Just Hold On a Little Longer – Mum, this is for Anna’s next semester. Mary set the envelope down on the scratched plastic tablecloth. One thousand pounds. She’d counted it three times—at home, on the bus, at the front door. It was always exactly the amount needed. Eleanor put aside her knitting and looked over the top of her glasses at her daughter. – Mary, love, you look a bit peaky. Shall I put the kettle on? – No need, Mum. I’m just popping in, have to dash straight to my second shift. The kitchen smelled of boiled potatoes and something medicinal—maybe Mum’s joint cream or the drops Mary bought every month. Forty pounds a bottle, lasting just shy of three weeks. Plus blood pressure tablets. Plus quarterly check-ups. – Anna was so pleased about the bank internship, – Eleanor said gently, taking the envelope as if it were made of the finest glass. – She says there are good prospects. Mary kept quiet. – Tell her these are the last funds for uni. The final semester. Mary had carried this weight for five years. Each month—an envelope for Mum, a bank transfer for her sister. Each month, the calculator came out: minus rent, minus medicine, minus groceries for Mum, minus Anna’s tuition. What was left? A rented room in a shared flat, a winter coat now six years old, and forgotten dreams of her own place. Mary once dreamed of a weekend in London—just to wander Tate Britain, walk along the Thames. She’d started to save, but then Mum had her first serious turn and all the savings vanished on doctors. – You ought to take a break, love, – Mum stroked her hand. – You look done in. – Soon, Mum. I will. Soon. Soon meant once Anna got a job. Once Mum’s condition settled. Once Mary could exhale and care for herself, just as she’d been telling herself for five years. Anna got her economics degree in June—first class, Mary had taken a day off to attend the ceremony. She watched her little sister cross the stage in a new dress—her gift, obviously—and thought: this is it. Now it all changes. Anna would start earning, and Mary could finally stop counting every penny. Four months passed. – You don’t get it, – Anna sat curled on the sofa in fluffy socks – I didn’t go to uni for five years to slave away for peanuts. – Fifty grand a year isn’t peanuts. – For you, maybe. Mary bit down on her annoyance. At her main job, she earned forty-two. Her second job—an extra twenty, on a good week. Sixty-two thousand, with luck. If she kept fifteen for herself, she was lucky. – Anna, you’re twenty-two. You need to start work somewhere. – I will. Just not for a pittance in a dingy office. Eleanor busied herself in the kitchen, clattering plates—always acting like she couldn’t hear. Every time her daughters argued, she absented herself, then later, as Mary went to leave, she’d whisper, “Don’t be hard on Anna, love. She’s still young. She just doesn’t get it.” Doesn’t get it. Twenty-two, and still doesn’t get it. – I’m not made of time, Anna. – Stop dramatising. It’s not like I’m asking for handouts. I just want to find something decent. Not asking directly. But Mum asked: “Mary, Anna needs some money for a course; she wants to brush up on her English.” “Mary, Anna’s phone is broken, she needs it for job searching.” “Mary, Anna’s coat is wrecked, and winter’s coming.” Mary sent the money, bought the coat, paid the bills. Silently. Because that was how it always went: she toiled, and the rest just accepted it. – I’ve got to run, – she stood up. – Evening shift tonight. – Wait, I’ll pop some pasties in a packet for you! – Mum called from the kitchen. Cabbage pasties. Mary took the bag and stepped into the chilly, cat-scented stairwell. Ten minutes at a brisk clip to the bus stop. Then an hour on the bus. Then eight hours on her feet. Then four more on her computer, if she made it in time for her freelance shift. And Anna would be home, scrolling vacancies, awaiting the universe to provide her with the perfect hundred-and-fifty-thousand-pounds, work-from-home role. The first blow-up came in November. – Are you even doing anything? – Mary snapped, seeing Anna sprawled on the sofa just as she was the week before. – Have you sent a single CV? – I’ve sent three. – In a whole month—three? Anna rolled her eyes and buried her face in her phone. – You don’t get how the job market is