**The Clever Timmy**
Emily and her mother had been quarreling for days. They would wear themselves out, retreat to separate corners, sulk in silence—only for the argument to flare up again the moment one dared to speak.
“You never listen! It’s your way or nothing. You didn’t listen to Dad either, and that’s why he left you,” Emily snapped. She knew bringing up her father was below the belt, but anger had its own momentum, and she couldn’t stop.
“I don’t care. I’m leaving anyway because I can’t live without Dan. I love him. I wanted to go on good terms, but clearly that’s not happening. I’m twenty, for heaven’s sake! In your day, girls my age were considered spinsters. Always so proper—don’t you ever tire of yourself? I won’t end up like you—” Emily cut herself off.
“I’m not against it. I hear you perfectly well. So why not marry him if you love each other?” Her mother replied nearly calm, unnerved by her daughter’s outburst.
“Here we go again,” Emily groaned. “Marry with what? We’re students. Live off you? Or his parents? They’ve already bought him a flat.”
“How will you manage?”
“I told you—Dan works. He builds websites, writes small programs. People pay him for that. Yes, Mum. Haven’t you heard of working online? We’ll have enough for food. In a year, we’ll graduate and marry properly.”
“Then wait a year. Or is there a fire? You’re not pregnant, are you?” Her mother’s sharp eyes scanned Emily’s figure.
“No, Mum, I’m not. This is pointless.” Emily stormed to her room, yanking clothes from the wardrobe, stuffing them into a rucksack. When they wouldn’t fit, she stood by the bed, deliberating.
Her mother entered. “Here comes the shouting,” Emily thought. But her mother only lingered, silent, then left. A few minutes later, she returned and placed a suitcase beside the pile of clothes—the one she’d taken to the seaside with Emily’s father.
“Thank you!” Emily hugged her. “I’m not moving to the ends of the earth. I’ll visit. Call every day. If you need anything, just say—Dan and I will come help.”
Her mother suddenly crumpled onto the bed, covering her face.
“Everyone leaves. Go on, run off like I’m some monster. He needed me young and healthy, now I’m just in the way. Your father found himself a younger woman—I wasn’t good enough. But when his stomach acted up or his back gave out, oh, then I was useful! Massages, steamed meals, juicing potatoes and cabbage for him. Then he got better and ran off. Never mind—when his health fails again, he’ll crawl back, but I won’t forgive him.”
“And now you’re leaving. Couldn’t stand it, could you? Cooking, shopping, laundry—and studying too. Woman’s work is hard enough. What if you get pregnant? Why the rush?”
Emily sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her stiff shoulders. For a moment, she considered staying.
“Why not just keep seeing him like before? Why move out?” Her mother wouldn’t let go.
“Why do people live together? Because they can’t live apart. I love him. I’ll visit—promise. Call every day. Want us to move in here instead?”
Her mother dropped her hands, straightening sharply.
“Over my dead body.”
Emily nearly laughed.
Her mother had married late. Gran had been strict, never let her out of sight. Only after she passed did Mum marry—what they called “jumping on the last train.” At twenty, Emily was grown; her mother, already retired after her factory shut down, pensioned off with the other older workers. Then Dad’s little stunt. Emily understood. But how to split herself between Mum and Dan? They’d never live peacefully under one roof. Mum’s temper was legendary. And why try, when Dan had his own flat? Better this way. Only—Mum was afraid of being alone.
“Forgive me. I love you. But I love Dan too.” Emily stood, resuming packing.
Once alone, she fished her phone from her jeans.
“Waiting?” she whispered into the receiver. “Be there soon.”
Rucksack slung, suitcase wheeled behind, she headed out. Her mother sat at the kitchen table, back turned to the window.
“Mum, don’t be cross. I’ll ring tomorrow,” Emily said, voice laced with guilt.
No response. The sight of her—lost, lonely, wounded—twisted Emily’s heart. But if she weakened now, Mum would beg her to stay. Dan had been waiting outside long enough; he must be freezing. Before doubt or her mother’s silence could sway her, Emily stepped out.
A taxi would’ve been nice, but money was tight. She and Dan walked to the bus stop.
“How’d it go? Did she scream? Beg you to stay?” Dan squeezed her hand once aboard.
“Fine,” Emily muttered. No energy for details.
“Regretting it?”
“Don’t be daft.” She gripped his hand, leaning into him.
Emily called her mother daily between lectures. Mum complained of blood pressure, joints aching with the damp. Late November, yet rain and sleet lingered—hard on anyone, let alone her. Emily offered pep talks. But the litany of ailments grated. Take a pill, rest—what else was there to say? Calls grew sparse. She planned to visit next weekend.
“Should I come?” Dan offered.
“Better not. To Mum, you’re public enemy number one—the reason she’s alone. Last thing we need is a row. Stay and work.”
She bought satsumas and a Battenberg cake. The sharp scent of smelling salts hit her at the door—unsettling, foreboding. Mum lay on the sofa, a towel over her forehead.
“Are you ill? Your pressure? Should I call an ambulance?” Emily perched on the edge, anxious.
“They already came. Gave me an injection and left,” Mum said faintly.
“I brought your favourite cake. I’ll put the kettle on.” Emily escaped to the kitchen.
*I’ll ask the neighbour to ring if anything happens*, she decided, though she suspected Mum was exaggerating. *Playing up her condition. Wants me to feel guilty. Probably invented the ambulance too—knows I won’t check.*
She peeled a satsuma, brought it to Mum.
“Remember how you’d buy me oranges when I was poorly?” She hurried back before Mum could refuse.
Mum ate it. They had tea and cake after. The towel came off; she perked up, asking after their life, why *he* never came—Mum’s term for Dan. Acceptance of Emily’s departure had come, but Dan remained unforgiven.
“He wanted to, but I thought he’d only vex you. Next time. Or visit us—see how we live?” Emily ventured.
“When I’m feeling better,” Mum hedged.
By the end, they chatted amiably, almost like before.
“Got enough money?” Mum asked as Emily prepared to leave.
“Plenty. And if you need anything, just say. Don’t haul potatoes alone—I’ll fetch them.”
“I’ll manage,” Mum deflected.
Shuffling in slippers, clutching her back in the hallway—a new performance. *Playing the abandoned crone now.* Emily hugged her, promised to call.
“How was it?” Dan asked, fingers flying over the keyboard when she returned.
“Alright. Asked why you didn’t come. I said we’d both visit next time.”
“Progress,” Dan noted.
“Eating?”
“Got a job—good pay if I finish fast. Sorry, but I need tonight.”
“They won’t stiff you like last time?”
“Nah, smarter now. Send half, get paid, then the rest.”
Emily sighed, reheating spaghetti hoops and sausages.
The next day, outside the shops, a sodden, scruffy dog blocked their path. His mournful, clever eyes fixed on Emily. She halted, transfixed.
“He’s waiting for his owner,” Dan said, tugging her away.
“Wouldn’t be this filthy if he had one,” she countered.
“Em, come on. Might be sick.” Dan tried steering her off.
But the dog trotted after.
“I can’t leave him.” Emily stopped again.
“Crafty thing. Senses you’re soft—manipulating you like your mum.”
“Wait—that’s it!” Emily brightened. “Let’s clean him up, take him to Mum. He’s not a pup; won’t ruin the flat. She’ll have to stop pitying herself and care for him, take him out.”
“Brilliant,” Dan agreed.
The dog followed them home but balked at the door.
“Coming or staying a stray?” Dan fake-slammed the door. The dog darted inAfter a year, Emily and Dan married, her father stayed for good under Timmy’s watchful eye, and her mother even let slip that the scruffy old dog had turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to them.
