“Angel” with a Secret
Elliot sat in his mothers cosy kitchen, both hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. His eyes sparkled with excitement, a dreamy smile constantly flitting across his lips. For the past week, he could talk of nothing but HER the girl who had recently swept into his life and turned it completely upside down.
Shes an absolute angel! he announced with passion, gazing at his mother. So much admiration in his voice. Shes kind, sweet, beautiful I just cant get enough of her. But why did she choose me? Im an ordinary bloke nothing special.
Margaret, sitting opposite, listened closely as her son spilled out his heart. A warm, knowing smile lit up her face. She had noticed he had changed: livelier, happier, like something inside him had caught a new spark. Watching him now, she was sure her son had truly fallen in love.
Oh, my boy, youre head over heels! Margaret laughed, leaning back in her chair. When am I going to meet this special girl of yours?
For a moment, Elliot hesitated, lowering his eyes a little. He was clearly nervous. He wanted everything to be perfect, for his mother to see just how remarkable this girl was.
Hopefully soon, he replied, looking back up. She wants us to wait a bit says meeting the family is a big step. Shed like us to be sure of how we feel first.
Margaret nodded, understanding the girls caution. She knew better than to rush these things; relationships needed time to settle and grow.
Well, I do hope you can persuade her, she said gently, reaching over to ruffle his perfectly styled hair.
Elliot drew back in mock indignation.
Mum, what are you doing! he exclaimed, trying to smooth his hair. Im not a little kid anymore!
Margaret just chuckled softly, her eyes full of warmth.
Come round on Saturday, she suggested, smoothly changing the subject from their playful squabble. Ill make a cake, and Ive got no clients booked in. I fancied a day off.
Elliot pondered for a moment, weighing the pros and cons. He realised this was actually a perfect chance for that first introduction his mother had longed for.
All right, he agreed, determination in his voice. Ill try to persuade her. Saturday should be fine.
For years, Margaret had run her small nail salon at home. Shed transformed one snug back room into a miniature studio: a tidy table with rows of colourful polishes, a comfortable chair for her clients, all the tools neatly laid out. Over time, hundreds of women had passed through her hands, each bringing her own story, mood, and personality.
Some were shy and barely whispered their preferences. Others would sweep in loudly, chattering non-stop about their lives. There were demanding types, who scrutinised every tool and sniffed at her work. Margaret had learned how to deal with all sorts always polite, yet firm, a good listener when needed, gently steering the chat out of choppy waters.
But one client stood out in particular. Her name was Pippa at first glance, the most ordinary English girl. Always neat and understated, never flashy. She spoke quietly, smiled politely, chose gentle pastel colours, never haggled over price. Margaret found herself rather fond of Pippa she seemed so simple and kind-hearted.
One day, as Margaret delicately painted a subtle design onto her clients nails, Pippa suddenly began to talk. Not hurriedly just confidently, as though she was thinking aloud. She spoke of her life, and with each word, a completely different image unfolded before Margaret.
Ive got three children, Pippa mentioned, glancing at her nails as if discussing the weather.
Margarets hand paused mid-file, taken aback.
Really? she asked gently, trying to mask her surprise. And where are they?
Ones with his father, ones in care, Pippa answered with the same matter-of-fact tone. The youngest lives with me for now, but hell be going into care soon too.
The room went very quiet. Margaret struggled to take it in, but Pippa carried on, her voice calm and detached.
You see, children are a good way to get by. The trick is picking the right man.
She explained her philosophy with surprising honesty. Commitment or marriage had never interested her. Instead, she sought wealthy men often those already married. She would start an affair, let feelings build, and then shed have a child.
If a mans married, hell be far more generous, Pippa explained, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. He doesnt want a scandal, after all. Hed rather pay me off maintenance, hush money, whatever it takes just so I vanish from his life.
She described her strategy lightly, as if sharing a recipe. Each child, once their purpose was served, became a burden.
