«You can always go back to your village,» said her husband when she lost her job.
«Margaret, why so quiet? Your soup’s getting cold,» William tapped his spoon against the edge of the bowl, glancing at his wife with irritation.
Margaret slowly lifted her head and set aside her phone. All day she had called acquaintances, searching for any kind of work, but the answer was always the sameno vacancies, recession, cutbacks.
«Sorry, I was lost in thought,» she picked up her spoon and tasted the vegetable stew. Shed made it specially that morning, just the way William liked itthick with carrots and peas. Now it all seemed pointless.
«Whats on your mind, then?» He sipped the hot soup, eyeing her between mouthfuls. «Still worrying about work?»
«What else is there to worry about?» Margaret sighed, pushing her bowl away. «Lisa says theyre making cuts in her department too. And Sarah from accounting hasnt found anything in three months.»
«Oh, dont be ridiculous!» William waved a hand. «Youll find something. Theres no rush.»
«William, Im forty-three. Whod hire me now? They all want young peopleuniversity degrees, computer skills. What have I got? A lifetime behind a shop counter.»
«Whats wrong with that? Honest work,» he finished his soup and reached for bread. «Speaking ofthis breads stale. When did you buy it?»
Margaret said nothing. Shed bought it two days ago, cutting corners wherever she could. Since being let go from the grocers, their budget had shrunk. Williams wages from the construction site werent much, and often late.
«Maybe you should visit Emily,» he suggested abruptly. «Stay a week or two, take your mind off things. Ill manage here.»
Emily was Margarets younger sister, living in London, working as some high-flying manager. She rarely called, except on holidays.
«Why would I go to her? Shes got her own life, her own family. And we cant afford the fare.»
«Well find the money,» William stood and walked to the window. «Listenwhat if you went to your mums instead? Back to the village. At least theres homegrown potatoes, fresh milk. You wouldnt go hungry.»
Margaret froze, spoon in hand. Her mother lived in Ashford, a hundred miles from town. She hadnt been back in three yearsnot since her uncles funeral. The village was dying, the young long gone, only pensioners left.
«Are you serious? The village?» She stared at him, disbelieving. «And what about you?»
«What about me? Ive got work here. I cant just drop everything and come with you. Im the only one bringing in money now.»
«For now,» she corrected quietly.
«Must you twist my words?» He turned sharply. «Im not saying forever. Stay a month or two, maybe something will turn up here. Better than sitting idle, isnt it?»
«Idle?» Margaret stood and began clearing the table. «Who keeps this house clean? Who does the washing, the cooking? Who stood in that clinic queue for hours when your back gave out?»
«Well, thats just how it is,» William shrugged. «You know what I mean. Its just…» He hesitated, scratching his head. «You can always go back to your village if you want. Itd be quieter thereno need to fret over work every day.»
His words struck her like a slap. *Back to your village.* As if this town hadnt been her home for twenty years. As if she were just passing through.
«My village?» she repeated slowly. «And this house? Is it not mine? Have I been a guest here for twenty years?»
«Whats got into you, Maggie?» William faltered at her tone. «I didnt mean it like that. I just»
«You just find me inconvenient, dont you? A wife without a job, no wages. Better pack her off somewhere out of sight.»
«Dont talk rubbish!» He slumped onto the sofa and turned on the television. «Im tired after work, and youre picking fights.»
Margaret washed the dishes in silence, drying her hands on the towel. His words circled in her head. *You can always go back to your village.* And the way hed said itdismissive, almost relieved.
That night, William fell asleep in front of the TV, while Margaret lay awake. She remembered how theyd met. She was twenty-three, newly arrived in town, renting a room in a shared flat, working as a shop assistant. William had been a labourer thereyoung, handsome, attentive. Hed courted her for months, brought flowers, took her to the pictures. After the wedding, theyd rented a proper flat, then took out a mortgage. Margaret moved to a bigger supermarket, became senior assistant, then section manager.
And now? He wanted her gone, like an unwanted thing.
«Mum? Why are you calling so late?» Her daughter Claires sleepy voice crackled through the phone.
«Claire, love, sorryI forgot the time. How are you?»
«Fine. Whats wrong? You sound odd.»
Claire lived in the next town over, worked at a bank, recently married. They spoke maybe once a week, if that.
«Nothings wrong. Just missed you. Hows Daniel?»
«Hes good. Mum, are you sure youre alright? Your voice sounds off.»
Margaret wanted to tell her about the job, about Williams wordsbut stopped herself. Why burden the young? They had their own troubles.
«Im fine, sweetheart. Go back to sleep. Big day tomorrow.»
«Mum, why dont you come visit? Its been ages.»
«Well see. Sleep well.»
At breakfast, William was unusually affectionate. He brought her tea in bed, kissed her cheek.
