З життя
Провчила зухвалу родичку чоловіка
— Мама казала, ресторан підтвердили, — Соломія говорила так, ніби не помічала напруги в голосі Оксани. — Ну й щодо грошей. Ви з Дмитром усе перевели?
Оксана мовчала кілька секунд, намагаючись підібрати слова, але Соломія вже продовжила:
— Сума невелика, чесно кажучи, я навіть думала долучити зі своїх, але знаєте, з моїми витратами… Це ж для мами, ви розумієте.
— Почекай, — Оксана перебила її, намагаючись зберегти спокій. — Ми про це не домовлялися. Дмитро мені нічого не казав.
— Ой, та ти ж знаєш, він вічно все забуває, — Соломія засміялася, ніби йшлося про дрібниці. — Я йому сказала, що з вас виходить десь сорок. Хіба це не нормально для такого випадку?
Слова звучали так, наче рішення було прийнято давно, а будь-які заперечення — смішні. Оксана стиснула телефон, відчуваючи, як роздратування росте.
— Сорок тисяч? — перепитала вона повільно, ледве чутно.
— Так, це я ще знижку виборола! Там і торти, і обслуговування — сама побачиш. Мама буде в захваті. Та годі, не переймайся, я вже внесла аванс. Дмитро казав, ви все переведете.
Соломія відключилася, навіть не дочекавшись відповіді.
Оксана сиділа, не відриваючи погляду від телефона. У горлі стояв ком, а в голові крутилася одна думка: «Знову ця гра в одні ворота».
***
Ввечері на кухні повітря тремтіло, наче натягнута струна. Дмитро відкрив холодильник, дістав пляшку квасу й, не дивлячись на Оксану, пробурмотів:
— Соломія казала, ти проти дати грошей на ресторан.
Оксана завмерла.
— Проти? Вона так сказала? — Вона підвелася зі стільця, стискуючи долоні. — Я взагалі нічого не знала, поки вона не подзвонила й не поставила мене перед фактом.
Дмитро обернувся й нахмурився.
— Та годі тобі, вона ж не для себе старається. Мама ж не кожен рік ювілей святкує.
— А нічого, що вона «постаралася» за наш рахунок? Сорок, Дмитре! — Оксана стрималася, щоб не кричати. — Сорок тисяч! Це нормально?
Дмитро знизав плечима й відвів погляд.
— Ну, це ж мама. Що ти хочеш? Соломія молодець, усе організувала.
Оксана іронічно посміхнулася.
— Молодець, звісно. Тільки ось за чужі гроші молодицею бути легко. І знаєш, Дмитре, я не розумію, чому ти просто згодився. Ми з тобою це обговорювали? Ні. Вона просто вирішила, а ти кивнув.
— Та перестань, — Дмитро махнув рукою. — Вона ж намагається якнайкраще.
— Для кого? Для нас? Для мами? Чи для себе? — Оксана різко підвищила голос, але одразу знизила його, щоб не розбудити сина. — Дмитре, я більше так не можу. У неї одне: «дайте, переведіть, оплатіть». А потім вона зникає, ніби нічого й не сталося.
Він помовчав, розглядаючи вміст склянки.
— Ну що я можу зробити? Вона така. Хочеш, поговори з нею сама.
— Вже, — сухо відповіла Оксана. — І знаєш, що вона мені сказала? Що це наш обов’язок.
— А ти чого хотіла? Вона сама все тягне. У неї, може, життя складніше, ніж у нас.
— Вона тягне?! — Оксана не витримала. — Дмитре, та вона просто використовує всіх навколо! А ти ще й підігруєш!
Розмова зайшла в глухий кут. Дмитро пробурчав щось незрозуміле й пішов у кімнату, залишивши Оксану наодинці з думками.
***
Наступного ранку дзвінок розірвав тишу. Оксана неохоче підняла трубку.
— Оксан, привіт! Ти не зайнята? — Соломія звучала незвично бадьоро.
— Слухаю, — сухо відповіла Оксана, готуючись до нової «справи».
