“You, Ellen, don’t squabble so much. The most important thing is to marry well—that’s how you’ll win, no matter what,” her aunt would lecture her.
Ellen grew up as the only, much-doted-on daughter of her parents, who cherished her deeply. As she neared the end of school, she began speaking more often of her wish to study in London.
“Daughter, we have good universities here. Why must you go to London?” her father would ask.
“Dad, I want to be a journalist. If I study here, I’ll just end up a teacher,” she’d reply.
For a long time, her parents resisted letting her go. They had watched too many films about provincial girls whose lives were ruined chasing dreams in the capital. Yet, in the end, they relented. Her father wrote to a distant cousin who lived in London, and she agreed to take Ellen in during her studies. Ellen was overjoyed. She promised her parents she’d make them proud, that they’d never have to blush for her.
Her father escorted her himself, ensured she was settled comfortably, left her with enough money to start, and then departed.
Ellen’s stay with the distant cousin wasn’t free—she cleaned the flat, ran errands, cooked. Neighbours clucked their tongues, muttering that Cousin Marjorie had turned her into a servant. The cousin, long divorced, lived alone in her London flat and considered her life a success. “I live in London, the capital, not some backwater,” she’d say. And to Ellen, she advised, “Don’t chatter so much, dear. Studying is fine, but it’s not what matters for a woman. Marry a Londoner—that’s how you’ll win. Just like me.”
Ellen would listen with a faint, indulgent smile. Marriage was the furthest thing from her mind. She dreamed of being noticed, of her talents being recognised, of working for a prestigious paper—or even on television, if fortune favoured her.
But dreams are one thing, and life another. In her third year, Ellen fell in love with Robert. They met by chance, celebrating the end of summer exams with her friends. Robert and his mate were there. He spotted the pretty girl, asked her to dance, and later walked her home.
Her friends all urged her not to let such a man slip away—eight years older, a Londoner, with his own flat, handsome. Robert didn’t hide that he was divorced, that he had a daughter. “But who doesn’t make mistakes when they’re young?” they reassured her. The child lived with her mother; she wouldn’t get in the way. And besides, it proved he loved children.
Ellen wasn’t making plans, but she liked Robert. He saw her inexperience and didn’t rush things, nor did he hurry to invite her to his place just yet. They strolled, visited galleries, theatres, concerts. In all her years in London, she had never known the city as she did after meeting him.
He spoke more often of love, of their future, of children—their children. Ellen’s head spun with it. When he finally proposed, she accepted at once. Only one year remained of her studies—then an exciting grown-up life awaited her.
Robert took her to meet his parents. His father smiled politely and hid behind a newspaper. His mother was less subtle, hinting to the new fiancée that Robert was never short of female attention, that she wouldn’t let her son make another mistake, that Ellen clearly wanted a London postcode, a flat…
“Couldn’t you fall for someone of your own standing? Falling into the same trap again,” his mother finished.
“What trap? Enough, Mum. Lydia was a Londoner—didn’t stop us divorcing,” Robert snapped, leading Ellen away.
She didn’t see his parents again before the wedding. But Robert often brought his daughter, Grace, home. Named after a grandmother who was—depending on who you asked—either a famed actress or the wife of one. Ellen never quite figured it out.
Grace was a sturdy, plain-faced, quiet girl. Robert was thrilled that she and Ellen got on so quickly. At the wedding, her mother-in-law suggested they wait before having children. Ellen assured her she intended to finish her studies and work for a few years first. There was no rush.
When Grace first visited, her grandmother declared that a father shouldn’t neglect his daughter. Robert spent the whole day indulging her. Ellen didn’t complain—she had known about Grace when she married.
After graduating, Ellen found work at a newspaper—not prestigious, but still a London paper. Her dream was fulfilled: she lived and worked in the city, with a husband she loved. They visited her parents a few times, bearing gifts. But the best gift for them was seeing their daughter’s happiness.