«Sorry if I upset you last night. I only want whats best.»
«I know,» Margaret forced a smile.
«ListenI spoke to the lads at work. Steve says his wifes office needs a bookkeeper. Might suit you?»
«Im not a bookkeeper,» she reminded him.
«You could learn. Take a course. Its all about attitude.»
«Courses cost money. A lot of money.»
«Well manage,» he waved a hand. «If youre willing.»
She was willing. She had the strength. But each morning, scanning job listings, she felt more obsolete. *»Sales assistant wanted, under 30.» «Manager required, Excel experience essential.» «Sales specialist, max age 40.»*
«Jane, hi,» Margaret rang her old colleague from the shop. «How are you? Any news?»
«Maggie!» Janes voice brightened. «Thought youd forgotten us. Found anything yet?»
«Not yet. What about your lot?»
«Bad. Two more laid off last week. Tina from produce and Anne from dairy. Reckon more cuts coming.»
«And Mrs. Thompson?»
«The manager? Hiding in her office, pretending alls well. Shops changing handsnew owner wants a clean sweep.»
Margaret hung up and sat by the window. Children played outside, young mothers chatted on benches. Life went on, and shed been left behind.
«Im going to Mums,» she told William at dinner.
«How long?» He didnt look up from his plate.
«Dont know. A week. Maybe longer.»
«Fine. Have a rest. Ill sort the housefinish that cupboard repair.»
«The cupboard?» She stared. «Youve been finishing that for six months.»
«Well, now Ive got time. Be quicker without you fussing over it.»
Margaret said nothing. *Without you fussing.* Another phrase lodged in her heart like a splinter.
She packed lightlyjeans, a few blouses, a warm jacket. William saw her to the bus, kissed her goodbye.
«Call me,» he said. «Once youre there.»
«Alright.»
«And give your mum my regards. Tell her Ill visit soon.»
She nodded, though she knew he wouldnt. William hated the villagesaid it was dull and midge-ridden.
The bus to Ashford took three hours. Margaret gazed at passing fields, copses, the occasional hamlet. The further from town, the calmer she felt. Maybe William was right. Maybe she needed thistime away from the grind.
«Maggie!» Her mother met her at the garden gate, hugging her tight. «What a surprise! Why didnt you warn me? Id have made stew, baked a pie.»
«Last-minute decision, Mum. I missed you.»
Her mother studied her. Evelyn Hayes missed little.
«Wheres William? Not coming?»
«Hes busy. Might visit later.»
«Ah,» her mother said, and asked no more.
The house was just as Margaret rememberedfloral wallpaper, creaky floors, the old stove in the kitchen. Only smaller, somehow. And the smellhay, fresh milk, woodsmoke.
«You know where everything is,» her mother said. «Make yourself at home. Ill fix us a proper supperroast chicken, celebrate your visit.»
«Mum, dont fuss. Im not hungry.»
«Not hungry, my foot. Youre skin and bone. Doesnt William feed you?»
«He does. Its just… Im tired.»
Evelyn stroked her hair.
«Youll tell me when youre ready. Rest now.»
The first days, Margaret did just thatslept late, helped in the garden, visited old neighbours. Many were gone, cottages shuttered. The village was fading.
«Remember Nora Jenkins?» her mother asked over tea. «Your classmate.»
«Of course. How is she?»
«Gone to live with her son in town ten years back. He put her in a home. Can you imagine? His own mother!»
«Why?»
«Said he hadnt the time. Wife works, he works, the kids. Old Mum just got in the way.»
Margaret shivered. Like walking over a grave.
«What happened to her house?»
«Sold it allhouse, livestock. Son needed money, some loan or other.»
«And Nora agreed?»
«What choice had she? Couldnt manage alone. Big garden, cow, hens. Shes seventy-five now.»
That evening, Margaret walked through the village. She met Mrs. Whitaker, her old schoolteacher, tending roses.
«Margaret, dear!» The old woman beamed. «How youve grown! Still see you as that little girl reciting *The Owl and the Pussycat* at the school play.»
«I remember, Mrs. Whitaker. You havent changed.»
«Oh, get on! Im ancient. But I manage. Still in my own home.»
«Your children?»
«London and Bristol. Visit once a year, if that.»
«They dont call?»
«Oh, birthdays, Christmas. Ask if Im still kicking.» Mrs. Whitaker smiled sadly. «Want me to move to town, but I couldnt. My whole lifes here.»
Walking home, Margaret thought of Mrs. Whitaker, of Nora, of her own mother. Once young, vital, needed. Now left with memories.
«Mum, have you ever thought of moving to town?» she asked at supper.
«Thought about it. Winters especially, when the lanes are snowed in. But where would I go? To you? What if William minded? Your place is small, and Ive my ways…»
«Mum, since when does William decide? Youre my mother. Youd always be welcome.»
