was the price of three generations worth of memory. Margaret knew in an antiques shop it would fetch much more, but here, it was merely metal.
Ill buy it, she said, firm.
Got ID? the man asked, perking up.
Yes. And my card.
These were her rainy day savings, put by for emergencies. Well, this was a rainy daythough not the sort she’d imagined. As the man sorted the papers, Margaret clung to the counter to keep upright, her mind racing with dark thoughts. Had something happened? Illness? Accident? Why hadnt they told her, asked for help? She’d have given them anything. Why do this, secretly, like thieves?
Leaving the shop, ring hidden deep in her handbag, Margaret felt only searing hurt rather than relief. The rain picked up but she hardly noticed. She walked home, lost in thought.
Call them? Cause a scene? Scream? Too easy. Theyd invent a story, lie. Claim it was lost or stolen. Noshe needed to look them in the eye.
Margaret waited. Two days she stayed in, citing blood pressure. She sipped tea and stroked the ring on the table in front of her, as if apologising for letting it fall into heartless hands.
On Friday, she called her son.
Peter, love, how are you both? Havent seen you in ages. Fancy popping round for lunch Saturday? Ill do a proper roast and your favourite cabbage pasties.
Hi Mum! Peters voice was bright, carefree. No hint of guilt. Wed love that! Emily was just saying we should see you. Is two oclock okay?
Perfect, darling. See you then.
Margaret barely slept that night, rehearsing the coming conversation, searching for words, but none seemed weighty enough to match such betrayal. Or was it just Emily? Did Peter know?
They arrived promptly Saturdaycheery, bearing chrysanthemums and a cake. Emily wore a new dress, cheerily narrating tales of sales, the miserable weather, and city traffic. She kissed Margaret on the cheek, and Margaret had to steel herself not to flinch.
It smells divine! Emily enthused in the kitchen. Youre a wizard, Margaret. We only ever manage takeaways these days. Work, reports… always busy.
Lunch was pleasant, if superficial. They chatted about the building works, petrol prices, Peters new project. Margaret dished extra gravy for her son, offered tea, and kept an eagle eye on Emilys hands.
She wore modern gold rings, slim and stylish. The family ring was nowhere to be seen.
Emily, Margaret began, when lunch was over and she was pouring tea. Why arent you wearing the ring I gave you? Did it not match the dress?
Emily froze, teacup halfway to her lips. Just for a blink, a pause so slight only someone watchful would notice. Peter put down his fork and fixed on his wife.
Oh, Margaret, Emily set her cup down quickly, but her eyes darted. I, um, put it away in my jewellery box. Like I said, its loose. I dont want to lose it. We meant to see a jeweller this week, but works been madPeters been at the office late, so have I.
Yeah, Mum, Peter nodded. Times just got away. Dont worry, its safe.
Safe, Margaret repeated. In its box. At home.
Well yeswhere else would it be? Emilys tone grew brittle. Dont stressits only a ring. Itll turn up.
Margaret quietly stood, went to her cabinet, took a velvet box from behind the old china soup tureen, and placed it back on the table.
A heavy silence thickened the room, the only noise the ticking of the wall clock.
Margaret opened the box and set it before her daughter-in-law.
The garnet flashed like a drop of rich red wine.
Emilys face flushed, then turned pale. She mouthed something, but made no sound. Peter spluttered into his tea, staring at the ring as if it were a ghost.
Thats he managed at last. Mum, whats happening? How?
From the pawnbrokers on Queens Road, Margaret said calmly, sitting back down. She felt only a strange calm, as if a storm had passed, leaving silence and scorched earth. Went in Tuesday, just by chance. There it was. One thousand, two hundred pounds. Thats the price of legacy these days, is it?
Emily dropped her gaze, fixed it on the tablecloth.
We meant to buy it back, she mumbled. Honestly, next month, after payday.
Next month? Margaret echoed. And if someone else bought it? If theyd melted it down? Prised the stone out? Do you have any idea what youve done?
