З життя
Вітчим залишив хвору пасербицю з доглядачем у віддаленому місці, але на нього чекала несподіванка, коли він повернувся продати будинок.
Степбатько забрав свою хвору пасербицю в віддалене місце, щоб залишити її там з старою опікункою. Коли він повернувся, щоб продати дім, його чекала несподіванка.
«Андрію, обіцяй, що не покинеш Ларису», — благала його вмираюча дружина. «Ти знаєш, її здоров’я крихке. Їй потрібен постійний догляд. Я розумію, що це нелегко, але мені дуже страшно, що вона не впорається самостійно. Ти будеш її опікуном ще два роки. Будь ласка, зроби все як слід».
Андрій кивав, але глибоко в душі думав, що скоро все це скінчиться. Коли Ніна вперше захворіла і їй поставили тяжкий діагноз, він був шокований. Потім надіявся, що зможе її вилікувати, але з часом просто втомився. Особливо коли на руках ще й постійно хвора пасербиця, яка, по суті, йому не була родичкою — це було важко. Лариса тихо жила в своїй кімнаті.
У якийсь момент стало важко: хотілося поруч нормальну жінку, а не живий скелет. Думки про те, щоб залишити Ніну, вривалися, але суспільство його засудило б. Він не міг покласти своє життя на вівтар іншого, маючи лише одне життя. Але коли лікар повідомив, що Ніна має не більше року, він вирішив терпіти.
На кону була велика чотирикімнатна квартира, яку Ніна отримала у спадщину від чоловіка. Однак, була ще Лариса, яка завжди нагадувала про себе слабкою тінню. Тому позбутися її було не важко, без жодного злочину.
Похорон Ніни минув швидко. Під час її хвороби всі друзі віддалилися.
На похороні він не був сам: він зустрів одну жінку, яку підвіз додому. Виявилося, що вона посварилася зі своїм чоловіком, який навіть грошей на таксі не дав, тож їхала автостопом. Ліза, попри свої тридцять, легко ставилася до життя. Андрій жадав такої легкості і з часом закохався.
Перед тим, як усвідомити, Ліза зайняла всі його думки. Пройшло місяць або навіть менше, і він привів Лізу до квартири. Тоді все й почалося: Лариса вела себе провокаційно, сиділа з ними довго і була зухвалою до Лізи. Хоч сама вже не могла піднятися з дивана, але все ж — була зухвалою.
Одного дня Ліза заявила:
«Або ти щось робиш, або я піду».
«Цікаво, що я можу з нею зробити?» — подумав Андрій.
«Пропонуєш її вбити?» — задумливо глянула Ліза.
«А ти навіть цього заради мене не можеш зробити?»
Андрій поглянув на неї злякано. Ліза усміхнулася:
«Та нумо, розслабся, такі жертви зовсім не потрібні. Я пам’ятаю, ти казав, що у твоєї маленької дружини є дім десь, ти туди колись їздив».
«Так, їздили кілька років тому. Вона тоді була ностальгічна, здається, у неї там бабуся жила».
«І що ж із цим домом зараз?»
«Як я можу знати?»
«Зможеш знайти дорогу туди?»
«Зможу знайти. Але навіщо шукати, адреса записана. Спершу думали продати, потім якось забули. Не розумію, до чого ти ведеш».
Ліза сіла на диван, схрестила ноги і продовжила:
«Ти дурніший, ніж я думала».
Андрій ображено відповів:
«Лізо, кажи, якщо є що сказати».
«Дивись, все це можна дуже вдало владнати: скажи всім сусідам, що лікар прописав Ларисі свіжий сільський повітря. І ти найняв доглядальницю і відвіз її в село на кілька місяців. І краще нікому не знати, в яке село це або що Лариса буде там одна».
«Ти хочеш, щоб вона там була…»
«Що я хочу — це тільки мені знати. Як воно буде — небеса вирішать. Може, мама її чекає, і вона тут затрималася занадто довго. Що тут думати? Ти surely розумієш: з неї нормальної людини не зробиш. Потрібно всього лише трохи допомоги, і вона звільниться від страждань і нас також звільнить».
Андрій дивився на Лізу і дивувався її кмітливості. Зрештою, це не злочин — всі подумають, що він справді піклується про Ларису. Через три дні все було готове.
«Лариса, ми їдемо в село», — повідомив він їй.
Дівчина, лежачи, обережно піднялася в ліжку.
«В село? Навіщо?»
«Лікар сказав, що свіже повітря і сонячне світло допоможуть тобі більше, ніж будь-яке ліки».
Лариса усміхнулася.
«Лікар, часом, не на ім’я Ліза?»
Андрій незадоволено глянув на неї.
«Чому ти так вороже налаштована до неї? Вона лише доброго тобі бажає».
«Так, я так і думала, ти швидко про маму забув».
«Лариса, це не твоє діло. Пам’ятай, я ще чоловік і не такий вже старий, а твоя мама була хвора понад рік».
