Theres nothing closer than this…
Barbara and her daughter stepped down from the coach at the edge of the village. The sun strained through grey wintry clouds, making the sharp air tingle on their cheeks, and the brilliance from the snow forced little Emily to screw her eyes shut.
Mum, why does no one live in that house? Emily asked, glancing at the only truly abandoned cottage on the outskirts.
An old lady used to live there, Barbara replied, her breath misting in the cold. I never saw any relatives visit hernot once. She was one hundred and two when she passed away. Lit her own fire, looked after herself as best she could, but folks from around here would fetch her shopping or carry water over. Theyd leave it on the porch, and the next morning shed collect it and pay, or return the empty pail. I helped out with the other girls when I was a child.
But couldnt someone just steal the food or the money? Emily frowned, startled.
No one ever did, Barbara said. People thought she was a witchkept their distance. When one day the food went untouched on her step, folk realised she must have passed. Even then, they hesitated to step inside. But in the end they had to go in and Shes been gone ever since, and the place is empty.
A real witch? Emilys eyes widened.
All nonsense, darling. Just an old lady. People exaggerated. Some said she was two hundred, others three! But her birth record was found at the parish hallone hundred and two, nothing more.
Emily grew quiet as they left the deserted house behind. Other cottages looked bright and tidy; snow cleared, fires burning, the normal rhythm of village life.
Is that why no one moves in? Are they scared? Emily still mulled over the story.
Barbara spotted a familiar figure outside a cottage, waving with energy.
Theres Gran come to meet us! Go on, love, run to her. Her own heart lifted, the step in her stride quickening.
Gran! Emily cried, sprinting straight into her grandmothers embrace, arms thrown wide to catch her granddaughter.
Barbara took a long, deep breath of the village airhome always felt lighter, freer than the city.
Mum! she said, and her mother wrapped her close, one arm around her, the other still holding Emily tight.
I just had a feeling today, her mother, Margaret, smiled. So I baked pies, hoped you might appear. Ive met the coach every Saturday, waiting. No sense in standing here in the coldlets get inside.
The cottage bloomed with warmth and the scent of pastry, old wood, and a sweetness that no candle could replicateyears and years of living had soaked into its every seam. Nothing had changed. It was just as she remembered.
Margarets eyes quickly scanned their faces. Well done you for coming back. This a long visit? her voice trembled.
Not longJohns at work. We couldnt wait any longer, just had to come. We were going to spend New Year, then Emily caught a nasty cold, then John was unwell Well go back Sunday evening for work on Monday.
Barbara saw worry tucked around her mothers eyes. Now widowed these past two years, her mum looked older, thinner. Life in a small English village wasnt easynot even for the tough.
Now, Ill fix you something to eat. Bet youre famished after all that travel. Margaret ducked into the kitchen, clanging crockery. Emily followed at her heels like a duckling.
Margaret set the table with care. Barbara and Emily wanted to devour everything, but they soon filled up, and Emily began to yawn, slumping sleepily against her grandmother.
Worn out from the journey, my precious one. Grown taller too! Youll soon catch me up, Margaret purred, gathering the child in her arms and taking her into the alcovea cosy nook once Barbaras own little bedspace, separated by a curtain.
Let her sleep, Margaret said, returning to her daughter. Tell me, hows life? Is everything well?
Barbara smiled, We ran into Rachel from the next village at the coach station. She kept calling me LucyI told her I was Barbara, Margarets girl, but she kept calling me Lucy. Do I really look so much like your sister? Have you got a picture?
Margaret looked away. Youve seen it a hundred times.
Id still like to see it again.
Alright, Margaret sighed, let me tidy up and Ill fetch it.
She placed an old shoebox on the table, filled with faded black-and-white photographs, some turning yellow and curling at the corners, while a few newer colour snaps poked out.
Theres you as a little one here in year five, looking just like Emily does now And this Margarets brow furrowed, do you know who this is?
Thats me! Orno, I dont recognise it. I dont have this one. Barbara smiled, confused.
Thats your aunt, my younger sister Lucy, Margaret corrected gently.
Barbara compared the faceastonished. Its uncanny. Like twins.
And heres her last photo, from her school-leavers do. Margaret set down a colour portrait of a pretty, fair-haired girl, almost too perfect to bear looking at.
Barbara stared at the image for a long time. Strange I dont really look much like you, Mum.
Margaret sat, taking a slow breath. I suppose the time has comeyou should know the truth, even if it hurts. Lucy shes your real mother. I never said anything for your sake. I only ever wanted to keep you safe.
