Fed Up
“Enough! Ive had it! If you don’t stop getting on my nerves, I swear, I wont even bother trying anymore! I just wont go to the exam, I wont! What will you do then, eh?” Emily hurled her satchel into the hall corner and yanked the bobble hat from her head.
Her mother didnt reply. She simply shook her head gently and retreated to the kitchen.
Emily shrugged off her coat and, for a brief moment, considered dumping it beside the satchel. Instead, she opened the wardrobe, hung it up neatly, and sighed.
Honestly, it was ridiculous another row, and over nothing, as usual!
Why did her mum always have to needle her with questions and advice? Did she think Emily was a child? Or foolish?
Of course, Emily knew full well that her first session with the new tutor was today. There really was no need to be reminded every half-hour.
She was exaggerating, if she were honest; her mother hadnt exactly gone on and on. Shed merely checked if Emily remembered she was meeting her third English and Literature tutor of the year, but the mere hint of control irked Emily so much that her fiery reactions had become a habit long before they were ever justified.
Emily washed her hands and, catching sight of herself in the mirror above the sink, grimaced.
What a sight! Pimples, her dads stubby nose, and her mothers wild chestnut hair. How many times had Emily begged to dye it? No luck her mum insisted Beauty is earned, not bought, youll thank me later.
Yeah, right! All of her friends looked normal, and she felt like some scarecrow, stuck with these plaits. Who in their right mind wore plaits now?
Emily couldnt help but smile, remembering how devastated her mum had looked when Emily had chopped those hated plaits right down to the root, using blunt craft scissors from her old primary school kit the only pair she could find. Eyes squeezed shut, teeth gritted, shed all but sawed through the thick hair, half-anticipating her mothers shocked, “Emily, why?”
Because Ive had enough! Im not anyones doll! Ill live by my own rules and make my own decisions!
Everyone went on about how she had to do as she was told. But why? What for? Their old-fashioned views had nothing to do with her reality. How could they possibly understand what it was like for her, when they didnt even have the internet at her age? How did they live back then? She couldnt fathom. It was hopeless trying to explain that things had changed university, books, revision? Who needed all that, when anything you need is at your fingertips in seconds? Her mum, of course, insisted this wasnt true; that the internet could never teach you to be a decent person or to actually talk to others. But what did her mum know about it? Shed do better to watch a few webinars on dealing with teenagers, and maybe learn a thing or two!
Emily picked at a scab on another volcano and pulled a face. Good thing her mum wasnt watching; thered be an almighty fuss. Her mum still dragged her to the doctor about her skin and always warned about scars, but Emily couldnt care less. Shed be valued for who she was inside not just her looks! If only she could make her mum understand that.
“Parent,” she mused somehow the word felt so cold, so formal. Yes, her mum had given birth to her, but that hardly made her property. Emily was not her mothers thing, and she certainly didnt have to be treated the way she was!
She winked at her reflection.
What do you say to that, Mum? Serves you right for hauling me from one tutor to the next! And pushing law as a career no, thank you. Emily already knew far more about rights and the law than her parents did. If theyd known half as much, their divorce would have been a far neater affair.
Her mother, Emily thought, had neither pride nor ambition. Not only had Emilys father left her for a younger woman, hed divided their possessions as he pleased, and her mum hadnt fought. Yes, the flat Emilys grandmother left was passed to Emily, but wasnt that only fair? And what did her mum get? Child support that was all. No compensation for all those wasted years! Emily was old enough to see how her parents had lived these last five years. She wasnt Daddys kitten anymore, the pet name hed once used for her. She saw it all.
Her mothers silent resentment, in every movement as she laid dinner out. Her fathers indifference, his empty, obligatory thanks. The cramped spare room turned study, which didnt even have space for a wardrobe forcing her dad to come into the bedroom every morning for his clothes. The alarm, set so Mum would be up before he arrived. The relief they both felt when, on Emilys fourteenth birthday, shed told them herself it was time to finally part ways and end their misery. Enough was enough!
