I set my teacup down on the table and heard the ring of the telephone. The number was unfamiliar, but the insistence was unmistakablelong, pressing rings, as though someone believed I was honour-bound to answer. I looked at the screen and realised: it was him. Edward. My former husband, who had left me for another woman five years before, and had a child with her.
I didnt answer immediately. Instead, I stood by the window, watching the children playing in the garden below, and wondered: why now? Why again?
The phone fell silent. Then it started ringing once more.
With a sigh, I answered.
Emma, hello, Edwards voice was quiet, almost ashamed. I need to speak with you. Its urgent.
About what? I perched on the window seat, pressing the receiver to my ear, bracing myself for whatever request he might make. Edward always had a way of askingmaking it seem impossible to refuse.
Can we meet? Id rather not do this over the telephone, you see
I dont see, I replied, keeping my tone calm. Say what you need now, or not at all.
He was silent for a moment, then sigheda hoarse, heavy sound betraying more cigarettes than usual.
Sarah has cancer. Stage four. The doctors say she has two, maybe three months left.
Sarahthat was the woman for whom hed left me. The one whod given him a son. A chill settled over me, not out of sympathy, but from a creeping feeling that he was about to ask something of me. Something so much that it would take my breath away.
Im sorry, I said, my voice even. But I dont understand why youre ringing me.
Emma I need your help. Theres no one else I can turn to.
I remained silent. Outside, a magpie flitted past, then landed on the old chestnuts branch, eyeing me as if to say: dont trust him.
Emma, please, meet with me. Ill explain everything. Its important. Its about Michael, my son.
Your son, I corrected him in my head. Never mine.
All right, I replied curtly. Tomorrow. Three oclock. That little café off Piccadilly.
I ended the call and sat for a long while on the window seat, staring into the empty air. My tea grew cold, the cucumbers on the chopping board wilted. An old photograph hung on the fridge Edward and me, smiling in the countryside, hand in hand. Id meant to take it down long ago, but somehow never had. Or perhaps I simply feared to admit the woman in that photo no longer existed.
The next day, I arrived at the café early. I ordered tea and sat by the window, waiting. Edward appeared ten minutes lateshrunken, older, with greying temples. He took the seat opposite, nodded to the waitress, and looked at me as if asking forgiveness before speaking a word.
Thank you for coming, he murmured.
Speak, I clasped the teacup between my palms, warming my fingers. I havent long.
I dont know where to begin
Start with why Im here.
He rubbed his face with both hands, clearly struggling.
Sarah is dying. That much is certain. The treatments failed; its too late for surgery. She has no family lefther mother died three years ago, she never knew her father. Michael will be all alone. Hes five.
I stayed silent. Something tightened within me, but I didnt let the feeling escape.
I want to ask you He faltered, eyes dropping to the table. Could you help us? Financially. We need money for care. Ill pay you back, I swear, but at the moment I havent a penny.
How much? I asked, voice steady.
Twenty thousand pounds. Maybe more.
I set my teacup back down, and a drop of tea slipped onto the linen napkin, spreading a dark stain.
Twenty thousand, I repeated. Where do you expect Ill find such money, Edward?
You could sell the flat on Baker Street. You always said you didnt need it, that you never lived there.
The flat on Baker Street. A modest one-bedroom, in an ageing block, a gift from my parents when I first married. Later, Id given it to Edward for his birthdayback when I still believed we would spend our lives together. Hed let it out ever since, reaping the income. And now he wished me to sell it.
Are you serious? My gaze hardened. You want me to sell the flat I once gave you?
Emma, I know it sounds dreadful, but
No, I said firmly. No, Edward. Its still my flat. A gift isnt a life-long obligation.
He blanched.
But Sarah is dying! Michael will be orphaned!
Michael has a father, I rose, picking up my bag. Thats your responsibility, not mine.
Emma, wait
I wasnt going to wait. I left the café, walking briskly down the street, my mobile cold in my shaking hand. Had I done the right thing? Or was I just heartless?
At home, I rang Sophie. Sophie had been my university friend, the one who never judged me after the divorce, who never suggested I ought to have stayed in the marriage for the sake of the family.
He asked you to sell the flat? she repeated, incredulous. Emma, has he lost his mind?
Soph, the womans dying. And the childs so young.
So what? Its not your problem. You owe him absolutely nothing.
But it feels awful, I admitted. Like Im denying help to someone whos desperate.
You have every right to say no, even if it hurts, Sophie said stoutly. Remember that, Em. Youre not responsible for rescuing him from the mess he made for himself.
I lay on the sofa, eyes shut. Edwards words, the other womans facepale hair, a smile, bright happy eyes from that one time Id glimpsed her pushing a pram with him on the High Streethaunted my mind. Shed stolen my husband, Id thought back then. Now she was dying, and I owed her a lifeline?
No. I did not.
Two days later, Edward called again. This time, there was no preamblejust desperation down the line.
Emma, I know youre angry. But spare a thought for Michael. None of this is his fault.
Im not angry, I answered, steady and calm. I just choose not to be involved.
Then theres something else He hesitated. If Sarah dies would you consider being Michaels guardian? Just temporarily. Until Im back on my feet.
