Polly, are you ready yet? Im going to be late for school! Victoria gave one last shake to Georges shirt and draped it carefully across the washing line, which stretched from wall to wall on the open balcony. Faded paint flaked from the walls, but it was still her favourite spot in the flat.
Victoria stepped up to the railing and, as always, paused. From the seventh floor, the Thames twisted silver between blocks and parks, the rooftops below glittering in the pale spring sunrise. Victoria narrowed her eyes and gripped the cold railing with slender fingers. This was lifebright, promising, almost painful in its possibility. She swore to herself that one day shed take it all, manage her tasks, and shape fate according to her own will.
But suddenly, a cloud slipped across the sun. Victoria shivered and blinked, reality growing sharper, the world smaller and more ordinary. That was how things always werefirst, the dream, then real life, blunt and demanding. Still, as Mrs Shepherd once said at school, Reality is what we make it. It all depended on you. Maybe Mrs Shepherd was right; a clever woman, university-educated, who always said Victoria could go far if she wanted. But wanting wasnt enough. She had to think it over; she had brothers and sisters still little, Dad worn through, and barely any money left. Really, there was no choice but to find work and help at home. University would have to wait.
She glanced at her tiny wristwatcha gift from her father back in Year Twoand gasped. They would both be late. Whipping up the empty washing basin, she shoved the balcony door open.
Polly slumbered, one sweet hand tucked beneath a flushed cheek, and Victoria watched her for a moment, quietly awed by her beauty. Those thick lashes, lying like the wings of moths on her cool cheeks; those wild fair curls, unruly on the pillow though Victoria would never dream of cutting themsomething to be cherished, just as their mothers had been. Victoria scowled. She didnt care to think about their mother. Some things you could forgive a person, but betrayal fell outside her mercy. Mum had left them behind, and Polly was too small to remember. At first, she called Victoria Mum on the playground, causing awkward glances, but Victoria just smiled. She remembered the first time the women ganged up on her for it.
Theyd moved to this place after Gran died, left the flat to Dad in her will. Their old two-room was too cramped, but now the four-bedroom was spacious, dust heavy in the air and quiet descending at night.
Gran was strict, aloofa retired university professor who regarded neighbours as little more than gossiping fools. When Victoria was younger she hadnt understood, then learned to avoid Grans company as much as possible. She never liked her grandmothers sharp words, but she came anyway, to help, teeth gritted through each chore.
Youre just like your mother. Nothing will ever come of youunless youve got my sides genes. Your fathers worth nothing, so who knows? Only thing that could save you is knowledge. Study, or youll end up as she did.
There was nothing Victoria could say. No one argued with Gran. Dad never scolded her, but she could see the strain in his shadowed face, shutting down for the whole evening. That was punishment enough. So, she learned to keep quiet, pay her dues, and flee as soon as the chores were done. Only once, fists trembling, did she finally shout back.
Your brother and sistertheyre not your fathers, are they? I want nothing to do with those brats. Dont you ever mention them here again, do you hear me?
Then I shant come here at all! Victorias knuckles were white around her cloth, rage boiling against the hated porcelain figurines Gran made her dust, painstakingly, for hours. Grans precious collectionmore valuable than her grandchildren.
She stormed into the hall, pulling her coat around her and bolted for home. Polly, babyish and babbling, was in her playpen. Boots off, Victoria scooped her sister up, whispering fiercely, Youre mine, and George is mine. Were family, no matter what anyone says. And thats all we need.
Dad poked his head from the bathroom, startled by Victorias tears. Polly patted her cheeks in confusion, then wailed louder, and George, homework abandoned in the kitchen, peered in.
Whats going on then?
No idea!
Women! George grinned, flopping his arms around both sisters. Cry-babiesfancy some dinner? We made pasta.
Gran rang an hour later. Victoria quietly set aside the last plate, rinsing it half-clean, her heart sinking as Dad grew first surprised, then angry, then cold. She curled into her seat. An argument was coming, surely.
But none came. Dad just walked in later, gave her a hug and a kiss on the head.
You dont need to visit Gran again, he said.
Why not?
Because nobodyrelative or notgets to humiliate you or insult your family. Ever.
Victoria leaned into him, relieved. No more dread, no more endless criticism. She could focus on her own life and her siblings.
Gran passed away a year and a half after. In her last weeks, Victoria began visiting her again after a trip to the hospital with her father. The frail woman in the hospital bed was barely recognisable as the formidable figure from her memories. Only her sharp tongue endured. Sitting by her side each morning before school, Victoria watched Gran berate the nurses and squeezed her fathers hand.
Ill stay, shed tell him.
But love
I must.
The nurses sighed, grateful for the buffer. Because victoria had lessons in the afternoon, she could help in the mornings, and with Victoria present, Gran quietened and let them work.
Youre a remarkable girl, the head nurse would say, squeezing her shoulder. As for your Grandont hold it against her. People with nothing tender in their hearts never find happiness. Thats a kind of misery, too.