Its my way to get on in the world, Pippa finished, reading the question in Margarets eyes. Her voice was calm, entirely free from guilt or regret. You might judge me. But at twenty-five, Ive got my own flat in the centre of London, an expensive car, and I run my own small business with a comfortable income. What have you got? Youre easily twice my age, and what do you do? You look after other, more successful women! I probably spend more in a café in a week than you earn.
Pippas words stung, but Margaret hid her feelings. She took a slow breath and quietly but firmly asked,
But theyre your own children, your flesh and blood. How can you just give them up?
Her voice trembled; the bewilderment was genuine. How could someone abandon the most precious thing in their life? Those little ones, who look up with wide eyes and call you mum.
Pippa gave a dismissive shrug and half a smirk.
Raising children takes time, and I havent got that to spare. Theyll be better in care, or maybe some loving family will adopt them. Some other woman can be their mother, but not me.
She said it the same way someone might talk about the weather or choosing a new shade of nail polish. Margaret shivered involuntarily, but when Pippa caught her look, she snapped,
And dont look at me like that! I never wanted to be a mum. Im just not made for it, all those nappies, the noise, the sleepless nights No, thats not for me.
There was not a hint of sorrow or uncertainty in her voice. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs and smoothing the sleeve of her pricey jumper, as though discussing her childs fate was as banal as picking out a colour.
Margaret slowly lowered her tools, caught in a storm of outrage and pity. What could she say to change a heart set so cold?
Do you honestly think this is the right choice? she asked softly, still hoping to glimpse a flicker of doubt.
Pippa just laughed.
The right choice is the one that brings me comfort and security. As for the rest well, the rest doesnt matter.
The words left Margaret reeling. She stared at Pippa, as if searching for something that could make sense of these mercenary words. It was hard to imagine such detachment about your own children.
But how on earth did you ever come to this way of thinking? Margaret blurted, unable to conceal her pain.
Pippa shrugged, as though the topic meant little. Perhaps she just felt like unburdening herself that day. Why not here this woman was hardly a friend and she wouldnt be back, not after today. Money gave her choices; she could find any number of nail artists in London. Still, it was odd often, the home salon gave a far better manicure than the trendy West End parlours.
It just happened, really, Pippa said, inspecting her nails. I was nineteen. I fell madly in love would have done anything for him! But it turned out he was married. To him, I was just a bit of fun.
She stopped, lost for a moment in her memory. Margaret let her continue, not daring to interrupt.
By the time I found out, I was already four months along. Too late for anything else, so I had the baby. The man he gave me a flat in Kensington, just so I wouldnt rock the boat or ruin his life. He even took our son, dont ask me how he explained it to his wife.
No bitterness there, just cool calculation.
Thats when I realised why not use whats handed to me?
Pippa paused, taking a breath. It wasnt as easy as she pretended, baring her soul and acting as though none of this bothered her. Maybe, deep down, some tiny part of her still cared but she covered it well.
Now I support myself. I dont need help! Maybe soon Ill find a normal man, get married, have a couple of adorable kids. And Ill live happily ever after.
She said it with a smile, as if painting herself the perfect future. But for a moment, something flickered in her eyes quickly disguised by bravado.
Margaret kept her gaze fixed on Pippas hands, meticulously finishing the job. She didnt dare look up afraid her eyes would reveal everything she thought.
Dont you worry shell discover your past? That shell see what you really did because I cant call it anything other than low? Margaret finally said, her voice more sad than angry.
Pippa gave a cold smirk, her eyes glinting with challenge or mockery.
Ive covered my tracks well, she answered steadily. I even moved across the country and there are no witnesses. My friends know nothing. My mother wants nothing to do with me and the feelings mutual. Who else could say anything? You? She shot Margaret a cutting look.
Margaret stiffened. She set down the nail file and straightened up, facing Pippa directly.
As if Ive nothing better to do than follow your love life! Or gossip about your affairs! This is your business. But let me give you some advice: secrets have a way of coming to light. No matter how much you hide, something always comes out in the end.