Лариса скривилася ніби від зубного болю, але нічого не сказала. Через три години вони рушили в дорогу. Андрій терпляче чекав, поки Лариса збирається. Взагалі, він пакував речі, а вона лише вказувала, що взяти. Вона навіть взяла стару ляльку – напевно, через постійну хворобу і погіршення пам’яті. Яка потреба 16-річній у ляльках?
Дорога була довгою, і, скоріш за все, вони прибудуть вночі або рано вранці. Чесно кажучи, Андрій не пам’ятав, скільки вони подорожували з Ніною тоді – здається, вони зупинялися готелі.
Коли стемніло, почався дощ, і довелося зупинитися на автостоянці. Вони провели кілька годин в машині, і коли наближалися до місця призначення, Андрій зупинився на придорожньому ринку, щоб купити води. Розім’яв ноги, обернувся і побачив стару, яка розмовляла з Ларисою. Підійшовши ближче, Андрій помітив, що старенька показує Ларисі якісь сушені трави і розповідає про їх лікувальні властивості.
«Жодна трава твою хворобу не вилікує», — раптом промовила стара, дивлячись на Андрія.
«Яка ж у мене хвороба тоді?» — він здивувався.
«Трус і жадібність», — відповіла вона.
«Тьху, старе дурне», — пробурмотів він, поблажливо відповідаючи, і вичавив: «Ларисо, я розумію, ти думаєш, що я хочу тебе позбутися, але хоча б трохи співчуття прояви. Живіть з кимось хоча б. Я тобі доглядальницю найму, як цю бабусю».
Спочатку він хотів сказати, що привіз її покращити здоров’я, але потім передумав: їм більше не зустрітися, навіщо брехати.
«Ей, бабусю, поїдете з нами? Ви житимете з Ларисою, допомагатимете одне одному. Я навіть заплачу».
Бабуся відразу погодилася.
«Поїду, що мені втрачати. Ніхто мені не потрібен, може дівчинці стану в нагоді. Дім мій згорів, жити ніде».
Не встиг Андрій озирнутися, як стара з кошиком трав вже сиділа в машині. Він несхвально глянув на трави, що розсипалися на сидіння, але мовчав. Лише б дістатися.
Дім виявився великим, і Андрій здивувався. Якось цього він раніше не помічав. З одного боку було озеро за сто метрів, з іншого — ліс. Фасад будинку дивився на село. Раптом йому стало ясно: такий будинок міг би принести хороші гроші. Всі зараз божеволіють від природи і чистого повітря.
Андрій точно не планував повертати Ларису. Бабуся, хоча й виглядала як справжня відьма, швидко бігала з машини до будинку, начебто була заведена. Він просто чекав, поки вона забере останню сумку, щоб негайно розвернутися і поїхати.
Бабуся прижмурилася, дивлячись вслід автомобілю.
«Щось ваш супутник поспішив, навіть не сказав прощай.»
Лариса усміхнулася.
«Так, що тут вологу розповсюджувати, привіз мене тут і залишив, як на смерть, а не для здоров’я, як говорив.»
Бабуся повернулася до неї:
«Ти кажеш вмерти? Ну, побачимо, не всі мої дітки такими козлами-стрибунами вийшли.»
Лариса здивовано глянула на неї.
«Хотіла б полежати відпочити, дуже втомлена.»
«Ходімо, я тебе проведу. Поки відпочиваєш, я щось поїсти зготую. По дорозі бачила невеличку крамничку, потрібно покупати продукти. Або цей негідник геть грошей не залишив?» — запитала бабуся.
Лариса похитала головою.
«Звісно ж ні. Будь ласка, принеси ляльку, там є старенька в сумці, нагорі.»
Бабуся миттєво знайшла і принесла іграшку. Лариса розпустила ляльку і вручила їй товсту пачку купюр.
«Ось, ви можете жити на ці гроші.»
«Ох, дорога, цих грошей вистачить нам тут на п’ять років. Тільки зачекай трохи, ми ще й сад посадимо. Нехай все не зросте, але щось обов’язково проросте,» — відповіла бабуся.
Лариса, як тільки бабуся розгорнула чистий покривало на дивані, відразу заснула. Періодично чула брязкання каструль і спіспівування бабусі. Ці звуки дивно чомусь її заспокоювали, а не відлякували або дратували. Коли хтось покликав її, вона розплющила очі, не одразу розуміючи, де вона. Оговтавшись, повільно сіла. Значить, все це не було сном.
«Ларисо, ходи за стіл. Ти весь день нічого не їла.»
Хотіла відмовити за звичкою, проте раптом усвідомила, що дійсно голодна. Поки бабуся Альона—так її звали—накривала стіл, вона безупинно балагурила.
«Знаєш, Ларисочко, тут такі добрі люди, сусід навіть прийшов. Приніс картоплі, салом пригостив, молоком обіцяв прийти ввечері. І не взяв ані копійки.»
Не встигла бабуся закінчити говорити, як у дверях з’явився молодий хлопець з глеком молока. Він подивився на Ларису.
«Мамка прислала трохи молока. Хотів спитати, коли ви зазвичай прокидаєтеся? Треба косити траву, щоб раніше вас не будити.»
«Як тебе звати?» — запитала бабуся Альона.
«Дімка,» — відповів хлопець.
