“You Owe Me, Mum”
Valerie met her future husband on the street. She had overslept and missed her exam. Sprinting to the tram stop, she watched helplessly as it pulled away right in front of her.
“Typical!” she huffed, stomping her foot in frustration. “Now I’ll definitely be late.”
“Where do you need to go?” A young man on a bicycle stopped beside her. “I can give you a lift.”
“On that? You’re joking,” she snapped.
“Better than walking. Or you could wait for the next tram—who knows how long that’ll take?” He studied her face, waiting for a reply.
Mobile phones didn’t exist yet, payphones were unreliable, and hailing a cab on the street was impossible. What did she have to lose?
“We’ll take the back alleys—faster than the tram,” he urged.
Valerie bit her lip, hesitating, but time was running out. She climbed onto the bike’s rear rack sideways.
“Hold on tight,” he said, pushing off the kerb. The bike wobbled at first, and she nearly jumped off in panic, but soon steadied as they picked up speed. Ten minutes later, they reached the medical college. Valerie hopped down.
“Thanks,” she murmured, noticing the sweat beading on his temples. “Was it hard?”
“A bit,” he admitted. “What’s your name?” He leaned on the bike, one foot propped on the steps, their faces level.
“Valerie. And you?”
“Oliver. Good luck with your exam!” He cycled off before she could say more.
Glancing after him, she hurried inside. The first few students had already entered the exam hall. Others leaned against walls, cramming from notebooks. Valerie steadied her breath, willing herself to focus.
The door swung open, and grinned, waving his marked exam sheet.
“A first?” Valerie asked.
“A 2:1,” he beamed.
“Next candidate,” called an assistant, eyeing Valerie pointedly. “No second calls.”
Taking a deep breath, Valerie stepped in, picked a paper, and instantly recognised the questions.
“Which one?” the assistant pressed.
“Number thirteen.”
“Take your paper and prepare. Who’s ready?”
“I am,” Valerie blurted.
The assistant’s raised eyebrow signalled surprise.
“Are you sure? Maybe—”
“I’m sure.”
A nod from the professor, and Valerie approached his desk.
Outside later, a coursemate asked, “How’d it go?”
“Brilliant!” Valerie grinned.
“Who examined you?”
“The professor. He was in a good mood.” Her heels tapped briskly down the wrought-iron stairs.
Oliver waited by his bike under a tree. She skipped down the steps toward him.
“You’re still here?”
“Wanted to see how you did.”
“Brilliant!”
“Fancy going somewhere?”
“Where?” She hadn’t planned to study for the next exam, but neither had she expected an outing with a stranger.
“Your choice. A boat ride, cinema, or just a walk.”
“Don’t you work?”
“Still on holiday for a week.”
They rowed on the river, stopped at a café, then watched a film in the cool darkness of the cinema. By dusk, as they stood outside her house saying goodbye, Valerie realised she was in love.
“Where have you been? I was worried. How was the exam?” her mother demanded the moment she stepped inside. “Don’t mess up your degree and lose your grant.”
“I won’t.”
A year later, she and Oliver married. He was older, already working. They rented a tiny, peeling flat and were blissfully happy.
Eighteen months on, Oliver’s father died of a heart attack mid-lecture at the university. His mother, shattered, wandered their home listlessly or stared blankly at the ceiling. Worried, Oliver suggested moving in to support her. Valerie agreed.
Returning early from college, she cooked and cleaned, but Oliver’s mother barely recognised her. Valerie shared her concerns—dementia, the doctor confirmed, accelerated by grief. A year later, his mother was hit by a car while buying the kefir her late husband had loved.
Alone in the big house, they raised their son, Mark. Life rolled on—arguments, make-ups, parenting—until thunder struck.
Oliver grew distant, criticising her weight, her hair, her nails.
“You used to be slim. Now you’ve let yourself go. Gym, diet, a manicure—sort yourself out.”
It stung, even if he wasn’t wrong. He wasn’t exactly fit himself.
“I can’t have long nails—I’m a dentist!”
She suspected an affair, but he came home on time, never travelled. Still, unease gnawed at her.
Before his birthday, she asked about guests.
“Didn’t I say? I’ve booked a restaurant. The boss hinted at a promotion—I’ve invited him and his wife. Lots of people coming.”
Stunned, Valerie swallowed her hurt. His day, his rules.
At the restaurant, she wore a new dress, styled her hair. Once, he’d have showered her with praise; now, a tepid compliment.
Speeches flowed, gifts piled up. The boss praised Oliver’s work, announced his promotion.
Music started. Valerie declined to dance, claiming fatigue. Oliver swept a young woman onto the floor.
In the loo, Valerie overheard:
“Flirting right under his wife’s nose! You said she was fat and ugly—she’s actually pretty.”
“We’ll see,” came the smug reply.
Back in the hall, Oliver whispered to his dance partner. Valerie slipped out, took a taxi.
Mark was at her mother’s. At home, she washed her face, studying her reflection. Her mother adored Oliver—she’d never understand.
He returned hours later, furious. Her exit had humiliated him.
“You humiliated yourself,” she shot back. “Dancing with your mistress. Promised her you’d leave me? Go ahead—I’ll give you the divorce.”
“No point lying. I should’ve told you sooner. Jana’s pregnant. This house was my parents’. You’re the one leaving.”
Numb, she packed a suitcase, took Mark to her mother’s.
Her mother blamed her: “Fight for your marriage! Don’t let some girl steal him.”
To placate her, Valerie promised to return—then wept all night.
At work, a colleague mentioned friends emigrating to Israel. Their frail father needed a live-in carer.
“They’ll sign the flat over to the carer after he passes.”
“I’ll do it,” Valerie said.
Switching to part-time, she moved in. The flat reeked of illness. She cooked, but he barely ate. Guiltily, she survived on eggs and toast, losing weight.
He outlived predictions by eight months. His daughter, checking via Skype, sent funeral money.
A notary arrived the day after the burial with deeds signed months prior—the flat was hers.
With the leftover money, she freshened the place, scrubbing away the scent of decay.
Life steadied. Mark graduated, married, had a daughter. Their one-bedroom flat strained under the growing family.
“It’s not fair,” he erupted. “You’re alone in that big place. Sell it, buy a one-bed, give me the rest. Her parents helped—now it’s your turn.”
Shocked, Valerie offered to swap. He brightened instantly. “Love you, Mum.”
She moved into their cramped flat, crying not for the space, but her lost youth.
Two months later, Mark visited, impressed by her renovations.
“Mum, Jana’s due soon. Could you take our son? Just at first.”
Remembering leaving him with her mother, she agreed.
Alone, she sighed. Her seaside retirement plans would wait—a sofa for her grandson came first.
She’d give him all she’d missed with Mark.
Opening her laptop, she browsed children’s furniture, smiling faintly. At least she wouldn’t be alone.