The bus rattled down the narrow country lane, hedgerows brushing against its sides as Emily stared out at the rolling fields of Yorkshire. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her worn handbag, the one she’d carried every day to the supermarket for fifteen years. Until last month.
«You can always go back to your village,» Daniel had said when the redundancy letter arrived.
The words still burned.
«Em? You’re miles away.» Daniel tapped his fork against the plate, the sharp clink pulling her back. «Shepherd’s pie’s going cold.»
She picked up her cutlery, forcing a bite. She’d made it specially his favourite, with extra cheese on top. Now it tasted like ash.
«Thinking about work again?» He didn’t wait for an answer. «Sarah from the bakery said they’re laying off staff too. Three departments gone at Morrisons.»
«I’m forty-three, Dan.» Her voice cracked. «Who hires a checkout girl my age? They all want graduates now, people who can work those self-service machines.»
«Honest work’s honest work.» He reached for the bread. «Stale. When did you buy this?»
Emily said nothing. She’d bought it three days ago, counting every penny since Tesco let her go. Daniel’s construction wages barely covered the mortgage, and even those came late half the time.
«Maybe visit your sister in Manchester?» he offered suddenly. «Stay a week. Clear your head.»
Her younger sister Louise hadn’t called since Christmas.
«And do what? Invade her perfect life? Train tickets cost fifty quid.»
«Worth it,» Daniel muttered, turning to the window. «Or go to your mum’s. The cottage. At least there’s vegetables from the garden.»
Emily froze.
Little Moreton. The village she’d left at eighteen. Last visit was for Uncle Jack’s funeral, the place half-empty now, just pensioners and holiday lets.
«You’re serious?» Her teacup clattered. «Send me packing like some unwanted parcel?»
«For God’s sake, Em!» He spun around, work boots scuffing the laminate. «I’m trying to help! You mope about the house all day»
«Who does the laundry? Who stood in A&E for six hours when you threw your back out?»
«That’s not what I meant!» The television blared to life, drowning him out.
Later, as Daniel snored through a football match, Emily crept upstairs. The photo on the dresser showed them twenty years younger him grinning in his warehouse uniform, her in the floral dress she’d worn on their first date at the Black Bull pub. They’d saved for years to buy this semi-detached. She’d worked her way up to supervisor.
Now? An inconvenience to be shipped off.
Her daughter’s sleepy voice answered on the fourth ring. «Mum? It’s midnight.»
«Sorry, love. Just wanted to hear your voice.»
Charlotte hesitated. «Is Dad being a prat again?»
Emily swallowed the confession. Newlywed Charlotte had her own struggles. «Go back to sleep, sweetheart.»
At breakfast, Daniel played the penitent husband bringing tea in bed, kissing her cheek. «Spoke to Dave on site. His missus needs a receptionist at the dentist’s.»
«I’ve never used a computerised booking system.»
«You’ll learn!» He waved his toast like a flag. «Course costs two hundred, but we’ll manage.»
The job centre crushed that hope by lunchtime. *»Sales assistant wanted (under 35). Office manager requires Excel proficiency. No retail experience considered.»*
Her old colleague Bev confirmed the carnage when Emily rang. «They’ve closed aisles 4 through 9. Manager says we’re next.»
Emily watched young mums push prams past the window, their laughter floating through the glass. Life moving on without her.
«I’m going to Mum’s,» she announced at supper.
Daniel didn’t look up from his phone. «How long?»
«A week. Maybe more.»
«Good. I’ll finally fix that shed.»
«Three years you’ve said that.»
«Be easier without you nagging.»
The barb lodged deep.
She packed light jeans, jumpers, her waxed jacket. Daniel drove her to the station, pecking her cheek like she was off on a weekend spa trip.
«Text when you arrive.»
The train carved through patchwork fields, each mile softening the knot in her chest. Sheep dotted the dales like tufts of cotton wool. Maybe Daniel was right. Maybe she did need this.
Mum waited at the garden gate, arthritic hands clutching her apron. «Em! You should’ve called! I’d have made shortbread!»
The cottage smelled of woodsmoke and laundry soap, just as Emily remembered. The Aga’s warmth seeped into her bones as Mum bustled about.
«Where’s that husband of yours? Too busy?»
The lie came easily. «Work crisis.»
Mum’s eyes narrowed but she said nothing.
For three days, Emily existed in a pleasant haze feeding chickens, walking the overgrown footpath to St. Michael’s, visiting Mrs. Wilkins who’d taught her Year 4. The retired schoolmistress sat shelling peas on her porch swing.
«Young people think we’re furniture,» the old woman mused. «Something to be stored when inconvenient.» She nodded at the For Sale sign across the lane. «Jenny Cooper’s son put her in a home last winter. Sold her piano to pay his gambling debts.»
That evening, Emily found Mum kneading dough, flour dusting her forearms like snow.
«Would you hate if I stayed?»
The rolling pin stilled. «Because you want to? Or to spite Daniel?»
«I don’t know.» Emily traced a crack in the table. «Here, I’m not just… someone’s leftover.»
Mum wiped her hands slowly. «Village life isn’t running away, love. It’s choosing. Hard choosing.»
Daniel arrived unannounced on Friday, looming awkwardly by the rose bushes.
«Come home.»
«Why? The shed’s not finished.»
«Christ, Em! I said I’m sorry!»
«For what exactly? Treating me like expired milk?»
His face darkened. «I’m the bloody breadwinner! You’d never say this if»
«If you were the one discarded?» She stepped onto the gravel, the stones sharp through her thin soles. «I’ve applied for a cleaning job at the primary school. Minimum wage, but Mum needs help with the roof.»
Daniel stared at her like she’d grown antlers. «You’re not serious.»
«Watch me.»
As his Audi disappeared in a spray of dirt, Mum touched her shoulder.
«He might change.»
Emily watched a sparrow land on the empty clothesline. «So might I.»
The next morning, she woke to the cockerel’s cry and realised for the first time in years she hadn’t dreamed of beeping scanners or queuing customers. Just the wind through the barley fields, endless and forgiving.