— Слухай, мені потрібна допомога. Я з сусідкою запускаю невеликий проект. Інтернет-магазин, ну ти знаєш, які зараз можливості. Отже, треба щось оплатити, а в мене зараз нуль. Думала, ти даси мені свою картку. Це тимчасово, на пару днів.
Оксана завмерла, намагаючись переварити почуте.
— Соломіє, — голос її став твердим, — ти серйозно? Мою картку?
— Ну так! Що тут такого? Ти ж знаєш, я акуратна. Усе поверну, нічого зайвого не витрачу.
— Ні. Це не обговорюється.
На тому кінці проводу завісла тиша.
— Не розумію, — голос Соломії втратив впевненість. — Це ж просто картка. Чому ти відмовляєш?
— Соломіє, тому що мені дороге моє спокійство. І моя картка.
— Оксано, ти що, мені не довіряєш? — Соломія вдала ображений тон. — Ми ж родина.
Оксана стиснула зуби.
— Соломіє, давай на цьому закінчимо. У мене справи.
Вона поклала трубку, відчуваючи полегшення й злість одночасно. Соломія переступила всі межі.
Ввечері, коли Дмитро повернувся з роботи, Оксана вже знала: розмова буде важкою.
— Дмитре, — почала вона спокійно, — твоя сестра знову дзвонила.
Він роззувся, не поспішаючи піднімати погляд.
— І що?
— Вона попросила картку. Мою. Для свого проекту.
Дмитро зупинився, дивлячись на неї з подивом.
— І що ти відповіла?
— Що ні, звісно.
— А чому ти не могла просто допомогти? — Він заговорив різко. — Це ж Соломія.
Оксана глибоко вдихнула, щоб не вибухнути.
— Дмитре, це у вас сімейне — не розрізняти прохання й нахабність? Вона що, сама не впорається?
— Оксано, вона ж не мільйони просила. Ти завжди все ускладнюєш.
Вона дивилася на нього, не вірячи власним вухам.
— Ускладнюю? Це я ускладнюю? Ти справді вважаєш, що так можна вічно?
Дмитро помовчав, потім пробурчав:
— Їй просто допомога потрібна була, от і все.
— Так, а потім вона зникає, а ми розгрібаємо наслідки.
Він махнув рукою й пішов у кімнату.
Оксана сиділа за кухонним столом, відчуваючи, як щось всередині ламається. Вона більше не могла терпіти. Соломія не просто втручалася в їхнє життя — вона руйнувала його.
Весь вечір Оксана обдумувала, як покласти цьому край. У голові визрів план: спокійний, розсудливий і остаточний.
***
Наступного тижня їх запросили до родичів Дмитра. Зібралися майже всі: бабусі, дядьки, тітки, двоюрідні брати й сестри. Соломія, як завжди, була в центрі уваги. Вона розповідала, як «інвестує в майбутнє». Оксана спостерігала за цим спектаклем із холодним спокоєм.
Дмитро сидів поруч, нервував, ніби відчував, що зараз станеться щось невідворотне.
— Ось, — продовжувала Соломія, звертаючись до всіх, — ми з сусідкою запускаємо класний проект. Усе на свої робимо, самі стараннями, знаєте, як це важко зараз.
Оксана покашляла, щоб привернути увагу.
— Соломіє, а нічого, що в твоєму проекті ти намагаєшся використати чужі гроші?
За столом завмерли. Соломія спершу навіть не зрозуміла, що це до неї.
— Ти про що? — голос її звучав напружено.
— Ти просила в мене картку на «тимчасові витрати». А ще до того Дмитро давав тобі гроші на ремонт авто. До речі, ти їх повернула?
Соломія почервоніла.
— Ну, це дрібниці. Нащо виносити їх сюди?
Оксана не відступала.
— Це не дрібниці, коли ти постійно живеш за чужий рахунок.
— Не розумію, чому ти така зла, — Соломія намагалася посміхатися. — Ми ж родина.