Oh, dont be so dramatic! Emily lashed out, eyes blazing. Its just a ringold and unfashionable at that! We needed the money. The car loans dragging, interest is mounting, Peters bonus was cut! We didnt want to come begging; youd just make us feel useless about our finances!
Emily, enough, Peter murmured, but his wife barrelled on.
No, I will speak! You sit on your stash like Smaug! We have a life to live! We wanted a holiday, new clothesjust pawn it for a bit, sort ourselves, then fetch it out. No one would have known!
No one would know, Margaret repeated. And your conscience? I entrusted you with my most precious thing.
People matter, not trinkets! Emily replied coldly. Selling it wouldnt end the world.
Margaret looked at her son. His head was in his hands, hunched over, shamed. But he stayed silent, leaving his wife to justify their actions.
Peter, she asked gently. Did you know?
He nodded, not lifting his head.
I knew, Mum. Sorry. Money was tight. Emily suggested Said it was just for now. I didnt want to, but
But you agreed, Margaret finished for him. Because it was easier. Because your wife said so. Because family memory wont repay the finance company.
She picked up the box, fingers gripping tight.
Well, my dears, her voice rang, hard as steel, youre probably right. I am old-fashioned. I cant understand why youd betray family for a lump of metal on wheels. Why youd liesmiling over my food. But so be it.
Well pay you back, muttered Emily, dabbing her eyes.
I dont want your money, Margaret snapped. Youve paid me in fullby showing me your true colours, and the price of your respect.
She rose and went to the door.
Go.
Mum, come ondont be like this, Peter jumped up, reached for her arm. We messed up, we were daft. Please forgive us. Were family.
Family dont behave this way, Peter. Family would give away their last shirtnever family heirlooms. Go. I need to be alone.
Well off we go, then! Emily swept up her bag, scraping her chair back. Hardly a capital offence! This is madness over a bit of old jewellery. Come on, Peter. Were not wanted. Let her curl up with her gold.
The door banged as they left, the scent of Emilys expensive perfume lingering, sickly.
Margaret tidied away the untouched cake, washed up; every motion routine, keeping her grounded. Then, she slipped on the ring.
Well, my old friend, she whispered, sliding it onto her finger. Youve come home. You never fitted in there. Grandma was rightknow your worth.
That evening, she sat, watching the lamps glow flicker across the garnets depths. It gleamed with ancient wisdom, as if to say: Dont grieve. People come and go, but true values endure.
Her relationship with Peter and Emily didnt vanish overnight. Peter called, apologised, wanted to mend things. Margaret answered, polite but cool, a warmth now permanently crackeda teacup you could drink from but never show off again.
Emily became pointedly frosty, always with a victims air, as if Margaret were the tyrant. The ring, no longer discussed, seldom left Margarets hand.
Half a year later, Margaret met her neighbour, Miss Vera, a retired teacher. They chatted by the garden.
What a lovely ring, Margaret, Vera remarked. Really stunning.
It was Mums, Margaret smiled, stroking the band. I meant to pass it on to the young ones but changed my mind. Theyre not ready yet.
Quite right, Vera nodded. Best things go to those who understand their value. Youngsters nowadays, always running, always switching everything disposablepossessions, even feelings.
No matter, Margaret said, gazing at the ever-grey English sky. Perhaps Ill have a granddaughter one day. She can have it then. For now, itll stay with me. It feels safest here.
Margaret realised something vital: love cant be bought, and respect cant be earned by pandering to someones whims. The ring had returned to show her the truth. However bitter it was, it was better than the sweet lie shed lived with before that rainy Tuesday in the pawnshop window.
Life went on. Margaret signed up for IT courses, started theatre trips with friends. She stopped scrimping to squirrel everything away for the childrenshe let herself enjoy life a little. Every time she glanced at her hand, the ring reminded her: she had a core no one could break. And while she guarded her familys memory, shed never be alone.
