The Nasty Old Woman
Olivia stepped out of the taxi and waited for little Emily to climb out.
“Thanks,” Olivia said to the driver, taking her daughter’s hand as they headed slowly toward the building. On the bench by the low porch, two elderly women were sitting.
“Afternoon,” Olivia greeted them.
“Afternoon,” one of the women replied. “Who are you two lovely ladies visiting, then?”
Olivia just smiled. She unlocked the keypad entry and walked in with Emily. The door had barely shut behind them when one of the women said loudly, “Saw two lads carrying boxes and bags in here half an hour ago.”
“New tenants moving into the flat above you—the one the Harrisons are renting. Brace yourself, Mary. You’re in for sleepless nights,” the other woman chuckled.
“Not if I have anything to say about it. Let them make a peep, and I’ll report them to social services faster than they can blink.”
Olivia tuned them out. The lift was already on the ground floor, so they rode up to the fifth.
The flat door was slightly ajar. Inside, two men sat at the kitchen table, sipping tea.
“Oh, Olivia’s here. We made ourselves at home—hope you don’t mind.”
Olivia reached into her bag for her purse.
“Come on, Liv, no need for that. Just helping out a friend. Maybe you shouldn’t have left Ben. You could’ve patched things up. How’re you gonna manage without a job?” He winked at Emily, who grinned back.
“We’ll manage. I’m filing for divorce. There’ll be child support, maternity pay. I’m not going back to Ben. You can tell him that.”
“Alright. But if you need anything, call, yeah?”
The men left. Olivia sighed, looking at the boxes piled in the middle of the room.
“Right, love. Fancy helping Mummy unpack?”
“No. I wanna play,” Emily declared.
“Fine. Just keep the noise down, or we’ll get kicked out.”
Emily nodded solemnly.
Olivia opened the toy box, and Emily immediately pulled out a teddy bear. Olivia started unpacking clothes into the wardrobe.
The flat was small—just one bedroom—but it would do. The furniture was decent, the place was clean. If they budgeted carefully, they’d make it work.
Later, Olivia boiled some pasta and cooked the sausages she’d brought. She mopped the floor, tucked Emily into the pull-out sofa, and read her a story when she refused to sleep without one. Her own eyelids were heavy, but the second her head hit the pillow, Ben’s words echoed in her mind:
*”You’ll come crawling back to me, begging. And I’ll decide if I even want you.”*
Tears welled up, and sleep vanished.
She got up, shuffling to the kitchen. She didn’t turn on the light—just stood by the window, staring at the unfamiliar street as dusk deepened.
***
She’d met Ben at a bus stop. He’d asked which bus went to Wordsworth Lane.
Olivia listed a few numbers. Then he asked where *she* was headed.
Her bus arrived just then, and she hopped on.
“Sorry—just didn’t know how else to talk to you,” he’d called out, grinning. And she’d smiled back.
Just like that, they’d met. Olivia’s heart was free, and Ben—charming and quick-witted—won it easily. She’d been sharing a flat with a university friend, splitting rent.
Ben had his own place. He talked her into moving in. Olivia’s mother was strict, always preaching that children belonged in marriage, so she lied and said she still lived with her mate.
Two years passed. No proposal. No talk of kids. And then she didn’t know how to tell him she was pregnant.
“We should get a bigger place,” she’d said one day.
“Why?”
“Because there’ll be three of us soon.”
Ben’s face darkened. *”You’re pregnant? And when were you going to mention it?”*
“I’m mentioning it now. I wasn’t sure before.”
*”I thought you were on the pill.”*
*”So you could ‘live your life’ first? I’m keeping this baby—with or without you.”*
*”Christ. This is a bit sudden.”*
They made up. Decided to save for a mortgage deposit.
Then one evening, Olivia saw a car pull up. Ben got out.
*”Whose car is that?”*
*”Ours. Nice, eh?”*
*”Ours?! How?”*
*”Bought it. We’ll never save enough for a flat anyway. Now I can drive you and the baby. No more crowded buses.”*
*”That was *my* money too! You didn’t even ask!”*
*”You didn’t ask me before deciding to have a kid,”* he shot back.
*”It takes two people to make a baby!”*
Their first real row. They patched it up, even got married in a quick registry office ceremony.
But after buying the car, Ben started coming home late. Always some excuse—helping a mate move, driving someone’s family to their holiday home. Olivia couldn’t check. She fumed, accused, doubted.
*”I’m earning extra cash,”* he’d say.
When labour started, he wasn’t home. *”Call an ambulance—I’m too far out,”* he said.
He did show up at the hospital, though. At home, a secondhand crib and pram waited. Olivia didn’t complain—baby stuff was expensive.
But Ben kept staying out. Olivia waited up, stressing. Emily picked up on it, fussing all night. Ben would stumble in at dawn, snarling about no breakfast, no hot dinner. Olivia would explain she’d been up all night with the baby.
The fights got worse.
Ben said she’d let herself go. Said it was *her* fault he looked elsewhere. That she bored him now. Then he left—didn’t come back for days.
When he finally reappeared, Olivia was packing.
*”Where d’you think you’re going? Fine. You’ll crawl back, begging. And I’ll decide if you’re even worth taking.”*
She had savings—started stashing cash after the car debacle. She rented a flat and left. Filed for divorce herself.
Her new neighbours were a rowdy couple—screaming matches, pounding music, the occasional crash. Some nights, she regretted leaving Ben. Then she’d remember his words and know she’d done right. A friend tipped her off about night shifts. She took them, drowning out the shouting next door. Eventually, she moved again. One of Ben’s mates helped haul their things.
***
Dawn broke while Olivia still sat awake, staring. She needed to get Emily into nursery—then she could find proper work. No point delaying. She marched to the nearest one.
*”Parents register the second the baby’s born. Didn’t you know? We’re full. Only way I’ll take her is if you work here yourself.”*
Olivia agreed instantly. Emily would be close. She could feed her, change her.
Things settled—except for the neighbour downstairs. The second Emily laughed too loud, tripped, or cried, the woman thumped her knuckles on the ceiling or banged the radiator. And if she spotted Olivia outside? Lectures about noise, how she couldn’t hear her telly.
Olivia tried explaining—she was a toddler. Kids fall. Kids cry. But the woman kept muttering about social services. Olivia decided it wasn’t worth arguing.
The neighbour was foul to everyone—shrieking at teens loitering, calling them *”druggies,”* berating blokes with beers. Always meddling, always scowling.
Still, better than boozy neighbours.
Winter hit. The nursery was a germ pit. Emily caught everything. One morning, Olivia woke dizzy, her throat like shards of glass. Emily touched her cheek and recoiled.
*”Hot!”*
Olivia’s temperature was 39.6°C. She doubled up on Emily’s leftover medicine. When it ran out, she still felt vile. Too weak to go to the chemist.
Emily whined on the floor. Olivia heard it distantly, like through cotton wool. Then a ringing started—someone at the door.
She staggered over.
*”Drunk, are you? Knew it,”* the neighbour spat.
Olivia’s vision blurred. Then she was on a stretcher, swaying. *”Emily!”* she tried to yell.
*”Lie still. I’ve got her,”* a familiar voice said.
*”Mummy?!”*
*”She’s delirious. Just get her to hospital before she keels over.”*
Two days passed in fevered darkness. When she finally woke, an orange sat on her bedside table. She craved it desperately.
*”Your mum brought that. Came with your little girl,”* the womanAfter that day, the nasty old woman became the closest thing to family Olivia and Emily had, proving that even the loneliest hearts can find warmth when someone chooses to stay.
