Towards a New Life “Mum, how long are we going to rot in this backwater? It’s not even a small tow…

Heading Towards a New Life

Mum, how much longer are we going to stay stuck in this backwater? Were not just in the countryside, were in the countryside of the countryside, grumbled her daughter on returning from the little café down the lane.

Claire, Ive told you a hundred timesthis is our home, our roots. Im not going anywhere.

Mum was stretched out on the sofa, legs propped up on a cushion in her favourite position she called Churchillian Rest.

Oh, not the roots speech again! Mum, give it another ten years and your rootsll be withered, and then some new creepy-crawly will turn up for you to parade in front of me as Dad.

Stung by these words, her mother got to her feet and peered into the wardrobe mirror.

My roots look perfectly fine, thank you very much

Thats what Im saying, theyre fine now, but soon? Rutabaga, squash, sweet potatopick your favourite, youre the cook.

Darling, if youre so keen, move by yourself. Youve been old enough for years nowentirely legal. Why would you need me?

For my conscience, Mum! If I run off to a better life, whos going to look after you here?

Insurance, a steady job, Wi-Fi, and, as you pointed out, Ill find myself a new suitor soon enough. Youll find it easy to moveyoure young, modern, you know your way around todays world, and the teens dont drive you mad just yet. Im already halfway to Valhalla.

Oh, come on! Listen to yourselfyoure joking just like my mates, and youre only forty

Whyd you have to say it out loud? Just to ruin my day?

If were talking cat years, thats only five, Claire quickly corrected herself.

Youre forgiven.

Mum, before its too late, lets get on a train and leave. Theres nothing here tying us down.

A month ago I finally got them to spell our surname right on the gas bill, and the surgery down the road takes usthose are my final arguments, Mum replied.

You can get medical help anywhere, and nobody says we need to sell the house. If it doesnt work out, at least we have somewhere to come back to. Ill have you living the high life in no time.

I remember what the sonographer said: Shell never let you rest. Thought it was a joke. No wonder he ended up winning bronze on Britains Psychic Challenge. Fine, lets gobut if it doesnt work out, promise youll let me come home without tears and scenes.

On my honour!

Your father promised the same thing in the registry office, and you two share a blood type.

***

Claire and her mum didnt mess about with Brighton or Bristol but shot straight up to London. Taking out every penny of savings from three years, they splashed out and moved into a poky studio flat on the fringe of the city, crammed between a market and a bus station, with the rent for four months paid up front. The money ran out before theyd even started spending it.

Claire kept her cool, full of energy. She didnt waste time unpacking or faffing about with decoration. Instead, she dove straight into the life of the cityits creative pulse, its parties, its vibrant nights. She blended in straightaway: mastering the lingo, clocking all the hot spots, dressing so chic youd think shed be conjured from city air and pure metropolitan snobbery, not dragged from the middle of nowhere.

Meanwhile, her mum lived between morning cups of chamomile and nightly sleeping tablets. On the first day, despite her daughters pleas to go for a wander, she started scanning job ads. Londons vacancies and salaries barely matched up and set off every alarm bell. After some quick calculations, she could predict their homecoming without any psychics help: six months, max.

Brushing off Claires progressive advice, she stuck to her guns and landed a job as a cook at a local private school, plus washing dishes in the café downstairs in the evenings.

Mum, youre at the stove all hours again! Its like we never left. Youll never really get the city at this rate! Why not study for something new? Be a designer or a sommelieror at a push, a brow artist? Ride the Tube, sip coffee, try to adapt?

Claire, Im not ready to learn something new right now. And anyway, Ill cope. Ill adapt. You just go get sorted like you wanted.

Claire sighed at her mothers stubbornness and, instead, made herself at homesettling into the cafés where old flames and new friends paid for drinks; settling into a modern mindset, forging psychological connections with the city as guided by some life coach on YouTube; settling into social groups that talked of nothing but success and cash. Claire wasnt rushing for a job or a serious relationship. She and the city needed time to fit together.

Four months later, Mum paid the rent with her own wages, ditched the dishwashing, and started cooking for another branch of the school. Claire, for her part, had dropped out of a couple of online courses, tried out for a spot on local radio, landed a walk-on role in a student film (payment: a bowl of pasta and a splash of bolognese), and briefly went out with two would-be rock musiciansone turned out to be a right donkey, the other a commitment-phobic father of four.

***

Mum, do you want to go somewhere tonight? Fancy ordering pizza and watching a film? Im absolutely knackeredcant be bothered with anything, Claire yawned one evening in her Churchillian Rest, as Mum finished her makeup by the hall mirror.

You go aheadIll transfer you some money. Dont save any for me; I doubt Ill be hungry when I get back.

Get back? Get back from where? Claire sat up, peering at her mothers back.

Ive been invited out for tea, Mum answered, giggling shyly like a teenager.

By whom? Claire didnt sound at all pleased.

There was an inspection at school. I served up those rissoles you loved as a kid. The head of the commission asked if Id introduce him to the school chef. I laughedlike, head chef, in a school? We had a coffee, like you told me to. So tonight Im going round his for dinner.

Are you mad? Dinner? At a strangers house? For tea!

