The Homecoming

The Return

Martha felt queasy the moment she stepped onto the platform.

She only just managed to rush over to the nearest bin, where she doubled over, breathing heavily, feeling her expensive wool coat collecting dirt from the frozen, iron surface.

Miss, are you alright? came a gentle, local voice behind her.

Just leave me alone, she muttered.

Martha straightened up. Around her, people drifted by like silent film ghosts bundled in puffy jackets, cradling battered shopping bags, struggling with sacks of potatoes.

The cold air was thick with diesel fumes, the tang of cheap roll-ups, and that peculiar provincial mustiness that always gave Martha a raging headache.

She loathed this town. Loathed it with the sterile certainty of someone who had run far away fifteen years ago and done everything to forget the way back.

Her phone vibrated.

Dad.

Marth, whereve you got to? Im in the car, waiting for you!

Ill get a taxi, she bit back. Dont bother picking me up. Just give me the hospitals address.

Mums not at the hospital anymore, love. Discharged yesterday. Doctors said shes fine just blood pressure, nothing serious. Told her to rest at home. Ill come

At home? Her jaw clenched. You cant be serious. I raced all the way here over nothing?

Come on, dont get yourself in a state. Mums been dying to see you. Shes even baked some pies.

What pies? For heavens sake!

She hung up.

***

The house shed grown up in seemed even smaller now.

Martha stood in the hallway, staring at the scuffed, faux-leather front door. The neighbours cat was weaving around her boots, scattering ginger fur everywhere. The air smelled of boiled cabbage, old cats, and sugar the same scent shed known all her life.

She walked in without knocking.

Mum was in the kitchen. Petite, grey-haired, her once-bright dressing gown now faded, a nightdress poking out beneath.

Seeing her daughter, Mums hands flew to her mouth face shining with a guilty happiness that made Martha shiver.

Martha! Oh darling! I thought youd be here tonight…

I told you not to lie, Martha said, not removing her boots, just standing at the threshold. You realise Ive risked my job for this? Spent all night on a train so I could visit you in intensive care, and youre here baking pies?

Mum drooped. Her arms fell uselessly at her sides.

Im sorry love, I didnt want to worry you. Just… my pressure, you know. And I missed you… so much.

Thats called lying, Martha snapped, kicking off her boots and flinging them into the corner. Fine. Wheres your blood pressure monitor? Lets check it now, and then Ill go find a hotel. Im not staying here.

Stay, darling…

Mum, your loo leaks, the radiators are freezing, and the neighbours swear so loud the walls shake. I cant stand it here. Literally cant.

She stormed into the kitchen and sank into a chair. On the table, a plate of golden, still-warm pies stood untouched. Martha didnt give them so much as a second glance.

Bring the monitor.

Mum shuffled off and returned with an old, rubber-bulbed BP monitor.

Whats this? Martha grimaced. Couldnt you buy a decent one? Didnt I send you money?

I put it in your savings, for you, just in case, Mum murmured.

Oh, for gods sake.

Martha pumped the bulb. The numbers swam before her eyes.

One-sixty over ninety! You eating spoonfuls of salt now?

Just a pinch…

Ill get you proper tablets tomorrow. And a proper monitor. Right now Im shattered. Where can I sleep?

Mum hurried away to make up a bed. Martha sat in silence, staring through the window at the rows of grey council blocks, her thoughts circling only one thing: Dont get stuck here. Leave tomorrow.

***

She couldnt sleep.

The sofa was short; springs jabbed her back. Beyond the wall, the neighbours shouted, then screamed. There was a scuffle; a woman shrieked, and a man bellowed a stream of curses.

Martha stared at the ceiling. There was a crack she remembered from childhood back then, she thought it looked like lightning. Now, it just reminded her this place was falling apart.

Sometime before dawn, Martha dozed off, dreaming of being a little girl with Mum at the Saturday market, clutching a hot jam doughnut, dusted with sugar, beaming in the crisp air.

She woke up crying.

Tears streamed down her cheeks and she couldnt stop, rubbing her face with the corner of the sheet.

By now the flat was silent. Only the tick of the old clock that same clock Mum always threatened to throw away.

Martha? Mums voice drifted through the door. You awake?

I am, Martha replied, her voice hoarse.

Theres someone here to see you.

Who?

No idea. A young woman. Says her names Emily. Do you remember her?

Martha sat up. Emily? What Emily?

She pulled on a dressing gown and went out.

Standing by the door was Emily the very same Emily shed grown up with, her childhood best friend abandoned without even a goodbye when shed bolted to London.

Emily hadnt changed much. Same fair ponytail, same dimples in her cheeks. Only her eyes seemed dull, with dark shadows underneath.

Hey there, stranger. Emily grinned. Your mum told me you were visiting. Thought Id pop round its been what, fifteen years?

Martha hesitated. She wanted to say something sarcastic, something like How did you find me? or Actually, Im busy, but the words never came.

Come on in, she managed.

They settled in the kitchen. Mum, realising she was in the way, slipped off next door. Emily hugged her mug of tea in both hands.

Im married now, she said at last. Got a daughter seven. Holly. Starts school soon.

Congratulations, Martha nodded.

What about you? Emily studied her. How is London?

Its alright.

Married?

I was.

What happened?

Martha shrugged. She had no intention of describing how her husband left for someone else, how the flat and the salary meant nothing at night, how empty it all was.

We just didnt fit, she said.

Emily nodded and fell silent. Then, in a soft voice, she said,

I forgive you, you know.

For what? Martha was taken aback.

For leaving, Emily said quietly. For cutting me off. We were like sisters, shared everything. Then nothing. For a while I cried, then I was angry. But now, well, thats life. You had to get on. So did I. And now look, were chatting over tea. Im glad youre here, Martha.