now. The competition is brutal, you have to pick the right jobs. – The “right” ones? The ones where you get paid to lie on the sofa? Eleanor popped her head round from the kitchen, wringing her hands on the tea towel. – Girls, fancy a cuppa? I made cake… – Not now, Mum, – Mary rubbed her temples. Third day running with a headache. – Just tell me why I have to work two jobs when she won’t take on one? – Mary, Anna’s still young. She’ll find her way… – When? In a year? In five? I was working at her age! Anna jerked upright. – Sorry for not wanting your life! Slaving away, never doing anything but work! Silence. Mary took her bag and left. On the ride home, she stared at the rain-streaked window and thought: a workhorse. That’s how I look from the outside. Eleanor called next day, pleading for peace. – Anna didn’t mean it, darling. She’s just upset, it’s hard for her. Just hold on a little longer, she’ll get a job soon. Hold on. Her mother’s favourite phrase. Hold on till Dad gets better. Hold on till Anna grows up. Hold on till things improve. Mary had been holding on all her life. The arguments became routine. Every visit to Mum ended the same way: Mary tried to reason with Anna, Anna snapped back, Eleanor darted between them, fretting and begging for calm. Afterwards, Mary left. Eleanor phoned with apologies. And it all repeated. – You have to understand, she’s your sister, – Mum said. – And she needs to understand I’m not a cash machine. – Mary… In January, Anna called herself. Her voice sparkled with excitement. – Mary! I’m getting married! – What? To who? – He’s called Dave. We’ve been seeing each other three weeks. He’s just perfect! Three weeks. Three weeks—and now marriage. Mary wanted to say it was crazy, to get to know someone first, but held her tongue. Maybe it was for the best. If she got married, her husband could support her, and Mary could finally breathe. That fragile hope evaporated at the family dinner. – I’ve got it all planned! – Anna beamed. – Hundred-guest reception, live band, found a dress in a designer boutique… Mary put her fork down. – And all that costs…? – Well…—Anna shrugged, disarmingly—Five grand? Maybe six. But it’s once in a lifetime! A wedding! – And who’s paying? – Mary, come on… Dave’s parents can’t help, he says, mortgage and all. And Mum’s nearly on the breadline. You’ll have to get a loan, probably. Mary stared at her. Then at her mum. Eleanor looked away. – Are you serious? – Mary, it’s a wedding, – Mum used that syrupy tone Mary remembered since childhood. – Once in a lifetime, love. Can’t be stingy… – You want me to take out a six grand loan to pay for a wedding for someone who’s never even bothered to find a job? – You’re my sister! – Anna slapped the table – You have to! – Have to? Mary stood. The world went strangely calm and quiet. – Five years. Five years I paid for your education. For Mum’s medicines. For your food, clothes, heating. I work two jobs. I have no car, no flat, no holidays. I’m twenty-eight, and I haven’t bought myself anything new in a year and a half. – Mary, calm down… – Eleanor started. – No! Enough! For years I’ve supported both of you, and you’re sitting here demanding more from me? That’s it. From today, I live for myself. She left, snatching her coat from the hook. It was minus five outside but Mary didn’t feel the cold. She felt a strange warmth instead—as if she’d finally shrugged off the sack of stones that had weighed her down all her life. Her phone buzzed endlessly. She blocked both numbers. …Six months later. Mary moved into a tiny one-bedroom flat—her own, finally. In summer she visited London—four days, Tate Britain, the Thames, long summer evenings. She bought herself a new dress. And another. Some shoes, too. She found out about her family by chance—from a school friend who worked near her mum’s place. – Hey, is it true your sister’s wedding was called off? Mary froze with her coffee cup. – What? – Oh, they say the groom bailed. Heard there was no money, so he legged it. Mary sipped her coffee. It tasted bitter—and, strangely, delicious. – Don’t know. We don’t speak. That evening, Mary sat by the window of her new flat and realised she felt no spite. Not an ounce. Just a quiet, peaceful satisfaction of someone who has finally stopped being the family workhorse…

