I Will Live a Better Life Than You

How do you possibly live in such squalor? Daisy wrinkled her nose and swept a dramatic hand through the kitchen. Look at this, you havent managed a single bit of redecorating in twenty years! And you think youve got some life wisdom to offer me?

Vera Bailey’s shoulders drooped as though shed been physically deflated. Victor Bailey silently raised his mug, took a sip, and steadfastly avoided his daughters burning gaze. Daisy stood in the middle of the kitchen, cheeks ruddy with indignation, waiting for somethinganythingfrom her parents. The silence, though, only made her angrier.

Nathans a decent man! Daisy pressed on. You just dont get how life works!

Veras tired eyes met her daughters. Sweetheart, we dont have anything against Nathan, Vera said, shaking her head. We only want you to finish your studies firstget some sort of stability.

Stability? Daisy snorted theatrically. Like yours? Two decades in a flat that looks like a museum to peeling wallpaper!

Youre only nineteen, Vera replied in that maddening, gentle voice. Its simply a bit soon to tie the knot, darling.

Victor placed his mug down and glanced up at his daughter. There was no blame in his eyesonly some bottomless sadness.

Get some stability, then live your life as you please, Vera went on. We just dont want you to jump into things headlong.

You just want to ruin my happiness! Daisy stamped her foot, as if she were five and her parents had confiscated her ice lolly.

She spun on her heel and snatched up her bag from the hallway chair. Vera stood, making a hesitant step after her.

Daisy, wait… Vera reached out, but Daisy was wrangling herself into her coat, arms flailing and getting lost in oversized sleeves.

Nathan and I will be happy! Just you see! Daisys voice rang from the hall. Out of spite if I have to!

Victor hauled himself up with a resigned sigh, bracing against the kitchen doorframe.

Daisy, you dont understand he began, but Daisy cut him right off.

Ill live well! Ill have moneyeverything! Not like you two! Daisy declared, one hand already on the front door.

She wrenched the door open and bolted onto the stairwell, the last thing she heard being her mums gentle sigh, and the soft thud of something landing on the kitchen lino.

Down the stairs Daisy stormed, guilt tamped down by righteous certainty, each step reinforcing her decision.

* * *

Four years later, Daisy stood outside the same battered door with its flaking blue paint. In her right hand, she squeezed the warm fingers of three-year-old George, who eyed the unfamiliar door with wide-eyed curiosity. Daisy lifted her left hand to knock… but she couldnt bring herself to do it. Her fingers hovered only millimetres from the cracks in the wood. She couldnt. She simply couldnt. George tugged at her coat and looked up, eyebrow quirked.

Mummy George shuffled his feet from one spot to another.

She looked at her son, then at the big, battered suitcase by her sideits wheels squeaking in defeat. That suitcase contained everything left of her old life, every grand vision and bold pronouncement that once filled her head. Daisy hadnt seen, called, or written to her parents for four years. Shed always held herself above their humble lives and shabby little flat. But now, here she was, standing at their threshold, tear-stained and dreamless.

She forced her hand down and rapped gentlythree meek, shaky knocks. Not at all like the bold door-slamming of her last exit. Footsteps charged through the hallway and the lock clicked instantly, as if theyd been waiting all along. Vera opened the door, brows raised in surprise. She had aged: new wrinkles, more grey at the temples.

Vera took one look at Daisys smeared mascara and puffy cheeks. Then her eyes dropped to George, clutching Daisys leg, and the battered suitcase. Something flickered in her mothers gazerecognition, perhaps. She didnt ask anything, nor mention the cruel words from years past. Vera simply stepped aside, silently letting Daisy and her son in.

Daisy stepped over the threshold and blinked around. Nothing had changed, except everything was a little more faded. The same wallpaper. The same cupboard in the entryway. The same homely scent Daisy once resented. George studied the flat with eager eyes.

George, pop into that room over there, Daisy knelt and whispered to him. I bet there are some old toys in there. Go and have a look, all right?

George toddled off down the hall and Daisy turned back to her mother, embarrassed and lost. She wanted to explain, offer somethinganythingother than the pitiful truth. But there was nothing left except the ruins of old dreams. Daisy took a shaky step, then another, before collapsing into her mothers arms. Sobs burst out in great, uncontrollable heaves, loud enough to rattle the teacups. She wept, face buried in her mothers shoulderthe scent of the washing powder unchanged since childhood.