— Родина? — Оксана підняла брови. — Це не родина, Соломіє. Яка родина, коли ти береш і не віддаєш, а потім ще й ображаєшся, якщо тобі відмовляють.
Усі мовчали. Дмитро спробував щось сказати, але Оксана зупинила його.
— Ні, Дмитре. Годі її прикривати. Ми вже витратили на неї купу грошей і нервів. Нехай тепер пояснить, нащо їй моя картка.
Соломія схопилася зі стільця, стиснувши кулаки.
— Ти просто заздриш, Оксано! Я стараюся для всіх, а ти тільки сидиш і рахуєш копійки.
— Заздрю? — Оксана усміхнулася. — Тому що ти звикла обманювати всіх навколо? Не сміши мене.
Соломія стукнула долонею по столу й вибігла з кімнати.
Дмитро підвівся й глянув на Оксану з болем.
— Навіщо ти так? Це ж моя сестра.
— А ти навіщо їй усе дозволяєш? — відповіла Оксана, не відводячи погляду.
Він нічого не сказав, лише похитав головою й пішов за Соломією.
Оксана зрозуміла: правда виплила. Але це було схоже не на перемогу, а на поразку. Решта мовчали, уникаючи її погляду.
Ввечері Дмитро не повернувся додому. Написав коротко: «Мені потрібен час, щоб усе обдумати».
Оксана сиділа на дивані. Вона знала, що вчинила правильно, але щось всередині відмовлялося визнавати це перемогою.
I Will Always Be With You, Mum: A Heartfelt Story You Can Believe Grandma Valerie couldn’t wait for evening to come. Her neighbour Natalie, a single woman approaching fifty, had just confided something so astonishing that Valerie’s head was spinning. To prove her point, Natalie had even invited her round later to show her something remarkable. The story began quite simply. That morning, Natalie had dropped by as she was on her way to the shop: “Is there anything you need, Valerie? I’m popping to the corner shop to pick up bits for a pie and a few other things.” Valerie smiled. “You’ve always been so good and caring, Natalie. I remember you as a little girl. It’s a shame things haven’t worked out for you—but you never seem sad or complain, not like some.” Natalie laughed. “What’s there to complain about? I do have a man I love, it’s just we can’t be together for now. Would you like to hear the reason? I’ve never told anyone else, but I want to tell you. Well, partly because you probably wouldn’t be believed if you repeated it!” She grinned. “Just let me know if you need anything from the shop. I’ll pop in on my way back, and over a cup of tea, I’ll tell you all about my life. Maybe then you’ll be happy for me and stop worrying.” Valerie didn’t really need anything, but asked Natalie to fetch a loaf of bread and some sweets for tea, her curiosity well and truly piqued. Later, as they sat together over tea and cake, Natalie began: “Valerie, you remember that thing that happened to me twenty years ago? I was nearly thirty. Met a bloke—nice enough, so I thought I’d marry him even if I didn’t love him. At least I’d have a family. He moved in and I got pregnant. When the baby came, a little girl, she lived just two days and passed away. I thought I’d go mad with grief. My husband and I split up soon after. A couple of months later, once I’d stopped crying, something happened. It’s hard to explain, Valerie. I’d got everything ready for my daughter—the cot, bedding, toys, the lot. They say it’s bad luck to buy these things early, but I didn’t believe that. Then one night I was woken by the sound of a baby crying. I thought I was imagining it, but the crying came again. I went to the cot—and there she was. My little girl. I picked her up, my heart nearly bursting with happiness. She looked up at me and then drifted peacefully to sleep. And from then on, almost every night, she would come to me. I even bought formula and a bottle, but she hardly ever fed—just smiled, closed her eyes and slept in my arms. Is that even possible?” Valerie leaned forward, utterly enthralled. “I know it sounds mad, but it’s true,” Natalie insisted. “It just went on—we got used to those nightly visits. I knew my little girl was living in another world, with her own mum and dad, but she never forgot me. She would visit, and one night she said to me: ‘I will always be with you, Mum. We are bound by an invisible thread, and nothing can ever break it.’ Sometimes I wonder if it’s a dream, but she even brings me gifts from her world. They don’t last long here though—they fade away like snow in spring.” That evening, Valerie finally visited Natalie’s flat. No one else was home—just the two of them. Suddenly, a gentle light shimmered in the air and a sweet young woman appeared: “Hello, Mummy! I’ve had such a good day, I want to share it with you. And here’s a present for you.” She placed a small bouquet on the table. Turning to see Valerie, she smiled again. “Oh, hello! Mum said you wanted to meet me. I’m Marianne.” After chatting a while, Marianne faded away like morning mist. Valerie sat silent, absolutely stunned. “Well, I never… that really happens!” she whispered. “Your daughter’s a beauty, Natalie, just like you. I’m so happy for you. You really are a lucky woman—maybe luckier than anyone I know. I would never have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself. Thank you for opening my eyes. The world is so much bigger than I thought; life goes on everywhere. I’m not afraid anymore.” The flowers on the table became paler and then vanished altogether. But Natalie smiled, full of hope. Tomorrow would be a wonderful new day. She was going to meet Arkady, the man she loved and who loved her back—she just knew it. And someday soon, she’d introduce him to the two people she loved most in the world: Marianne and Arkady.
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No One Left to Talk To: A Story “Mum, what are you saying? How can you say you’ve got no one to talk to? I call you twice a day,” her daughter asked wearily. “No, sweetheart, that’s not what I meant,” Nina Anderson sighed sadly. “I just don’t have any friends or acquaintances left who are my age. From my time.” “Mum, don’t talk nonsense. You still have your school friend Irene. And honestly, you’re so modern and you look much younger than you are. Oh, Mum, what’s wrong?” her daughter fretted. “You know Irene has asthma; when she talks on the phone she starts coughing. And she lives all the way on the other side of the city. There were three of us friends, remember I told you? But Mary’s been gone for a long time. Yesterday, Tanya from the flat next door popped in. I made her a cuppa—she’s a lovely woman, often drops by. She even brought over some buns she’d baked for her family. She told me about her children and grandchildren. She’s got grandchildren, even though she’s about fifteen years younger than me. But her childhood, her memories—they’re so different from mine. I just long for a chat with peers, people like me,” Nina Anderson explained, though she realised perfectly well that her daughter wouldn’t understand. She was still young. Her time wasn’t gone—it was just outside the window. She didn’t yet yearn for memories. Sveta was wonderful and caring; it wasn’t about her. “Mum, I got us tickets for a night of classic ballads on Tuesday. Remember you wanted to go? No more sulking—put on your burgundy dress, you look stunning in it!” “All right, darling, everything’s fine. I don’t know what came over me, good night, we’ll speak tomorrow. Go to bed early—you hardly get any sleep,” Nina changed the subject. “Yes, Mum, goodnight. Bye,” and Svetlana hung up. Nina Anderson gazed silently at the glittering evening lights outside… Year Eleven, also spring. So many plans. It seemed so recent. Her friend Irene fancied Simon Mallory from their class. But Simon liked Nina. He’d call her every evening, invite her out. But Nina thought of him as just a friend—why raise his hopes? Later Simon left for the army. He came back, married, lived in Irene’s old house. Back then everyone had a landline. The number… Nina Anderson dialled the number from memory. The tone didn’t come at once—then someone picked up, there was rustling and then a quiet man’s voice: “Hello, I’m listening.” Maybe it’s too late? Why did I call? Maybe Simon doesn’t even remember me, or maybe it’s not him at all! “Good evening,” Nina’s voice rasped a little with nerves. There was more static on the line, then suddenly she heard an astonished voice: “Nina? Is that really you? Of course it is. I’d know your voice anywhere. How did you find me? I’m only here by chance….” “Simon, you recognised me!” A wave of joyful memories swept over Nina Anderson. No one had called her by her name for ages—just “mum”, “granny”, or “Mrs Anderson”. Well, except Irene. But just “Nina” sounded so wonderful, so