Nearly three years passed. Then, just before New Year’s, Ellen told Robert she was pregnant.
“I meant to say it on New Year’s, but I couldn’t wait!” she beamed.
“You said you didn’t want children yet. How did this happen? You were on the pill—did you miss a dose?”
“It wasn’t an accident. I stopped taking them. I thought it wouldn’t happen straight away—the body needs time. But it did. Isn’t it wonderful?” She paused at his stunned expression. “Aren’t you happy?”
“I am, but… why didn’t you discuss it with me?”
“If a man leaves contraception to a woman, he’s left the decision to her too, hasn’t he? I want a child. Should I wait until I’m forty?” Her voice trembled. She’d imagined he’d be overjoyed.
“Don’t shout. What’s done is done. Just hope it’s a boy. You’ll be the one stuck at home with it. What about your job?” He hugged her stiffly. Peace was restored.
On New Year’s, Robert told his parents. His father shook his hand approvingly. His mother was less pleased.
“I knew it. This provincial girl would use a child to secure her place. First the postcode, now this. Are you even sure it’s yours? She’ll take your flat next—we can’t afford to buy another, like we did for your first wife.”
“Mum, for God’s sake. We love each other. Ellen wouldn’t—”
“You don’t know what she’s thinking!”
Robert slammed the door and stayed away. Ellen’s pregnancy was smooth; nine months later, she gave birth to a healthy boy.
His parents came to the hospital, grudgingly. Her mother-in-law’s haughty expression softened when the nurse handed over the bundled baby, tied with a blue ribbon. The boy was Robert made over.
“With three of us now, we should think about upgrading,” Robert mused after a drink. “He’ll need his own room soon.”
“He’s still tiny—no rush. When I go back to work, we’ll save up first,” Ellen said sensibly. He kissed her, pleased.
He started visiting his parents again. Ellen let him go alone—little Edward was too small, and her mother-in-law showed no interest in him anyway. She only ever spoke of Grace, how she mustn’t feel replaced.
Robert brought Grace home often, taking her out while Ellen stayed with Edward. The first time Grace saw the baby asleep in his crib, she stared silently.
“Lovely, isn’t he?” Ellen asked.
Grace didn’t answer. She retreated to the sofa, clutching her stuffed rabbit. She only ever played with toys Robert had given her—”Daddy bought this,” she’d say proudly. Never mind that Ellen had picked most of them, knowing a girl’s tastes better.
Grace often stayed the night, insisting on sharing Robert’s bed. Ellen took the sofa.
Once, while Robert was out, Ellen was cooking when she noticed an eerie silence. She peeked into the room—Grace sat on the sofa as usual, but something in her posture set off alarm bells. Ellen rushed to the crib. Edward lay still, the blanket pulled over his head.
She yanked it back. He wasn’t breathing—no, wait, he stirred, then wailed. She clutched him, trembling.
“Why did you cover him? He could’ve suffocated!” she shouted.
Robert walked in at that moment. Grace fled to him in tears.
“How could you accuse her? He probably kicked the blanket himself! You’re hysterical, making scenes over nothing!” He took Grace away.
Later, Ellen apologised. Peace returned, but she never left Grace alone with Edward again.
Time passed. Edward grew, chasing Grace around, missing her when she wasn’t there. Grace seemed to enjoy it too.
One winter holiday, they all went sledging. Hesitantly, Ellen settled Edward in front of Grace. But the girl held him tight, guiding him carefully up the slope. Robert was delighted. Ellen relaxed. Grace was in Year 3 now.
On the way home, laughing and chatting with Robert, Ellen didn’t notice the children lag behind—until she saw Grace shove the sled onto the road. It hit the kerb, flipped, and Edward tumbled onto the tarmac.
Her scream merged with screeching brakesEllen caught Edward just in time, realizing she could never trust Grace—or Robert—again, and that night, she packed their bags for good, leaving London and its ghosts behind.