Grown-ups, Emily thought, were odd people. Their endless, “We live for you!” and, “Youre the meaning of my life!”
Nonsense! People live for themselves always! Anyone who claims otherwise, she could argue back! Even in matters supposedly about her, her parents used her as leverage, a pawn in their ongoing quarrels.
Take the new flat: the same building as before, but a different entrance and one room less. It used to be a three-bed, now it was only a two, albeit newly done up and well-furnished but Mum had had to barter for it, leveraging Dads guilt over Emily. After all, a child deserves decent circumstances if youre starting a new life, you should see to your daughters needs! And Dad went along, did what she asked. Emily had her own big room now, bigger than in the old place. Not because anyone cared about her comfort, mind, but because her parents needed to split the marital home peacefully. She was just the buffer.
With a wince, Emily reached for the ointment the doctor had prescribed. Not that it meant her mum was right or anything the ointment actually helped, and she needed it today.
Because tonight because the roof
The roof was a recent discovery. Just a few months ago. That was when Tom the same Tom that everyone in school liked, and Emily never dared to approach had messaged her: “Want to take a walk?”
At first, Emily thought it was some mean prank. Everyone knew she fancied Tom, and yes, thered been a little teasing, but most people liked her. Shed always been helpful, letting others copy her work, and raising her hand in class whenever the teacher looked for volunteers, sparing her classmates the embarrassment.
“Miss Cartwright, I asked you last lesson! Why are you waving your hand now?”
“Oh, Miss Dale, its just such a fascinating topic! Would you mind telling me, was Charles I a tyrant? Would you call his monarchy authoritarian?”
And so the stern History teacher, who scared the whole school witless, would be drawn in by Emilys bait, and class would collectively breathe a sigh of relief: no quiz today.
So, when Emily showed the message to her frenemy Sophie, Sophie just snorted, “And? Why are you so jumpy?”
“Is it really from him?”
“Dont be daft, Em! Go and ask him. What, are you a Victorian damsel now? Girls ask boys out these days! Why so afraid to check who its from?”
Emily didnt answer. Inside, words were useless. Once those flickering letters on her phone finally sank in, the single word from Tom meant everything.
Shed turned up to the agreed spot. And after that, her life felt different, somehow.
The old rooftop of an abandoned block, commandeered long ago by teenagers, wasnt safe. Emily knew this. But every time Tom took her hand and said, “Careful! Watch your step,” her breathing went shallow, and she followed, counting the stairs beneath her feet.
She counted, and inside her mind some triumphant part cheered: “Fifteen, sixteen Go on! Thirty-two, thirty-three Whats to fear? Hes right here”
It was on that roof that Tom first put his arm around her, in full view of everyone, making it clear: she was his girlfriend. No one objected, though Emily saw a few of the girls from his year look at her coldly. Tom had known them since infants, and yet hed chosen her, not one of his own crowd.
Up on that same rooftop, Tom had first kissed her.
That evening, when the others left for the cinema, Emily might have gone too but when Tom squeezed her hand and murmured theyd go to the picture house together another day, she stayed, knowing this night would be special.
And it was. Even now, sometimes, Emily would find herself pausing mid-sentence, closing her eyes, Toms voice in her ears:
“Em, I really like you. Im not great with words, but I want you to know Ive never met a girl like you. Can I?”
And then his warm lips, unexpectedly soft, impossibly gentle
Emily squeezed her eyes shut to recapture that happiness, but then her mothers gentle knock interrupted:
“Em, youll be late. Lunch is on the table”
Annoyance flooded Emily. How could she bear it any longer?
She stormed out of the bathroom, her face a mask of fury, reminiscent of that meme online: the winged, shrieking old aunt.