Margarets words tumbled, slow and heavy. Motheryour grandmotherhad you late in life, didnt want another baby. She worked herself ragged, carried buckets of coal, did the washing Wasnt gentle in her hope you might not survive. But you didjust as beautiful from the start. I was fifteen, and became your little nursemaid.
Young folk always left for the city after school, but I stayedcouldnt leave them behind. Hardly any boys were left in the village, so I stayed single. Lucy always wanted more, couldnt wait to escape. She left after school, but two years later she came backto uswith you. Just a tiny scrap, too frail to hold. And Lucy it was as if all her light had been passed to you. She grew thin, oddbrooding, silent one moment, laughing wildly the next.
And then she ranleft you behind and went to the city. She needed they told us laterdrugs. She died of an overdose not long after. I went to the city for the funeralMother was already so ill by then.
Mother wanted you sent away, but I wouldnt hear of it. I thoughtI was alone anyway, why not raise you as my own? In the village, people either didnt know or chose to keep quiet. Lucy had only stayed a day or two before disappearing. I made arrangements at the county hospitalthey put you down as mine. It cost a little, of course.
And in time, your father came. Hed been in the armywhen he came back from a posting, no one told him Lucy was pregnant. He looked for her, and her friends told him the whole sad story. He was honourably discharged after a wound, and stayed with us. Mother took him inshed have anyone nowadays, especially after losing Dad. We eventually married, had a good few years together
Margaret paused, voice shaking. I never told him Lucy used drugswhat good would it do? I only wanted you to have a home, to be loved. It hurt to lie, but the truthwell, what would it have changed? They say a mother is the one who raises you, not just the one who births you.
The news landed like a blow. After all these yearsthe secret withheld, the truth unspoken.
Where are you going? Margaret called, panic in her chest as Barbara stood.
I need a moment to myself, Barbara murmured, slipping on her coat.
Margaret shook her head, guilt heavy. I knew it was a mistake telling you. Who forced me to confess?
Barbara wandered out into the cold, snow crunching underfoot. My mother addicted? Dead from an overdose? I could never have imagined such a thing At least my father was real. But what if he wasnt? Who knows who she was with? Stop it, Barbarashe was my mother. But what mother abandons her child for a hit? Maybe I shouldnt make such a fussI was loved, I had a real mum and dad. The other one She isnt here. She never was.
She didnt hold me as a baby, didnt stroke my hair when I was sick, Barbara thought, arms folded tight for warmth. Margaret couldve sent me away, couldve put me in care. She didnt. I cant even imagine calling her anything but Mum.
Eventually, chilled, Barbara crept back inside. Margaret waited just as shed left her, at the kitchen table.
Barbara leaned over and hugged her. Forgive me. Youre my mum. I love you.
Margaret wept softly. And Im sorry too. For keeping it all from you.
They barely noticed Emily shuffling from the alcove. Why are you sitting in the dark, Mummy? Ohis that your old photo? You were so pretty!
Margaret laughed, a little embarrassed, gathering up the photographs. No more lookingjust look at us, while you can.
Barbara couldnt sleep that night. She heard her mother sighing in the dark, the old bedsprings groaning as Margaret turned restlessly. Eventually, Barbara got up and whispered at the edge of the bed.
Are you awake?
Margaret threw back the covers a little. The floors cold. Come here.
Barbara slid in beside her, nestling close just as she had when she was a child.
Margaret smoothed her daughters hair. Youre thinking about it, I know. Are you alright?
I am now. I only ever needed you, Mum. Lucyshe was your sister. Thats all, Barbara whispered.
They lay there talking in hushed voices until Barbara slipped back to her own bed, whispered, Youre the best mum in the world. You always were, and you always will be. Then tucked the blanket in the way her mother had done for her as a girl, and slept at last.
The next morning, Margaret saw them to the coach stopBarbara and Emily bundled up against the wind.
Gran, dont be lonely! Well visit again soon! Emily called, throwing her arms around Margaret one last time, catching one last breath of her scentof old wood and kitchens, pies and love.
Off with you now, youll freeze, Margaret shooed, blinking back tears as the coach rumbled away, watching the road long after theyd vanished from sight.
It was at thirty-three years old that Barbara learned her mother had died when she was just a baby, and it was her mothers elder sister whod raised her.
First there was shockanger at the secret, at the lie. Then, gradually, understanding. After all, both women were sisters by bloodso Margaret was just as much her mother as Lucy had been. Theres nothing closer than this.
