I still think back to those winter months when our family was scattered by grief, and the little council flat on the edge of Manchester felt like the whole world. My mother had just been laid to rest, and the few surviving relatives gathered in the cramped kitchen: my mothers sisters, Elizabeth and Irene, a cousin with his wife, and Irenes sixteenyearold daughter, Lily. Two of my mothers former colleagues and her old friend, Aunt Jen, also came to say goodbye.
After the funeral, the true task begandeciding how the two children would survive. I was nineteen, fresh from the second year of economics at university, holding a modest scholarship and knowing I would have to pick up a parttime job soon. My brother Tom was thirteen, and no one seemed ready to take him in.
Aunt Lucy, who lived with her husband, two boys and her motherinlaw in a tworoom council flat, tried to dissuade me. Emily, think it over, she said, Youre still a girl yourself. Youre just nineteen; Tom is at that troublesome age. What will you do if he starts causing trouble?
I answered, I cant let my brother end up in a childrens home. I may not sleep easy knowing hes there, wondering if hes fed, if anyone is hurting him. The words felt like a promise I had made to his late mother.
Irene added, We moved out and Boris fell back into drinking. Hes been sacked and will be out of work for at least a month. We lock the bedroom at night. How can a child live in that atmosphere? Their cousin simply muttered, Our own three, and the implication was clear: if I couldnt secure guardianship, Tom would be sent straight to the county home.
Tom sat on the playground swing while his friend Max perched beside him on a bench. Been talking about this for hours? Max asked. Tom shrugged. Emily wants to be my guardian, but the aunts say Im a troublemaker and she cant handle me. When I asked him what he thought, he said, I dont want a home away from school and football. I just want to stay here.
The aunts pressed on, their arguments slipping into old idioms. Emily, youre young; you should be thinking of your own futuremarriage, children. Tom will be a weight around your neck. What man will want a woman with that sort of burden? Irene urged, Dont delay; put him in the home. Youll visit, maybe take him back for holidays. Hell ruin your life otherwise. Aunt Lucy suggested I sell the flat, buy something modest, and live on the difference while I studied.
That evening, after the talk had worn thin, I called Tom in. Come in, have a proper meal at least, I said. He ate quietly while I sat opposite him, just as Mother used to. He gave a small nod, eyes never leaving the plate.
The next morning I set out to find work. With an economics degree in hand, I sent my CV to manager and junior accountant positions, but the replies never came. I lowered my expectations, applying for sales assistant roles. After two interviews, one employer turned me down, saying, If youre studying parttime, youll be away for exams twice a year. Who will work then?
Desperate, I considered a cashier job at the supermarket down the road. My neighbour there, who worked the till, swore Id be taken on straight away. On my way back, I ran into Mrs Olga Sergeyevna, my former maths teacher, now head of house for Tom. She knew our plight and offered to help with the guardianship paperwork, promising to provide a character reference. She also mentioned a temporary secretarial post opening while the regular secretary was on maternity leave. It pays little, but its close to home and youll have Tom in sight, she said.
I took the job, switched my studies to parttime, and, with Toms allowance and the modest guardianship stipend, we managed a modest but respectable life. Tom was a typical teenagersometimes sullen, sometimes angry at my overprotectiveness, and at other times full of laughter. We fell into a rhythm: I cooked and washed, Tom cleaned the flat, took out the rubbish, did the dishes, and could even pop to the corner shop when needed.
My boyfriend, Vadim, who I had been seeing for almost a year, was not pleased with my new responsibilities. Why do you take on this burden? I cant be a hero while youre tied down with your brother, he complained, recalling a weekend when the group had planned a trip to a country cottage and I stayed behind to look after Tom. He left, and soon we were apart. I wondered why Id ever wanted someone who couldnt understand the weight of family.
In solitude I found purpose in Toms success. He continued at the sports academy, and when he turned fourteen the coach promoted him to the first team. One crisp Saturday we traveled to a neighbouring town for a match. I watched from the stands as Tom scored one of the three winning goals, only to twist his ankle in the final minutes. The team medic tended to him, and the assistant coach, Igor, offered us a lift home.
Didnt know Tom had a young mother, Igor said as we drove. Its not a mothershes his sister, Tom corrected, a hint of pride in his voice.
The following day Igor called to check on Toms recovery, then invited me for coffee, later a proper date. A year later we married, and Tom earned a place at the Olympic reserve sports college.
Looking back now, the years seem both distant and vivid. We endured sorrow and celebrated joy, learned that responsibility can be a chain or a comfort, and that love often arrives in the most unexpected forms. The flat on the edge of Manchester, the modest wages, the endless argumentsall of it shaped us into the people we became.
