“You Owe Me, Mum”
Valerie met her future husband on the street. She had overslept before an exam, sprinted to the tram stop, only to watch it pull away right in front of her.
“Brilliant,” she muttered, stamping her foot in frustration. “Now I’m definitely late.”
“Where do you need to go?” A bloke on a bicycle stopped beside her. “I can give you a lift.”
“On that?” She scoffed. “You’re joking.”
“Better than walking. Or you can wait for the next tram—God knows when that might come.” He studied her, waiting.
Mobile phones didn’t exist yet, payphones were unreliable, and taxis weren’t something you could hail on the street. What did she have to lose?
“We’ll get there faster than the tram if we cut through the backstreets,” he pressed.
Valerie hesitated, biting her lip as time slipped away. Finally, she climbed onto the bike’s rear rack, gripping the edges.
“Hold tight,” he said, pushing off the kerb. The wobble of the front wheel nearly made her jump off, but once they picked up speed, the ride steadied. Within ten minutes, they reached the medical college. Valerie hopped down, brushing off her skirt.
“Thanks,” she said, noticing the sweat on his temples. “That was hard work, wasn’t it?”
“A bit,” he admitted, catching his breath. “What’s your name?” He stayed seated, one foot propped on the college steps, their faces level.
“Valerie. Yours?”
“Alex. Good luck on your exam.” He pedalled off before she could say more.
She watched him disappear, then hurried inside.
The corridor was packed—students leaning against walls, noses buried in notes. The door to the exam hall creaked open, spilling out a grinning bloke, waving his grade book like a trophy.
“Top marks?” Valerie asked.
“Barely scraped a pass,” he beamed, flaunting his grade.
“Next!” A stern invigilator peered out, scanning the crowd before her gaze landed on Valerie. “One out, one in. No second calls.”
Valerie inhaled deeply and stepped inside. She picked a question slip, skimmed it, and nearly laughed in relief—she knew every answer.
“Ticket number?” the invigilator demanded.
“Thirteen.”
“Take a paper and prepare. Who’s ready?”
“Me,” Valerie blurted.
The invigilator’s eyebrows shot up. “Certain?”
“Absolutely.”
After a silent exchange with the professor, Valerie was waved forward.
When she emerged, a course-mate pounced. “How’d it go?”
“Smashing!” Valerie fought a grin.
“Who examined you?”
“The professor. He was in a decent mood today.” She trotted down the old iron staircase, her heels clicking merrily.
Outside, Alex was waiting, his bike propped against a tree.
“You’re still here?”
“Had to know how you did.”
“Brilliantly!”
“Fancy a ride?”
“Where to?” She faltered. Study plans for the next exam were already scrapped, but she wasn’t about to go off with a stranger.
“Anywhere. We could hire a boat, catch a film, or just walk.”
“Don’t you work?”
“Got another week off,” he said.
They rowed on the Thames, stopped at a café, then sat in a dim cinema. By dusk, standing outside her flat, Valerie knew—she was in love.
“Where have you been? I was worried. How was the exam?” Her mother pounced the moment she stepped in. “Sodding about when you should be revising. Fail your exams, lose your grant—see how you like living on beans.”
“I won’t fail,” Valerie promised.
A year later, she and Alex married. He was older, already working. They rented a tiny, peeling flat—and were deliriously happy.
Eighteen months on, Alex’s father dropped dead of a heart attack during a lecture. His mother, unmoored by grief, wandered their home or lay catatonic, staring at the ceiling.
Fearing for her, Alex suggested they move in. Valerie agreed—returning from college early to cook or clean, only to be met with vacant stares from her mother-in-law, as if she were a stranger.
When Valerie voiced her suspicions to Alex, he took his mother to the hospital. The diagnosis confirmed it—dementia, accelerated by loss. A year later, she stepped into traffic—heading for the shop to buy her late husband’s favourite yoghurt. Alex and Valerie were at work.
