That summer day by the river…
Vera’s family was close-knit. When she was in year three, her little sister Holly was born. Vera loved being the big sister and Mum’s little helper. She happily pushed the pram while Mum cooked or tidied the house.
When Holly was older, she couldn’t get into nursery because the groups were full and there weren’t enough staff. Nobody wanted to work with kids for pennies. The nursery manager promised to take Holly if Mum worked there. Mum agreed, even though the pay was worse than her old job.
Holly had been a weak, sickly baby. Everyone fussed over her. At nursery, she was always under Mum’s watch. After school, Vera often stopped by to see Mum. Most kids hated the casseroles, salads, cocoa, and jelly, but Vera adored them. Mum saved her the leftovers, and Vera ate her fill.
After stuffing herself, she’d take Holly home and look after her until Mum returned. She loved her sister—back then, at least. Later, Holly grew into a right little horror.
Holly was four when Dad died. The summer was scorching. For three weeks, the temperature hadn’t dropped below thirty degrees. On weekends, everyone fled the stifling city for the countryside or the river.
Their parents packed water, snacks, and drove the girls out of town early. The riverbank was packed—you couldn’t swing a cat. People cooled off in the sun-warmed water. The shallows bubbled with splashing kids and watchful adults. Holly paddled near the edge while Vera kept her from wandering too deep.
When Dad ran and dived in, sending up a spray, Vera thought he was just swimming. But he kept going, further from shore. Then she spotted two teenagers in the middle of the river.
At first, she thought they were mucking about. She wondered how their parents let them swim so far. The river was wide—even a grown man would struggle to cross it, though nobody tried. But these lads had made it halfway.
One kept sinking, the other diving after him. When she saw Dad swimming toward them, she realised they weren’t playing—they were drowning. Or rather, one was, and the other was trying to keep him up.
Everyone else was splashing, laughing, oblivious. Vera stared, tense, forgetting Holly at her feet.
Dad reached them and dived under, hauling one boy up. He swam back slowly, paddling with one arm, holding the lad’s head above water. The other boy clung to him, exhausted, making it harder.
“He’ll drown them both!” Vera shouted.
Two men looked up, followed her gaze, and sprinted to help. Others on the bank turned to see. The men took the boys. Vera waved, relieved—then realised Dad was gone. She squinted till her eyes burned but couldn’t see him.
“Dad! DAD!” she screamed.
Mum ran over.
“There…” Vera pointed to the middle of the river, too terrified to speak. “Dad’s gone!”
Mum scooped up Holly, scanning the water. “There he is!” she kept saying, but Vera shook her head, still pointing. Meanwhile, the men brought the boys ashore, then swam back for Dad.
When they pulled him out, he was already gone. Mum refused to believe it, refused to leave. Vera soothed a wailing Holly.
After the funeral, Mum drifted through the house like a ghost, ignoring the girls. Vera took Holly to nursery, raced to school, then collected her after. Holly whined, wanting Mum to pick her up.
“Mum’s poorly,” Vera said.
“Then Dad can get me,” Holly sniffled.
At home, Mum was always the same—curled on the sofa, facing the wall. She wouldn’t eat. Worried, Vera went to the neighbour, Mrs. Wilkins, for help. After a talk, Mum got up, started cleaning. The next day, she went back to work—to Holly’s delight.
Now it was just the three of them. At first, they scraped by. Dad’s old job at the railway gave Mum some money. They had a little savings. The nursery helped—Mum brought home leftovers. Vera suspected Mum went hungry so she and Holly could eat.
After school, Vera decided not to go to uni—she’d work to help Mum. But Mum wouldn’t hear of it. She persuaded Vera to take a distance-learning course. “Dad wouldn’t want you quitting,” she said. So Vera gave in.
She picked the course with the most funded spots. What she studied didn’t matter—Mum said any degree would help her find work. She got a part-time job. The pay was rubbish, but money didn’t grow on trees.
Years ago, Dad had bought land, started building a house. He’d planned a garden; Mum dreamed of flowers by the windows. But he’d only laid the foundations. One of his mates offered to buy the plot. Mum sold it cheap, no haggling. It kept them afloat a while.
Holly grew up demanding new clothes, a phone, a tablet. “All my friends have them!” If she didn’t get her way, she’d scream that nobody loved her, that she wished she’d never been born. Twice, she even ran off. The world revolved around her.
“Are we peasants? I’m not eating nursery leftovers,” she’d sneer.
She never visited Mum after school like Vera had. She stayed out with friends till dark, flunked her classes.
That summer, Mrs. Wilkins’ nephew Tom visited, and Vera fell for him. But his holiday ended too soon. He begged her to come to London with him. She wanted to—but how could she leave Mum with Holly? So she said no. Tom left, promising to call.
By winter, Holly wanted a fur coat like her friend’s. She threw tantrums.
“If I wanted something, I worked for it—delivered papers, mopped floors at the post office. Do the same,” Vera said.
Holly called her selfish, threatened to run away again.
Mum borrowed money and bought the coat.
“Why indulge her? She’ll never stop,” Vera said.
“She’s growing up without a dad. Who’ll spoil her if not me?”
“Mum, she’s not a kid anymore. You’ve worn the same coat for years, those awful boots—like an old woman. All for poor little Holly. Her wardrobe’s bursting, and it’s never enough. One day, she’ll ruin you.”
Vera regretted staying, not going with Tom. She couldn’t stand Holly’s antics.
Tom called, even visited at Christmas. Holly barely scraped through school. With her grades, uni was out of the question—not that she cared. She just loafed about.
Next summer, Tom returned. Vera couldn’t get time off—no kids, she’d have to wait. She only saw him evenings and weekends.
Then suddenly, he packed up. Said his mates were waiting—a river-rafting trip. Vera was gutted. He left midday; her boss wouldn’t let her see him off.
At home, she found a note from Holly. She’d gone to London to be an actress. “Talent matters, not grades. Don’t look for me.” She’d taken all their emergency cash.
Vera put two and two together. Holly was pretty—no surprise Tom fancied her. She called him, and he confessed. Vera demanded he send Holly home.
“Tell Mum not to worry. I’ll take care of her,” Tom said.
Mum came home to find Vera in tears.
“Where’s Holly?”
“Ran off with my boyfriend. To London.” Vera showed her the note, told her about Tom.
“You always coddled her. ‘Poor thing, no dad…’ She took our money. I looked after her, and this is how she repays me. Too young to work, but old enough to steal a man. This isn’t the last of her nonsense.”
“Vera, find her. Bring her home,” Mum pleaded. “She’ll come to harm in London alone.”
“I’m not going. She’ll come back,” Vera snapped.
“Do you know something? Did she say she’d return?” Mum’s eyes lit up.
Vera gave a bitter laugh.
Holly did return—a year later, with a baby. Mum was at work. Holly walked in, dumped a tiny bundle on the sofa.
“Her name’s Grace,” she said tiredly. “Nappies, formula, and paperwork are in the bag.”
“What’s this?” Vera stared. “Whose baby? Tom’s?”
Holly headed for the door.
“Wait! Come back!” Vera chased her. “You’re leaving her?”
“You’ll do better than me.”
Her calm tone threw Vera. Holly slammed the door and ran.
“Why’d you let her go? Why didn’t you stop her?” Mum screamed later.
“And leave the baby alone? I’m not like Holly. She named her Grace—like a stray cat.” Vera ignored Mum’s sobs. “I warned you… Mum, calm down. We won’t send her to a home, will we?”
“Vera…” MumYears later, when Grace asked about her real mother, Vera simply held her close and whispered, “Some stories are better left untold.”