«Дімка, заходь, сідай до обіду, усе обговоримо,» — запросила бабуся.
Минуло майже місяць. Ранком Лариса, зашарівшись, дивилася на себе в дзеркало, а бабуся Альона весело сказала:
«Що ж, ти думаєш – це схоже на тебе, але водночас не схоже?»
Лариса, вдивляючись в своє відображення, задумалася:
«Так, дивлюсь і не впізнаю одразу. І апетит у мене хороший. Напевно зараз зможу дійти до озера, не впавши від втоми.»
Бабуся, відклала шиття в бік, усміхнулася:
«Ти розумієш, чому? Все завдяки тому, що п’єш усі мої відвари і з’їдаєш все, що на столі.»
«Що скажете, я робитиму все, що ви скажете. Не хочу помирати…» Лариса заплакала вперше з того часу, як її сюди привезли. Дивно, раніше не було сліз, лише усмішка або тиша.
Двері різко відчинилися, на порозі з’явився Дімка.
«Ларисо, батько придбав новий човен, така краса. Ходімо, я тебе покатати на озеро зведу. Чому ти плачеш? Скажи лише, хто образив,» він нахмурився.
Бабуся Альона тихо усміхнулася:
«Ось тобі захисник. Нехай і молодий, лише дев’ятнадцять, але вже видно, що хлопець надійний.»
Минуло два роки.
«От ти,» — сварила Андрія Ліза. «Ти навіть дім без мене не можеш продати?»
Взявши кредити, Андрій зрозумів, що буде дуже важко їх повернути. І він згадав, що взагалі має власність у селі!
«Забув, що документи на дім не тут. Лише потім згадав, що Нінка їх мені показувала в домі. Ось вони всі там… І якщо дівчинку не поховали, і вона до сих пір там?»
«Не вигадуй! Вона була з тією божевільною бабусею. Усі сусіди це знають. Ти мав давно поїхати туди. Думаю, вона не змогла витримати місяць без допомоги.»
«Аха… Потрібно було залишити бабусі телефон, щоб подзвонила, коли Бог забере Лариску…»
Вони зупинилися перед будинком, біля якого дорогу було розчищено в снігу. Ліза зауважила:
«Це точно не виглядає закинутим. Може, односельці взяли його в руки і доглянули? Давай подивимось.»
Лише вони вийшли з машини, як з димаря пішов дим.
«Зачекай, хтось йде сюди на лижах,» зазначив Андрій.
Дві постаті, дійсно на лижах, швидко наближалися—молодий хлопець і дівчина. Підійшовши ближче, лижниця вигукнула:
«Дивіться-но, хто зволив відвідати! Тато з молодичкою! Що ви тут забули?»
Лізині очі розширилися, Андрій майже не впав у сніжну кучугуру.
«Ларисо! Як? Ти мала…» — почав він.
«Обійтися без мене, таточку. За два місяці мені буде вісімнадцять, тож згорнися з Лізонькою і забирайся з нашого дому,» — відрізала Лариса.
Ліза розгублено подивилася на Андрія, потім на Ларису і на хлопця, який тримав суворий погляд на гостях. Вона пробурмотіла Андрію:
«Ходімо,» і повернулася до машини.
Андрій деякий час стояв, переминаючись з ноги на ногу, не знаючи, що робити або що сказати. Його плани на дім і гроші розпалися в мить. Не знайшовши слів, він кинувся до машини.
Бабуся Альона вийшла на поріг:
«Добре погуляли? Ось куча млинців приготувала. І щось мені здалося, що машина до нас їхала.»
Лариса поцілувала її в щоку:
«Та ні, це тобі, може, здалося, мабуть вітер шурхотіє. Ходімо швидше їсти млинці, ти ж знаєш, як я їх люблю».
