Barred Her Daughter from Home — “But why didn’t you let her in?” Veronica finally dared to ask the question that had tormented her most. “You always used to before…” Her mother gave a bitter smile. “Because I’m scared for you, Nicky. You think we don’t notice how you hide in the corner when your sister barges in in the middle of the night? The way you hide your textbooks so she won’t ruin them? She looks at you and she’s angry, angry because you’re normal. You have another life ahead of you, and she drowned hers in a bottle long ago…” Veronica hunched her shoulders, frozen over her open schoolbook—as in the next room, the shouting started once again. Her father hadn’t even taken his coat off—he stood in the hallway, gripping his mobile and yelling. “Don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes!” he roared into the phone. “Where’s all your money gone? It’s been two weeks since payday! Two weeks, Claire!” Tanya peered out of the kitchen. She listened to her husband’s tirade for a moment, then asked: “Again?” Valerie just waved a hand and switched the phone to speaker—immediate wailing from the speaker. Veronica’s older sister had always been able to wring pity from a stone. But years of misery had built their parents a thick skin. “What do you mean, ‘he threw you out’?” Valerie paced the narrow hallway. “He did the right thing. Who would put up with your drunken state forever? Have you looked in the mirror lately? You’re thirty and look like a battered dog.” Veronica edged her bedroom door open two centimeters. “Dad, please…” the sobbing suddenly stopped. “He threw my things into the stairwell. I’ve nowhere to go. It’s raining, it’s cold… I’ll come stay with you, alright? Just for a couple nights. I just need to sleep it off.” Her mother lunged forward to grab the phone but Valerie jerked away. “No!” he snapped. “You won’t darken our door again. We had an agreement, didn’t we? An agreement. After you pawned the telly when we were away at the cottage, I told you: the door to this house is shut!” “Mum! Mum, say something!” came desperate shrieking from the phone. Tanya covered her face. Her shoulders shook. “Claire, how could you…” she murmured, not meeting her husband’s gaze. “We took you to the doctor, you promised. Last time they said the treatment would last three years. You didn’t even last a month!” “Those treatments are rubbish!” Claire snapped, her tone flipping from pitiful to aggressive. “They just drain your money! I feel awful, can’t you see? I’m just burning up inside, I can barely breathe! And you care about the telly… You love it more than me! I’ll buy you a new one!” “With what money?” Valerie stared blankly at the wall. “What, borrowed from your dodgy friends again? Or did you nick something from that latest boyfriend of yours?” “Does it matter?” Claire yelled. “Dad, I’ve nowhere to go! Do you want me to sleep under a bridge?” “Find a hostel. Go where you want,” her father replied, voice frighteningly calm. “But you aren’t coming here. I’ll change the locks if you so much as come near.” Veronica sat huddled on her bed, hugging her knees. Normally, when her older sister drove their parents to rage, the anger would ricochet to her. “And what are you doing? On your phone again? Are you going to turn out like your sister, utterly useless?”—a phrase she’d heard for the past three years. But tonight, nobody noticed her. No one yelled, no one snapped. Her father hung up, got undressed, and her parents retreated into the kitchen. Veronica tiptoed into the hallway. “Val, you can’t do this,” her mother pleaded. “She’ll end up lost. Completely lost. You know what she’s like when she’s… in that state.” “Am I supposed to be responsible for her?” her father slammed the kettle on. “I’m fifty-five, Tanya. I’d just like to come home and relax in my chair. I’m tired of hiding my wallet under the pillow! Of hearing about her scaring the neighbours or bringing home God only knows who!” “She’s our daughter,” her mother said quietly. “She was—once. Now she just drains us dry. She’s a drunk, Tanya. Nothing helps if she doesn’t want to help herself. And she doesn’t. She likes her life. Wake up, find a bottle, pass out—repeat.” The phone started ringing again. They fell silent for a second, then Valerie answered. “Hello.” “Dad…” It was Claire again. “I’m sat at the station. The police are making the rounds. If I stay, they’ll take me away. Please…” “Listen closely,” he interrupted her. “You are not coming home. End of.” “So what, I might as well kill myself?” Claire’s voice turned sharp. “Is that what you want? A call from the morgue?!” Veronica froze. That was Claire’s trump card, played whenever she ran out of arguments. It used to work. It used to make their mother sob, their father clutch his chest—and Claire would get her way. Money, a bed, food, and a bath. But tonight, her father didn’t flinch. “Don’t threaten us,” he said. “You care too much about