Vicky lingered, phone tight in her hand. Her mums voice filled her earswet, pleading, like an endless drizzle.
She could not decide what to feel. Grief? No. Anger? No. It was more a hollow echo.
The same hollow echo that Mabel had left behind when she said, Youll have to sleep in the kitchen.
Yet her heart thumped faster.
They drove me out, she heard, like a stray dog.
The words sliced her memory as a knife, because she too had been cast outlike a child with a knapsack that held two books and a shirt.
Fine, come, Vicky said at last. But only for a little while.
Mabel arrived the next morning, looking weary, dark circles under her eyes, hauling a bulky suitcase.
Vicky opened the door and for a breath the two stared at each other, strangers who had once been close but now could not recall how.
Very nice youve set this up, Mabel said, scanning the bright flat. Cozy.
Yes. I made it cozy myself, Vicky replied calmly.
They sat at the table.
Mabel sipped her tea in tiny gulps, as if afraid it would scald her.
I never thought it would end like this, she began. George passed everything fell to his children. They sold the flat. They told me, Youre not our mother.
Her voice cracked. I saw them as my own
And me, mum? What did you think I was? Vicky asked.
Mabel lifted her eyes. For the first time they held fear.
Child, dont start. It was hard then I didnt know what to do.
No, mum. Life wasnt hard. You were. I was just inconvenient.
Silence settled between them like a heavy curtain.
Mabel gulped, saying nothing.
Weeks slipped by.
Vicky tried not to argue, but Mabel slowly began to act as if the flat were hers. She rearranged the cupboards, washed the dishes properly, shifted the furniture.
Later she returned from the market with bags.
I bought a rug. Yours doesnt match.
Mum, this is my home.
Dont be petty, I only want to help!
And Vicky felt again like that little girl with nowhere to belong.
One evening, after returning from work, the kitchen smelled of fresh biscuits.
Oh, youre here! Mabel smiled. We have guests.
At the table sat an elderly man with a shiny bald head and a greasy beard.
This is Stanley, Mabel said. A acquaintance. He sometimes helps me.
Here in my flat? Vicky asked coolly.
Dont start. Were just having dinner.
No, mum. Tomorrow youll be dining elsewhere.
Mabels face went pale.
Youre kicking me out?
No. Im just reminding you: I once slept in the kitchen because of your choices. But Im not a child any more.
The next morning Mabel silently packed her things.
Vicky stood in the doorway, hands on the frame. Her fingers trembled, but her face stayed composed.
Where shall I go? Mabel whispered. No one is waiting.
Just as you never waited for me, Vicky answered.
Mabel hesitated.
I didnt understand
I understood. You just didnt care.
Mabels shoulders shivered.
I was a bad mum, she murmured. But Im still human.
I know, Vicky said. And Im human too. Not your child who once feared you.
When the door shut, Vicky sank onto the sofa. Her hands were warm, as if after a battle.
Sunlight flooded the room, the air suddenly clear.
She rose, opened the wardrobe and pulled out an old box.
Inside lay childrens drawings, postcards, a photograph: herself, her mum and her grandmother.
Grandma held them at the shoulders, smiling.
If you were here, Grandma, Vicky thought, youd tell me to forgive. But she no longer wanted to live with a pain that demanded forgiveness.
She lit the photograph on the ashtray, watching her mothers face dissolve into ash.
A week later a letter arrived.
Vicky, forgive me. Im not looking for excuses. I just want you to know I love you, even if Im terrible at showing it. Thank you for not locking the door on me right away. Maybe one day youll open it againnot for me, but for yourself.
Vicky read it several times, then smiled.
For the first time in yearstruly.
She stepped onto the balcony, breathed deeply and called a womens shelter.
Good afternoon. I have a spare room. Maybe someone needs a place to stay?
Yes, they replied. We have a woman whose family drove her out.
Vicky closed her eyes.
The circle closed, but this timedifferent.
She set the kettle, laid out fresh sheets.
In this house, for the first time, someone would hear:
Youre home now.
And this timeno conditions, no fear, no pain.
Only love.