«I know, love. But best not test it. I manage.»
«And if you fell ill? If something happened?»
«Well, if it does, it does. Im not the first, wont be the last.»
Margaret bit back a reply. Williams words echoed: *You can always go back to your village.* And she realisedshe feared the same fate for her mother. Feared her own daughter might one day say those words.
On the fourth day, William called.
«Hows it going? Hows your mum?»
«Fine. Were managing.»
«When are you coming back?»
«Dont know. Might stay a while.»
«Youre joking. What about the house? What about me?»
«Youll cope. You said youd manage quicker without me.»
«Meg, I didnt mean»
«What did you mean?»
A long silence.
«Fine, stay awhile. But dont be too long. I miss you.»
«Miss me,» she repeated after he hung up.
«Was that William?» her mother asked.
«Yes.»
«And?»
«He misses me.»
«Do you miss him?»
Margaret paused. Strangely, she didnt. For the first time in years, she felt at peace. No rushing meals, no listening to Williams grumbles about work, life, everything.
«I dont know, Mum. Not yet.»
«I see,» Evelyn said.
«Mum… did you and Dad ever argue?»
«Course we did. Made up, though. He never belittled me, never made me feel unwanted. Respected me.»
«And if he had?»
«Dont know. Never happened.»
That evening, Margaret visited Mrs. Whitaker again. The old woman sat knitting on her porch.
«Ive been thinking,» Mrs. Whitaker said. «About children. Know what Ive realised? We raised them to take. Never taught them to give.»
«How so?»
«We gave them everythingour best, our all. They grew up expecting it. Mum will always provide, always sacrifice. And when weve nothing left to give? Were in the way.»
«Should we have done differently?»
«Perhaps. Perhaps we shouldve kept something for ourselves. Then they mightve valued us more.»
Walking home, Margaret turned it over. Shed given everythingto parents, husband, daughter. And what had she gotten in return? When she was no longer useful, shed been politely dismissed.
«Mum, what if I stayed?» she asked at breakfast.
«Stayed how?»
«Live here. Help you.»
«And William?»
«William can manage. He said so himself.»
Evelyn was silent a long time. Then softly:
«Do you want to stay? Or is it just pride?»
«I dont know. But here… I feel at peace. No one calls me a burden.»
«Love, the village isnt running away. Its hard living here. Lonely. Think carefully.»
«I am. Every day.»
Two days later, William arrived. Margaret saw him at the gate, hesitating. She went out.
«Hi,» he said awkwardly. «You alright?»
«Fine. Why are you here?»
«To take you home. Time to come back.»
«Time for whom?»
«Meg, dont be daft! Youve had your break. Theres work at home.»
«Your work.»
«Our work! Were a family!»
«Family?» She almost laughed. «When you told me to come here, was that family?»
«I didnt throw you out! I suggested a rest!»
«You can always go back to your villagethats a rest?»
William flushed. Knew hed messed up.
«Poor choice of words. Didnt mean to hurt you.»
«Then what did you mean?»
«I meant… I meant you shouldnt suffer. Over a job.»
«And now?»
«Now I want you back. Homes not home without you.»
«And if I dont find work? Will you send me away again?»
«I wont.»
«Promise?»
«Promise.»
Margaret studied himand knew she didnt believe him. Something between them had broken, and she wasnt sure it could be fixed.
«William… if youd lost your job, would I have told you to leave?»
«Thats different.»
«Why?»
«Because Im the man. The provider.»
«And Im what?»
«Youre… youre my wife. My support.»
«Support,» she repeated. «Needed while useful. A burden when not.»
«Dont be ridiculous!» he exploded. «What burden? Are you ill?»
«No. Just unemployed. Excess baggage.»
«Stop this nonsense!»
«Then why send me away?»
William had no answer. He didnt fully understand himselfjust thought itd be easier. Fewer disappointed looks, fewer job talks.
«Alright, I was wrong. Sorry. Come home?»
«No.»
«What?»
«Im not ready.»
«At all?»
«I dont know. Im happy here. Mum needs help. Youll manageyou said so.»
«Meg, Ive apologised! What more do you want?»
«Nothing. I just… need to think. About us. About me. About what comes next.»
William stayed the night, left in the morninghurt, confused. The wife whod always yielded was suddenly firm.
«Love,» her mother said as the bus disappeared. «Think again. Maybe he truly regrets it?»
«Maybe. But I cant go back yet. I need time, Mum. To remember who I am without him. Whether I can stand aloneor if Ive forgotten how.»
«Will you look for work here?»
«I will. The school in town needs a cleaner. Pays low, but enough. And theres the garden in summer.»
«Plenty to do.»
Margaret hugged her mother, leaning into her shoulder. For the first time in years, she was home. Truly home.
