I Will Live Better Than You
How can you live in such squalor? Emily wrinkled her nose. Look at this, you havent even managed to redecorate in twenty years! Yet you still try to teach me how to live my life!
Margaret Turners shoulders slumped wearily. Charles Turner quietly lifted his cup to his lips and took a sip without looking at his daughter. Emily, cheeks flushed with anger, stood in the middle of the kitchen, waiting for some kind of reaction. But her parents said nothing, and the silence stung her more than any words could.
James is a good man, Emily pressed on. You just dont understand anything about real life!
Margaret raised tired eyes to her daughter.
Were not against James, love, Margaret shook her head gently. We just want you to finish your studies first, get some stability.
What stability? Emily rolled her eyes. Like the kind youve got? Twenty years in the same old flat, never doing anything to it!
Youre only nineteen, Margaret spoke softly. Its far too soon for marriage. Please, try to see that.
Charles set his cup on the table and finally looked at his daughter. There was no reproach in his gaze, just a deep sadness.
You can start building your own life, were not against it, Margaret continued. Just Not right now. Dont rush into things.
You only want to ruin my happiness! Emily stamped her foot, just like she used to as a child. Thats all!
She spun on her heel and grabbed her bag from the chair in the hallway. Margaret rose from the table and took a step toward the corridor.
Emily, wait Margaret reached out a hand.
But Emily struggled to get her coat on, missing the sleeves in her anger and wounded pride.
James and I will be happy! Emily shouted from the hallway. Just to spite you both!
Charles pushed himself up, leaning on the kitchen door frame, and shuffled out to his daughter.
You dont understand, sweetheart Charles started, but Emily cut him off.
Ill have a good life! Ill have money and everything will be great! Not like you!
Emily yanked the door open and burst onto the landing. The last thing she heard was her mothers quiet sigh and a dull thump as something fell
Emily hurried down the stairs, not once looking back, trying to convince herself she was right with every step
…Four years later, Emily stood outside that same battered flat door, the paint even more chipped. In her right hand she held the warm palm of three-year-old Alfie, who eyed the unfamiliar door with childish curiosity. Emily raised her left hand to knock, but couldnt bring herself to touch the door. Her fingers hovered a few inches above the cracked paint. She realised she just couldnt do it. Alfie tugged her hand and looked up at her with a questioning expression.
Mummy Alfie said, shifting from foot to foot.
Emily glanced down at her son, then at the scuffed suitcase on the floor beside them. Large, battered, with a broken wheel. All that was left from her old life, her big dreams, and her loud promises. She hadnt seen or spoken to her parents in four years, never even wrote. Emily had once thought herself above them, better than these people with their humble flat and simple joys. And now she stood here, on their doorstep, face blotchy from tears, dreams in pieces
She finally knockedthree quiet, hesitant raps, so unlike the door slam four years ago. She heard footsteps approaching quickly, as if someone had been waiting all along, and then the click of the lock. Margaret opened the door, lifting her brows in surprise. Shed aged over the years, with more lines on her face and grey streaks at her temples.
Margaret took in her daughters tear-stained face with smudged mascara. Her gaze dropped to the little boy clinging to Emilys leg, then to the battered suitcase behind them. Understanding flashed in her eyes. She asked nothing, didnt mention those cruel words from years before. Margaret simply stepped aside and let her daughter and grandson in.
Emily stepped over the threshold and looked around. Everything was still the same, only more fadedsame wallpaper, same old wardrobe by the door, the same homely scent she had once despised. Alfie peered around the flat, eyes wide at the new place.
Why dont you go have a look in the living room, Alfie? Emily knelt down. I think there are some toys in there. Go and have a look, okay?
She pointed, and Alfie obediently toddled down the hallway. Emily stood and turned to her mother. Margaret stood silently by the wall, watching her daughter.
Emily wanted to explain, to justify herself. But nothing came, only the bitter truth and shattered illusions. She took a step, then another, and finally threw her arms around her mother. The sobs tore from her so violently that her whole body shook. Emily cried her heart out into Margarets shoulder, which still smelt of the same washing powder as four years ago.
