The new wife of my father cleared out all of my mother’s things while I was at work.
Elspeth, are you even listening? I asked when youd hand in the report!
What? Oh, sorry, Megan. By Friday everything will be ready.
By Friday? Todays Thursday! Megan shook her head reproachfully. Youve hardly been here lately. Is it that Lydia again?
I clenched my fists under the desk. Even the mention of my fathers new bride tightened a knot in my throat.
I dont want to talk about it.
You should, Megan nudged her chair closer. You need to have a serious word with your father. Hes lost his head completely. He married her six months after Mums funeral!
Eight months, I corrected automatically. And Fathers a grown man, he knows what hes doing.
Exactly what he doesnt know! Men his age are especially vulnerable. And that young Lydia has probably set her sights on our flat.
I wanted to argue, but deep down I knew Megan was right. Lydia was eighteen years younger than my father. Theyd met at the clinic where she worked as a nurse. Father had still been driving Mum to her appointments.
I must be off, I gathered my papers into a bag. We agreed I could leave early today.
Go, go. Just promise to call if anything comes up. Anytime.
I nodded and left the office. A fine October drizzle fell as I pulled my coat collar up and hurried to the bus stop. The commute home was about twenty minutes by bus, then a fiveminute walk. I had lived with my parents in a twobedroom flat on the third floor of an old ninestorey council block. After Mums death Id wanted to move out, to find a place of my own, but my wages were modest and rents were such that a months rent would swallow my pay.
Father had persuaded me to stay.
Ellie, dont leave me alone, hed said. Im as lost without your mother as a sailor without a compass. I need you close.
And so I stayed, cooking, cleaning, washing, trying to fill the void Mum had left. Then Lydia appeared.
At first Father only mentioned a pleasant nurse. Then he lingered on walks. Six months later he announced he was to marry.
You see, my dear, I cant be alone. I need a woman beside me. Your mother would have understood.
I didnt make a scene. I simply slipped out of the room, shut the door, and wept into my pillow until dawn.
The wedding was modest in fact, there was no ceremony at all. We were told quietly, even I wasnt invited. I learned the news later, when Father brought Lydia home, passport in hand.
Meet my wife.
Lydia was tall, bleachedblonde, lips painted bright, nails long. She could have been thirtyfive, though Father claimed she was fortytwo.
Hello, Ellie, she extended a hand. I hope well become friends.
I took her cold fingers and walked into the kitchen. On a shelf in the corner sat Mums favourite tea cup with tiny roses. I lifted it, filled it with water, hands trembling.
At first Lydia behaved cautiously. She smiled, asked about work, offered help. I kept my distance, answered curtly. I could not forgive Fathers haste. Mum had died only months before, and he had already brought another woman into the house.
Gradually Lydia settled in. She rearranged the bedroom furniture, changed the curtains in the sittingroom, bought a new crockery set and shoved Mums belongings into a cupboard.
Your mother had good taste, shed say, but thats all old now. Its time for a fresh look.
I said nothing. What could I say? The flat was Fathers, formally I was no one there.
A month later the insinuations began.
Elspeth, youre a grown woman now, thirtythree. Its time you built a life of your own. Living with us forever you know what I mean.
This is my home, I snapped.
Your fathers home, Lydia corrected gently. And now mine as well.
Father never intervened in those talks. He seemed deaf and blind, wandering the flat with a blissful smile, constantly hugging Lydia around the waist, calling her sweet names. I didnt recognise him. Where was the solemn, restrained man who had spent thirty years with Mum in love and harmony?
When I stepped off the bus I quickened my pace, eager to reach the flat, strip off my wet shoes, and sip a hot tea. Perhaps Father would be out; hed said hed stop by a friend. Then I could sit quietly in the kitchen and think of Mum.
Every day I thought of her of how she baked cabbage pies, read aloud in the evenings, stroked my hair and promised everything would be all right. Even when illness had taken her, even when doctors whispered bleakly, she still smiled.
Dont be sad, my little one. Ill always be with you.
I fished the keys from my bag and opened the door. The flat was still, the silence heavy. I slipped off the damp shoes, hung my coat, and made my way to my room.
I stopped on the threshold. The room looked different. I could not immediately tell what had changed, but an emptiness hung in the air that stole my breath.