yourself for that. Here’s what’s going to happen. I’ll find you a room. The cheapest, at the edge of town. I’ll pay for one month. I’ll give you a little for groceries. That’s it. You sort yourself out. Get a job, get clean—you’ll manage. If not, in a month you’re out, and that’s your problem.” “A ROOM? Not even a flat? I can’t live alone, Dad. I’m frightened. The other tenants could be dodgy. Besides, what am I meant to do—I’ve got nothing, all my stuff’s still at his place!” “Your mother will put some bedding in a bag. Leave it with the concierge. You collect it. Don’t come up—I’ve warned you.” “You’re beasts!” Claire screamed. “You’re sending your own daughter into some dive! You live in a three-bed house and I’m supposed to scurry around like a rat?” Her mother snapped, grabbed the phone. “Claire, ENOUGH!” she shouted, so loudly Veronica jumped. “Your dad’s right! This is your last chance. Room or street. Choose now, or tomorrow you won’t even have the room!” A long silence on the line. “Fine,” Claire muttered at last. “Send me the address. And some money—transfer it now, I’m starving.” “No money,” Valerie cut in. “I’ll buy food and leave it in the bag. I know what you’d spend the cash on.” He hung up. Veronica decided it was time. She slipped into the kitchen, pretending she just needed a drink. She braced for their anger to descend on her. Her dad would comment on her messy T-shirt. Her mum would scold her for loafing about when they had all these problems. But neither parent looked up. “Veronica,” her mother said quietly. “Yes, Mum?” “There’s old sheets and pillowcases in the cupboard, top shelf. Please get them and pack them in the blue bag in the closet.” “Alright, Mum.” Veronica got the bag, shook out the junk. She couldn’t fathom how Claire would manage on her own. She didn’t even know how to cook pasta. And her bad habit… Veronica was sure her sister wouldn’t last two days without a bottle. She climbed a stool in her parents’ bedroom to fetch the bedlinen. “Don’t forget towels!” her father shouted from the kitchen. “They’re in already,” Veronica replied. She saw her father grab his shoes and head out, taking the bag and the groceries. Must be off to find that “dive”. Veronica went to the kitchen. Her mum hadn’t moved. “Mum, do you want your tablets?” Veronica approached gently. Her mother looked at her. “You know, Nicky,” she began in a strange, blank voice, “When she was little I thought, she’ll grow up and be my help. We’ll chat about everything and anything. And now I sit here and just pray she remembers that address. Just gets there safely…” “She’ll manage,” Veronica said, perching on the edge of the chair. “She always does.” “Not this time,” her mother shook her head. “Her eyes have changed. Dead. Like nothing’s inside anymore—just a shell, craving the drink. And I can see you’re afraid of her…” Veronica was silent. She’d always felt her parents didn’t care about her, too busy saving “lost” Claire. “I thought you didn’t care,” she whispered. Her mother reached out and stroked her hair. “We care. We just have nothing left. You know how on a plane, they say—put your own mask on first, then your child’s? We spent ten years trying to fix her, Nicky. Ten years! Rehabs, healers, expensive clinics. In the end, we almost suffocated ourselves.” The doorbell rang. Veronica startled. “It’s her?” she whispered. “No, Dad has the key. Probably the grocery delivery. He ordered food.” Veronica took the bags to the kitchen and unpacked them. Porridge oats, tins, oil, tea, sugar. Nothing unnecessary. “She won’t eat this,” Veronica said, putting aside the buckwheat. “She only likes ready-made stuff.” “If she wants to live—she’ll learn to cook,” her mother snapped, finding her strength for a moment. “Enough mollycoddling her. We’ll only bury her with kindness.” An hour later, her father returned, looking utterly broken. “Sorted,” he said curtly. “Keys are with me. The landlady’s an old schoolmarm, very strict. She said if there’s any trouble, she’ll kick her out straight away. I told her to do exactly that.” “Valerie…” her mother sighed. “What, Valerie? Enough lies. Let’s be honest.” He snatched up the bag and the food parcels and headed off again. “I’ll drop this off with the concierge. I’ll ring her and tell her where to collect it. Veronica, lock the door behind me. If Claire rings the house, don’t answer.” He left. Her mother shut herself in the kitchen and broke down. Veronica’s heart clenched. How did it come to this? Claire didn’t live, she just existed between binges, and made everyone suffer. *** Their hopes proved false—a week later, the landlady rang Valerie to say she’d thrown the lodger out, with the police. Claire had brought three men back and partied all night. Once more, her parents couldn’t abandon her—Claire was sent to a rehabilitation centre. Closed, secure—they promised a year would get her sober. Who knows, maybe a miracle will happen after all…