The Recipe for Happiness… Everyone in the block watched as new tenants moved into the second-floor flat—a family headed by the manager of the local factory workshop, an important business in a quiet English market town. “Why do you think they chose to live in these old red-brick flats?” wondered retired Mrs. Nina Andrews aloud to her friends. “With his connections, surely they could have landed a place in a new development.” “Don’t judge by your own standards, Mum,” chimed in her thirty-year-old unmarried daughter Anna, sporting bright makeup. “Why would they want something new when these Victorian terraces have high ceilings, grand halls, spacious rooms, and a massive balcony—like in a country house. Besides, they got a phone line the very first week—not everyone in our block even has a phone; just three out of the nine flats!” “You’re always gabbing on the phone!” scolded her mother. “You’re a nuisance to the neighbours. And mind you don’t start pestering the new lot—they’re proper and busy people.” “Oh, they’re not so serious! They’re young, and they have a little girl—nine years old, Natasha,” Anna replied, giving her mum a wounded look. “They’re practically my age, just five years older at most.” The new neighbours turned out to be polite and cheerful—Lydia worked as the school librarian, Ivan had been at the factory for ten years. Anna became the neighbourhood news source, chatting with the ladies in the courtyard each evening as her mum listened in. “How do you already know all this, Anna?” they would tease. “Oh, I pop in to use their phone! Unlike some people, they actually let me,” Anna retorted, referencing the times neighbours refused to open their door, suspecting she’d yak away for ages to her girlfriends. So Anna befriended the newcomers and made herself at home, often calling friends and colleagues for long chats, showing up in new outfits or cosy dressing gowns, clearly hoping to grow close to the family. One day, she noticed Ivan pointedly closing the lounge door when she entered to use the phone. The same thing happened again and again. Anna would flash a smile at Lydia and peek into the kitchen to thank her after her calls, but Lydia would just nod and politely ask her to shut the door on her way out. “I can’t—my hands are covered in flour,” Lydia would explain. “Our lock snaps shut on its own—it’s French.” “Oh, what are you baking now? More pastries? You always have something fresh coming out of the oven… I never learnt to bake,” Anna gushed. “Just making some sweet cheese buns for breakfast, but I won’t have time in the morning—that’s why I’m baking now,” Lydia smiled, turning back to her dough. Anna grimaced and left, annoyed her friendship wasn’t warming up. Later that evening, Ivan said, “Listen, Lyds, I know it’s awkward to refuse her, but our phone is permanently tied up every evening and my mates can’t get through. It’s not fair.” “Yes, she’s gotten a bit too comfortable, coming in as if she lives here and gossiping away,” Lydia agreed. That same night, Anna showed up again—dressed to the nines, made up, and perched on the hallway chair chatting away. After ten minutes, Lydia asked, “Anna, will you be long? We’re expecting a call.” Anna nodded and hung up but pulled a chocolate bar from her pocket and grinned, “I brought treats! Come on, let’s have tea—my treat for getting to know you.” She laid the chocolate on the kitchen table, but Lydia hesitated. “No, please—take it away. Natasha has allergies; she can’t have sweets. In our house, chocolate is a strict no-go.” “What? But I was just being kind,” Anna blushed, stung. “No need for grateful gifts, and do us a favour: don’t come by so often—unless it’s for a real emergency, the doctor or fire brigade. That’s different. Even in the middle of the night, we’d understand. But just for chatting… best not,” Lydia managed politely. Anna took her chocolate and left without a word, feeling slighted, and convinced herself Lydia must be jealous of her youth or charm. “She knows I’m younger, prettier—that’s why she snubbed me,” Anna griped to her mum. “I only wanted to be friendly, but she wouldn’t even pour me a cup of tea—and I brought my own chocolate.” “Silly girl,” Mrs. Andrews sighed. “You shouldn’t force your way into someone else’s home. If they don’t want your calls, that’s their right. They’re a decent family, not a public drop-in centre, and you were firmly shown the door. Don’t make it about jealousy—find yourself a husband and get your own phone, then let your neighbours come calling on you!” Anna’s last attempt at getting close was to pop round with a notebook to ask Lydia for her cheese bun recipe. “Could you give me your sweet cheese bun recipe? I really should learn…” “Better ask your mum,” Lydia replied, surprised. “Our mums know lots—I always just mix by eye, I don’t use strict measures. My hands know what to do. Sorry, I’d really better dash.” Anna blushed again and trudged home. She knew her mum’s battered old recipe book was in the kitchen, full of handwritten gems—salads, pies, even fish terrine. Half the book was devoted to cakes and baking. But Anna didn’t fancy baking, and her mum had long since given it up due to her blood pressure. Still, Anna retrieved the notebook, leafed through indifferently, then found the recipe she needed, surprising her mother. “Are you actually planning on baking?” Mrs. Andrews gasped. “Why does that surprise you?” Anna snapped the book shut. “Has something happened with Slava? I thought you’d parted, just like all your other beaus.” “Why would you think that? He’ll come running back whenever I want,” Anna grumbled. “Well, then why not want it?” her mother chuckled. “And what recipe are you after? I’ll help if you like.” “I can manage,” Anna replied quickly. A few days later, when her mum got back from her evening walk, the smell of baking greeted her. “Good Lord, what’s that? Pies baking? You must really be in love,” her mother exclaimed. “Don’t shout so the whole block hears! Come in and have a taste. They’re cheese buns, traditional ones.” The kettle steamed, the table was set, and a plate of golden cheese buns awaited. “You’ve still got it,” her mum said. “We haven’t baked together in ages and I thought you’d forgotten—but you did it. Well done.” “Don’t just say that—tell me honestly. Are they all right?” “You’ve got a tongue, haven’t you? Try one!” her mum laughed. Anna flashed back to her Dad—those were his words: “It’s edible.” The highest praise. “Right then, I’ll invite Slava round for tea soon—serve him these. Think he’ll like them?” “He’ll love them! I won your Dad by baking these—he was besotted with both the buns and me,” her mum grinned. “Keep baking and invite him. I’ll go watch telly at the neighbour’s—good to see you finally have your priorities straight. You won’t win hearts just by dressing up and curling your hair.” Soon, Slava became a regular visitor. The rows faded, Anna spent more time in the kitchen, with Slava helping and their laughter echoing through the flat. When Anna told her mum they’d registered for marriage, Mrs. Andrews nearly wept with joy. Anna blossomed, slimming down before the wedding. Slava teased, “You’ve stopped baking! Will you make a cake for our wedding at least?” For the home wedding, Anna, her mother, and aunt spent two days preparing festive dishes, though there’d only be about twenty guests—all family. The newlyweds moved into their own big room in the three-bedroom flat. That year, telephones were finally installed for all households. Anna, now content, called everyone at first, but always kept her chats short: “Sorry, Rita, got to dash—my dough’s rising and Slava’s heading home. Bye!” She hurried to the kitchen, where the dough was lifting under its own yeasty cloud. Anna was expecting, her maternity leave just a month away, but the young wife never rested—she cooked, she baked, keeping her husband happy. She adored cheese buns, especially homemade, and so did he—after all, what could be sweeter than a home filled with warmth, laughter, and the smell of baking?