“What do you want from me?! I havent forgotten! Stop pestering me! Dads already left you, now youre turning on me? Ill leave as well! Move in with Dad! Did you hear me? If you dont stop”
Emily didnt get to finish. Her mum gave an odd sigh and slapped her hard across the face.
“Fine then. But if you come back this evening, dont forget youve got a mock English exam tomorrow. Best get some rest”
Emily was stunned. Her mother had never laid a hand on her, not in all her fifteen years. Not that Emily minded so much; she knew shed deserved it. But the fact that her mum had finally snapped, refused to tolerate her outbursts any longer, shook her.
Still, giving up without a fight was not in Emily’s nature. Satchel, coat, headphones She was tempted to slam the door behind her as hard as she could, just to make the whole building rattle. But she restrained herself. No need to fuel the drama.
She dashed out, checking her phone for the time. Right. An hour for the journey to and fro, an hour with the tutor; that meant she could see Tom around six, no earlier. Good. They could meet up on the roof again, let her mum stew and fret for a while it would do her good. Her father rarely answered her calls these days, so Emily would have a window of time with Tom. Maybe hed have some advice. Toms parents, from what she could tell, hardly interfered at all. Tom was essentially independent: his own bank card with a set limit, the best clothes, but no supervision. His father said at sixteen, you were old enough to make your own choices, giving Tom freedom to work and prep for exams as he liked. That was the way to do it.
Not like her mum at all.
Her dad rang as Emily walked toward her tutors street.
“Whats going on now? Your mum says you want to come live with me?”
“Oh, Dad, dont listen to everything you hear. Why should I get dragged into your and Kates baby drama? Ive got enough on my plate already.”
“Alright. Just dont wind your mum up anymore. Otherwise, Ill turn off the money tap, understood?”
“Thats what I like about you, Dad always straight to the point. I get it!”
“Good. And stop giving your mum grief. She doesnt deserve it.”
The line went dead, and Emily scowled.
They were always like this! At war with each other, but always sticking together if it involved her. How strange.
The new tutor was not to Emily’s taste. When she tried to discuss idioms, he just tutted and handed her a book, ordering her to read the marked chapters for next time. At first, Emily was peeved, but after the tutor gave a couple of examples, she decided there was sense in reading more widely.
She had no wish to appear thick. Tom was clever, after all she had to keep up. All those videos shed watched about healthy relationships emphasised, “A girl must be smart and self-reliant.” She was a bit young for real independence yet, but intelligence could be developed. Her mum said that, and on this point, perhaps she was right. Even with everything, her mum had found the will to finish her degree while awaiting the divorce.
Mum had dropped out of university when Emily was born, first taking a leave of absence, but later giving it up altogether the child was more important. As a toddler, Emily was often poorly, and there were no grannies left to help. Nursery never worked shed last a week before getting sick and spending the next month at home. Shed hated it anyway: lumpy porridge, mean children, and no mums warm arms to cuddle her when she felt sad. Her dad had even warned her mum once:
“Youre too soft on her. Shes used to having you around, it wont be good for her later.”
When Emily was in Year 2, her mum made arrangements with their neighbour to collect her from after-school club and returned to university by correspondence, as well as taking on a job.
That had been the right decision. Otherwise, shed be lost counting pennies and cross with the world. Now at least she had work her own little events business, styling venues for weddings. Emily actually admired her mums business smarts; there was a kind of feminine strength in her. In the office, Mum transformed from quiet housewife to boss, directing her staff and showing them how things should be done. Emily loved watching her in those moments, wishing for that same strength within herself.
Still, maternal control was hard to bear. Emily now agreed with her dad it became stifling. Of course, shed trained her mum to knock before entering her room, and mostly kept her out of her business, but still, her mum somehow managed to monitor almost everything she did, not through threats like her dad, but with a gentle, persistent:
“Em, how are things? Whats on today? Hungry?”
That constant concern made Emily want to scream: “Just leave me alone! Im not a child!”