fresh—as if the years hadn’t passed at all. “Nina, how are you? I’m so glad to hear from you.” Those words made her ridiculously happy. She’d feared he wouldn’t recognise her, or her call would be out of place. “Do you remember Year Eleven? When Simon and Victor took you and Irene out in that rowing boat? He’d blistered his hands on the oars and tried to hide it. Then we ate ice cream on the riverside while the music played,” Simon’s voice was soft and wistful. “Of course I remember!” Nina laughed joyfully, “And that class camping trip? We couldn’t get the tins open, we were so hungry!” “Oh yes,” Simon chuckled, “Then Victor opened them and we sang songs by the campfire. Do you remember? After that, I decided to learn the guitar.” “And did you?” Nina’s voice rang with youthful delight at all these shared memories. It was like Simon was reviving their happy past, recalling detail after detail. “So, how are things now?” Simon asked, but immediately answered himself, “Actually, I can tell from your voice you’re happy. Children, grandchildren? You still writing poems? I remember: ‘To dissolve into the night and be reborn by morning!’ So full of hope! You always were like sunshine, Nina! You bring warmth to everyone, no one could be cold around you. Your family’s so lucky—to have a mum and granny like you is pure gold.” “Oh, come off it, Simon, I’m long past that. My time’s over, I—” He interrupted. “Come on, you give out so much energy I think my phone’s about to melt! Just kidding. I don’t believe you’ve lost your zest for life—not a bit. That means your time isn’t over yet, Nina. So live—and be happy. The sun shines for you. And the breeze chases clouds across the sky for you. And the birds sing for you!” “Simon, you’re still such a romantic. What about you? I’m going on and on about myself…” But suddenly there was a crackle and the call cut out. Nina sat there, phone in hand. She wanted to ring back, but it was late—better not. Another time. What a wonderful chat they’d had—so many memories! The sudden ringtone made Nina jump. Her granddaughter. “Yes, Daisy, hello, I’m still up. What did Mum say? No, my mood’s fine. I’m going to a concert with Mum. Are you coming over tomorrow? Wonderful, see you then. Bye.” In an unexpectedly good mood, Nina Anderson went to bed, head full of plans. As she drifted off, she found herself composing lines for a new poem… In the morning, Nina decided to visit Irene. Just a few stops on the tram—she wasn’t a creaky old nag yet. Irene was delighted: “At last! You’ve been promising for ages. Ooh, is that an apricot tart? My favourite! Well, spill, what’s brought this on?” Irene coughed, pressing her hand to her chest, then waved Nina’s concern away. “It’s all right, new inhaler—I’m better. Come on, let’s have tea. Nina, you look younger somehow—come on, tell me!” “I don’t know—my fifth youth!” Nina laughed as she sliced the tart. “Yesterday I rang Simon Mallory by accident… remember your crush in Year Eleven? We got to reminiscing—I’d forgotten half of it. What’s up, Irene? Not another asthma attack?” Irene sat pale and silent, then whispered: “Nina, you didn’t know? Simon passed away a year ago. He lived in another part of town—he moved from that old place ages ago.” “You must be joking! How? Who was I talking to? He remembered everything about our school days. My mood was terrible before talking to him. But after we spoke, I felt life was carrying on—that I still had strength, and joy for living… How could it be?” Nina couldn’t believe Simon was gone. “But I heard his voice. He said such beautiful things: ‘The sun shines for you. And the breeze chases clouds across the sky for you. And the birds sing for you!’” Irene shook her head, sceptical of her friend’s story. Then she surprised Nina by saying: “Nina, I don’t know how, but it really does sound like it was him. His words, his style. Simon loved you. I think he wanted to support you… from the other side. And it looks like he did. I haven’t seen you so happy and full of energy for ages. One day, someone will piece your tattered heart back together. And you’ll finally remember—what it feels like to be… simply happy.”
No one to even have a chat with. A Reminiscence “Mother, honestly, what are you talking about? How can you...