Now Im not your mother any more, I heard echoing in the hazy hallway.
Sam stared at the cracked tiles, his eyes never leaving the floor. Well have to sell the flat, and the car too, he whispered. These folk wont leave us be. It wont be just me who suffers you and little Poppy will feel it as well.
What about the police? I asked, the words slipping like silver coins.
What police? he said, finally looking up, his voice thin. I owe them, and every day the interest climbs higher than the Thames. You might as well hang yourself. Youll stay with my mother for a while, with the girl.
And you?
I have to get out of here. I wont be able to settle the debts; the companys already been stripped. Ill head north. The rigs out in the Pennines pay well now. Maybe, once Im there, the storm will settle.
I understood it was coming when hardeyed men with shadows of past crimes began stopping by our door, pulling Sam into conversations on the street. He would return looking hollow, sometimes angry, snapping at Poppy for the smallest mischiefs. She was only four, not some trained terrier.
Sams business was a knot of nonsense. Yes, TechTrade sold computers online, but I never saw where the laptops and monitors arrived from. Most likely they were counterfeit, because whole batches were periodically pulled from the market. To keep the ship afloat, Sam slipped into fresh debts. Hed managed to wriggle out a few times, but this time the net held tight, crushing him.
I had grown up in a Yorkshire village, and without a proper city flat I could have tucked myself into my parents cottage. Yet I didnt want to quit my job I was deputy head at Beaumont Academy, an elite private school where English literature was the heartbeat, and the headmistress, Mrs. Beatrice Langley, had already announced shed retire in a year, leaving the headship open. Walking away would have been foolish.
Living under my motherinlaws roof was never going to be a garden of roses. From the moment we met the relationship had been prickly. At first I was the unwanted bride, a country girl you could spot a mile away. When I earned my degrees with honours and began teaching at the school, she called me a foreign fop who shouldnt be cooking bangers and mash. Yet Sam praised my stews; they were good. The only thing that kept me from cooking at home was the schools extendedday classes that ran until dusk.
Mrs. Langley smiled at her granddaughter, but her tone toward me was sharp:
Good wives dont flee north.
It isnt me he fled from, its his creditors. Hes drowning in debt.
And where have you been looking? A good wife keeps the finances in line. Back then everything was just housekeeping. You, for all we know, have never cooked a decent dinner for a child.
When I have time, I manage the house.
Then why dont you have one? What sort of school runs lessons till midnight? Ill have a look. I suspect youve set yourself up as a replacement for a proper husband
She marched into the school one evening, eyes scanning the foreignlooking signage, the stray cats prowling the corridors. It looks like a zoo, not a place of learning, she muttered. Decent women wont work in such chaos. She also noted how a lanky man kept lingering on me, as if trying to strip me with his gaze.
That lanky man was Derek Sinclair, another English teacher. He seemed to like me, but never crossed the line, knowing I had a family.
The cats, she learned, were part of a British educational method, meant to soften childrens hearts. The school had deliberately let a few Britishshorthair cats roam, even allowing them onto desks during lessons. The cats behaved themselves most of the time, though they were mischievous enough to be memorable.
Sam sent occasional emails, never detailing his whereabouts, but they hinted at his movements. Once or twice men with hard faces showed up, asking after Sams location.
Then the messages stopped. I worried the creditors might have found him, but my motherinlaw stayed oddly optimistic:
If theyd found him, theyd stop coming here.
Then why did he fall silent?
You dont understand. Hes a good lad; he wont stay lonely forever
A year later, just before the school term ended, Sam wrote that hed met another woman and was now living with her. He didnt call it an affair; after all, we were never married. He never mentioned Poppy at all, as if she never existed. Mrs. Langley immediately offered an excuse:
She must know Poppy isnt his.
How? She was born under his roof.
She was under his roof, not his child.
What rubbish are you spouting, mother?
Im no longer your mother. I may be a grandmother to Poppy, but from now on Im Elizabeth Marlowe, or perhaps nobody at all thats better.
It was clear we had to move out of the former motherinlaws flat. The thought of renting a new place while raising Poppy seemed bleak. I could try to scrimp, but why stay in a city where, apart from my child, I had no family left? My own parents, hearing of my woes, urged me back to the village, promising a teaching post rural schools always need teachers.
Mrs. Langley set aside my resignation with a sigh:
Girl, dont get carried away. I intend to keep the school running, and the board doesnt mind.
But where will Poppy and I live?
Ill speak to the board. They might fund your rent or give a loan. In the meantime, move to my cottage. The academic year is ending, May is here, and you wont need heating. My husband only uses it on weekends. In the summer you can take a holiday, then youll go to your parents.
Derek Sinclair offered to haul our belongings in his old sedan. All we had left were a few clothes and a modest set of dishes. On the road he asked:
Where will you stay in winter?
Katherine promised to find something to rent.
Why bother? I have a spare onebedroom flat. I stay with my mother most nights; shes ill and cooks for me. You cant survive on frozen dumplings and instant noodles forever.
Well see. In summer Ill go to the village, maybe stay there for good.
What about the school? Theyre grooming you for the headship
I was always being set up for marriage before. Schools exist everywhere.
At the cottage Poppy thrived on fresh air; her cheeks flushed rosy. She, I, and Mrs. Langley quickly became one big, odd family.
Memories of the former life faded. It hurt, but perhaps it was for the best. Sam would have left anyway; he never wanted to go through the registry office.
Derek drove us to the village with Poppy snuggled in his lap. We arrived at dusk, unloaded the few boxes, and Derek began to turn back, but my motherinlaw stopped him:
Stay a while, well have fresh milk for dinner.
I followed, saying,
Mother, did you accept Derek as my husband?
What do you mean?
Theres no promise between us, no future.
Youre not seeing the way he looks at you. Poppy could be yours too
From a distance I watched Derek laugh with Poppy, their chatter light. Perhaps some plans did sprout in the mist.
A warmth settled over me, as if Id slipped back into childhoods soft blanket.
