Wear it carefully, darling. Its not just gold, it carries our familys whole story, I said, handing the velvet box to my daughter-in-law with the utmost care, as if it were a precious crystal vase. It was my great-grandmothers ring. It made it through the war, through rationing, through evacuation. Mum used to tell me that in 1946, someone offered a sack of flour for it, but Gran refused. She said memories couldnt be replaced by food, and that hunger could always be endured.
Emily, with her stylish manicure and perfectly coiffed blond hair, opened the little box. Under the light, the large garnet gleamed, surrounded by intricate, antique gold filigree. The ring was solid, substantial nothing like those slim, barely-there bands young people wear nowadays.
Wow, this is substantial, Emily said, turning the ring over delicately in her fingers. They dont make them like this anymore. Very retro.
Its not retro, Emily, its vintage, an heirloom, my son, James, gently corrected her. He sat at the table, content after a hearty roast dinner, watching us with a fond smile. Mum, are you sure? You always said that ring should stay in the family.
But Emily is family now, isnt she? I managed a warm smile, though my heart ached. It wasnt an easy decision. That ring was my own talisman, my connection with generations past. But I could see how James loved her, and so I decided: let it be a gesture of goodwill, a sign she truly belongs. Youve been married three years, always together. The time is right. I want it to keep your marriage safe, just as it guarded my parents.
Emily tried the ring on. It hung a bit loose on her ring finger, floating and shifting.
Its lovely, she said, though I didnt hear the awe Id hoped for. More a polite thank you, really. Thank you, Mrs. Prescott. Ill Ill take good care of it. Though, Ill probably need to have it resized or Ill lose it.
Be careful with the jeweller, I warned at once. Its old, Victorian gold, very soft, and the gemstone is delicate. Dont let anyone damage it. Try wearing it on your middle finger perhaps it fits there?
All right, Ill sort it out, Emily replied, snapping the box shut and placing it next to her designer handbag. James, shall we go? Early start tomorrow. Need to pop to the bank before work to sort the car loan.
After I saw them out, I stood at the window for a while, watching their new SUV pull away. There was a hollow feeling inside me as if, with the ring, Id given away a piece of my own strength. But I told myself not to worry. The young have their own tastes, their own values yet family memory is something sturdy; it defends itself.
The week passed as usual, busy but unremarkable. Retirement never suited me; I was always on the move a check-up at the surgery, a trip to the market for fresh cheese, walking in the park with the neighbours. London keeps you moving.
Tuesday, the weather turned foul. Slate-grey clouds hung low and drizzle came down in relentless threads, soaking through no matter how I clung to my umbrella. On my way back from the chemist, I decided to cut through a small alley lined with humble shops: key cutters, shoe repairs, those omnipresent click-and-collect counters.
I walked hunched, eyes on the pavement to avoid puddles. Then I looked up, drawn by a garish shop sign: PAWNBROKER. GOLD. TECH. OPEN 24 HOURS. The window was dazzlingly lit, promising easy, instant cash. Usually, I passed such places with a sense of distaste they always smelt of other peoples troubles and misfortune. But this time, I hesitated.
My gaze slid along the rows of mobile phones, then to a shelf with various pieces of jewellery: thin chains, crosses, wedding bands tokens of someone elses dashed hopes. And then my heart stopped.
Right in the centre, on a red velvet stand, it was lying there.
There could be no mistake. There wasnt another ring like it a deep red garnet, staring at me across armoured glass, the unique gold setting, the almost invisible little scratch on the inner band that only I would know.
It cant be I whispered, pressing my hand to my chest. Good heavens
My knees felt weak. The pavement seemed to shift under me. Perhaps I was wrong? Maybe it was just a copy they make imitations these days
Still, I pushed open the heavy door and went inside. The air smelt of cheap air freshener and old dust. Behind the high security screen sat a young man, scrolling through his phone, utterly indifferent.
Good afternoon, I tried, though my hand trembled a weakness I despised.
He looked up eventually.
Afternoon. We buy, sell, and loan. What are you after?
Id like to see that ring, please the one with the garnet. In the window.
He gave a sigh looking deeply inconvenienced, but got the keys out and handed me the ring via the little security drawer.
