Nothing Can Feel More Like Home: Varvara and Her Daughter Arrive in a Snowy English Village, Passing…

Dearest Diary,

Today really pulled at the heartstrings. Lucy and I hopped off the bus at the edge of the village, the cold English sun peeking through grey clouds, nipping at our cheeks. The snow on the ground was so dazzlingly bright that Lucy had to squint.

Mum, why doesnt anyone live there? she piped up, pointing to the one truly derelict house at the entrance to the village.

That house? There used to be an old lady living there, I told her. Never saw any family visiting her. She was already 102 when she passed.

She kept the fire going on her own, but neighbours would go to the shops for her, fetch her water. Theyd leave food or a full pail at her door, and the next day, shed leave payment or the empty bucket on the step. We all took turns, us girls.

But someone couldve pinched the money or the food! Lucy said, wide-eyed.

No one ever did. People thought she was a bit of a witch, to be honest. No one dared. When the food wasnt taken in one day, everyone just… knew. And even then, folks didnt want to enter the house. Eventually some brave soul went in, realised what had happened, and she was given a proper burial. Since then, no ones moved in.

A real witch? Lucy whispered.

All nonsense, really. Just a very old lady. People liked their stories. Some said she was 200, others 300, until they found the record at the parish council: she was 102.

Lucy went quiet for a while, the abandoned house now well behind us. The rest of the cottages looked neat, snow carefully cleared from each path.

Maybe thats why the house is emptyno-one dares? she mused.

I spotted Mum by her gate ahead. Look, Grandmas come to meet us! Off you go! I grinned, picking up the pace.

Gran! Lucy shrieked, dashing toward her, arms flung wide. Mums own arms opened instantly, gathering her only granddaughter in a huge hug.

Id grown up in this village. Coming back always set something in me right, breathing just felt easier out here.

Mum! I threw my arms around her, pressed close, while her other arm stayed protectively around Lucy.

I had a feeling, so Ive baked pies, Mum beamed. I still go out every Saturday just in case youd come. She shooed us out of the wind. Come in, dont linger in the cold.

Inside, the cottage was toasty, still full of that lovely smell of woodsmoke, pies, and some other homey scent soaked right into the beams and wallpaper. Everything was exactly as I remembered. I caught myself smiling.

Glad you made the trip. Are you here for long? she asked, eyes anxiously flickering.

Not long I said softly. Toms working. We couldnt wait anymore, decided to come anyway. We meant to at New Years, but Lucy was ill, then Tom caught it. Well go back Sunday evening for work on Monday.

I saw then how much older she looked. Dad had died two years ago, even though he was younger than Mum. Since then, shed seemed to fade more quickly. Village life isnt easy, after all.

Let me get you some food. You must be starving, she said, vanishing into the little kitchen behind the range. Lucy trotted after her, eager for a treat.

She set the table slowly, carefully. Lucy and I couldve eaten everything at once, but managed to pace ourselves and were soon nearly asleep at the table. Lucy yawned, her head sinking against Grandma.

My tired little berry. Youve grown so much! Youll soon catch me up. Lets tuck you up for a bit.

Mum led Lucy off to the alcove, the old corner that used to be mine when I was a girl. The house is just the one big room really, divided only by a wardrobe or a curtain if need be.

Shell have a nap, Mum said as she returned, sitting down with me. Hows life treating you there?

Alls well, Mum. I hesitated, then chuckled. Ran into Mrs Harris at the bus station, from the next village over. She kept calling me by Aunt Sarahs name! I told her I was Emily, your daughter, but she wouldnt have it. Do I really look so much like her?

Seen it a hundred times, Mum avoided my eye.

Id like to see her photo again.

Alright, love, she sighed, Let me clear these and get the box.

She fetched out the old shoebox from the cupboard, full of sepia and black-and-white photos, corners bent and a few newer ones peeking out.

There you are as a baby. And in your last year at juniors. Lucys your image at that age. And this one she frowned. Know who?

Thats me! But I dont remember that picture, I laughed.

That was my little sister, your Aunt Sarah, Mum gently corrected. Spitting image, really. And this one, her lastSixth Form photo. A looker, wasnt she?

I gazed at the shiny printSarah, beautiful and fair. Funny, I dont look like you at all, I said, glancing from the photo to Mum.

Mum pressed her lips together, and my stomach flipped with worry.

