What could be dearer than money?
Emily and Andrew had been married for nearly a decade, and they were raising two mischievous children they called weatherkids. Emily worked in a nursery, while Andrew toiled on the assembly line at a steel plant in Manchester. Their wages vanished into mortgage and loan payments, leaving hardly a penny for anything else.
Emily, what about your birthday? Andrew asked, his voice tinged with hope. Shall we mark the occasion? Its a milestone after all. He wanted her to remember turning thirty, but the bank balance offered no room for celebration.
What will we serve the guests? Stale crackers and tap water? Emily sighed.
No need to turn it into a banquet, Andrew replied. Just a small cake, a few sweets, and a pot of tea. We could invite Mum, Dad, and a couple of close relatives. Your brothers due back from London soon, isnt he?
Yes, Arthur mentioned hed be in town at the end of the month, but Im not keen on asking him over, Emily confessed, feeling the weight of endless childcare and perpetual shortage of cash.
She finally decided to call the relatives and ask them to drop by for tea at months end. She also phoned her brother. Arthur had lived for many years in the capital, running a large construction firm. He was single, consumed by work, and had little time for family or friendship.
When Arthur first settled in London, his fortunes rose like a tide. Huge contracts and soaring profits swelled his ego; he became proud, even haughty, mocking relatives as hapless dreamers. Emily found his contempt unbearable and soon reduced their contact to the bare minimum.
Will you come to my birthday? she asked, halfheartedly, knowing her mother would disapprove of Arthurs attendance.
Of course! Arthur replied, his voice brightening at the mention of a family gathering. Wheres the venue?
At home, Emily said. Just tea and a chat.
Aha, he chuckled, I forgot how tight your purse strings are. Ill think about it.
On the appointed day most of the invited kin arrived, tea steaming, laughter bubbling, but Arthur never stepped through the door. He had flown from London to the north, yet chose not to visit his sister.
My dear, you know your brother, her mother, Margaret, said, handing Emily a small parcel. He expected a restaurant affair, but he sent you a present after all.
Emily opened the box to find an old, tarnished figurine.
What am I supposed to do with this trinket? she asked, disappointment curling her lips.
Im not sure, Margaret admitted, having hoped for something more practical. Just thank him, anyway.
Later that evening, Arthur called.
I didnt come because I have more pressing matters than a tea party, he said.
And the gift could have stayed with me, Emily replied dryly.
You think this is nothing? Arthur laughed, a thin, ironic smile. Its an antique, worth a fair sum. A friend gave it to me, but it didnt fit my flat, so I sent it off.
What do you want me to do with it? Emily asked, the sting of his tone fresh.
Place it on a sideboard and pretend it brings you luck. Let it remind you of the wealth youll never earn, he said, then added, Dont even think of selling it! Photograph it each month and send me a report. I wont let you profit from my generosity!
His final words left Emily reeling. She knew Arthur was smug, but never this petty. She refused to send the photos; instead, Margaret took the camera and quietly recorded the figurine, hoping to keep the peace.
Months slipped by. Andrew lost his job at the plant, and the couples financial hole deepened.
Dont worry, Ill find work, Andrew tried to reassure, but his voice trembled.
Emily stared at the figurine. Weve got nothing left to eat. Maybe we should sell it? Its worth quite a bit, enough to clear the loans for a while.
But Arthur forbade it
Then what? Live on the streets? she retorted. If we dont liquidate it soon, therell be nowhere to put it.
Andrew nodded; the decision was theirs. The antique was, after all, a gift to Emily, and she alone could decide its fate.
She approached an antiquities dealer and walked away with a respectable sum. The debts vanished, a sigh of relief escaped the couple, and Andrew soon secured a new position in logistics. Life seemed to settle into a softer rhythm.
Yet the calm was shortlived. Margaret stopped sending Arthur the monthly photos of the figurine. She refused to tell him that Emily had sold it, concocting excuses for the silence. Arthur, a shrewd businessman, sensed something amiss. He returned to Manchester on a vague errand, determined to see if the antique still sat on Emilys dresser.
When he knocked, his presence startled Emily. She chose honesty over deceit.
My gift is now with other art lovers, she said.
What do you mean? Arthur asked, bewildered. What are you trying to say?
I sold your figurine, Emily admitted, her throat tight. We were drowning in debt and had no other choice.
Sold it?! Arthurs face turned a shade of crimson. I told you not to! Who gave you the right?
You gave me the right when you slipped it through Mum, he snapped.
No! Arthur shouted. I said it should stay at home!
Emilys patience snapped. Enough of your nonsense! Why would I keep a pricey trinket that sat idle on a shelf for months? If we hadnt sold it, wed be out on the pavement by now. Do you understand that?
I dont care about your finances! Arthur retorted. Deal with your problems yourself!
Fine, weve dealt with them! Emily shot back. At my expense, not yours!
Will you kick me out? he snarled. Ill leave this cupboard on my own. I knew youd break your promise, so Ill be gone!
Those were the last words Arthur uttered to his sister. The affluent businessman walked away, his pride bruised, expecting a triumphant revenge that never materialised.
When Arthur stormed out, Emily felt a strange, liberating lightness. No longer did she have to glance nervously at a costly relic. Selling the antique eased most of the familys money woes, a relief far more valuable than any lingering sibling spite.
Margaret was saddened by the rift between her children. She loved them both equally and tried to stay out of their quarrel, though neither sibling seemed to mind the fallout. Each went on with their own lives, the dreamlike echo of that birthday tea lingering like a halfremembered song.