Heirloom, apparently, he said, almost bored. Heavy thing, old Victorian 18-carat gold. The stones real, we checked. Price is on the label.
My hands shook as I picked it up. The familiar weight, the warmth of the gold. I turned it over. There the scratch. And the fading jewellers mark Id known since childhood.
It was my ring. The very same one Id given Emily with my blessing just a week before.
My vision blurred. My throat tightened. How? Just one week. Gran starved through the Blitz rather than sell it, but these two well-fed, well-dressed, driving their new car…
How much? I croaked.
One thousand five hundred pounds, the lad replied in the same bored tone. Thats for the weight, some extra for the stone. Unusual piece, big size.
Fifteen hundred pounds. Thats all the memory of three generations was worth to them. I knew in an antique shop, the ring would fetch much more but in a pawnbrokers, it was just metal.
Im buying it, I said, steadying my voice.
Got ID? The lad perked up.
Yes. And my card.
This was my rainy day money, put away for the worst. Well, if this wasnt a black day, what was? While he did the paperwork, I clung to the counter to stay upright, my thoughts whirling. Had they fallen on hard times? Some disaster? Why hadnt they said anything? Id have helped, given them anything. Why this pawning it in secret, like common thieves?
Leaving the pawnbroker with the ring buried in my handbag, I felt anything but relief. Hurt, searing and sharp, burned instead. The rain got heavier, but I barely noticed. As I headed home, my mind raced.
Should I call now? Cause a row? Scream? No. Too easy. Theyd have an excuse, theyd lie claim it was stolen. I needed to look them in the eyes.
So, I waited. For two days, I didnt leave the flat, complained about my blood pressure, and sat, stroking the ring on the table in front of me as if to apologise that it had been in such cold, careless hands.
On Friday I rang James.
Hello, love. How are you both? I miss you. Why dont you pop round tomorrow for lunch? Ill make that stew you love, with cabbage pies for afters.
Hi, Mum! His voice was breezy, no hint of guilt. Of course, wed love to. Emilys been asking after you too. See you at two?
At two, dear. Ill be waiting.
That night I hardly slept, rehearsing the coming conversation. The words in my head felt paltry, feeble next to such a betrayal. Or was it just one of them? Did James even know?
Saturday, they arrived right on time, smiling, with a bouquet of chrysanthemums and a box of lemon drizzle cake. Emily wore a new dress, chatting about the weather, roadworks, a sale somewhere. She kissed my cheek and I had to resist the urge to recoil.
Oh, it all smells amazing! she gushed, swanning into the kitchen. Honestly, Mrs. Prescott, youre a wonder. We end up living on takeaways work and spreadsheets never stop
We sat for lunch, conversation skating over harmless subjects: repairs to their building, fuel prices, work stress. I ladled out soup, watched James tuck in, kept one eye on Emilys hands.
She wore modern, thin gold rings, a bit of costume jewellery. No sign of that heirloom ring.
Emily, I said gently, once wed finished the main, pouring the tea, why arent you wearing that old ring I gave you? Not the thing for todays outfit?
For a moment her grip on the cup faltered. Just a tiny hesitation most might miss. James looked over as well.
Oh, Mrs. Prescott, she said, flashing a too-bright smile, her eyes darting, I put it away in my jewellery box, you know. I did mention, its too big. Im terrified Ill lose it. We meant to go see a jeweller, but works been mad. James is working till all hours, me too
Right, Mum, James echoed. Just havent had a minute. Its fine, all safe.
All safe, I repeated softly. At home, in the box?
Yes, at home, Emily replied, voice tightening, just a bit. Where else would it be? Dont fret, its just a thing. Its not going anywhere.
Slowly, I stood, crossed to the cabinet, and took out the velvet box the very same one. I set it on the table.
A heavy, ringing silence fell. The clock ticked on the wall.
I opened the lid.
The garnet burned like a spark of blood.
Emily flushed red, then turned pale. She opened her mouth but couldnt speak. James spluttered his tea, staring as if hed seen a ghost.
This he managed at last. Mum, what where did you get this?