She paused, steadied herself, and shifted into a businesslike tone.
Im finished. Is everything all right?
Pippa examined her nails calmly, running a finger along the flawless edge. As ever, Margarets work was impeccable.
Yes, its fine, Pippa said coldly, pulling out a wad of fifty-pound notes and placing them on the table. I wont be coming back, you know Ill find someone else. Goodbye. Actually farewell.
Her voice was sharp, certain. Pippa rose, adjusted her handbag and strode for the door. Margaret watched her go, silent.
The door clicked shut. Silence returned, broken only by the ticking of the old kitchen clock. Margaret slowly cleared her tools. Thoughts tumbled through her mind: about Pippa, her children, how other people understood happiness and responsibility so differently.
Pippa never came again. Sometimes Margaret reflected on their talk, but she tried not to dwell on it. In the end, we all make our own way. And we each carry the burden or blessing of our choices.
***
Margaret had long planned how best to arrange a meeting with her potential daughter-in-law. Her London flat felt too cramped and ordinary. The family cottage in Kent was another matter peace, fresh air, lush gardens, flowers all around. The idea of al fresco tea, little cakes on the lawn, relaxing in the summerhouse all made for a warm, relaxed atmosphere.
At last, the big day arrived. Margaret was busier than ever: dusting, putting flowers in vases, preparing food. She kept checking the clock, nerves fluttering. For her, this was not just a meeting: it was proof that her son had grown, that his feelings were serious, perhaps he had found his soulmate.
Elliot, meanwhile, was restless all morning, darting about the house and garden: fixing the fence, tidying the paths, rearranging the garden furniture for the best effect. Every five minutes he asked, Mum, is everything okay? Did I forget anything? Anything else I should do? Margaret smiled reassuringly, Its perfect, love, stop worrying. But inside, she felt as giddy as he did.
Finally, at the appointed time, Elliot put on a crisp new shirt, smoothed his hair and announced,
Right, Im off to get Pippa. Well be here in half an hour.
Ill be waiting, Margaret replied, hiding her excitement.
Left alone, she took in the setting one last time: the checked cloth on the table, bowls of British fruit, a bunch of wildflowers. The place looked charming. She drew a steadying breath. Elliot had never been this earnest about any girlfriend before. In the past, he rarely brought girls home; if he did, it was casual, with little fuss. But this time Elliot had even bought a ring! Margaret knew hed told her, beaming with anticipation.
Those thirty minutes went by in a flash. Margaret stood at the garden gate, watching the country lane. Elliots car appeared at last. He got out, strolled round to the passenger side, and helped a slender, fair-haired girl step out. She wore a simple white dress that fluttered in the breeze. Her hair shone in the evening light.
He took her hand, and together they walked towards the cottage. Margaret caught her breath they looked so happy, so right together, as if they had walked out of a picture book.
As they came closer, Margaret peered more keenly at the girls face: something was oddly familiar, but the big sunglasses hid her features. She really is an angel Margaret thought, recalling her sons rapturous descriptions.
Mum, this is Pippa, Elliot said, nudging the girl forward.
Margaret smiled, breathing in the summer air scented with roses and newly-cut grass. She opened her mouth to welcome Pippa, perhaps poke some gentle fun about the dress. But suddenly, the girl stopped abruptly.
Her movements became slow, almost robotic. She pulled off the sunglasses. Margaret could finally, clearly see the eyes the same ones that had looked at her from across the nail desk, calmly recounting that chilling story.
Pippa turned to Elliot. Her lips trembled, but her voice was crisp and cold:
We need to break up.
Elliot turned as white as a sheet. He took a step closer, reaching out a hand as if to catch her, but Pippa shrank away.
Why? he whispered in disbelief. Whats happened? We were just
I dont want to talk about it, she interrupted stiffly. Thats it.
Without another word, she spun on her heel and strode up the path to the gate. Margaret and Elliot stood rooted to the spot, stunned by this abrupt twist.
A moment later they heard the sound of a car on the lane. Pippa didnt look back; she got in, the car drove off, and she was gone.