Just hang on a little longer

Mum, this is for Emilys next term.

Mary set the envelope down on the old, faded oilcloth that covered the kitchen table. A thousand pounds. Shed counted it three times at home, on the bus, outside the front door. Every time, it was exactly the right amount.

Eileen put aside her knitting and peered at her daughter over the top of her glasses.

Mary, youre looking awfully pale. Want a cuppa?

No, Mum, dont fuss. I cant stop long, Ive got to dash to my second shift.

The kitchen smelt of boiled potatoes and something medicinal maybe the rub for Eileens joints, or the drops Mary picked up for her every month. Forty quid for a tiny bottle that barely lasted three weeks. Plus blood pressure tablets, plus the quarterly check-ups.

Emily was really thrilled about her banking internship, Eileen said, holding the envelope as if it were made of glass. She says there are great prospects there.

Mary just nodded.

Let her know, wont you? This is the last money Ive got for her uni.

Final term. Mary had been shouldering this for five years. Every single month: an envelope for her mum, a transfer to her sister, calculator in hand, forever subtracting rent, utilities, medicine, groceries for mum, Emilys tuition. And whatever was left? A rented box room in a draughty old house-share, a winter coat shed had for six years, dreams of owning a flat long since buried.

There was a time Mary dreamt about a long weekend in London just to see the National Gallery, to stroll along the Thames. Shed even started a little savings jar but then Eileen had that first bad attack, and every penny went on hospital bills.

You should get a break, love, Eileen murmured, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. You look run off your feet.

Ill rest. Promise. Soon.

Soon when Emily finally got a job, when mum was more settled, when there was a moment to stop and think about her own life. Mary had been repeating that soon for five years.

Emily got her economics degree in June. With honours, too. Mary took time off work to go to the ceremony, watched her little sister take the stage in a lovely new dress a present from Mary, of course and thought: thats it. Everythings going to change now. Emily will work, start earning, and maybe Mary could stop counting every single quid.

Four months later

Mary, you just dont get it! Emily sat cross-legged on the sofa, fluffy socks pulled high. I didnt slog through five years at uni just to slog it out for peanuts.

Fifty grand a year isnt peanuts, Em.

Maybe not to you.

Mary gritted her teeth. Her full-time job paid thirty-six. A side hustle brought in another fourteen, if she got lucky. So fifty wasnt exactly small change. She was keeping around five hundred a month, on a good month, for herself.

Emily, youre twenty-two. Its time to start working.

I will. Im just not settling for some dead-end office job for fifty grand.

Eileen was clattering around in the kitchen, pretending not to hear. She always did this when her daughters argued hiding out, then slipping Mary a dont be hard on her, shes young, she doesnt understand whisper before Mary left.

Doesnt understand. Twenty-two and still no clue.

Im not going to be around forever, Em.

Oh please, stop being so dramatic. Im not asking you for anything! Im just holding out for the right fit.

Not asking, technically. But mum was. Mary, love, can you send Emily some money for a course? She wants to brush up on her English. Mary, sweet, Emilys phones cracked shes got to send out her CV. Mary, pet, Emilys coats falling apart winters nearly here.

Mary paid, sorted, transferred, silently. It was just how it always was Mary handled everything, and the rest of them simply assumed she would.

Best be off, she said, getting up. My next shift starts soon.

Ill put some pasties in a bag for you! Mum shouted from the kitchen.

The pasties were cabbage-filled, still warm. Mary took the bag and headed out into the chilly hallway, which smelt damp and faintly of cats. Ten minutes walk to the bus stop. Then an hour on the bus, then eight hours on her feet, then four more at the computer on freelance gigs if she could squeeze them in.

Emily would be sitting at home, flicking through job listings, holding out for the perfect one a hundred grand starting salary, working from home, lunch breaks long enough for a Pilates class.

The first really nasty row came in November.

Do you ever do anything? Mary snapped, seeing her sister sprawled on the sofa just as shed been the week before. Have you sent out even one CV?

Three, actually.

Three. In a month?

Emily rolled her eyes and buried herself in her phone.

You dont understand, the job markets brutal right now. Youve got to wait for the right openings.

And these right ones are those the ones that pay you for lying on the sofa?

