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Claire started feeling awful as soon as she stepped onto the platform.
She barely made it to a bin and was now hunched over it, her expensive coat smudged against the icy, cast-iron rail.
You alright there, love? came a kindly local voice.
Please just leave me be
Claire straightened up. Around her, people moved in a silent film, wrapped in puffer jackets, hauling old shopping bags and sacks of potatoes.
The air reeked of diesel, cheap cigarettes, and that unmistakable musty smell of small English towns that always triggered her migraines.
God, she hated this place. Hated it with that clinical detachment reserved for the town you escaped from, fifteen years ago, doing everything possible to forget the way home.
Her phone vibrated.
Dad.
Claire, where are you? Im in the car outside, ready to pick you up.
Ill get a taxi, she said, clipped. Dont bother coming for me. Whats the hospital address?
Shes not in hospital, love. Your mum was discharged yesterday. Blood pressure, they said to look after her at home. Ill pick you up
At home? Claires jaw clenched tight. Are you serious? Ive come all this way for nothing?
Dont go off, Claire. Mums been looking forward to seeing you. Shes baked pasties.
Pasties? For goodness sake!
She hung up.
***
The house where shed grown up looked even smaller.
Claire hovered in the communal hallway, staring at the battered, faux-leather front door. The neighbours cat was already weaving itself around her legs, fluffing her boots with ginger hair. The familiar scent of cabbage soup, cat, and something sweet filled the air. It always smelt like this. Always.
She walked in without knocking.
Mum was sitting in the kitchen. Tiny, grey-haired, in a faded housecoat, nightie peeking out from underneath.
At the sight of her daughter, she threw up her hands, her face a mixture of joy and guilt that made Claires skin crawl.
Clairy! Sweetheart! I thought youd be here this evening
I told you not to lie, Claire said, still standing there in her boots, refusing to take them off. You do realise my contracts gone up the spout for this? I spent the night on a train thinking you were in intensive care, and youre in here baking pasties?
Mum wilted. Her hands dropped uselessly to her lap.
Im sorry, love. Didnt mean to scare you. Its just me blood pressure Ive just missed you so much.
So you lied. Claire kicked off her boots and flung them into a corner. Fine. Wheres your blood pressure monitor? Ill check, then Im getting a hotel. Im not staying here tonight.
Stay, darling
Mum, your loo leaks, the radiators barely work, and the neighbours arguments shake the walls. I physically cant handle this. I really cant.
She walked to the kitchen and sat down. On the table was a plate, still warm, stacked with golden pasties. Claire didnt even glance at them.
Blood pressure monitor. Please.
Mum fetched it obediently: an ancient, manual affair with a cracked rubber bulb.
What is this? You couldnt get a proper one? Im sending you money for these things.
I put it in savings for you, love. Just in case.
Oh, for crying out loud
Claire pumped the bulb, the numbers on the old dial swimming in and out of focus.
One sixty over ninety. Are you eating salt straight from the jar?
Just a pinch in me tea
Right. Ill get you proper medicine and a decent monitor tomorrow. Im shattered. Where am I sleeping?
Mum bustled about, sorting out a bed. Claire sat and stared out the kitchen window at the grey council flats, thinking only, Just dont get stuck. Get away, first chance tomorrow.
***
Claire couldnt sleep that night.
The sofa was too short, its springs biting into her back. Next door, the neighbours were screaming; then it erupted into a brawl. Through the wall, she heard a woman shrieking, a man answering with obscenities.
She lay on her back, staring up. There was a crack across the ceiling. She remembered it from childhood how she used to think it looked like lightning. Now it just reminded her the whole place was falling apart.
Toward dawn, she finally dozed off. She dreamt she was small again, walking with Mum through the market, being bought a pasty with jam inside, sugar dusted on top. She was so happy.
She woke up crying.
The tears streamed down her face and wouldnt stop. She lay there, sobbing, mopping her eyes on the bedsheet.
The flat was silent now but for the slowly ticking clock the same, ancient one Mum had promised to throw out a hundred times.
Claire? Mums voice came thinly through the door. You awake?
Yeah, Claire croaked back.
Theres someone here to see you.
Who?
Some girl called Harriet. Do you remember her?
Claire sat up, frowning. Harriet?
She pulled on her dressing gown and stepped out.
There was Harriet her best mate from school, the one she had let go without a word when shed run off to London.
Harriet looked barely changed: same fair hair pulled into a ponytail, same dimples. Only her eyes seemed older, with dark circles beneath.
Alright, Harriet said. Your mum told me you were back. Figured Id pop in. Fifteen years, eh?
Claire felt caught out, wanting to say something caustic and distant How did you even know I was here? or Im busy, you see but found she couldnt.
Come in, she muttered instead.
They perched in the kitchen. Mum, wisely, cleared off to the neighbours flat. Harriet wrapped her hands around a mug of tea.
Im married now, she said. Little girl Emily. Seven years old. Starting school soon.
Congratulations, Claire managed.
What about you? Harriet looked her over. London good?
Alright.
You married?
I was.
So what happened?
Claire shrugged. No need to spill everything about her ex walking out for someone else, the empty flat, the nice car, the job that meant nothing at night. That she was utterly, completely alone.
Didnt get on, thats all.
Harriet nodded, then after a pause, said quietly,
I forgave you, you know.
For what? Claire blurted.
You really dont know? You left. Didnt even say goodbye. We were like sisters told each other everything. Then you vanished. I was gutted, then mad, and then I figured you were just doing what you had to. We both built our lives. But now, look here we are, having a cuppa, and Im glad to see you.