Elliot sat heavily on the porch step. His shoulders sagged; his eyes were hollow. Margaret went over and laid a hand on his shoulder, but he didnt react.
Now Margaret understood. Her own earlier words to Pippa, during that fateful manicure, repeated in her mind: Secrets always come out in the end. Whatever you do to cover your tracks, something always bubbles to the surface.
Suddenly, those words had terrifying weight. Was it pure chance, Pippa picking her son among thousands of men? Or was it fate, cruel and precise, destroying his happiness in an instant?
Margaret watched the spot where the car had disappeared, heart aching for her son. Right now, he needed not comforting words but time time to come to terms with what had happened, and to find the strength to move forward.
***
The evening settled around them, no longer soothing but heavy with unspoken pain. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked, making Elliot flinch. He looked up at his mother, with the same lost look as a child who cant fathom the worlds unfairness.
Elliot sat on the porch, staring into space. The sun was setting, long shadows stretching over the path, though he didnt see the beauty of the scene. Inside, he felt numb; no tears, no anger, just emptiness.
Margaret slipped beside him, making no move to force conversation, just staying close warm, steady, dependable, as shed always been when he came to her with a grazed knee or a broken boyhood heart.
It took nearly ten minutes before Elliot finally whispered:
Mum why? Tell me, please. Why does it have to be like this? I did everything for her.
Margaret sighed deeply. She knew what she had to do: speak the truth, however painful.
Son, she began gently, weighing her words. Theres something you need to know. Ive met this girl before.
Elliot jerked round, eyes wide with disbelief.
When? Where?
She used to come to me for her nails, love. A few months ago. And she told me about her life.
Margaret paused, bracing herself. Elliot said nothing, body taut, desperate for answers.
She has children, Elliot. Three. One with his father, one in care, one with her for now but she said hed be put into care too. She she never wanted to be a mother. For her, children were a way to get money, a home, security. Shed find wealthy men, have a child, and then accept a payout and disappear.
Each word landed like a stone. Elliot turned pale, but he didnt interrupt. He only clenched his hands tighter and tighter.
When I saw her today, I realised who she was and she must have recognised me as well, realised I knew her secret. Thats why she left so suddenly.
A heavy silence fell between them. A car passed by, the dog barked again, but they barely noticed.
But how can that be? Elliot whispered at last. She was so gentle, so caring. We were making plans. I bought a ring
His voice cracked. Margaret reached for his hand, squeezed it tight.
I know, darling. I know it hurts. But better to find out now before youre in too deep, before it could get even worse.
Elliot covered his face with his hands. For a while, he hardly moved at all. Then his shoulders began to shake. Margaret hugged him, holding him close, just as she had when he was little and needed her to chase away his pain.
Its all right to cry, she said quietly. Go on, let it out. The pain will fade. It takes time, but it does get easier.
He didnt actually cry simply sat, his head buried in her shoulder, while she stroked his hair, remembering how much hed clung to her as a child.
Why do people have to be like that he murmured. Why do some just play with other peoples feelings?
Not everyones like that, son, Margaret answered softly. But some people dont know how to love truly. They just look for what they can get comfort, security, their own advantage. Real love, for them, is something foreign or inconvenient.
Elliot slowly straightened, drying his eyes. There was still pain in his face but also the first glimmer of understanding.
Was it all just an act, then?
Yes. But its not your fault. You just happened to fall for someone who couldnt love you back.
The sun had set completely now, and dusk crept over the garden. Margaret stood, drawing her son to his feet.
Come inside. Lets have some tea, and talk. You need to let it out, and then when youre ready youll turn the page, and start afresh. I promise, things do get better just not tonight. Tonight, its all right to be sad.
Elliot nodded. He didnt know yet how things would work out, but just knowing his mum was there made all the difference.
And so it is no secret lasts forever. In the end, we can only be responsible for our own choices, and trust that, no matter how hard it gets, love and truth will see us through.