The Recipe for Happiness… The entire block watched as the new tenants moved into the second-floor flat, arms loaded with...
“My Grandchildren Only Get Fruit Once a Month, While I Buy Gourmet Food for My Cats”—My Daughter-in-Law Fumes and Accuses Me of Heartlessness… My daughter-in-law tried to shame me because her children only get fruit once a month, while I treat my cats to quality food. What she overlooks is that children have a mum and dad to care for their nutrition, but my cats only have me. When I once suggested that my son and his wife slow down on having children, they told me to mind my own business. So I did. Now I feed my cats and listen to my ever-indignant, child-devoted daughter-in-law.
My grandchildren only see fruit once a month, yet she buys those cats of hers the most expensive food! my...
I Pushed My Son to Divorce His Wife—Now I Regret It More Than Ever…
Managed to get my son divorcedthen rather wished I hadnt My daughter-in-law dropped my granddaughter off for the weekend again,...
Vitaly Settles Down at His Desk with a Laptop and a Cup of Coffee to Finish Some Work—Suddenly, an Unknown Number Calls: “Are You Vitaly Dmitrievich? This Is the Maternity Hospital. Do You Know Anna Izotova?”—A Shocking Death, a Daughter He Never Knew About, and a Life-Changing Decision at the Savelovsky Maternity Ward
Friday, 18th May I settled into my study laptop at the ready, a mug of Yorkshire tea by my side...
“How Can You Refuse to Look After My Son’s Child?”: An English Mother-in-Law’s Outburst – Family Tensions Flare as Rita Stands Her Ground on Parenting, Work–Life Balance, and Respect in a Modern Blended Family
How can you say you wont take care of my sons child? My future mother-in-law had blurted out, unable to...
I Shouted From the Window: “Mum, Why Are You Up So Early? You’ll Catch Cold!” — She Turned, Waved Her Shovel in Greeting: “I’m Doing This For You Lot, You Lazybones.” — And The Next Day My Mum Was Gone… Even Now, I Can’t Walk Past Our Old Garden Without Heartache… Every Time I See That Path, My Heart Clenches As If Someone’s Gripping It. It Was On The Second Of January I Took That Photo… I Was Just Passing By, Noticed The Footprints In The Snow — And Stopped. Snapped A Picture, Not Really Knowing Why. Now, That Photo Is All I’ve Got Left From Those Days… We Celebrated New Year’s As Always, All Together As A Family. Mum Was Up Early On The 31st, As Usual. The Smell Of Frying Burgers And Her Voice In The Kitchen Woke Me Up: “Love, Get Up! Help Me Finish The Salads, Or Your Dad Will Scoff Half The Ingredients Again!” I Came Down In My Pyjamas, Hair All Over The Place. She Was By The Cooker In Her Favourite Apron With Peaches — The One I Gave Her In School. Her Cheeks Were Rosy From The Oven And She Was Smiling. “Mum, Let Me At Least Have Coffee First,” I Moaned. “Coffee Later! First, The Salad!” She Laughed, Tossing Me A Bowl Of Roast Veg. “Chop It Fine Like I Like — Not Fist-Sized Chunks Like Last Time.” We Chopped And Chatted About Everything Under The Sun. She Told Me About New Year’s In Her Childhood — No Fancy Salads, Only A Herring Under Its Coat And The Tangerines Her Dad Brought Home Especially. Soon Dad Brought In The Christmas Tree — Huge, Nearly To The Ceiling. “Ladies, Come Admire The Tree!” He Announced Proudly. “Dad, Did You Chop Down The Whole Forest?” I Gasped. Mum Walked In, Threw Her Hands Up: “It’s Lovely, But Where Will We Put It? Last Time Was Smaller.” Still, She Helped Us Decorate. My Sister Lera And I Hung Up The Lights, Mum Dug Out The Old Decorations From My Childhood. I Remember Her Picking Out The Little Glass Angel. She Whispered, “I Bought This For Your First New Year, Remember?” “I Do, Mum,” I Lied. I Didn’t, Not Really, But I Nodded. She Glowed Because I Remembered That Angel… My Brother Arrived