28October2025
Dear Diary,
Emily has always lived the quiet, unremarkable life that my father used to call just getting by. She walks the drab streets of the outskirts of Manchester with her head down, as if there is no point in sticking her nose out when you have no real achievements to show. Her looks are plain, nothing to write home about.
James, her husbandmyselfoften remark that there is nothing remarkable about Emily. She never bothered to notice my own charms; that part of her attention was long gone.
Once upon a time, Emily had been one of the prettiest girls at the college in Leeds. She was slender, sweetfaced, with a delicate bone structure, although a bit broadshoulderedsomething she inherited from her mother, Auntie Agnes, who came from a small Yorkshire village, strong and roughhewn, a stubborn country type that the city never quite understood.
Emilys blood and her fathers genes were both intellectual. Her dad, Geoffrey, was an engineer, welleducated, a man of literature. He polished the girl, gave her a better nose than Auntie Agness, shoulders that didnt jut out, and legs suitable for city shoes rather than the heavy boots of a farmhand. In short, Geoffreys influence turned her into a respectable, shy, and quiet womanstill a good thing.
Auntie Agnes was the sort who could open her mouth and unleash a torrent of complaints that would make your ears curl. My mother Margaret tried to behave the same way when she first married Geoffrey, but she soon learned to bite her tongue. We lived in a respectable council flat with a ficus in the hallway, surrounded by neighbours who were academics and scientistsone misstep and youd be shown the door.
Margaret eventually fell silent, and Emily grew even quieter.
Raise a proper girl! Auntie Agnes would holler, shuffling her wornout boots, and you, Lily, youre wilting. This is a barren moor, nothing but heather! Shed complain about the wind blowing us about and wonder where the whole of our family had vanished to. Wheres the cousin? You dont know? shed ask, as Geoffrey shrugged and retreated to his study, away from the garlicscented kitchen that Margaret was tending while serving tea to her mother.
Auntie Agnes never hurried. Shed first deliver the village gossip, tapping the tablecloth, then drift into talk of her garden and the harvest, then, with a sharp click of her teeth, summon Emily from behind the kitchen door.
Emily would appear timidly, glancing at her mother. Geoffrey would ignore Auntie Agnes, even though shed been brining pickled cucumbers for the table. Hed tell Emily to keep her distance from the old woman. In turn, Margaret helped Emily when the baby arrived, and later when Emily fell ill with pneumonia, lying helpless on the sofa. Auntie Agnes even fetched the child in a winter coat, driving it home in a makeshift police car.
Later Geoffrey shouted that he shouldnt have let that happen, but Margaret calmed him down. With proper food and care, Emily recovered quickly, clinging to her mothers chest and sighing with relief. Geoffrey merely waved his hand, halfsmiling, keeping an eye on Auntie Agnes.
Auntie Agnes possessed a fierce, commanding presence; she could snap a thought into focus like a spotlight, forcing Margaret to confront things shed rather not think about. That made Geoffrey uneasy.
Why dont you welcome me, son? I gave you a good dowry at the wedding! Auntie Agnes would bellow, offering Emily a large piece of chocolate Cadbury as a peace offering. Emily politely declined, placing it on the table.
Come on, love, have a bite! Auntie Agnes pressed, but Margaret stopped her. Geoffrey wont allow sweets before dinner. Thats not our custom, she whispered, and the remark flared a blush on Margarets cheeks.
Margaret never became the lady of the house; she kept to the corners, quiet, and only set the table when guests arrived, nodding politely. She had little to say, always staying in the background.
Emily took a leaf from her mothers book: dont make a scene.
Eventually Auntie Agnes could no longer bear staying at Geoffreys house; after a few arguments she stopped visiting, only calling when Geoffrey was away, listening to the long ring tone, then sighing as Emilys voice drifted through the line.
How are you, dear? You never come to visit shed whisper, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. Everythings fine here. Im at university, todays my day off, Mum went to the clinic, Dad is at work, Emily would reply, shrugging.
Life seemed to run on an unspoken set of rules, simple and clear. Father Geoffrey was the head, educated and logical; mother Margaret was simple, still chewing sunflower seeds and spitting the shells into a palm. This annoyed Geoffrey, who demanded she civilise her snacking, but she refused, so he sent her out onto the balcony.
Sit there if you cant understand why its rude! he ordered, waving his hand.
Margaret sat in a nightgown, sighing, grateful to Geoffrey for rescuing her from a Yorkshire farm and giving her a decent life.
I first met Margaret at a dance in the local park, where she was performing with a folk troupe. Love sparked, and soon after she gave birth to Emily. My parents were surprised by our union, but eventually they saw the marriage as a noble blending of city intellect and country grit.
Emily followed in her mothers footsteps, graduating from university and choosing a teaching career, though she never took up a jobjust like Margaret. She married me, a man of simpler tastes than Geoffrey but still rooted in the intellectual class. By the time I was a young man, the flashy rockandroll crowd had replaced the old scholars as the fashionable set.
I, James, was a traditionalist, preferring classic literature and heavy philosophy over contemporary fads. Geoffrey had known me from some university projects and gave his blessing to my marriage to Emily.
After the wedding, Emily moved into the threebedroom flat I shared with my parents. My older sister had long since moved abroad, perhaps to Canada or France. My parents, now retired, handed over the reins of the household to me, and, taking a few belongings, sent my father and me away to the countryside.
Make yourselves comfortable, they said. We cant have two ladies running the kitchen.
The flat was cramped with dark wooden paneling, piles of linens, towels, mismatched curtains, and too many crystal glasses. The lamps were dim, the windows always drawn, as if to hide our modest life from nosy neighbours.