Eileen darted a glance out of the kitchen, nervously wiping her hands.

Girls, shall I put the kettle on? I made a cake

Mum, please Mary rubbed her temple. Her head had been pounding for three days. Explain how its fair that Im holding down two jobs and shes not doing anything?

Shes young, Mary. Let her find her feet

When, Mum? Next year? Five years from now? At her age, I was already in work!

Emily rounded on her.

Well, sorry for not wanting your life! Breaking my back for nothing, living for work day in and day out!

Silence. Mary grabbed her bag and left. On the packed bus home, she stared at her reflection in the dark window, thinking: breaking my back. Thats how they saw her.

Eileen called the next day, pleading with her not to take it personally.

She didnt mean it, darling. Shes just wound up. Just hang on a little longer, shell find something soon.

Just hang on. Mums favourite phrase. Hang on until Dad sorts himself out. Hang on until Emily grows up. Hang on until things settle down. Mary had grown up waiting.

The arguments came round like clockwork. Every visit to her mum ended in the same pattern: Mary pleading with Emily to do something, Emily snapping back, Eileen flitting between them begging for peace. Then Mary would leave, Eileen would ring to apologise, and soon enough theyd go through it all again.

You have to understand, shes your sister, Mum would say.

And she needs to understand Im not some bloody cash machine, Mary replied.

Mary

In January, it was Emily who rang first. Her voice held a kind of sparkle Mary had never heard.

Mary! Mary, Im getting married!

What?! To whom?

His names James. Weve been together three weeks. Hes just Mary, hes perfect!

Three weeks. Three weeks and engaged. Mary wanted to tell her it was daft, that she should take her time, but she held her tongue. Maybe, just maybe, itd be a good thing Emilys new husband could take care of her. Mary could finally let go.

That hope crashed at their family dinner.

Ive got it all planned! Emily beamed. The reception a hundred guests, live band, dress from that boutique on High Street

Mary laid her fork down slowly.

And how much is this all going to cost?

Well Emily grinned, sheepish. About five or six grand. Maybe a bit more. But its once in a lifetime, Mary! A wedding!

And whos paying for all this?

Oh, you know James parents cant help, theyve got their mortgage. Mums on her pension. Youll probably need to take out a loan.

Mary stared at her sister, then at her mum. Eileen looked away.

Are you being serious?

Its a wedding, Mary, her mum said, with that same syrupy voice shed used since Mary was a child. You only get married once. We cant just go small

Im supposed to take out a five-thousand-pound loan to pay for a wedding, for someone who hasnt even bothered to get a job?

Youre my sister! Emily banged her hand on the table. Its your duty!

My duty?

Mary stood up. Her mind felt strangely clear and sharp.

Five years. Five years paying your uni bills. Mums medicine. Food, clothes, heating. Two jobs. I dont own a flat, dont have a car or a holiday. Im twenty-eight, and the last new dress I bought was two years ago.

Mary Eileen started.

No. Enough. Ive kept the two of you afloat for years, and now youre sitting here lecturing me about what I owe you? No more. From now on, Im finally living for myself.

She was already halfway out the door, grabbing her coat just before it slammed shut. It must have been two below outside, but Mary barely noticed. Inside, she felt a lightness as if shed finally shrugged off a weight shed been lugging around for a lifetime.

Her phone wouldnt stop ringing. Mary muted both numbers.

Six months went by. Mary moved into a tiny one-bed flat, the kind shed always wanted for herself. In the summer, she took four days off and went to London. The museums, the river, the citys summer light. She bought a new dress. And another. And shoes.

She heard about her family from an old school friend who still lived in her mums area.

Hey is it true your sisters wedding never happened?

Mary paused, coffee mug in hand.

What?

Apparently the fiancé did a runner. Found out there was no money, just left.

Mary sipped her coffee. It was bitter. And, oddly, delicious.

Dunno. Were not in touch.

That evening, sitting by the window in her own place, Mary realised she felt no bitterness, no spite just a quiet satisfaction. The kind you get when youve finally stopped being a workhorse and started living your own life.