The bed was where it had always been, the wardrobe, the desk by the window. Yet where was Mums little jewelry box that always sat on the nightstand? Where was the embroidered napkin shed sewn before I was born? Where were the framed photographs?
I rushed to the wardrobe, flung the doors open. On the top shelf had lain Mums blue shawl, the one Father had given her on their anniversary. It was gone.
No, no, no
My hands shook as I rummaged through the remaining items. Mums dressing gown, her books I had cherished, the photo album at the bottom all vanished.
I bolted into the hallway, burst into the master bedroom. Everything had been cleared out: Mums perfume on the dresser, her comb, even the little makeup case I never dared to throw away. Nothing remained.
Whats happening here? I whispered.
The flats front door opened and voices drifted in.
what a relief, finally getting rid of that junk, Lydia said. I dont see why we should keep the deads things. Its an unhealthy attachment.
Youre right, dear, Father replied. We must move on.
I stepped into the hallway. Father and Lydia stood by a coat rack, removing outerwear. When they saw me, Lydia smiled.
Ah, Ellie, youre home. We were just tidying up while you were away.
Where are Mums things? my voice came out hoarse.
What things?
All her things! The box, the photos, the books, the clothes! Where is everything?
Lydia sighed as if the matter were trivial.
I took them away. Donated some to the church, tossed the rest. Ellie, dear, your mother died over a year ago. Its time to let go.
You what did you do?!
The ground seemed to drop from under me. Father stood beside Lydia, silent, watching the side.
Dad, did you hear what she said? She threw Mums things away!
Ellie, dont shout, Father finally spoke. Lydias right. You cant live in the past. Its an unhealthy attachment.
Unhealthy attachment? I could not believe my ears. Thats my mothers memory! Its all I have left!
You still have the memories, Lydia said gently. Isnt that enough?
Not enough, I replied firmly. It isnt enough.
Return everything at once.
Im afraid thats impossible. The bin has already been taken away.
Which bin?
The rubbish one, Lydia shrugged. It was full of old junk, yellowed papers, motheaten dresses. I kept a few photos; theyre still in the wardrobe.
I stepped closer. Lydia instinctively stepped back.
You had no right, I whispered.
Im the lady of the house now, and I have full authority to decide what stays and what goes.
Youre not the lady! Youre a stranger! my voice cracked.
Ellie! Father raised his voice for the first time. Apologise at once. Lydia is my wife, you must respect her.
Respect? The woman who threw away everything that reminded me of Mum?
Your mother is dead, Father said sharply. Shes gone, understand? Its time you accepted that.
How can you speak like that? You lived together for thirtyfive years! She gave birth to me! She
Enough, Father waved his hand. Im tired of this. Tired of your constant hints, your silence, the way you stare at Lydia. I have a right to be happy.
At the cost of Mums memory?
Memory isnt the issue. I love Lydia. I want to live with her. If you cant accept that
He didnt finish, but I understood.
Fine, I said. Ill leave.
Ellie, wait, Lydia interjected. No one is throwing you out. Lets set some rules. This is our home, my fathers and now mine. You can stay, but you must respect our boundaries.
What boundaries? I asked, weary.
For example, no entering our bedroom, no touching my things, no turning the flat into a museum of your mothers life.
I looked at Father; he avoided my gaze.
Alright, I said. As you wish.
I returned to my room and shut the door. I sat on the bed, clasped my hands around my head. Tears would not come; instead an icy, allconsuming void settled.
Mums things the only things left that still carried her scent, her presence. The little box Id opened each evening to pull out Mums rings and brooches. The album of holidays, birthdays, Sunday walks in the park. All gone, dumped with the rubbish.
I rose, walked to the window. Night had fallen, a few pedestrians scurried home under umbrellas. Somewhere, in the landfill, my mothers belongings lay mixed with waste.
A knock came at the door.
Ellie, may I? Fathers voice.
I did not answer. The door opened a crack and Father slipped in.
Darling, lets talk.
About what? I asked without turning.
Lydia just wants the best for you. She wants to make our home comfortable.
By throwing away everything that reminds me of Mum?
Father sighed.
Ellie, I know its hard. Its hard for me too. I loved your mother with all my heart. But shes gone, and I cant spend the rest of my life in mourning. Meeting Lydia gave me a chance to feel alive again.
And Mum? Youve forgotten her?
No, I remember her, every day. Shes not coming back, but I cant live in grief forever.