Not Allowed Over the Threshold

Why didnt you let her in? Nicola finally dared to ask the question that had been tormenting her most. You always did before

Her mother gave a bitter smile.

Because Im afraid for you, Nicola. Do you think we dont see how you retreat into the corner when your sister barges in at all hours? The way you hide your schoolbooks so she wont ruin them? She looks at you with resentmentresentment that youre normal. You have a different life ahead, and she drowned hers at the bottom of a bottle long ago

Nicola hunched over her open exercise book, freezing as raised voices erupted once again from the sitting room.

Her father hadnt even taken off his coathe stood in the hallway, gripping his mobile, shouting.

Dont start feeding me your stories! he barked into the phone. Wheres it all gone? Its only been two weeks since payday! Two weeks, Claire!

Joan poked her head out from the kitchen. For a minute she listened to her husbands monologue, then asked tiredly, Again?

Peter just waved her away and put the phone on speaker. Sobs spilled out of the device instantly.

Nicolas older sister had a natural talent for tugging at heartstringseven stones would soften. But her parents, after so many years of turmoil, had grown armour-plated.

What do you mean, he threw you out? Peter paced the narrow hallway. Hes right to! Who would put up with your permanentstate?

Have you looked in the mirror lately? Youre thirty and you look like a battered pup.

Nicola edged her bedroom door open, just a crack.

Dad, please The crying on the phone suddenly stopped. Hes dumped all my things in the stairwell. Ive nowhere to go. Its raining, its freezing Ill come to yours, okay? Just for a few nights. Just to get some sleep.

Her mother lurched forward to grab the phone, but Peter turned abruptly.

No! he snapped. Youre not coming here. We agreed last time, did we not? After you pawned the telly while we were at the cottage, that was it. This house is closed to you!

Mum! Mum, tell him! wailed the phone.

Joan covered her face with her hands. Her shoulders shook.

Oh, Claire, how could you she whispered, not meeting her husbands eye. We took you to see the doctor. You promised. They said the last treatment would work for three years. You didnt last a month!

All those treatments are rubbish! Claire suddenly snapped, her voice sour and sharp. They just milk you for your money. Im suffering here, dont you get it? I cant breathe! And youre bothered about a telly Shall I buy you a new one?

With what? Peter stopped cold, staring at a point on the wall. What would you buy it with, Claire, after spending everything you had? Borrowed off your mates again? Or pinched something from that flatwhats his name?

Doesnt matter! Claire shouted. Dad, Ive nowhere to live! Do you want me sleeping under a bridge?

Go to a shelter. Go anywhere you want, her fathers voice dropped dangerously quiet. But youll not set foot in this house. Ill change the locks if I see you lurking about.

Nicola sat on her bed, hugging her knees. Usually, when Claire drove their parents mad, their frustration would rebound on Nicola.

And what are you doing here? On your phone again? Just like your sisteryoull turn out useless too! Those were the sorts of things shed heard for the last three years.

But today shed gone forgotten.

No one snapped at her or muttered accusations. Her father hung up, took off his coat and he and her mother moved to the kitchen.

Nicola tiptoed into the hallway.

Peter, we cant just do this, her mothers voice quavered. Shell ruin herself. You know what shes like in this state

Shes not my responsibility any more, her father grunted, banging the kettle onto the hob. Im fifty-five, Joan. I want to come home and sit in my chair. Not hide my wallet under the pillow, not listen to neighbours moan about seeing her with all sorts lingering in the stairwell, giving them lip.

Shes still our daughter, her mother whispered.

She was our daughter until twenty. Nowshe just drains the life from us. Shes a lost cause, Jo. You cant fix someone who wont be fixed. She likes her life as it iswake up, find a bottle, settle back into oblivion.

The phone rang again.

They paused, then Peter answered.

Yes?

Dad it was Claire again. Im at the station. Police are abouttheyll arrest me if I dont move on. Please

Listen carefully, Peter cut her off. Youre not coming here. Thats final.

So I should just go and end it then? Claires voice trembled with accusation now. Is that what you want? For the coroner to ring you?

Nicola froze. This was the trump card Claire always played when all else failed.

It had worked onceher mother would collapse in tears, her father clutch his chest, and then Claire got money or fed and let in.

But today Peter would not be swayed.

Dont threaten me, he said. You love yourself too much for that. Heres what Ill do.

Ill find you a room. Cheapest I can get on the edge of town. Pay your first month. Some money for food. Thats it. You sort yourself out. Find a job, start living rightyou might be alright. If not, when the months up, youre on your own, and I wont care.