From the pawnbrokers on High Street, I replied evenly, sitting down. Oddly, I felt calm as if the storm in me had blown itself out, leaving a scorched emptiness. I stumbled in on Tuesday. There was the ring, waiting. Fifteen hundred pounds. Thats what memories are worth nowadays, is it?
Emily stared down at the tablecloth. We meant to buy it back, she mumbled. We really did. After the next payday.
Next month? My voice rose. And if someone else had walked in first? Had it melted down? The stone picked out? Do you understand what youve done?
Oh, dont be so dramatic! Emily snapped, suddenly angry, tears glittering in her eyes. Its a ring. An old-fashioned ring! We needed money, quick were behind on the car loan, Jamess bonus was cut! We didnt want to ask you, youd only go on about saving and being sensible.
Emily, enough, James muttered, but she pressed on.
No, let me say it! You hoard your gold like Scrooge! Weve got to live, right now! We needed a break, we need clothes that arent shabby! We just meant to pawn it for a bit, pick it up next month. No one needed to know!
No one needed to know, I repeated. So your priority was just that I wouldnt find out? Not what it meant to me?
People are what matter! Emily flared. Not old junk! If wed sold it, what? Its not the end of the world!
I turned to James. He sat hunched, hands over his face, wordless with shame.
James. Did you know?
He nodded, not looking at me.
I knew, Mum. Im so sorry. We really were short for the loan. Emily suggested it she said it was only for a while. I didnt want to, but
But you agreed, I finished for him, voice steel. Because it was easier. Because your wife decided. Because memories dont pay the bills.
I took the box and clutched it.
Well. Youre right. Maybe I am old-fashioned. Maybe I cant understand how you can betray your familys trust for the sake of a car loan, or eat my food while lying to my face, my voice was colder than I expected. But thank you, both, for making it plain how much my trust is worth to you.
I stood up and went to the door.
Please leave.
Mum, please it was a stupid mistake, forgive us, please. Were family.
Family wouldnt do this, James. Family would go without before pawning away their memories. Please go. I need time alone.
Oh, for goodness sake! Emily snapped, scrambling for her bag and shoving her chair back. All this drama for an old ring! Well, fine! Come on, James. Were clearly not wanted. She can keep her precious antiques.
They left. The front door slammed behind them, leaving behind Emilys strong perfume, suddenly unbearably cloying.
I cleared the uneaten cake, washed the dishes the familiar process helping me stay calm. Then I fetched the ring.
Well, my dear, I whispered, slipping it onto my finger. Youre home again. Couldnt settle elsewhere. Perhaps the old sayings true some things are just too big for small hearts.
That evening, I sat a long time, watching the garnet glow under the lamplight. Its light was steady, wise, as if reassuring me: Dont fret. People come and go; its what lasts that matters.
My relationship with James and Emily didnt break entirely, of course. James made overtures, called, apologised, tried to mend things. I replied politely, calmly but the warmth had gone, as if something inside me had cracked, like a mug with a hairline fracture: still usable, but no longer for special occasions.
Emily, whenever we met, was openly distant, all wounded pride and played the aggrieved party. The ring was never mentioned again. I wore it now, always.
Months later, I was sitting on the bench outside our flats with Mrs. Watson, a retired teacher who lived two doors down.
What a beautiful ring, Grace, she remarked, admiring my hand. Cant take my eyes off it.
It was my mothers, I smiled, stroking its golden edge. I thought to pass it on, but changed my mind. Too soon. Not ready for it yet.
Youre right, she agreed. Things like that should go to those who value them. Young people today always rushing, everythings disposable even feelings.
Never mind, I replied, looking up at the autumn sky. Perhaps Ill have a granddaughter one day. Ill give it to her. For now, itll stay with me. It feels safer.
That was the most important lesson you cant buy love with gifts, or earn respect through indulgence. The ring came back to me to open my eyes. The truth was bitter, but better than the sweet lie I lived in before that rainy afternoon outside the pawn shop.
Life went on. I signed up for computer classes, treated myself to more shows at the theatre with friends. I stopped pinching pennies for the children, and finally allowed myself a few luxuries. And each day, the ring on my finger reminded me I had a core of steel that no one could bend or break. As long as I kept my familys memory alive, I would never be alone.
