12November2025 Diary
Ive watched the whole drama unfold in our tiny terraced flat on the outskirts of Manchester, and I finally need to put it down on paper.
Dad, can you imagine if I got into a university in London? Their linguistics department is topnotch; I read on forums that graduates end up at the UN, even in embassies, my daughter Eleanor said, eyes bright as she chopped cucumbers.
Irene snapped her knife back into the cutting board and stared at her like Id just suggested we dance on the kitchen table.
Eleanor, what are you talking about? London? Who would you be with? There are too many clever people there. Come back down to earth, love. Youll get stuck, crawl back home, and the spots at decent colleges will be gone.
But my points
Points, points, Irene waved the knife dismissively. Be glad theres somewhere to go. Youll be with me, you wont have to scrounge around strangers corners.
Eleanor fell silent, staring out the grimy window. Her mother had already warned her not to dream. She checked her Alevel results in her room, the door bolted shut. Ninetyfour in English Literature, ninetyone in French, eightynine in History.
She read the numbers three times, unable to believe them. Then she slumped onto her pillow, eyes fixed on the crack in the ceiling that looked like a map of an unknown country. Her mind felt oddly empty and resonant at once. She was one of the best pupils in the district with those scores she could get into anywhere.
Anywhere
That night she was glued to university websites until three in the morning, scrolling programmes, reading reviews, comparing entry points. When she landed on a page for Kings College London, the historic façade and the description of the Department of Modern Languages clicked in her mind like a lock finally turning.
This is it, she thought. This is where I belong.
But Irene was having none of it.
Dont even think about it! she shrieked. London? Youre trying to leave me here alone?
Irene paced the kitchen, grabbing at the table edge, then the back of a chair.
Dad, Im not leaving
Youre abandoning me! Traitor! I raised you, devoted my life to you, and you?
The scene replayed every day.
Eleanor stopped sleeping properly. Dark circles settled under her eyes, her appetite vanished. She drifted through the flat like a ghost, trying not to be seen by her mother, which was futile in a twobedroom flat.
Arent you done, Irene? Aunt Margaret, Irenes younger sister, barged in over the weekend, catching the latest act. Shes bright. Let her go, let her study. This is her future!
And what about my future, staying here alone?!
Youre fortythree, Margaret! Youve got the rest of your life ahead. Sophie isnt your caretaker! She has her own life!
Grandma, frail and hunched, rocked her head in the corner.
Irene, let the girl go. Youll end up chewing your elbows later for denying her a chance at something bigger.
Irene stayed deaf to them. A plan began to form in her mind.
A few days later Eleanor ransacked every cupboard, every drawer. Her passport, birth certificate, school leaving certificate all vanished.
Mum! Where are my documents?
Irene, lounging in front of the TV with a victorious grin, replied, In a place you cant reach. I wont sign anything. Youre only seventeen; you wont go anywhere without my consent.
Eleanor sank into a chair, heart pounding. The application deadline was a week away and she had neither papers nor her mothers signature.
She called the university. A polite voice told her that under18 applicants must have a legal guardians consent, without exception.
She rang a legal advice line; the solicitor confirmed that until she turned eighteen, her mother could dictate her life.
Aunt Margaret visited twice more, trying to sway Irene to no avail. Irene clung to her daughter as if her own life depended on it.
Three days before the deadline Eleanor gave up. She and Irene drove to the local polytechnic on the towns edge a drab building with peeling plaster the colour of stale cheese and a crooked sign.
The admissions office smelled of dust and hopelessness. A woman behind the desk took the papers, not meeting anyones eyes, muttering about timetables.
Eleanor stepped out onto the stoop, staring at the grey pavement. Inside, there was nothing but emptiness.
You see how perfect this is! Youll stay with me. No need to go anywhere. I told you no point showing off! Irene beamed.
The first months of study were a different kind of torture. Lecturers read from yellowed notes from twenty years ago, students glued to their phones, and the groundfloor bathroom lock had been broken for years.
Eleanor forced herself to attend classes, then began to skip.
Where have you gone? asked Yvonne, the only classmate who ever exchanged a few words with her, catching her in the corridor.
To the library.
The city library became her sanctuary. She spent hours hunched over grammar, phonetics, cultural studies textbooks, preparing for something she could not yet name.
Her eighteenth birthday fell on a bleak November Tuesday. Irene baked a cake, invited the neighbour; Eleanor sat for an hour, blew out the candles, ate a slice, then retreated to her room.
The next morning she walked to the deans office.
A voluntary withdrawal form, she placed on the desk.
The secretary raised an eyebrow but said nothing shed seen worse.
At home, Eleanor retrieved her hidden documents from behind the wardrobe Irene had handed them back right after she enrolled. Passport, school certificate, birth certificate, all there.
What are you doing? Irenes voice cut the air.
Eleanor turned; Irene was frozen in the doorway.
Im leaving. To London.
What? Again youre doing your own thing? I forbid this!
Im eighteen. You no longer have the right to tell me how to live.
Irenes face flushed with anger.
You ungrateful child! After everything Ive done for you
Ill call when Im settled, Eleanor zipped her bag and walked out, leaving the flat her cage behind.
At the bus station Aunt Margaret waited with an envelope.
Here, take this. Itll tide you over for a while.
Eleanor tried to protest, but Margaret waved her off.
Silence. Youve earned this. She hugged her niece tightly, the kind of grip that made bones creak. Dont give up, whatever happens.
The earlymorning coach to London left at six. Eleanor watched the grey terraces of her hometown melt into the fog. No tears fell, only a ringing sensation, as if she were finally breathing fully for the first time.
Her new flat was minuscule bed, table, chair, nothing else. She found work three days later as a waitress in a café. Twelvehour shifts left her legs throbbing, the smell of overfried onions seemed to embed itself in her hair, but the wages covered rent, food, and most importantly textbooks.
The year rushed by in a strained rhythm: mornings spent sleeping in, afternoons at work, evenings with notes, tests, listening exercises. She lived on the edge of hunger, subsisting on café leftovers for lunch and tea with stale bread for dinner. She dropped six kilos, once nearly fainting in the dining room; the manager sent her home, insisting she eat properly.
Yet she kept moving forward. The dream remained. In summer she reapplied to the very university, the very department, the entry point was high but her grades were higher.
The lists were posted in August. Eleanor stood before the board, heart thudding in her throat, searching for her surname.
She found it.
A funded place.
She sank onto the steps of the old stone building with vaulted ceilings and stained glass, strangers passing by, some glancing, but she didnt care.
She had done it.
Five years flew by like one long, packed day. She never returned to her hometown, ignored her mothers pleas to spend Christmas or birthdays there. Irenes calls grew rarer, each conversation beginning with complaints and ending in accusations. Eleanor listened, nodded, replied Yes, I understand, goodbye, Mum, and slipped back into her life.
In June, she received her redcovered degree. She stepped out of the university, clutching the diploma, and paused on the riverside promenade.
A job offer lay waiting in her mailbox an international translation firm, a salary she had once only dreamed of.
Her phone buzzed. Mum
Sweetheart, when are you coming back? I have
Mum, she cut in gently but firmly. I just got my degree. I have a job in London. Im not coming back.
A sob followed.
Youve abandoned me! I knew it! Ungrateful
Goodbye, Mum. Ill call in a couple of months.
She hung up, stared at the grey water glinting in the early light, a distant riverboat humming.
She smiled softly to herself. She had not let herself be broken. She had achieved her goal.
Lesson learned: no one, not even family, should be allowed to dictate the boundaries of your own ambition.