It took me a moment to grasp his meaning.
What?
Well, youre a woman. Youve raised Alice. Michael needs a mother figure, and I
Edward, I cut in, my voice cold as November. You want me to become mother to your child? The one you had while you were betraying me?
Emma, listen, its not
No, I said. No, no, and no. Please forget it. Leave me out of your plans. I wont be a chapter in your new life, do you hear?
I hung up, slid down until I was sitting on the floor, my back against the wall, my heart thumping.
How dare he?
That evening, Alice arrived. My daughter, now twenty-eight, beautiful, clever, thriving in her job at an advertising firm, living in a flat of her own in the city centre. We didnt see each other often, but there was always affection between us.
Mum, Dad called me, she said as soon as she stepped inside. Told me about Sarah and Michael.
I nodded and set the kettle on.
What did he say?
That you wouldnt help. That youre cold.
I turned. Alice was standing in the hallway, arms folded across her chest, confusion on her face.
Cold? I echoed, surprised.
Mum, how can you be like this? Hes just a child. Hes innocent.
Youre right, I poured boiling water into mugs. He isnt to blame. But that doesnt make him my responsibility.
But you could help! Just a little, couldnt you?
Alice, I wont sell the flat. And I wont take guardianship of a child who isnt mine. This isnt my story. Its your fathers.
Youre selfish, she said quietly, in a tone that stung.
It hurt, but I refused to justify myself.
Maybe so, I said. But its my choice.
She left half an hour later, having barely touched her tea. Once again, the silence in my flat felt like the hush of an empty chapel.
The days that followed were a torment. Edward rang, sent messagessometimes pleading, sometimes threatening. He claimed hed take me to court, that hed turn Alice against me, make people think I was heartless.
I ignored him each time, reading the messages and then deleting them.
Late one evening, it was Sarah herself who appeared at my door. She looked a wraithpale, gaunt, a scarf tied over her thinning hair. She lingered on the threshold, her eyes weary.
May I come in? she asked softly.
I let her in. We sat in the kitchen, and for a long while she just gazed into her glass of water.
Im not asking you to love Michael, she said at last. Im only asking you to give him a chance. He needs someone to care for him when I when Im gone.
Doesnt he have his father? I asked.
Edward wont manage alone. You know he wont.
I did know. Edward had always been weakcharming, yes, but unable to shoulder his own burdens. All he knew was how to ask for things.
I cant, I said. Im sorry, but I cant.
Sarah nodded, stood, and moved to the door. At the threshold, she looked back.
Youre a strong woman, she said. I was always jealous of that. Edward told me so much about you but now I see your strength comes from coldness inside.
The door closed behind her. I stood in the hallway, unable to move.
From coldness inside.
That night I didnt sleep. I lay on the sofa, thinking of Michael, Edward, and Sarah. Wondering if, indeed, I had become cold. Once, Id been forgivingready to give of myself for others, no matter what.
And then Edward betrayed me. Left. And I learnt that self-sacrifice meant nothing if betrayal would follow all the same.
But was I right?
I got up and crossed to the window. The night was dark, the streetlamps dull. Somewhere down the lane, a dog barked.
I have every right to say no, I repeated Sophies words. Even if its hard. Even if people criticise me.
I am not obliged to pay for someone elses mistakes. Not obliged to be the heroine of someone elses drama.
In the morning, I rang Edward.
We need to talk. Today. Same café.
He arrived with hope in his expression, sat opposite, hands clasped.
Emma, I knew youd
Stop, I interrupted. Listen carefully. I wont sell the flat. That was a gift of freedom, not an obligation. I wont be mother to your child. This is not my story, nor my sorrow.
But
You made your choices, I said, voice calm as glass. You built this life. You left me and had a child with someone else. Now you must bear the consequences. I am not here to shield you from the results of your own actions.
Edward went pale.
So you want Michael to suffer?
I want you to stop using him as your tool for manipulation, I said, unyielding. You have relatives, friends. Sarah too, once. Seek help there. But dont come to me.
Youre cruel, he whispered. Heartless.
I rose and gathered my bag.
Perhaps, I said. But this is my life. And I wont allow you a place in it any longer.
I walked out of the café and down the street, my steps light, my back straight. I didnt look back.
A fortnight passed. Edward didnt call again. Alice was silent, too. Sophie visited, sat with me in my kitchen, drank tea, and spoke of everything except Michael and Sarah.
Bit by bit, I returned to my life. I went to work, cooked my supper, read my books. In the evenings I would sit by the window, watching children play below, just as before.
Now and then I thought of Michael. I wondered what he looked likewho he resembled. But such thoughts drifted in and out like passing clouds. I let them go.
Then, one morning, Alice sent a message: Mum, Im sorry. I understand. Youre right.
I smiled and replied: Thank you, my dear. I love you.
I sat by the window with my cup of tea, looking around my little flat, bright and full of light. It was my place. My home. My life.
I never became a heroine. I didnt save a child. I didnt sacrifice myself.
But I kept myself whole. And that, I realised, was a victory too.
My victory.
Quiet, without trumpets. But real.
I took a sip of tea and opened my book. Outside, the sun was shining, and the world spun on.
At last, I no longer felt guilty for choosing myself.
