One summer’s day by the river…
Vera’s family had always been close. When she was in Year Three, her sister Maisie was born. Vera adored being the older sister and her mother’s little helper. She happily pushed the pram while Mum cooked or tidied their flat.
When Maisie grew older, the nursery wouldn’t take her—too many children, not enough staff. No one wanted to work for pennies. The headmistress said she’d make an exception if Mum took a job there. Of course, Mum agreed, even though the pay was worse than her old job.
Maisie had been frail and sickly from the start, always coddled. At nursery, she stayed under Mum’s watchful eye. After school, Vera often popped in to see her. Most children turned their noses up at casserole and jelly, but Vera loved them. Mum saved the leftovers no one else wanted, and Vera ate her fill.
Once she’d had her fill, she’d take Maisie home and mind her till Mum returned. She loved her sister—back then, before Maisie grew into a right little terror.
Maisie was four when their father died. That summer was unbearably hot. For three weeks straight, the temperature hadn’t dipped below ninety degrees. Come the weekend, everyone fled the stifling city for the countryside or the river.
Mum and Dad packed a picnic and set off early with the girls. The riverbank was already crowded—you couldn’t swing a cat. People cooled off in the sun-warmed water, the shallows churning with splashing children and watchful adults. Maisie paddled near the edge while Vera kept an eye on her, making sure she wasn’t trampled or wandering too deep.
When Dad sprinted and dove in, sending up a spray, Vera assumed he was just swimming. But he swam farther and farther out—then she noticed two lads in the middle of the river.
At first, she thought they were mucking about. She even wondered why their parents had let them go so far. The river was wide—a struggle even for a grown man to cross, though no one tried. But there they were, halfway out.
One kept sinking, the other diving after him. Only when she saw Dad swimming toward them did she realise they weren’t playing—they were drowning. Or rather, one was drowning, and the other tried keeping him afloat.
Everyone else splashed and laughed, oblivious. Vera watched, tense, forgetting Maisie at her feet.
Dad reached them and dove under, hauling one lad up before swimming back, slow and steady, one arm paddling, the other keeping the boy’s head above water. The second lad, exhausted, kept grabbing at him, dragging them both down.
“He’ll drown him!” Vera shouted.
Two men looked up, followed her gaze, and understood at once. They rushed to help. Others on the bank turned to see the commotion.
The men took the lads. Vera waved, relieved—then realised Dad was gone. She strained her eyes, searching.
“Dad! DAD!” she screamed.
Mum came running.
“There—” Vera pointed, choked with fear. “Dad’s gone!”
Mum scooped up Maisie, scanning the water. “There he is—” she’d say sometimes, but Vera shook her head, pointing insistently at the middle. Meanwhile, the men brought the lads ashore, then went back for Dad.
When they pulled him out, he was already gone. Mum refused to believe it, refused to leave. Vera soothed a wailing Maisie.
After the funeral, Mum moved through the flat like a ghost, barely noticing the girls. Vera took Maisie to nursery, raced to school, then fetched her again. Maisie whined, wanting Mum to collect her.
“Mum’s poorly,” Vera said.
“Then Dad can get me,” Maisie sniffled.
Vera would come home to find Mum just as she’d left her—curled on the sofa, facing the wall.
Mum wouldn’t eat. Worried, Vera knocked on the neighbour’s door. After a talk, Mum got up, started tending the house. A day later, she returned to work—much to Maisie’s delight.
Now it was just the three of them. At first, they scraped by. The railway, where Dad had worked, gave them a bit of help. They had some savings, too. The nursery saved them—Mum took leftovers home. Vera suspected she went hungry to feed them.
After school, Vera decided not to go to uni—she’d work instead. But Mum wouldn’t hear of it. She persuaded Vera to take a distance learning course—just to have qualifications. Dad wouldn’t have wanted her to quit. So, Vera gave in.
She enrolled, picking the course with the most funded spots. What she’d be, she didn’t care. As Mum said, with a certificate, she’d find something. The pay was meagre, but money didn’t grow on trees.
Years ago, Dad had bought land, dreaming of a house with a garden. Mum wanted flowers under the windows. But he’d only laid the foundations. A friend offered to buy the plot, and Mum, relieved, sold it cheap. The money lasted a while.
Maisie grew up demanding new clothes, a phone, a tablet. “All my friends have them!” If refused, she’d sob, snap at Mum, scream that no one loved her. Twice, she even ran off. The world revolved around her.
“Are we paupers? I won’t eat nursery slops,” she’d sneer.
Unlike Vera, she never visited Mum after school. She roamed with friends till dark, skived off lessons.
That summer, the neighbour’s nephew, Oliver, visited, and Vera fell for him. But his holiday ended too soon. He begged her to come to London. She wanted to—but how could she leave Mum with Maisie? So, she refused. He left, promising to call.
By winter, Maisie wanted a fur coat like her friend’s. She threw tantrums.
“If I wanted something, I worked summers—delivering papers, mopping floors at the post office. Try it. Earn your own money,” Vera said.
Maisie sulked, called her mean, threatened to run away.
Mum borrowed money and bought the coat.
“Why indulge her? She’ll never stop,” Vera scolded.
“She’s lost her dad. Who’ll spoil her but me?”
“Mum, she’s not a child. She’s tall as a tree, preens all day, stays out till midnight. You’ve worn the same coat for years, clomping about in those boots like some old woman. Everything for poor Maisie. Her wardrobe’s bursting—still not enough. She’ll ruin you one day.”
Vera regretted staying, not going with Oliver. Maisie’s antics disgusted her.
Oliver called, even visited at New Year’s. Somehow, Maisie finished school—with grades too poor for uni, not that she cared. She just loafed about.
Next summer, Oliver returned. Vera, as usual, was denied leave—no kids, she’d have hers in autumn. She saw him only evenings and weekends.
Then abruptly, he left, saying mates were waiting—white-water rafting. Vera was hurt. He left midday; she couldn’t skip work to see him off.
At home, she found a note. Maisie had gone to London—wanted to be an actress. “Talent matters, not grades. Don’t look for me.” She’d taken their savings.
Vera put two and two together. Maisie was pretty—no surprise Oliver fancied her. She called him, and he confessed. Vera demanded he send Maisie home at once.
“Tell Mum it’ll be fine. I’ll look after her,” he promised.
Mum came home to find Vera weeping.
“Where’s Maisie?”
“Ran off with my bloke. To London.” Vera handed her the note, told her about the call.
“You always coddled her. ‘Poor fatherless girl…’ She took all our money. I clothed her, cared for her—and this is my thanks. Too young to work, but old enough to steal a man. This won’t be the last of her stunts.”
“Find her. Bring her back,” Mum pleaded. “She’ll come to harm in London.”
“I won’t go. She’ll come back,” Vera said flatly.
“Do you know?”
Vera gave a bitter smile.
Maisie did return—a year later. Not alone. Mum was at work. Maisie walked in, dropped a squalling bundle on the sofa.
“Her name’s Grace,” she said tiredly. “Nappies, formula, and papers in the bag.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Vera stared. “Who—Oliver’s?”
Maisie turned to leave.
“Wait!