Later, As Usual — Laden With Bags, Gifts, And Bottles. “Mum, Got Proper Champagne This Year! Not That Sour Stuff From Last Time.” “Oh, Love, Just Don’t Let Everyone Get Plastered,” Mum Laughed, Hugging Him. At Midnight, We All Went Outside. Dad And My Brother Set Off Fireworks, Lera Squealed With Joy — And Mum Stood Beside Me, Arm Around My Shoulders. “Look, Love, Isn’t It Beautiful?” She Whispered. “What A Wonderful Life We Have…” I Hugged Her Back. “The Best One, Mum.” We Drank Champagne Round The Bottle, Laughed When A Firework Whizzed Towards The Neighbour’s Shed. Mum, A Little Tipsy, Danced In Her Woolly Boots To “Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree,” And Dad Swept Her Off Her Feet. We Laughed Ourselves To Tears. On The First Of January, We Lounged All Day. Mum Cooked Again — This Time Dumplings And Jellied Meat. “Mum, Stop Already! We’re Going To Burst!” I Moaned. “Nonsense, You’ll Finish It — New Year Celebrations Last A Week,” She Brushed Me Off. On The Second, She Was Up Early Again. I Heard The Door, Peeked Out — There She Was In The Garden With Her Shovel. Clearing The Path. Old Puffy Jacket, Scarf Tied, Working Carefully: From The Gate Right Up To The Steps — Narrow, Straight. Piling Snow Beside The Wall Like She Always Did. I Called Out The Window: “Mum, Why So Early? You’ll Freeze Out There!” She Turned Back, Waved Her Shovel: “Otherwise You Lazy Lot Will Walk Through Snowdrifts All Spring! Go On, Put The Kettle On.” I Smiled, Went To The Kitchen. She Came In Half An Hour Later, Cheeks Rosy, Eyes Bright. “All Done, Nice And Tidy,” She Said, Sitting With Her Coffee. “Came Out Well, Didn’t It?” “Yes, Mum. Thank You.” That Was The Last Time I Heard Her Sound So Full Of Life. On January Third, She Woke And Whispered, “Girls, My Chest Feels Odd. Not Bad, Just Uncomfortable.” I Got Worried At Once. “Mum, Shall We Call An Ambulance?” “Oh, Don’t Fret, Love. I’m Just Worn Out. Cooked And Dashed About So Much. I’ll Rest, It’ll Pass.” She Lay Down, Lera And I At Her Side. Dad Went To The Chemist For Some Pills. She Even Joked, “Don’t Look So Gloomy, I’ll Outlive The Lot Of You.” Then She Turned Pale. Clutched Her Chest. “Oh… I feel awful… Too Awful…” We Called An Ambulance. I Held Her Hand, Whispered, “Mummy, Hold On, They’re Coming, It’ll Be Fine…” She Looked At Me, Barely Audible, “Love… I adore you all… I hate to say goodbye.” The Paramedics Came Quickly, But… There Was Nothing They Could Do. A Massive Heart Attack. It All Happened In Minutes. I Sat On The Hall Floor And Howled. I Couldn’t Believe It. Just Yesterday She Danced Beneath The Fireworks, Full Of Life — Now… Barely Steady, I Went Out To The Garden. The Snow Hardly Falling Anymore. And I Saw Her Footprints. Those Same Small, Neat, Straight Prints From The Gate To The Steps And Back Again. Exactly Like She Always Left. I Stood And Stared At Them For Ages. I Asked God, “How Can It Be That Yesterday A Person Walked Here — And Today, They’re Gone? The Footprints Remain, But She Doesn’t.” Maybe I Was Dreaming, But It Seemed Like On The Second Of January She Went Out For The Last Time — To Leave Us A Clear Path. So We Could Cross It Without Her. I Didn’t Let Anyone Shovel Those Prints Away, Asked Them All To Leave Them. Let Them Stay Until The Snow Covers Them For Good. That’s The Last Thing She Did For Us. Her Everyday Care Shone Through Even When She Was Gone. A Week Later, Heavy Snow Covered The Path. I Keep That Photo Of Mum’s Last Footprints. Every Year, On The Third Of January, I Look At It — And Then Out At The Empty Path By The House. And It Hurts To Know That Somewhere Under All That Snow, She Left Her Last Steps. The Ones I’m Still Following…
I remember that chilly January morning I leaned out the window and called, Mum, what are you doing up so...