Sometimes, she did just that shouting, stamping, furious that her mum still treated her like a moody kid.
Emily hurried from her lesson to the place where she and Tom usually met, yearning for his arms, just to forget about parents, exams, all that nonsense, for a little while. Life was passing by while they obsessed over their problems she was fed up.
At the school gate, Tom wasnt there. She hung about for a bit, then decided to go up to the roof by herself. Tom wasnt answering his phone, which was unlike him. Emily began to worry. Something wasnt right.
As she climbed the stairs, Emily realised she felt uneasy. Once, shed flown up them, holding Toms strong hand, now each step felt heavy.
The chilly spring wind whipped around her as she opened the rooftop door into emptiness and silence.
No one was there
She was about to leave, got her phone out to use as a torch it was nearly dark when something shifted in the corner of her eye. Emily froze, terror rising, then relaxed in relief; it was a familiar figure.
“Tom”
He was perched on the edge, legs dangling over the railing, shoulders slumped. Emily, though new to knowing Tom well, understood instantly that he was heartbreakingly lost. Something terrible had happened.
Fear for what might have happened had she arrived moments later gave Emily a panicked courage. She placed her bag softly on the step and gingerly approached, not daring to call out his name.
“Hi”
She sat beside him, only her feet resting on the rooftop itself, not daring to look down. Emily had feared heights since childhood she hardly understood why she came up here for Tom, conquering her old anxieties for his sake.
“Hi” Tom didnt turn, so Emily reached for his hand, squeezing his icy fingers.
“Youre freezing”
“Eh?” Her words finally forced Tom to lift his head. His eyes, normally bright, now hollow and haunted, stared right through her, both frightening and pitiable.
Maybe, for the very first time, Emily felt what her mother must have felt, during their rows and spats. It was a raw, soul-gnawing fear the terror of not being able to reach the one you love
That was what Emily heard in her mothers gentle voice, so often mistaken for a nag. In this moment, with Toms hand limp and cold, she could finally understand.
“You alright?” she managed, her voice uncannily echoing her mothers compassion. The same concern, the same pleading: “Tell me. Tell me whats wrong. Let me in. I only want to help you!”
It worked.
“Terrible,” Tom echoed, squeezing her fingers, however lightly. “Im really not alright, Em.”
“Somethings happened.”
She didnt need to ask; it was evident. That, too, worked.
“Yeah.”
“Could you tell me about it? I know were not I mean, we havent known each other very long, but maybe you could share it?”
Tom finally looked Emily in the face, so searchingly that she shivered.
“Do you really think were not close?”
“No, I just I feel close to you, but I dont know if youyou feel the same.”
“Em, dont say that. In this whole world, Ive got no one but you.”
Emilys heart skipped, once, twice, then raced so hard she thought Tom must hear it hammering in her chest.
“Why no one? What about your parents?” she blurted, still flushed with the rush of feeling, but Toms reaction dragged her back to earth.
He jerked as if stung, shaking his head so fiercely that Emily inhaled sharply.
“Careful!”
“Yeah! Hold me or push me away, just like they did!”
“Who?”
“The people I thought were my parents. Theyre nothing to me. You understand? Nothing! Today my mum gave me my documents and sat me down to explain how I came to be in their family. EmIm adopted, you get it? Adopted! Not their real son! I always suspected, but today I had it confirmed. All these years, Ive been living someone elses life. I took someone elses place, you see?”
Toms voice rose despairingly, and Emily clung to his hand, dreading that if she loosened her grip, he might just slip away.
She didnt doubt for a moment how close hed come to stepping off that ledge. Tom, for all his confident bravado, was not what others thought. Shed seen the gentle, wounded soul behind all his showing off, the secret side he revealed to her alone. In those moments, Emily felt a longing to reach out to that light, and a deep, sudden shame for her own anger at her mother, at the unfairness of life.