So?

Havent you thought that maybe hes after something more than just dinner?

Darling. Im forty, single, hes forty-five, clever, handsome, unmarried. Honestly, whatever he wants from me would be rather nice.

Youyou sound like a spineless country girl, as if theres no choice!

I barely recognise you. You dragged me here so we could live, not just exist.

Against those words, Claire had nothing. She realisedhorriblythat theyd swapped roles, and that was a step too far. With the transferred money, she ordered the biggest pizza in sight and spent the whole night eating in guilty silence. It was near midnight when Mum returned, her smile lighting the hallway.

So? How was it? Claire asked, deadpan.

Hes more of a beetle than a bug, and local to boot! Mum laughed and headed for the shower.

Mum started dating regularly: West End shows, stand-up nights, jazz gigs, a library card, joining the local tea appreciation group, registering with the GP. Within six months, shed enrolled on a few professional cookery courses, added a stack of certificates, and could whip up dishes shed once only seen on MasterChef.

Claire, meanwhile, wasted no time. Not wanting to live off her mum forever, she applied for every big job she could find. But despite her efforts, each dream post seemed to slip through her fingers. New friends drifted off when she stopped being their novelty. So, Claire became a barista, then two months later, a night-shift bartender.

The daily grind wore at her, painting dark circles under her eyes and stealing her spark. Her love life was just as bleakthe blokes at the bar a blurry parade of half-hearted pick-up lines, none even close to true love in any dictionary. Eventually, shed had enough.

You know what, Mum? You were rightits useless here. Sorry for dragging you. We need to go back, Claire announced one morning, dropping her bag by the door after another restless shift.

What are you on about? Go back where? Mum asked, folding her clothes into a suitcase.

Home, obviously! Claire snapped, pacing and throwing random stuff onto the sofa. Home, where our names spelled right on the post, where the clinic knows us. You were right about everything.

Im registered here now, and I havent any wish to leave, replied Mum gently, looking deep into her daughters tired, red eyes.

But Im not! I want to go home! I hate it herethe Underground is ridiculous, coffee costs as much as steak, and everyone in the bar looks down their nose. I want out. My friends and my place are back there, and youre packing your bags as well!

Im moving in with John, Mum said quietly.

What do you meanmoving in with John?

Well, since youve settled in and you can manage the flat yourself, I thought, whats stopping me? Claire, this is a gift! Youre grownsmart, gorgeous, working, and living in London. Opportunities are pouring out of the taps for you! Mum beamed, eyes shining. Thank you for bringing me here. Without you, Id have shriveled up out there. But here? Lifes overflowing! Thank you! She kissed Claires cheeks, but Claire resisted joining in the happiness.

Mum, but what about me? Wholl look after me? The tears streamed down as she spoke.

Insurance, a steady job, Wi-Fi, and youll find yourself a new beetle too, Mum quoted herself with a smile.

So youre just abandoning me? Just like that?

Im not abandoning youyou promised, no drama, remember?

I remember Fine, hand me the keys.

Theyre in my handbag. One small favour, though.

What?

Grannys thinking of moving here, too. Ive already told her on the phonehelp her pack?

Grannys moving here?!

Yes, I gave her the same pitch about the good life, beetles, and bogs. Theres an opening at the post office and you know shes been thirty years at her sorting job. She can get a letter to the North Pole without a stamp. Let her take a chancebefore her roots dry out.Claire stared at her mum, half incredulous, half smiling through the tears she wiped away with the back of her hand. For a moment, she couldnt tell whether it was relief or panic bubbling up in her chest. Maybe it was botha fizzing sense that life was moving on, unstoppable and, for once, not needing her permission.

A taxi horn blared outside and Claires mum slung her suitcase over a shoulder, planting a final, lingering kiss on her daughters forehead. Be kind to yourself, she whispered, then spun out the door with a little squeal of excitement. Claire let her go, watching from the window as Mum waved back, suitcase rolling awkwardlyfresh as spring, more alive than ever.

The flat turned too quiet, too fast. Echoes clung to the bare walls, and the city hummed outside as distant and impersonal as ever. Claire flopped onto the sofa. She grabbed her phone and scrolled aimlessly, appetite lost for everythingexcept maybe her childhood, if only she could scroll that far back.

Then the screen lit up with a ding: Granny, from the home number.

Well, come on then, general! the message buzzed. What do I pack for the grand capital? Will I need wellies or will your cityfolk look down on that?

Claire laughed, and in that laugh, something loosened. Maybe there were no roots, only cuttings, and each of them just planting themselves in new pots every chance they got. Maybe this city was hers for the taking, or maybe not. But either way, shed survived. Mum had, too. And now Granny was marching in with her sorting hat and North Pole ambition.

She texted back, Both, Granny. Bring your wellies and your wildest hat. Ill be waiting at the station.

As night fell, Claire put the kettle onher own little ritual, her own claiming of space. She opened the window. Somewhere far below, laughter drifted up with the city lights, and for the first time, it sounded like an invitation.

Tomorrow shed meet Grannys train with her arms wide openand maybe, just maybe, throw her own roots into the wind to see where they might land next.