The Homecoming

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Mary began to feel unwell even as she stepped onto the platform.

She barely made it to a bin, doubled over it, feeling her expensive coat drag against the cold, cast iron rim.

Are you alright, love? came a warm, familiar local accent.

Please leave me be

Mary straightened up. Around her, people drifted past in heavy coats and scarves, lugging shopping bags and sackfuls of potatoes, moving like the silent characters of an old film.

The air was thick with the mingled scent of diesel, cheap cigarettes, and that peculiar musty smell of small English towns. It always gave Mary a headache.

She loathed this place. Hers was a pure, clinical sort of resentment, that only the one who escaped could possess; the one who left fifteen years ago and tried everything to forget the way back.

Her phone buzzed.

Dad.

Mary, where are you? Im out in the car, Ill meet you.

Ill just get a taxi, she cut in. Dont bother coming for me. Just give me the hospital address.

Hospital? Oh, your mums not there anymore. She was discharged yesterday. Her blood pressure dropped a bit, doctor said its best to recover at home. Ill just

Home? Mary clenched her jaw. Are you joking? You had me running here over nothing?

Mary, love, dont get in a state. Your mums been waiting for you. Baked some pies, she did.

Pies? For heavens sake!

She hung up.

***

The house she grew up in seemed somehow smaller now.

Mary stood in the hallway, gazing at the battered, vinyl-covered door. Next doors cat was already winding round her boots, leaving tufts of fur behind on expensive leather. The air smelled of cabbage soup, cats, and something sweet. It always did. Always.

She stepped inside without knocking.

Mum was at the kitchen tablesmall, grey, wrapped in a worn out housecoat, her nightdress peeking out underneath.

On seeing her, Mums face lit up, so happy and so guilty at once that Mary recoiled inside.

Mary! Love! I thought youd get here this evening

I asked you not to lie, Mary said, still standing in her boots in the hall. Do you realise Im risking my contract for this? Spent all night on the train to visit you in intensive care, and youre here baking pies?

Mum wilted. Her hands dropped to her lap.

Mary, love, Im sorry. Didnt want to worry you, is all. Its just a bit of blood pressure, you know but Ive missed you so.

Thats called lying. Mary kicked her boots off, hurling them across the floor. Fine. Wheres your blood pressure monitor? Lets take a look, then Im off to the hotel. Im not staying here overnight.

Stay the night, sweetheart

Mum, the loo leaks, the radiators hardly put out any heat, and next doors language shakes the walls. I cant be here. Really, I cant.

Mary walked through to the kitchen, slumped at the table. There, on a plate, the pies: golden, still warm. She didnt even look at them.

The monitor, Mum.

Obediently, Mum fetched an old pump-up blood pressure kit.

Whats this? Mary wrinkled her nose. Cant you afford a decent one by now? Ive sent you money.

I squirreled it away, for you. Just in case.

Honestly

Mary inflated the cuff. The digits flickered in her vision.

One sixty over ninety. Are you eating buckets of salt or something?

Just a bit

Right. Ill get you proper tablets tomorrow. And a decent monitor. Im done for today. Where can I sleep?

Mum bustled about, making up a bed. Mary looked out the window at the grey council flats, thinking only, Just dont get stuck here. Let me leave tomorrow.

***

She couldnt sleep that night.

The sofa was short, springs pressing into her back. Next door, the tenants were screamingthen came the sound of rumbling and crashing, a woman shrieking, a man cursing.

Mary stared at the ceiling. A crack stretched across itone she remembered since childhood. Once it looked like lightning; now it was just proof this house was crumbling.

Before dawn, Mary finally dozed off. She dreamed she was a little girl again, holding her mums hand at the Saturday market, Mum buying her a jam tart, hot and sweet under a shower of icing sugar. And Mary was happy.

She awoke in tears, sobbing into the sheet, unable to stop.

Silence reigned next door now, only the old kitchen clock ticking. The one Mum always threatened to throw out.

Mary? Mums voice called through the door. Are you up?

Im awake, croaked Mary.

Someones here for you.

Who?

I dont know, dear. A young woman, says her names Olivia. Do you remember her?

Mary sat up. Olivia? Who on earth?

She threw on her dressing gown and headed out.

There stood Olivia, her old schoolmate. The best friend Mary had abandoned without a word when she left for London.

Olivia was almost unchanged: fair hair back in a ponytail, the same dimples in her cheeks. Only her eyes had lost their sparkle, with blue shadows underneath.

Alright! Olivia beamed. Your mum said you were home, I thought Id stop by. Fifteen years, eh?

Mary hesitated. She wanted to be sharp, say something like How did you find me? or Actually, Im busybut couldnt.

Come on in, she managed.

They settled in the kitchen. Mum, sensing she wasnt needed, nipped to the neighbours. Olivia drank tea, warming her hands on the mug.

Ive married, got a daughter, Emily. Shes seven, starts school soon.

Congratulations, nodded Mary.

And you? London suits you?

Its fine.

Married?

Was.

Didnt work out?

A shrug. Mary didnt want to say her husband had left for someone else, that the flat and car and career did nothing to keep loneliness at bay. That she was alone. Truly alone.

Just didnt suit, I suppose.

Olivia nodded slowly. Then, suddenly,

I forgave you, you know

Forgave me? For what?