What was unfairness, anyway? If asked, Emily wouldnt have known how to answer only now, when it truly mattered, did she see the futility of all her struggles for so-called adulthood. Here, before her, was someone forced to grow up in an instant, but with none of the support she herself took for granted, despite her parents shortcomings.
“Tom, Im scared,” Emily sobbed before she realised, and it snapped him out of his daze.
“Hey! Dont cry” He reached for her, and Emily threw her arms around him, clinging with all her strength.
“Please dont! Even if theyve sent you away, Ill never give up on us, Tom. You hear me? Theres no one more precious to me than you!”
“Im not Tom,” he muttered, his voice hollow, so much so that Emily stared through her tears, trying to see his face in the gloom.
“What do you mean?”
“My real name is Edward. And I had a different surname.”
“It doesnt matter! Who cares? You could be the Archbishop of Canterbury for all I care! Youre still you, I know you! And your name doesnt change a thingdo you hear me?”
“Maybe for you but not everyone will see it that way Em, what am I supposed to do now? Where am I supposed to go?”
“Cant you go home? Did they actually throw you out?”
“No, my mum was crying, begging me to stay. My dad I hit him”
“Why?”
“He tried to lock the door, keep me from leaving. He yelled that I didnt understand anything”
“And do you? Do you understand everything, really? Are you sure?”
“Whats left to get, Em?” Toms voice quivered with pain. “What more is there?”
“Why did they tell you now, of all times?”
Her question hung in the air a moment, the wind carrying it away, as Tom shrank back, trying to piece it together.
“I dont know,” he said at last, and Emily sighed with relief. His despair was gone; only confusion remained. So long as he needed answers, there was hope.
“Shall I come with you?” she asked.
“Where?”
“To your parents. Well go together theyll tell you why. Afterwards, if you want, we can come back up here, and you can do what you wanted. I wont stand in your way.”
She met his astonished look with determination, seized his hand, and gently drew him away from the edge.
“Lets go.”
Tom swung his legs back onto the safety of the roof and, step by shaky step, let Emily lead him towards the stairs, away from the brink and towards the unfinished business that mattered.
“Im a coward,” he confessed.
“Not true!” Emily scoffed, tugging him along. “Anyone would have lost it finding out about their parents like that! Trust me.”
Emily stumbled and Tom caught her, steadying her instantly.
“Careful!”
“Ha! Look whos talking,” Emily chuckled, switching on her phone torch. “Come on weve got a lot to sort out!”
That night would remain with them always.
The talk with Toms parents so painful, so difficult.
A reconciliation came, at last, when Tom discovered his birth father was about to be released from prison, threatening to tell his son what had really happened all those years ago.
And the tears of the woman who had become Toms mother, willingly taking on the care of a tiny orphaned boy, the child of her dearest friend, whod lost her life through one tragic mistake.
“My real mum Her”
“Yes, Tom, your father”
“And now he wants me”
“He wants to meet you.”
“I dont want to see him.”
“Thats your choice. Well support whatever you decide.”
They talked, and talked; and Emily knew she and Tom would not return to that rooftop not tonight, nor ever again. Something within them had shifted, the old slipping away, the new arriving, past giving way to future.
Later, just before midnight, when Emily finally returned home, she let herself in with her own keys and, still in her coat, tiptoed into the darkened kitchen. There, at her post by the window, stood her mum. Emily hugged her, burying her face in the scent of familiar perfume and Mums wild curls.
One word, full of promise and comfort, was whispered into the dark:
“Sorry”
And the answer, from the only one who could ever truly care for Emilys struggles and heartaches:
“And Im sorry too. Are you hungry?”
“No, Mum. Thank you You know, I think I passed my exam today”
“What exam, love? Yours arent for another month, are they?”
“I think it was the most important one, Mum Ill tell you about it later.”
“Why later?”
“Because Ive got my mock exam tomorrow, and I need my sleep”