I turned to see Father, now sixtyfive, slightly stooped, his eyes tired but bright. Lydias presence seemed to have revived him.
Im not against your happiness, truly. But why did you have to destroy my mothers memory?
I didnt intend to hurt you. I thought clearing the house would help us move forward.
You left only three photographs out of hundreds.
Those are the only ones I kept.
I called my friend Megan after a moment, my hands shaking as I dialed.
Megan, can I crash at yours? I asked.
Whats happened? she sounded alarmed.
Ill explain when I get there.
Come straight away. Im waiting.
I packed a bag, slipped the three photographs into it, added a change of clothes and my small makeup case, and left the flat. The rain grew heavier as I hurried down the street. Megans flat was a short fifteenminute walk away.
She opened the door as if shed been expecting me.
Youre soaked! Quick, take off your coat, Ill get you a towel.
Inside, the flat was warm, the smell of fresh baked scones filled the air, and a plump ginger cat curled on the sofa.
Dry off, Megan handed me a towel. Tell me everything.
I recounted the day, my voice growing steadier as she listened.
Shes gone mad? Megan gasped when I finished. How could she throw away someones belongings?
She thinks shes the lady of the house.
And your father?
He sided with her, said I needed to let go.
Megan cursed under her breath.
Call the housing office, will you? Whats the management company?
City Estates, I replied.
She dialed, spent ages being transferred, and eventually spoke to someone who confirmed the rubbish bin had already been emptied that afternoon and taken to a landfill.
Its gone now, Ellie. Nothing to retrieve.
I nodded, the answer Id feared.
Its alright, Megan said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. You still have Mum in your mind. No thing can replace that.
I need to touch something of hers, even once, just to feel her hand again, you know?
I understand, she whispered, squeezing my shoulder. Lets just hold onto the memories.
We sat like that until the sky turned black. Later, Megan rose and went to the kitchen.
Have you eaten today?
I cant remember, I admitted.
Ill make you supper, and then well get some rest. Tomorrow well figure out what to do next.
Dinner was a simple stew, but my thoughts kept circling the same questions: how could Lydia act so? how could Father allow it? what now?
That night I barely slept, tossing on the foldout couch Megan had set up in the living room. The ginger cat curled against me, purring, but the comfort was thin.
In the morning Megan left for work, leaving me alone.
Rest, Ill be back this evening. No thinking about anything, okay?
But how could I not think? I showered, drank tea, sat by the window watching the grey sky. Father called several times; I let the calls go to voicemail.
Later that day a text arrived from Lydia.
Ellie, could we meet and talk? I didnt mean to hurt you. I just want to sort things out.
I stared at the screen, then typed back.
Where?
Perhaps the café near your old bakery?
Six oclock.
I put the phone down, wondering what Lydia wanted. A peace offering? Another attempt to push me out?
At six I arrived at the little café. Lydia was already there, stirring her coffee, her hands slightly trembling. She smiled weakly when she saw me.
Thank you for coming.
I sat opposite her, saying nothing. The waitress approached, but I declined.
I wont stay long, I said.
Lydia took a sip, set the cup down.
Ellie, I get that youre angry. I need you to understand Im not trying to replace your mother. I married your father, moved into his flat, and there were her things everywhere her photos, her dresses, even the scent of her perfume. I felt like a guest in my own home.
This isnt my home, I replied calmly. Youre merely living in it.
By law its my home too, since Im his wife.
So the issue is the flat?
No! Its respect. I want you to respect me, for my father to see me as his wife, not a standin for the late Mrs. Thompson.
He married you. Isnt that enough?
Not when he looks at his mothers portrait every day, when the wardrobe is full of her dresses, when his daughter sees me as an intruder.
I sighed.
I was never your enemy, Lydia. It just hurts to see Father forget Mum so quickly. They were together thirtyfive years. Thirtyfive! And he remarried less than a year after she passed.
He didnt forget her, Lydia said softly. He just cant bear being alone. He needs someone beside him.
And I? Was I not there?
Youre his daughter. Thats not the same.
I could see she was right, yet accepting it felt like a blade.
Fine, suppose I accept that. Why toss Mums things? You could have asked.
I wanted to surprise your father. He complained the flat was cluttered, that weIn the end, Ellie chose to keep her mothers memory alive in her heart while learning to share the house with Lydia, and together they forged a fragile, hopeful truce.