You left. Didnt say goodbye, didnt call. We shared everything, like sisters. Then you were just gone. Oh, I cried, I was angrybut in the end I realised, thats life. You needed to build yours. I built mine. And look, here we are, drinking tea again. And Im glad to see you.

Marys eyes stung. She turned to the window.

Olivia, I was a fool. Im sorry.

Dont worry, Olivia smiled. It happens.

They chatted till evening. Olivia spoke of her husband (works at the factory, likes a pint but hes good-hearted), her daughter Emily (draws all over the walls), how they get by. And to her surprise, Mary found herself truly interested. Genuinely so.

As Olivia was leaving, she said, Come over for supper tomorrow? Ill make some stew. You can meet Emily.

Im not sure

Please come, Olivia touched her hand. Your mum said youre here till Wednesday. Lets catch up properly.

Mary agreed.

***

The next day, Mary visited the chemist.

She needed to buy tablets for Mum, a proper monitor, and a few other bits. Walking through town, something struck her: perhaps the place wasnt quite so grim. Frosted trees, kids on sledges, old dears chatting on benches. Just ordinary life.

Inside, a queue had formed. Mary joined the back. In front of her, an older woman, bundled in an old coat, clutching a bulging carrier bag, shuffled in discomfort.

Are you alright? asked Mary.

Ill be fine, love. Hearts giving me gyp, just need to buy some tablets.

Mary peered at her, concernedthe woman was pale, lips bluish, brow damp with sweat.

Sit down, Mary said gently. Ill get what you need. What is it?

Nitroglycerin, dear. Thank you, truly.

Mary bought the medicine and gave it to her. The woman took a tablet, closed her eyes, and in a few minutes, colour returned to her cheeks.

Bless you, darling. Are you local?

Yes, Mary surprised herself by answering. Born and bred.

She stepped out of the chemist, smiling.

***

That evening, Mary went to see Olivia.

Olivia lived in one of those old blocks of flats, fifth floor, no lift. Trudging up the battered stairwell, Mary thought, God, I really have forgotten places like this. Oddly, it didnt bother her today.

The door was opened by a pale, fair-haired little girl with enormous eyes.

Are you Auntie Mary? she asked. Mum said to let you in.

I am Auntie Mary, Mary smiled.

Im Emily. Come in. Weve got stew tonight.

The flat was plain but spotlessworn furniture, faded wallpaper, childrens drawings everywhere. The comforting aroma of stew and baking pies filled the air.

Olivia bustled at the stove.

Oh, Mary! Come in, hang up your coat. Emily, set out the spoons!

They gathered at the table. Mary ate, feeling warmth spread through herit had been years since shed tasted food like this, sat in such simple, honest company.

Can you draw me something? she asked Emily.

The girl studied Mary, considering. Youre pretty. Ill draw you.

Alright, Mary smiled.

Emily fetched her paper and pencils and got to work.

Mary sipped tea with cherry jam and chatted with Olivia.

Do you have any children? Emily piped up, not looking up.

No, love, said Mary. It just didnt happen.

How come?

Emily! Olivia chided, mind your manners.

Its alright, Mary smiled. Sometimes these things just dont work out.

Dont be sad, Emily said with earnest kindness. Youre still young. Theres time.

Mary laughed. Thank you, sweetheart.

Emily handed her the picture: a lady in a long dress, a crown on her head, surrounded by flowers.

Thats you, Emily explained. Youre like a princess. Only sad. When I draw the sun, youll be happy.

Marys throat tightened.

Thank you, darling. Ill hang it in my London flat, I promise.

Will you come back to visit? Emily asked.

I will, Mary realised, meaning it.

***

Back at home, Mum was waiting up.

How was it? she asked.

It was lovely, Mum. Really lovely.

Mary sat down, taking Mums rough, warm, age-spotted hand.

Mum, Im sorry. For everything.

Oh, darling. Whatever for?

For for being ashamed. Of you, of this place, of myself. I thought leaving made me better than you. But it didnt. I just ran away.

Mum stroked her hair, as she had when Mary was a child.

You didnt run away, love. You survived. It was that, or drink yourself silly here. Im glad you got out. Just dont forget us, eh?

I wont, Mum. I promise.

***

In the morning, Mary was leaving.

Dad drove her to the station. Mum stood on the platform, tiny in her old coat, waving.

Mary watched from the window as a heaviness filled her chest.

Dont be a stranger, Dad muttered. Were not getting any younger, your mum and me.

Ill come back, Dad. I mean it.

In her seat, Mary checked her phone. A message from Olivia: Come again. Emily keeps asking when Auntie Mary will visit. She liked you so much.

Smiling, Mary slipped her phone away.

As the train pulled away, the greying flats, garages, and snowy fields began to drift past. For the first time, her head didnt ache. She didnt feel sick, or want to block the world out.

She took out Emilys drawingprincess in her crown, flowers, sun half-finished.

Mary gazed out the window. Over the fields, the sun was risingbig, scarlet, and real.

***

A week later, Mary sent Olivia some money for Emilyto buy drawing things and go to clubs.

Olivia protested, but Mary insisted.

Six months on, Mary visited again. Alone, without warning. She simply bought a ticket and came.

The three of themMary, Olivia, and Emilysat in that tiny kitchen, eating stew, laughing and talking. And Mary realised that this, perhaps, was happiness: to be needed by someone, simply and quietly.