Hold On a Little Longer
Mum, this is for Janes next term.
Mary placed the envelope onto the worn oilcloth of the kitchen table. One thousand pounds. Shed counted it three times at home, on the bus, outside the front door. Every time, it was exactly as it needed to be.
Ellen set down her knitting, peering over the spectacles perched at the end of her nose.
Mary, you look pale. Shall I make you a cup of tea?
No, Mum, dont fuss. Im only stopping by; I have to get to my second shift soon.
The kitchen smelled of boiled potatoes and something medicinal a whiff of the joint ointment or those drops Mary bought for her mother each month. Forty quid a bottle, enough for three weeks. And then there were the blood pressure tablets, the check-ups every quarter.
Jane was thrilled when she found out about the placement at the bank, Ellen said, handling the envelope as though it were made of the most delicate glass. She says there are good prospects there.
Mary kept silent.
Tell her this is the last I can give for her studies, Ellen added.
The final semester. Five years Mary had carried this burden. Each month: an envelope for her mother, a transfer for her sister. Each month: calculator in hand, subtracting the bills, the medicines, Mums groceries, Janes fees. What was left? A tiny rented room in a shared flat, a winter coat that had seen six years already, and fading dreams of her own home.
Once, Mary had wanted to go to London. Just for a few days, to see the sights, stroll along the Thames, visit the British Museum. Shed started saving, too then Mother had her first serious attack, and every saved penny disappeared into medical bills.
You ought to rest, my dear, Ellen said gently, patting Marys hand. You look worn out.
Ill rest, soon.
Soon when Jane found a job. When Mums health was steady. When Mary could finally catch her breath and think of her own needs. Shed told herself soon for five years.
Jane completed her economics degree in June. An honours degree, no lessMary had taken off from work to be there in person, watching Jane mount the stage in a new dress Marys own gift, of course and thinking: this is it. Now things will change. Jane will start bringing in money, and perhaps at last, Mary could stop counting every penny.
Four months passed.
You dont get it, Mary, Jane sat on the sofa, legs tucked beneath her in fluffy socks. I didnt spend five years studying just to slog my guts out for peanuts.
A grand a month isnt peanuts.
Maybe you think so. I dont.
Mary clenched her teeth. She brought home eight hundred from her main job. If she was lucky, her odd jobs brought in another four hundred. Just about twelve hundred pounds a month, and shed be lucky if she saw two hundred of it for herself.
Jane, youre twenty-two; its high time you started working properly.
I will, but not at some poky firm for that money.
Ellen clattered pots in the adjoining kitchen, acting as if she didnt hear. She always did that when her daughters argued retreating to the kitchen, hiding away, then whispering to Mary as she left, Dont be too harsh on Jane, shes still young, she doesnt understand.
Doesnt understand. Twenty-two, and still doesnt understand.
Im not going to live forever, Jane.
Oh, stop being melodramatic. Its not like Im asking you for money, is it? Im just searching for something more suitable.
Not technically asking, no. She had Mum do it. Mary, Jane wants to do a course in computing, she needs a new phone for sending out CVs… Winter soon, Jane needs a new coat…
Mary transferred, bought, paid without a word. It had always been that way: she took on the burden, and the rest simply assumed shed manage.
I have to get going, Mary said, standing. Ive another job this evening.
Wait, take some pasties with you! her mother called from the kitchen.
They were cabbage pasties. Mary took the bag and stepped out into the chilly hallway, heavy with the scent of damp and cats. Ten minutes brisk walk to the bus stop. Then an hour on the bus. Then eight hours on her feet at work. And four more at her laptop, if she made it in time for her side job.
Meanwhile, Jane would stay at home, scrolling through job adverts, waiting for the universe to put a perfect role in her lap a role paying three grand a month, working from home, no less.
Their first real row came in November.
Are you doing anything at all? Marys patience finally snapped after seeing Jane sprawled on the sofa as she had last week.
Ive sent three applications.
Three applications? In a month?
Jane rolled her eyes, burying her face in her phone.
You dont know what its like out there. The competitions mad I have to pick the right openings.