Mum Emily choked through her tears. Mum, forgive me.
Margaret hugged her tight and stroked her back, just like shed always done. Emily wept for her foolish dreams of a glamorous life, for a marriage shed rushed into with a man she hardly knew. She wept for her own pride, so carefully hidden behind contempt for her parents.
You were right, Emily lifted her tear-streaked face. Right about everything.
Margaret just squeezed her closer.
Lets go to the kitchen, she said, taking Emilys hand. Ill put the kettle on.
Emily nodded, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. She sat at her old place by the window. Margaret set the kettle to boil and got out some old mugs. Emily watched her mother and realised how much she had missed in those four years.
Wheres Dad? Emily suddenly noticed her father wasnt there.
Hes at work, Margaret replied, setting a cup before her. Hell be home soon.
Emily swallowed the lump in her throat and looked at her mum, unsure what to do with her hands.
I said horrible things to you then, Emily stared at her tea. About being poor, and never fixing up the flat.
Margaret sat across from her and covered Emilys hand with her own.
The important thing is you came back, Margaret squeezed her daughters fingers. Nothing else matters.
He cheated on me, Mum, Emily burst out. Then just threw me out.
Margaret stroked her daughters head the way she used to when Emily was a girl.
And I trusted him, Emily sniffed. How am I going to finish my course now? How do I make a life with a child?
Margaret hugged her and rocked her gently.
Well figure it out, love, Margaret soothed her. Well get through it, together. Not straight away, but we will
…Months passed since Emily returned to her parents flat. Her dreams of a beautiful life crumbled to dust. She sat in a café at a corner table with two friends. Angelina fiddled with an empty coffee cup, frowning. A year earlier, Tom had left Angelina saddled with debt.
The debt collectors ring me every day, Angelina grimaced. And that scumbags run off to Birmingham.
Emily nodded and looked at their other friend, Katie, who was raising her daughter on her own. Katies boyfriend had never made it to the registry office.
At least mine went without debt, Katie joked bitterly. He just said he wasnt ready.
Well, mine was ready, Emily gave a wry smile, for responsibilitywith someone else.
Angelina snorted, sharing the bitter irony.
We were all so naïve, Angelina leaned back. Thought wed found princes on white horses.
And got clowns on sticks instead, Katie added, picking up the thread.
Emily listened to her friends and realised how similar their stories were. Three young women with broken dreams, sitting in a cheap café.
Oh, lets stop moaning, Angelina slapped the table. Lets get pudding at least.
Emily smiled and waved the waiter over, glad of the small reprieve from her thoughts.
That evening, Emily walked home along the familiar streets of the estate. She let herself into the flat and listened for the sounds inside. From the far room came the laughter of a child and her parents voices.
Emily crept quietly down the hall and paused at the doorway. Charles was on the floor, building a tower from old wooden blocks. Alfie clapped gleefully every time it grew another level. Margaret sat in her armchair knitting, smiling as she watched husband and grandson.
Emily stood and watched, unable to tear her eyes away. She remembered how she had looked down on this small flat and its simple pleasures, how proudly shed slammed the door on her way out, convinced of her own superiority.
But now she saw what she had been blind to in her pride. Margaret and Charles had been together thirty years, through thick and thin. They had survived the recession, layoffs, illness and loss. They owned their own flat, even if it was small and in need of redecoration. They had steady jobs, and a roof over their familys head.
No, her parents hadnt gone to Spain every summer, or splashed out on expensive clothes, or changed their car every couple of years. But they remained a familya true familywho stood together through it all.
And Emily was left alone with a child and a broken heart. Her pride still simmered, refusing to admit the truth, trying to tell her it was only temporary, that shed rise again. But Emily finally understood the painful truth about herself.
The failure in this story wasnt her mum, with her simple flat. It wasnt her dad, with his old jacket and steady job. The failure was Emily, who chased a shiny dream and lost everything.