On her last day with her, Gran was quiet, watching the sky turn steely through the window. Victoria finished her essay in her lap and packed up to leave.
I should go now.
Wait Grans voice, thin as wind. Forgive me. For everything. Lifes so foolish. Take care of your father.
Victoria nodded. She shouldered her bag, and just before leaving, kissed Gran on the cheek.
Rest. Ill be back later.
She thought she saw Gran turn away, hiding her eyes, then hurried offnearly an hour to school still. That day, Gran died.
Victoria received the news from her father without a word, then went to the young ones room and sat with them while Dad grieved in the kitchen, quiet and alone. Gran was his mother.
The move was hard. Polly took poorly; George rebelled, refusing to help; Dad flustered between work and home; Victoria boxed up their things, praying for change, though she had no idea to whom she prayed. But in time, everyone had their nook in Grans flat, dispersed into corners. Soon, Pollys bed found its way to Victorias roomPolly couldnt sleep on her own, sneaking in with her sister each night. George claimed the kitchen as his lair, and together with Victoria, he struggled through homework at the table.
Salt the potatoes! Victoria muttered, wrestling her way through physics.
Vicky, the soups boilingwhat next?
Hang on! Knife down, she chopped veg.
My numbers wont add up. I cant with all these negatives. Vicky?
All right, let me see
Polly, crayons in hand, drew intently at her table, though not knowing it was homework, only that thats what her elders did.
At first, Victoria found the change hard. Dad worked long shifts, so the children were her responsibility. When George could be reasoned with, Polly was harder. Nursery helped, but she often fell ill, and Victoria skipped lessons to care for heruntil Mrs Shepherd appeared.
Victoria met her new neighbour by chance. In their first week she took Polly down to the playground. The warm day saw all the mothers, grannies, and nannies gathered, watching their broods and gossiping. Polly wanted the swings, but there was a queue.
Mum! Her clarion call cut across the square; faces turned and lips pursed.
That oneher mother? How old could she possibly be? Not right. Scandalous.
Tutting and whispering, the women closed ranks. Polly shrieked for the swing, Victoria floundering, desperate to get her away from the chaos.
Whats going on here?
Victoria spun round; for a heartbeat she thought she heard Grans severe noteMrs Shepherd, brisk and smart in a neat jacket, stilled the crowd.
Its just our new neighbour. Seems shes shocked the hen house, someone brayed, slyly.
Is that so? Mrs Shepherd scanned the playground.
One elderly busybody, indignant, wagged her finger. You see? Young girl with a childat that age! Disgraceful, isnt it? Youre clever, you know the rulesdoesnt add up, does it? Children raising children! Should be in care, really; what does she know?
Are you finished? Mrs Shepherd arched an eyebrow.
Victoria braced, expecting worse. The women muttered, but one by one slunk away, dragging their own children home.
Shows over, Mrs Shepherd shrugged. Before you start a protest, its best you check your facts. And you, whos this little one?
My sister.
Any other questions?
The playground audience melted away.
Whats your name, love?
Victoria. Thats Polly.
Im Evelyn Mrs Shepherd smiled. None of that Auntie nonsense, please.
How then? Miss Shepherd?
Heavens, no! Evelyn is fine. Im not your teacher.
Later, Victoria couldnt recall exactly how Evelyn became her friend. Some would say there couldnt be a friendship between a teenager and a woman in her thirties, but perhaps fate threw her just the lifeline she needed.
Victoria understood soon enough why Evelyn was both respected and somewhat feared on the estate. She was a solicitor, handled family matters, and inevitably, neighbours came to her in need. Evelyn was sharp, loyal, and always discreet.
You wouldnt believe what I know, shed laugh, helping Victoria swap out curtains for washing. Lovely fabric, but tough on the spin.
Why are they afraid of you? Victoria asked, folding cloth, watching as Evelynshort and nimblebalanced on the windowsill.
People like to look respectable to others. The truth, well, the truth can ruin thatwhen someone finds out youre dodging child support, neglecting elderly parents, or shuffling Granny to a home for the flat, it upsets the portrait. Thats all reputation is. Do you see?
Victoria nodded. It made sense. Thats why Dad moved them here, after allthe further from those who knew about Mum disappearing, the better.
Evelyn was the only one Victoria ever confided in about their mother. She had bottled it all up, on guard against bitternessafraid shed turn out like her, that perhaps Gran was right.
One day, Evelyn asked Victoria to feed her cat.
Ive got a hearing and who knows how long itll drag on, Evelyn explained. If Im not back in time, hell wail and sulk all night.
Hes only a cat, Victoria shrugged.
Thats the problemif he sulks, I get no sleep! Evelyn joked.
Cant you lock him in another room?
Evelyn smiled, led Victoria into the kitchen where Marmalade lay snoozing.
Watch this, she whispered. One, two, three
BAM!the door shuddered under an angry paw.
Blimey!