Martha felt her throat tighten. She turned away, facing the window.

I was foolish, Emily. Im sorry.

Its alright, Emily smiled. Happens.

They talked all evening. Emily told stories about her husband (works at the factory, drinks a bit, but not bad), about Holly (loves drawing, walls all covered in pictures), about life. And Martha realised, to her surprise, that she was genuinely interested.

You know, Emily said, as she was about to leave, why not come for dinner tomorrow? Home-made stew. Holly would love to meet you.

I dont know…

Oh, please. Emily squeezed her hand. Your mum said youre here until Wednesday. Lets make the most of it. Reminisce about old times.

Martha nodded.

***

Next day, Martha set off for the chemist.

She needed to get Mum tablets, a proper monitor, maybe a few extras. Strolling through the town, she looked around and to her surprise, realised it wasnt half as grim as she remembered. Trees sparkled with frost, children raced their sledges, grannies huddled on benches. Life went on.

There was a queue at the pharmacy. Martha lined up at the back. In front was an elderly woman, puffing in an old coat, faded shopping bag stuffed with groceries. The woman shifted anxiously, breathing hard.

You feeling alright? Martha asked.

Ill manage, my love. Heart playing up. Once I get my pills, Ill be fine.

Martha looked her over. Pale, blue lips, sweat beading her forehead.

Come, sit a minute, Martha said. Let me fetch your medicine. What do you need?

Nitroglycerin, bless you. Thank you, dear.

Martha bought the tablets and handed them over. The woman popped one under her tongue and, moments later, colour returned to her cheeks.

Thank you, sweetheart. Youre not local, are you?

I am, actually. Martha smiled. Born and bred here.

She left the shop smiling.

***

That evening, Martha dropped by Emilys.

Emily lived in an old block of flats, fifth floor, no lift. As Martha trudged up the battered stairwell, she thought, Im out of practice with places like this but for some reason, today, it didnt bother her.

A slim, bright-eyed girl with fair hair answered the door.

Are you Auntie Martha? Mum told me to meet you.

Im Auntie Martha, she said, grinning.

Im Holly. Come on in. Were having stew!

The flat was shabby but spotless. Old mismatched furniture, faded wallpaper, the walls alive with childrens pictures. The air was rich with the smell of stew and baking.

Emily hustled in from the kitchen.

Martha! Take your coat off, darling. Foods ready. Holly, sort out the spoons, love.

They sat down at the table. Martha tucked into the stew and felt warmth flooding through her. She couldnt remember the last time food tasted this good, or shed felt so content, surrounded by simple, honest company.

Draw something for us, she asked Holly.

The girl studied Martha, then nodded.

Youre pretty. Ill draw you.

Go on, then, Martha laughed.

Holly fetched her sketchpad and coloured pencils, sitting down to work.

Martha sipped tea with cherry jam, chatting away with Emily.

Have you any children? Holly popped up, pencil in hand.

No. It just didnt happen.

Why not?

Holly! Emily whispered sharply. Thats rude.

Its alright. Martha smiled gently. Sometimes it just works out that way, Holly. Not everyone gets that lucky.

Dont be sad, the girl said solemnly. Youre still young! Youve got loads of time.

Martha chuckled.

Thank you, sweetheart.

Holly handed over her drawing a woman in a flowing dress, crown on her head, surrounded by flowers.

Thats you, Holly explained. Youre like a princess. But sad. Ill add a sun, and then youll be happy.

Marthas throat tightened.

Thank you, darling. she whispered. Ill put your drawing up in my London flat, alright?

Alright. Holly grinned. Will you come back?

I will, promised Martha and, to her own surprise, she realised she meant it.

***

She got back to Mums late. Mum was waiting up.

How was it, love?

It was good, Mum. Really good.

Martha sat beside her, taking her hand warm, rough, flecked with age spots.

Mum, Im sorry. For everything.

Oh, darling. Mum squeezed her fingers. What for?

For being ashamed. Of you. Of this town of myself. Thinking I was better because I left. I wasnt better. Just running away.

Mum was silent, stroking Marthas hair as shed done when she was small.

You survived, Martha. Things were tough here back then leave or go under, that was it. Im glad you made it out. Just dont forget us, alright?

I wont, Martha whispered. I promise.

***

Morning, and Martha was leaving.

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

Through the glass, Martha saw her waving, and felt something coil inside her.

Listen, love, Dad coughed awkwardly. Dont be a stranger. We wont be around forever.

Ill come back, Dad. I promise.

She boarded the train, found her seat, and switched on her phone. There was a message from Emily: Come visit again soon. Holly keeps asking when Auntie Martha will be back. She thinks youre wonderful.

Martha smiled, tucked her phone away.

The train lurched forward. Outside, the towns grey blocks and garages flicked by, then fields dusted in snow. And suddenly, Martha realised her head wasnt aching. She didnt feel sick. She didnt want to close her eyes and pretend none of it existed.

From her handbag, she pulled Hollys drawing. The princess with a crown, flowers all around, a half-finished sun.

Martha gazed out as the real sun began to rise, its crimson glow spreading across the English countryside.

***

A week later, Martha sent some money to Emily. Just because. For Holly for art classes, books, whatever she wanted.

Emily protested, but Martha insisted.

Six months later, Martha returned to her hometown. No warning. She simply bought a ticket and came.

The three of them Martha, Emily, and little Holly sat in the kitchen, eating stew and chatting. And it dawned on Martha, quietly, that maybe, just maybe, this was happiness: to truly belong, and be needed. For no reason at all.