Strangers in Our Flat Katie was the first to open the door and froze on the threshold. From inside came the sound of the TV, voices in the kitchen, and a strange smell. Behind her, Max nearly dropped the suitcase in shock. “Quiet,” she whispered, stretching out her arm. “Someone’s in there.” There were two complete strangers sprawled out on their beloved beige sofa. A man in trackies flicked through the channels, while a plump woman beside him knitted. On the coffee table—mugs, plates strewn with crumbs, packets of medicine. “Excuse me, who are you?” Katie’s voice trembled. The strangers turned, not the least bit embarrassed. “Oh, you’re back,” the woman didn’t even put her knitting down. “We’re Lynda’s relatives. She gave us the keys, said you weren’t home.” Max paled. “Lynda who?” “Your mum,” the man, finally standing, replied. “We’re from Birmingham, here with Michael for some health checks. She put us up here, told us you wouldn’t mind.” Katie wandered into the kitchen. At the hob stood a teenage boy, frying sausages. The fridge was packed with unfamiliar food. Dishes were piled in the sink. “And you are?” she managed. “Michael,” he turned. “Why, shouldn’t I eat? Granny Lynda said it was fine.” She returned to the hall, where Max was already getting his phone out. “Mum, what are you doing?” His voice was quiet, but angry. His mum’s upbeat voice came through the speaker. “Maxie, you’re back already? How was your holiday? Listen, I gave Svetlana the keys, her and Victor came up to London, Michael had to see the docs. Didn’t think it mattered—place would be empty, waste not want not. Just for the week.” “Mum, did you ask us?” “Why should I? You weren’t here. Just tell them I’m responsible for the flat, make sure they tidy up.” Katie grabbed the phone: “Lynda, are you serious? You let strangers into our flat?” “What strangers? It’s only my cousin Svetlana! We shared a bed as kids.” “And? That’s our flat!” “Katie, don’t be so dramatic. They’re family. They’ll be quiet. They’ve got a sick child, you should help. Or are you just selfish?” Max took back the phone. “One hour, Mum. You come and take them. All of them. Or I’ll ring the police.” He hung up. Katie sat on the pouffe in the hallway, head in her hands, their suitcases still unpacked. The TV buzzed in the lounge, sausages sizzled, and she felt like an uninvited guest in her own home. The woman from the living room appeared looking sheepish. “We’ll start packing,” she murmured. “Lynda thought you wouldn’t mind. We’d have asked you ourselves, but didn’t have your number. She offered, we agreed. Just needed a week for Michael’s appointments.” Max stood by the window, silent, shoulders tense. “Where’s our cat?” Katie suddenly gasped. “What cat?” “Morris. Ginger. We left the keys so you could feed him.” “No idea,” Svetlana shrugged. “Not seen him.” Katie found Morris wedged under the bed, fur bristled, eyes wide. The room smelled unfamiliar; unknown medicine bottles on her nightstand, the bedding different, someone else’s slippers by the door. Max knelt down beside her. “Sorry.” “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.” “For Mum being like this.” “She always does what she wants.” Voices filtered from the corridor—his mum had arrived. Katie straightened her hair and went to face her. Lynda stood in the hallway, glaring. “Max, are you mad?” “Mum, sit down,” he said, pointing to the kitchen. “We’re being thrown out! Svetlana, Victor, pack up, we’ll go to mine.” “Mum, just sit.” They sat at the kitchen table, Michael finishing his sausages. “Mum,” Max said, “how did you think it was okay to let people into our flat without asking?” “I was just helping! Svetlana rang, crying—Michael’s sick, they had nowhere to stay. It’s not like you were here.” “But it’s not your flat.” “Of course it is! I’ve got keys.” “To feed the cat. Not run a B&B.” “Max, they’re family! He’s poorly, they need help. And you’d turn them out?” Katie’s hands shook as she poured water. “You didn’t even ask us, Lynda.” “Why ask? You weren’t here!” “That’s exactly why you should have.” Max’s voice rose. “You could have called. Texted. We’d have talked it over.” “And you’d have said no, I suppose.” “Maybe. Or maybe just for a couple of days. But we’d have known. That’s called respect.” Lynda stood up. “Typical. I try to help, and you throw it back in my face. Svetlana, pack up—we’ll manage at mine.” “You said your flat’s a single-bed, there isn’t room for four.” “We’ll squeeze in. Better than dealing with ungratefulness.” Katie set her glass down. “Lynda, stop. You know you did the wrong thing, or you’d have asked first.” Lynda hesitated. “You knew we’d say no, and wanted to put us on the spot. That we wouldn’t turf people out—yes?” “I thought it was best.” “No, you wanted to do things your way. That’s different.” Lynda finally looked lost. “Svetlana was so upset. Michael’s in pain. I felt sorry for them.” “We get that,” Max said. “But you can’t just use what isn’t yours. Imagine if I let my mates move into your flat without asking.” “I’d be furious.” “Exactly.” They sat in silence, the sounds of hasty packing drifting from the lounge. Michael stood in the doorway, looking at his feet. “Sorry,” the teenager muttered. “Thought it was okay. Gran said so.” Katie gave him a tired smile. “It’s not your fault. Go help your parents, love.” Lynda dabbed her eyes: “I really thought I was helping. Never occurred to me to ask. You’re still my kids—I just assumed…” “We’re not kids anymore, Mum. We’re thirty—we have our own life.” “I see.” She handed over the keys. “You’ll want these back?” “Yes,” Katie said. “Trust is broken now.” “I understand.” Svetlana’s family packed quickly. Their apologies were awkward and endless. Lynda drove them away, promising to find space. Max closed the door behind them and leaned against it. They checked the flat—unmade beds, the fridge filled with strange food, bits left behind, and their cat still cowering. Katie opened the kitchen window. “Think she’ll get it this time?” “Not sure. I hope so.” “And if not?” “Then we’ll just have to set firmer boundaries.” She hugged him, and together they stood among the chaos. “You know what hurts most?” Katie pulled away. “The cat. We did all this for him and he’s hungry and terrified.” “Did they even feed him?” “Doesn’t look like it—bowl’s empty, water filthy. They probably forgot he existed.” Max knelt by the bed. “Morris, mate, we’re not giving her the keys again.” The cat cautiously crawled out at last. Katie gave him food; he devoured it, as if he hadn’t eaten in days. They started cleaning. Threw out the strange food, changed the sheets, washed the dishes. Gradually, their flat became home again. Morris slept on the windowsill, finally settled. That evening, Lynda rang. Her voice was quiet, apologetic. “Max, I’ve been thinking. You were right. I’m sorry.” “Thanks, Mum.” “Is Katie angry?” He glanced at his wife—she nodded. “She is. But she’ll forgive you. In time.” They sat up late over tea, silent. Out the window the city darkened; their flat, finally, was quiet and theirs again. Holiday was well and truly over—suddenly and brutally.