Right meaning what those where your job is lying on the sofa all day?
Ellen peered from the kitchen, anxiously drying her hands on a tea towel.
Girls, how about a cuppa? I baked a tart…
No, Mum, Mary rubbed her temples. Her head had throbbed for three days straight. Just explain why I work two jobs, and she none?
Give Jane time, love, shell find something soon…
When? Next year? Five years from now? At her age, Id already been working for years!
Jane sat bolt upright.
Sorry if I dont want to end up like you! Knackered and joyless, only knowing how to work!
Silence fell. Mary silently picked up her bag and left. On the bus home, she stared out the dark window, replaying Janes words: knackered and joyless. Was that how she came across?
Ellen rang the next day, asking Mary not to take things to heart.
Jane didnt mean it. Shes just finding things tough. Hold on a little longer; shell land a job soon.
Hold on. Mums favourite phrase. Hold on until Dad sorts things out. Hold on until Jane grows up. Hold on until things improve. Mary had spent her whole life holding on.
Rows became routine. Every visit to Mums ended the same: Mary trying to reach Jane, Jane retorting, Ellen torn between them, desperate for peace. Mary would leave, Ellen would ring apron in hand, and it would all begin anew, like a record with a scratch.
You have to understand; shes your sister, Mum would say.
Somebody should tell her Im not a cash machine.
Mary…
In January, Jane phoned, voice brimming with excitement.
Mary! Im getting married!
What? To whom?
His names David. Weve been seeing each other for three weeks. Hes just… perfect!
Three weeks. Off to get married. Mary wanted to say it was madness, that Jane should at least get to know the man but she bit her tongue. Maybe this was for the best. If Jane married, her husband could support her, and Mary could finally breathe easy.
That naïve hope lasted until the family dinner.
Ive planned it all! Jane beamed. One hundred guests, live music, the dress I saw at that boutique down Oxford Street…
Mary lowered her fork.
And whats all that going to cost?
Oh, Jane shrugged with a bright smile, about five grand. Maybe six. But its a wedding it comes once in a lifetime!
And who exactly is supposed to pay?
Well, you know… Davids parents cant help, what with their mortgage, and Mums on a pension… You might have to take out a loan.
Mary stared at her sister, then at her mother. Ellen looked away.
Are you serious?
Darling, its a wedding, Ellens voice took on that syrupy tone Mary remembered from childhood. Such an event, you shouldnt scrimp and save…
Im supposed to borrow five thousand pounds for the wedding of someone whos never bothered to earn a penny?
Youre my sister! Jane slammed her palm on the table. Youre supposed to!
Am I supposed to?
Mary stood, head strangely clear and quiet.
For five years Ive paid for your degree, for Mums prescriptions, for both your food and clothes and bills. I work two jobs. I have no house of my own, no car, no holidays. Im twenty-eight, and I havent bought myself new clothes in over a year.
Mary, calm down… began Ellen.
No! Enough! Ive supported you both for years, and now you sit there lecturing me about duty? Its over! From today, I am living for myself!
She grabbed her coat from the hook and left, just in time. It was bitterly cold outside well below freezing but Mary felt a strange warmth spreading inside, as if shed finally put down the sack of stones shed carried her whole life.
Her phone rang and rang. Mary turned it off, blocked both their numbers.
Half a year passed. Mary moved into a tiny flat she could finally afford. That summer she visited London four days, the British Museum, the Thames, the citys pale summer evenings. She bought a new dress. And another. And shoes.
Word about the family reached her by accident from an old school friend, working round the corner from her mother.
Hey, is it true your sisters wedding was called off?
Mary froze with her coffee cup mid-air.
What?
Apparently, the groom walked out. Found out there was no money on hand, and left.
Mary sipped her coffee, finding the bitterness oddly pleasant.
I wouldnt know. We dont speak.
That evening, Mary sat by the window in her new flat, realising she felt not the slightest triumph. Not even a drop. Only a gentle, quiet contentment the kind that comes to someone who, at last, is no longer a beast of burden.