Exactly. Thisll last all night if you let him. Here, little tyrant, Evelyn scooped Marmalade up. Dont fret, youre in charge.
Victoria ended up late; stuck after class, then Polly dawdled in the shop, and at home George needed homework help. It was after eight when she finally hurried to Evelyns flat.
Sorry, Marmalade! It couldnt be helped! She filled his bowl as the cat glowered.
The door banged and Evelyn entered, dropping her bag and collapsing into the nearest chair, her energy just gone.
Thank you for remembering, she said. Then unexpectedly, she began to cryquiet, uncontrollable tears, her head in her hands. Victoria was taken aback. Evelyn was always the strong onea pillar, unbreakableand yet here she was, undone.
Victoria slid beside her and put an arm around Evelyns shaking shoulders.
Sorry, Evelyn sniffed. Its been a day. No one to talk to. My mums gone now, and theres no one else.
What about me? Victoria peered at her, feigning indignation. Im a person, arent I?
Evelyn smiled through her tears, brushing a lock of Victorias curls back.
CurlsI always wished for curls. You know, women always want what they dont have. I suppose I wanted a child too.
She stopped herself, staring into space.
You could have curlseasy enough, Victoria ventured. But, a child?
It felt wrong to probe, Gran would have scolded her for such nosiness, but Evelyn had done so much for herfor Polly and George, for the whole family. Shed even helped Dad organise the flat.
Wiping her eyes, Evelyn pulled a clear folder from her bag.
The childa lost cause. Wont happen for me. Thats my sentence, Victoria: no children, not ever. All my own fault. Sometimes mistakes cost too much, remember that.
She explained: conceiving had come easily to her and her then-husband, Max. Their families were close, marriage felt inevitable, the child plannedthough always postponed for a better job, a bigger house, a foreign trip first. The pregnancy, when it came, upended their plans. Instead of cancelling their trip to Spain, they checked with the doctorit was safe, surely.
They didnt foresee the boy on a motorbike. Evelyn woke in a hospital, the baby gone, bones broken.
She cries all the time, Max told the doctor, wont speak, just cries.
The marriage soured; Evelyn was lost in her grief, forgetting Max had lost someone, too. She only saw herself. When they returned to England, they divorced at once. It was hard at first, then it settled. A year later, running into Max in court, she realised the pain was fading. Their childhood friendship, their deep understanding, remained but the dream was over. When he proposed again, she hesitated, promising to think on it.
Well, now I have, said Evelyn, pushing the folder away. How can I ask that of him? He always wanted children.
Are you sure theres no hope? Victoria touched the plastic folder tentatively.
The doctors say so.
But doctors arent infallible. There could be a chancea little one?
Almost none. And if it doesnt happen?
Then sob about it later, Victoria cut in firmly. But you have to try first.
Evelyn hugged Victoria tight.
Thank you. Where do you find all that wisdom? Youre so young.
Had good teachers, Victoria muttered, flicking the kettle on.
Tell mewhy is it just you and your dad? Wheres your mum? Go on, confession for confession.Victoria looked down; the rattle of the kettle filled the silence. She gripped the edge of the counter, forcing down the ache in her chest.
Mum left, she said softly. Walked outfirst for a weekend, then just never came home. I waited every night for her keys, but it was only Dad then. No letters, no calls. Gran said Id see her everywhere, but it was just us, in that two-room flat. She let out a shaky breath and dared a glance at Evelyn. George and Polly were so small. I made their beds, checked homework, did all Mums chores. I was angry for a long time, butits part of me now. Ive got them.
Evelyns eyes brimmed, but she blinked the tears away and squeezed Victorias hand.
If ever you need a placea real havenmy door is open, love. Promise me youll remember that.
Victoria nodded, and in the pause, the kitchen clock ticked its reassurance.
A week later, Victoria got a letter from her school: a place at college, a scholarship, a future shed only whispered about. She raced up the stairs, letter shaking in her hand, and burst into the kitchenGeorge frying eggs, Polly at her side, Dad reading the paper with his brow furrowed.
She read the words aloud, her voice trembling, and waited for resistanceself-sacrifice was so ordinary now, it barely needed thought. But Dad put his paper aside, and George dropped the spatula.
Its time, Dad said, voice gentle but firm. You go. Well manage. That much youve taught us.
Polly tugged her sleeve. Will you come back?
Victoria knelt, gathering her sister in her arms, her curls pressed against Pollys soft head. Always. Family is forever.
That night she went to the balcony, the city glowing beneath her, the river stretching silver into distance. She could still feel Grans shadow, but Evelyns words echoed louderabout truth, and second chances, and boldness. She would shape her own fate. Victoria lifted her chin to the star-pricked sky, heart swelling.
Tomorrow would be full of laundry and lessons, potatoes and playground squabbles. But she knew something new now: she carried her family with her, whatever she chose. And in that knowledge, her future, far from narrow, blazed suddenly openalive with possibility, and lit from end to end with hope.