Emily thought about redecoratingnew curtains, fresh paint on the parquetbut it would cost money we didnt have. I didnt mind; I was content with my routine. I would make eggs in my battered boxers, not spending a penny on luxuries. Emily, ever attentive, would watch the clock, worrying whether Id be home all day or out on work. Most weekends we stayed in; I never took her to the theatre or cinema, insisting we saved every penny.
My pennypinching habit grew into an obsession. At first Emily thought I was simply frugal, but soon she realised I expected her to live entirely on my terms, as if a wifes role was only to acquiesce. My mother Margaret lived like that too.
I was an intellectual of modest origins; my parents had never attended university, but they were proud when I earned a place as a junior researcher, nearing forty, with a dissertation looming over my head. Still, I held the reins in the household.
Your husband is a tyrant! Auntie Agnes would exclaim, waving her arms. Why does he need you? Shed argue that Emily could have found a better match. Id retort that Emily had a good job in the city, a decent flat, and a respectable careernothing to scoff at. Auntie Agnes, who never spent much, would nonetheless ensure Emilys mother had warm coats and sturdy shoes, borrowing from neighbours if needed.
When Emily finished her teacher training, she finally took a job at a primary school. She loved the children, though she came home exhausted, collapsed at the kitchen table while I lounged on the sofa, reading philosophy and waiting for dinner.
She would sigh, wishing the evening would end so she could sleep, while I sipped a small nip of whisky and mused about the weight of the world. I often reminded her that if she wanted to climb the civil service ladder, she should aim higherperhaps the National Health Service. Id tell her, Well buy you a coat in spring, decide about a scarf in autumn.
One night Emily, trembling, blurted out, James, Im pregnant. Im not feeling welldont touch me. I stared at her, stunned, as if Id never heard of children before. But we we never? I stammered, trying to calculate the ramifications. My mind, always in spreadsheets, refused to accept the surprise.
Enough, I snapped. Make a cup of tea, just enough for a months supply. Tomorrow go to the health centre. Well sort this out. I looked at her swollen belly with disdain, then turned away.
Emilys nausea hit me full force; she vomited onto my lap. I sprang up, swearing, sending her fleeing to the bathroom, where she muttered curses. When I returned, the flat was tidy, the coat and boots Id bought last spring lay in the hall, everything in its placeexcept Emily.
She disappeared. I called her friends, but she never answered. Everyone thought she had a solid family life, because she always spoke of it.
Weeks later Auntie Agnes, perched in her armchair, read the newspaper through spectacles that perched on her late husbands nose. Shed frown, then grin, then chuckle. Emily watched from the doorway, then stepped inside.
A flood of memories rushed inEmily as a child, trailing her grandmother, fed on berries, cheese scones, listening to bedtime stories, dreaming with a smile. Tears welled, and Emily wept.
Auntie Agnes noticed and, after a moment, rose, slipped onto the porch, andalmost tumblingreached out as if to catch the fallen child.
Are you all right, love? she asked. Your mother praised me, said I was a good man, a proper fellow.
Emily whispered, Mum doesnt know everything.
Auntie Agnes barked, You hide your stones and figs, you do! I tried to raise you proud, to know your worth, but I missed you.
She gestured toward a passing young man, Thats Sam, a sturdy lad, not a professor but a decent fellow, sings a good song. Hell be better for you than me.
Emily stayed silent about the baby. Auntie Agnes, chuckling, added, Im blind, you see? My eyes see everything. Grandchildren are a blessing. Well raise them.
After supper, Emily placed her thin wedding bandcheap, as Id told herto the table, slipped it off her swollen finger, and closed her eyes, feeling once more the warmth of a mothers milk.
A few weeks later, after a long, bitter argument, Emily left the flat, taking her belongings. I helped her load them into a cab, telling nosy neighbours that shed be staying temporarily elsewhere for the childs sake.
I returned to the empty flat, poured a measure of whisky mixed with watermy fathers old recipewatched the weather forecast on the telly, and sighed at the lies they always tell.
Emily gave birth to a little boy, thin as a reed, whom Auntie Agnes declared would grow tall like a violinist. Margaret cradled the infant while Geoffrey, now softened, tossed toy soldiers and miniature cars across the floor.
Dad, hes only six months! Emily laughed.
Buy him a toy later, thank me then, Geoffrey replied, arranging the toys for a tiny audience.
With the baby in our lives, the households dynamics shifted. Auntie Agnes visited often, bringing knitted booties; Margaret, who had studied home economics, began sewing tiny garments for the child. I would shuffle in the hallway, watching Emily bundle him in a soft blanket before heading out for a walk.
Dont let his ears get cold, and mind your own head, you wretched old thing! Auntie Agnes would scold, slamming the door.
One evening, after a long day, I came home to find Auntie Agnes on the doorstep, eyes bright.
Emily, get your things together, were moving back to the village! she shouted.
I called out, Bring the ring back! Its mine! She tossed the cheap band onto the grass. I dropped to my knees, frantically searching through the blades, finally holding it up with a scowl.
Were done, she said, pulling the curtains shut.
We divorced quietly. Emily took the few belongings she could, and I even helped her into the taxi, telling nosy neighbours we were only temporarily apart for the childs benefit. I then sat at the kitchen table alone, downed a shot of the whiskywater concoction, turned on the television, and watched the weather report repeat the same old lies.
Emilys son, Harry, grew up healthy, and the three womenAuntie Agnes, Margaret, and Emilyshared tea together, each from a different generation, each hoping the next would be better.
Looking back, I realise I let my obsession with order and pennypinching drown the very things that gave life meaninglove, compassion, and a willingness to change. The lesson I take from all this is that a good arrangement is not measured by the size of ones savings or the neatness of ones flat, but by the warmth you keep in the home, however modest.
James.