Mum Daisy hiccuped, unable to stop. Mum, Im so sorry.

Vera just wrapped her arms around Daisy, rubbing her back the same way she had when she scraped her knee at seven. Daisy cried until she had no tears leftmourning her silly ideas of the perfect life, her disaster of a marriage, her pride. She sobbed for everything shed lost chasing a mirage.

You were right, Mum, Daisy eventually managed between hiccups. You were right about everything.

Vera just held her tighter.

Come on, love, she said softly, taking Daisys hand. Lets put the kettle on.

Daisy nodded, wiping her face with the back of her hand, and sat at her old seat by the window. Vera switched on the kettle and found the old chipped mugs. Daisy watched her mother, thinking of all shed missed these past four years.

Wheres Dad? Daisy realised suddenly.

Working, Vera replied, placing a mug before her. He wont be long.

Daisys throat tightened.

I said some dreadful things to you both, back then, Daisy muttered, staring into her tea. Aboutwell, about being poor, about the flat

Vera sat opposite and covered Daisys hand in her own.

All that matters is youre home, she squeezed Daisys fingers. The rest well, well sort that out later.

He cheated on me, Mum, Daisy sniffed. Then just shoved me and George out.

Vera ran her fingers through Daisys tangled hair, soothing the way only a mum can.

And I believed him, Daisy groaned, nose running. Now what? How do I finish my degree? Raise George?

Vera pulled her close and rocked her gently.

Well manage, love. Together. Bit by bit, well get you back on your feet…

* * *

Months slipped by since Daisys return to the comfort of her parents tiny, musty flat. Her dreams of champagne and glitz had shattered like a dropped mug. Now she perched in the corner of a café with her two friends. Angela spun an empty coffee cup and glowered. Her ex, Greg, had scarpered to Manchester, leaving her with a stack of credit card debt.

Debt collectors ring every sodding day, Angela groaned. Meanwhile, hes off living it up up north.

Daisy nodded, then turned to Kate, who was raising her own daughter solo. Her man had vanished before ever getting near a registry office.

At least mine left without any debts, Kate sighed, half laughing. Just said responsibility wasnt for him.

Oh, mine was very ready, Daisy snorted. Ready to be responsible for someone elses washing, apparently.

Angela let out a bitter chuckle and shook her head.

Werent we daft? Angela slumped back in her chair. We thought wed bagged princes on white horses.

Got a couple of clowns on hobby horses, more like! Kate quipped.

Daisy listened, struck by the strange symmetry of their stories. Three young women with broken illusions and stubborn pride, sitting in a draughty café over half-cold tea.

Right, enough moaning, Angela declared, suddenly lively. Shall we have a cheeky bit of cake?

Daisy grinned and beckoned the waiterglad for a little moments reprieve from her own thoughts.

That evening, Daisy walked home through the maze of grey-brick terraces in her parents neighbourhood. She unlocked the flat door and paused, ears pricked for familiar sounds. Laughter and voices floated from the lounge.

She tiptoed down the hallway and peered inside. Victor Baileyher Dadsat on the carpet building a tower from ancient wooden blocks. Each new storey sent George into hysterics. Vera relaxed in her armchair, knitting and beaming at her boys.

Daisy watched them, suddenly struck by regret for every moan shed ever uttered about this scruffy little flat. About the old curtains, and the faded rug, and the drizzle always tapping the windows. Once, shed flounced out convinced she was far too good for all this.

But now, Daisy could see what shed missed in all those years of stubborn pride. Vera and Victor had stuck together for thirty years, come rain or recession. Theyd weathered Thatcher, cutbacks, redundancies, illness, and everything in between. They owned their flat; it may be poky and screaming for redecoration, but it was theirs. They had jobs, security, a roof for their whole family.

Sure, her parents had never sunbathed on the Med or jetted off to five-star resorts. They hadnt splashed hundreds on designer handbags or driven new cars. But they had something far rarer: they were a real family, unfashionable wallpaper and all.

And Daisy? Daisy ended up alone, with a toddler and a battered suitcase, dreams in tatters, pride in pieces. Inside, her pride still kicked and screamedinsisting hers was only a temporary setback, that shed be back on her feet soon. But at last, Daisy had to admit a painful truth.

The failure here was not her mum, living quietly in her unassuming flat. Nor her dad, with his threadbare old tweed jacket. No, in chasing sparkly nonsense, it was Daisy who had lost everything worth having.