Sarah was the first to open the door, halting on the threshold. From within the flat drifted the sound of...
The Fool Everyone thought Ann was a simpleton. She’d been married to her husband for fifteen years, and they had two children: Alice, fourteen, and Sean, seven. Her husband barely hid his affairs—he cheated on her the second day after their wedding, with a waitress, and no one could count the affairs after that. Her friends tried to open her eyes, but Ann just smiled sweetly and stayed silent. Ann worked as an accountant at a children’s toy factory. Her salary, as she said, was pitifully small, but her workload reached the sky. She even had to work weekends and sometimes stayed overnight during quarterly and annual reports. Her husband earned very well. Ann, however, was a hopeless homemaker. No matter how much money she got, it was never enough for groceries, the fridge was always empty, and—at best—there was just soup and sausages with pasta. And so they lived. Everyone was amazed to see Val with yet another new girlfriend. He often came back home, as they said, “dry as a bone.” “Oh, Ann’s such a fool. Why does she put up with a philanderer?” On the day Sean turned ten, her husband came home and announced he was getting a divorce. He’d fallen in love, and the family no longer suited him. “Don’t be upset, Ann, but I’m filing for divorce. You’re as cold as a fish. If you were at least a good homemaker, but you can’t even manage that.” “That’s fine. I agree to the divorce.” Val nearly fell off his chair. He’d been prepared for a scandal, a hysterical scene, tears—he hadn’t expected such calm. “Alright, then pack your things and I won’t get in your way. I’ll come back tomorrow, just leave your key under the mat.” Ann looked at him with a strange, almost suspicious smile. It all seemed odd to Val, but he soon forgot about it, picturing his new life without his wife or the kids. The next day he came back with his new flame. There was no key under the mat, making him a bit grumpy. “No matter, I’ll change the locks, easy.” He tried his key in the lock—it didn’t fit. He knocked on the door. A big, burly man in slippers and a dressing gown opened it. “What do you want, mate?” “This is my flat, actually,” Val said, not too convincingly. “I’d argue with that, got any paperwork? If you do, best show it.” Of course, Val had no documents on him. Suddenly, he remembered the proof of registration in his passport. He fumbled and finally found it. “Here’s my passport—the address is inside.” The man in the dressing gown flicked through the papers, then smirked and handed it back. “When did you last open this booklet?” Val, sensing something wrong, turned to the registration page. There were two stamps—one for moving in, one two years ago for moving out. What happened? He didn’t argue with the giant. He tried to call his wife, but she was out of reach. He decided to wait for her after work. But here too, he failed. Ann had left her job a year ago. Their daughter had gone abroad to study, and their son should still be at school. But even at school, he got nowhere—Sean had transferred last year, and they wouldn’t give details to a father who didn’t know where his son went. Utterly defeated, Val sat on a bench, head in hands. How could this happen? His meek, mousy ex had orchestrated this? And how did she sell the flat? Well, he’d sort it out in court—divorce was a week away. He arrived at the divorce hearing angry, determined to expose her and get back what was his. At the hearing, everything fell into place. He’d completely forgotten signing a general power of attorney to his wife two years ago—at the time, he was so smitten with Eliza, his new paramour, that he’d signed whatever his then-wife asked for, to help their daughter with paperwork for studying abroad. He’d handed over everything himself. Now he was left with nothing, on the street, and, worst of all, with no flat, Eliza vanished too. “At least she’ll file for alimony, then I’ll teach her a lesson!” he thought. But disappointment struck again. Instead of a summons for child support, he received one challenging his paternity. Turns out, both children were not his. On their wedding day, Ann had seen her husband cheating with a waitress. Something short-circuited inside her. She couldn’t explain what happened, but she chose a unique path for revenge. First, an affair for an affair. Then she started saving. Every penny her husband gave for groceries, she hid. The fridge stood empty, but the kids had nice clothes and ate at their grandmother’s. Ann’s mother shook her head and tried to talk her daughter out of it. “Revenge will destroy you, and shatter the children’s minds,” her mother warned. But Ann stayed obsessed with her goal—and reached it. She did DNA tests on the kids, though she already knew they weren’t her husband’s. That was a knockout blow for Val. Losing the flat didn’t hurt as much as finding out neither child was his. Never underestimate a wronged woman—in anger, she is capable of anything.
Silly Girl Everyone considered Emily a silly girl. She had been married to her husband for fifteen years, and they...