The big house was theirs now. Soon, a son arrived. Life churned on—rows, reconciliations, raising a boy—until the storm broke.
Lately, Alex had grown distant. “I married a pretty, slim girl,” he’d snipe. “Now look at you—a bloated toad. Get on a diet, hit the gym. Sort yourself out.”
His words stung, but she couldn’t argue. The bloke wasn’t ageing well either—his belly sagged now.
“You know I can’t wear fake nails—I’m a dentist,” she protested.
Dread coiled inside her. Was he cheating? But he came home on time, no suspicious trips. Yet the fear gnawed.
Before Alex’s birthday, she asked about hosting.
“Didn’t I say? Booked a restaurant. The boss hinted at a promotion—I can’t serve poncey canapés. Big crowd coming.”
Valerie froze. She cooked brilliantly—everyone said so. But she held her tongue. His day, his rules. Yet the dread writhed like a waking serpent.
She bought a new dress, styled her hair, applied make-up. Once, he’d have raved. Now, a perfunctory nod.
The restaurant buzzed. Toasts flowed, gifts piled up. The boss praised Alex’s work, announced his promotion.
Then came dancing. Valerie begged off; Alex spun a young blonde around the floor.
In the loo, she hid as two women chattered.
“That wife of his—you said she was fat, ugly? Hardly! And him, flirting right in front of her—d’you reckon he’ll leave her?”
“Wait and see,” chirped the other.
Valerie stayed locked in the stall until they left.
Back in the hall, Alex whispered in the blonde’s ear, his hand low on her back. Valerie slipped out, hailed a cab.
Their son was at her mother’s. Home, she scrubbed off her make-up, studying her wrecked reflection in the mirror. Her mother adored Alex—thought Valerie had won the lottery.
Her husband stormed in two hours later. Her vanishing act had humiliated him—a torrent of fury followed.
“You humiliated yourself,” she spat. “Cheating—right in front of me! Promised her you’d leave? Fine. Go. Now.”
“No point denying it. Should’ve said sooner. But this house—my parents’. So you’re the one leaving. Yvette’s pregnant.”
Numb, Valerie packed a suitcase for her and her son, hailed a cab. The whole ride, she wondered if this was a nightmare.
At her mother’s door, she didn’t need to explain.
“You’ll go back,” her mother hissed over tea. “Fight for your marriage. Don’t hand him to some floozy—think of your boy!”
Valerie lied—said she’d return the next Monday—just to escape. That night, she sobbed into her pillow.
Monday, she asked colleagues about flatshares.
A senior nurse pulled her aside.
“Friends emigrated—their dad’s got terminal cancer. Need a live-in carer. They’ll sign the flat over after he’s gone.”
Valerie agreed instantly—cut her hours to three days a week. Now, to convince her mother to keep Nathan.
Her mother’s fury erupted. “The flat’s a con! They’ll stiff you—and they’ll blame you when he croaks!”
The relentless nagging wore her down. Within days, she’d have taken any escape.
The old man was gruelling—constant care, little reward. He gave her his pension card, but she barely touched the funds, surviving on toast and eggs. The flat’s stench made eating impossible.
Yet he lived eight months—doctors had given him two.
His daughter Skyped often, insisting on seeing him, then grew distant once assured he was cared for.
When he died, she sent funds for the funeral but couldn’t attend. The next day, a notary handed Valerie the deeds—signed eight months prior. She’d been the owner all along.
She spent the leftover money on a refurb—scrubbing the flat of its lingering rot.
A year later, life steadied. Nathan graduated, married a classmate whose parents bought them a one-bed flat.
When their daughter arrived, space vanished. Nathan’s complaints grew—exhaustion, sleepless nights. His wife’s second pregnancy sparked a confrontation.
“You leftThe day her grandson curled beside her on the new sofa, tiny fingers clutching her own, Valerie finally exhaled—finding in his warmth the love she’d spent a lifetime chasing.