A room? Not a flat? There was a glimmer of hope in Claires voice. Dad, I cant manage alone. Im scared, and therell be dodgy neighbours andwhat am I supposed to do with nothing? I havent even got any bedding. Hes kept everything!

Mumll pack you some sheets. Well give them to the warden at the blockyou can pick them up there. Dont even think of coming up to the flat.

Youre animals! Claire shrieked. Sending your own daughter to the slums! Youre sitting in your nice three-bed, and Im supposed to skulk around like a rat?

Joan finally snapped, grabbing the phone.

Claire, just stop! she shouted, making Nicola jump. Your fathers right. This is your chanceeither the room, or the streets. Choose now, because after today, not even the room!

There was silence on the line.

Fine, Claire mumbled. Send me the address. And some money, nowplease. Im starving.

Therell be no cash, Peter replied. Ill get groceries and drop them off. I know what sort of food youd really buy.

He hung up.

Nicola decided it was time. She crept into the kitchen, feigning the need for a glass of water.

She half expected a torrent of pent-up criticism.

Her father would stare at her T-shirt and call her a slob. Her mother would accuse her of not caringcould she not see the state the familys in, aimlessly floating through life?

But neither of her parents even looked over.

Nicola, her mother said quietly.

Yes, Mum?

There are some old sheets and pillowcases in the top cupboard. Get them, will you? And pop them in the blue holdall in the box room.

Alright, Nicola replied, heading to do the task.

She found the bag and shook out some odds and ends. Was Claire really going to live on her own? She couldnt even cook pastaand her addiction was stronger than ever.

Nicola doubted her sister could go two days without a drink.

She hauled the bag to her parents room, climbed on a stool and pulled down the bedding.

Dont forget the towels! her father shouted.

Already packed them, Nicola called back.

She watched as her father came down the hall, laced up his shoes and left, saying nothing.

He must be off to find that cheap room.

Nicola went to the kitchen. Her mother hadnt moved.

Mum, want your tablets? Nicola murmured, coming closer.

Her mother looked up.

You know, Nikki she began, her voice flat and strange, when she was little, I thoughtshell grow up and be my help. Well talk about everything. Now, I just hope she remembers the address, just gets there in one piece

Shell get there, Nicola said gently, sitting on the edge of a chair. She always pulls through.

Not this time, her mother shook her head. Her eyes are different. Hollow. Like nothings left inside except a shell, craving that poison. And I can see youre afraid of her, too

Nicola went quiet. Shed always thought her parents hadnt noticed her fear, too busy trying to save lost Claire.

I used to think you didnt care about me, she whispered.

Her mother stroked her hair.

We do care, she said softly. Were just so tired. Its like on planesput your own mask on first, before your childs. We tried to save her for ten years. Ten years, Nikki! Rehab, faith healers, clinics costing thousands. And in the end, we nearly suffocated ourselves.

A knock sounded in the hallway. Nicola jumped.

Is it her? she asked, panicked.

No, your fathers got the keys. Probably grocerieshe ordered some.

Nicola answered the door. The delivery boy handed her two heavy bags.

She unpacked in the kitchenrice, tinned food, cooking oil, tea, sugar. Nothing unnecessary.

She wont eat this, Nicola said, setting aside a packet of oats. She likes takeaways.

If she wants to live, shell cook, her mother snapped, voice hardening for the first time in weeks. No more spoiling her. Our kindness will be the death of her.

An hour later, her father returned. He looked exhausted, as if hed done three shifts.

Sorted, he muttered. Got the keys. Landladys a tough old bird, used to teach school. Warned meone whiff or sound, and shes out. I told her, Dont hesitate.

Oh Peter Joan sighed.

What? Im done pretending. She should know the truth.

He gathered the bags and bedding.

Ill leave it all with the warden. Ill ring Claire, tell her where to fetch it. Nicola, lock up after me. If she calls here, dont answer.

He left, and her mother locked herself away and sobbed.

Nicolas heart ached. How could someone fail to livejust exist from bottle to bottleshattering her parents peace as she went?

***
Her parents hopes were dashed. A week later, the landlady rang Peter; shed thrown Claire out with the help of the police. Claire had brought three strange men back and kept the whole house awake all night.

Once again, Joan and Peter couldnt leave their girl homelessthey sent Claire off to a rehab facility, one of those strict, secure sorts that promised a cure in a year.

Who knowsmaybe, just maybe, a miracle will happen.

Sometimes, setting boundaries is the greatest kindness. Love means knowing when to step back and let a person choose their own way, even if it hurts. Because saving yourself is not selfishits the only way to be there, when someone finally decides to be saved.