Time you knew, I suppose. No sense in taking secrets to the grave. She drew a shaky breath.

Sarah Sarah is your real mother, love. Im sorry I never told you before. I only wanted the best for you.

I stared, numb. Mummy Mumkept talking.

Mumthe grandmother you rememberwasnt young when Sarah fell pregnant, and didnt want to go through all that at her age. Shed do hard work, hot baths, in hopesits awful to think of now. But Sarah was born anyway, beautiful from the start.

She paused, gazing at her hands. I was fifteen by then, ended up as her chief babysitter. After school, all the lads and lasses left for the city, but I couldnt leave Mum with a baby. There were no decent men to marry, and I wouldnt have one of the local drunks. So I stayed put.

Sarah always dreamt of the city. Off she went after school, and then two years later, she came backwith you, a tiny thing, almost too small to hold. Sarah just… she seemed like all her beauty was poured into you. She grew thin and nervous, all ups and downs. And thenshe up and left, only you behind. She needed her fix, Emily. Thats what we found outshe was on drugs. She died not long after, of an overdose. I went to sort out the funeral. Mum couldnt, she was too frail by then.

She wanted you sent to foster care or an orphanage. I said no. I was alone, but at least Id have youyou werent a stranger, really. No one figured the truth; the village just thought Sarah visited, then left again. I arranged with the local hospital, you were registered as mine. Cost me a little, but it meant you were all mine. Sarah had named you MadisonMaddie. What sort of name is that, eh? I changed it. Named you after my granEmily.

Your father arrived a year later. Hed been in the armya quiet man. Sarah never told him she was pregnant before he shipped out. When he came back, her friends told him what happened. Hed been injured, so couldnt go back to service. He stayed with us, Mum welcomed him, even though he and Sarah werent married. Hard to live alone in the village, and we just fit together. We married, and he never knew the truth about Sarahs addiction. Thats why I never saidyou didnt need that on your heart. But Id rather you heard from me than from some stranger. So, yes. I raised you as my own, and you are, wholly and absolutely. Like people say: ‘The one who raises you is your true mother.'”

Shellshocked, I just sat there. How had this been kept from me for so long?

Where are you off to? Mum asked, seeing me stand.

I need some air.

I stepped into the snow, my mind swirling: My mother, a drug addict; dead before I could remember. Had my dad really been my dad? Couldnt dwell on that. This was my familythese were my people.

What did it change, really? My whole life, Mum was thereholding me, looking after me whenever I was ill, never once letting me feel unwanted. She could have sent me off, but she didnt. She chose me. I couldnt call her anything but Mum. Even now, knowing the truth.

Endless thoughts battered my head until my fingers went numb. At last, I returned inside. Mum was where Id left her, head bowed over the table.

Im sorry. Youre my mum. I love you, I whispered, wrapping her in a hug.

And Im sorry it took so long to say so, she murmured back.

Whatre you doing sitting in the dark? Lucy burst in, rubbing her eyes. Oh, Mum, you look so pretty in that photo!

Mum gently took the picture away, gathered up the photos and boxed them away. Leave it, love. Look at us, while you can.

That night, neither Mum nor I slept for ages. I heard her toss and turn, the old bed springs creaking.

Eventually, I crept to her bedside.

Still awake?

She lifted the covers: Floors cold. Come in with me.

I slid in, curling into her warmth as I always did as a child.

Cant sleep? she whispered. Still worrying?

No, I told her. Youre my mum. That wont change. Sarahshe was your sister.

We whispered for ages, old stories and new. Later, I returned to my own bed, tucking Mum in just like she did me. Youre the best mum in the world, always have been, always will be, I said, before drifting off at last.

The next morning, Mum walked Lucy and me to the bus stop.

Dont get too lonely, Gran! Well be back soon! Lucy yelled, waving until we were half way down the lane.

I gave Mum a last long hug, breathing in her scent fresh from home.

Go on, now, or youll catch your death

Even after our bus pulled away, I watched her standing there, eyes watering in the icy wind and snow.

So, at thirty-three, thats how I learnt that my birth mother didnt live past my first winter, and that everything I am I owe to the woman who raised memy aunt in blood but always, utterly, my Mum.

At first, resentment threatenedhow could she have kept this from me? But then I realised: they were not just sisters, but both mothers in their ways. Ties of blood and love, together. There is nothing in this world more real, or more precious.