Claire blinked away tears, gazed out the window.
I was stupid, Harry. Sorry.
Harriet grinned. We all were. Forget it.
They chatted until evening. Harriet shared stories about her husband (works at the factory, likes a pint but harmless), about Emily (little artist, drawings on every surface), about how life carries on here. And much to her surprise, Claire realised she cared. Properly cared.
Look, Harriet said, standing up to go, fancy coming round for dinner tomorrow? Ill make stew. You can meet Emily.
Not sure
Come on. Your mum says youre here til Wednesday, so lets pretend its old times, eh?
Claire nodded.
***
The next morning, Claire headed to the chemist.
She needed to buy Mum her tablets, a proper blood pressure machine, maybe a few other bits. Walking through town, she looked around and noticed it wasnt so grim after all. Frosted trees, kids on sledges, old ladies gossiping on benches. Life.
There was a queue in the pharmacy, and Claire joined the end. The woman in front of her was in a threadbare coat and hauling a shopping bag crammed with groceries, shifting from foot to foot, breathing heavily.
Are you alright? Claire asked.
Ill be fine, sweetheart. Just the old ticker playing up. Ill get my pills and be right as rain.
Claire looked closer. The womans face was pale, lips blueish, a sheen of sweat on her brow.
Sit down, Claire insisted. Tell me what you need and Ill get it.
Nitroglycerin, love. Thanks ever so much.
Claire fetched the medicine, handed it over. The woman popped a pill in her mouth, shut her eyes. After a minute, she began to look better.
Thank you, darling. Youre not from round here, are you?
I am, actually, Claire said suddenly. Born and bred.
She walked out of the chemist smiling to herself.
***
That evening, Claire walked across town to Harriets flat.
It was in an old council block, fifth floor, no lift. By the time shed climbed the battered steps, she was thinking: God, Ive lost my touch with these places.
But somehow, that didnt bother her today.
The door opened, and a skinny fair-haired little girl with giant blue eyes stood there.
Are you Auntie Claire? she asked. Mummy told me to wait for you.
I am, Claire grinned.
Im Emily. Come in. Mums made stew.
Inside was sparse but spotless. Furniture older than Claire herself, faded wallpaper, every wall covered in childrens drawings. The smell of stew and baking was comforting.
Harriet bustled at the stove.
Oy, Claire! Come in, take your coat off. Were just about to eat. Emily, fetch the spoons, love.
They sat down. Claire tasted the stew, felt the warmth spread through her. She hadnt eaten so well in ages. She couldnt remember when shed last just sat in a plain old kitchen, eating, talking, laughing.
Will you draw something for me? she asked Emily.
Emily eyed her solemnly and said, Youre pretty. Ill draw you.
Go for it, Claire smiled.
Emily fetched her colouring book and pencils, sat and set to work.
Claire sipped her tea with cherry jam, catching up with Harriet.
Do you have any children? Emily piped up without looking up.
No, I dont, Claire replied. It just didnt happen.
Why not?
Emily! Harriet chided. Thats rude.
Its alright. Claire smiled. Doesnt work out for everyone, Em. Thats just how it goes sometimes.
Dont be sad about it, said Emily, deeply serious. Youre still young. Theres loads of time.
Claire laughed.
Thank you, sweetie.
Emily handed her the picture. Shed drawn Claire in a long dress and a crown, surrounded by flowers.
Thats you, Emily explained. A princess, but sad. Ill draw in the sun, so youre happy next time.
Claire felt her throat tighten.
Thank you, darling. Ill hang this in my flat, in London. Deal?
Deal, Emily nodded. Will you come back again?
I will, Claire promised and meant it.
***
She got back to Mums late. Mum was still up, waiting.
How did it go? she asked.
Good, Mum. Really good.
Claire sat down, took her mothers hand in her own. It was warm, calloused, speckled with age spots.
Im sorry, Mum. For everything.
Heavens, what dyou have to be sorry for?
For being ashamed. Of you, of this place, of myself. I thought I was better because I left. But Im not. I just ran away.
Mum just stroked her hair, the way she did when Claire was little.
You didnt run, love. You survived. Back then, it was get out or drown. Im glad you left. Just dont forget us.
I wont, Claire whispered. I swear.
***
In the morning, Claire was off.
Dad drove her to the station. Mum, so small in her old pink coat, stood on the platform, waving.
Claire watched through the window, her heart tightening with every moment.
You should come back more often, Claire, Dad said, clearing his throat. Me and your mum arent getting any younger.
I will, Dad. Honest.
On the train, she found her seat, pulled out her phone. There was a message from Harriet: Come again soon. Emily keeps asking when Auntie Claire is coming back. She loves you.
Claire smiled. She put the phone away.
The train pulled off. The grey flats, garages and frosted fields slipped by. And suddenly, Claire realised her headache was gone. She didnt feel sick, didnt want to shut her eyes and disappear.
She pulled Emilys drawing from her bag, unrolled it, and smiled at the princess among the flowers, under an unfinished sun.
Out the window, the real sun was rising over the fields big, red, brilliant.
***
A week later, Claire sent Harriet some money just a little something, for Emily and her art supplies.
Harriet tried to refuse, but Claire insisted.
And, six months after that, Claire came back to her hometown. All by herself. Bought a ticket, jumped on a train, and arrived unannounced.
The three of them sat around Harriets table Claire, Harriet, and Emily sharing a meal, chatting together. And Claire found herself thinking: maybe this is what happiness is. Just being needed by someone. Just because.
