Mum had said Emmy was to think of herself as someone who had only one parent. Just a mum. There was no one else. In more recent years, Mum had explained that there had been a party and she’d had too much to drink. A man she barely knew told her she was pretty on a night when she felt ugly. It was as simple as that. Emmy wasn’t to give that man another thought.
But how could Emmy not think about the man who was her father? He had made Mum what she was—an unmarried mother and a kitchen maid who, as near as Emmy could tell, would struggle the rest of her life to make ends meet.
“Don’t you ever take on blame for something you had no control over,” Nana had said, and Emmy had sensed in her tone that she’d given herself the same counsel often enough. That advice came back to Emmy now as she stood there, watching Mum make tea; then the years blended in Emmy’s mind and the last words Nana said to her filled her head.
You work on those stitches, Emmeline. It will give you something constructive to do while your mother is out earning her keep.
Those words had embarrassed Emmy when Nana said them. At thirteen, Emmy knew what Nana was implying. But Mum had been so angry, and the charge so appalling, Emmy had kicked the notion away. Nana and Mum had often said terrible things to each other. Things that weren’t true.
But now it was as if a bright light had been switched on and the blackout curtains had fallen from their rods.
Mum had thrown Nana out of the house because her mother had accused her of sleeping her way to a job in a rich woman’s house.
Emmy now watched as Mum poured water into a chipped Royal Doulton teacup, a castoff from Mrs. Billingsley. She stirred in the sugar with a spoon that had also been a Billingsley hand-me-down. Emmy took in the small kitchen, with its pretty tile floors, reliable plumbing, and cabinets of hardwood. Their dining table was nothing special but it was not a rickety tumble of sticks, either. The sofa, just a few feet away from Emmy, was not moth-eaten and the rugs were not threadbare. She and Julia had warm blankets in the winter and comfortable beds to sleep in. Mum had her own bedroom. They always had food in the cupboards and shoes on their feet and clothes on their backs. Their existence was not extravagant, but they never lacked for the basics—and all this on the paycheck of an unmarried kitchen maid.
A kitchen maid who’d landed the job with no experience.
How could she have not seen it before? How could she have been so stupid to think a kitchen maid with no husband and two children could manage to afford this flat and its modest but adequate furnishings?
Someone had arranged for Mum to get the job at Mrs. Billingsley’s house when Neville left. That was why Mum had been so confident the day of her interview. What kind of person would do that for a woman like her mother? Emmy suddenly understood why Nana had been so fearful when Mum came home with the uniform over her arm. Surely Mum was being compensated for something else besides boiling water for tea and shopping for hams.
“How could you do that?” Emmy whispered to Mum’s back.
Mum turned around, the teacup poised for a sip and her gaze on Emmy defiant. “How could I do what?”
“How could you do that?”
Her mother lowered the cup. “You don’t know anything about anything, Em,” Mum said calmly, “so shut your mouth.”
It was almost as if she were admitting to Emmy outright that someone was paying her for sex. Emmy looked at her with revulsion. “Is it Mrs. Billingsley’s butler? Her chauffeur?”
Mum laughed but without mirth. “Really, Em. Is that what you think?”
“Tell me I’m wrong!”
She lifted her cup to Emmy in a salute. “You’re wrong.” Mum walked past her daughter and Emmy followed her into the living room. Mum parted the blackout curtains covering the window by the front door and a sallow sun seeped into the room. She took a long drink of her tea.
“Then explain all this!” Emmy yelled. “Explain how you can afford this flat and the clothes in your wardrobe! Explain how you got a job as a kitchen maid when you hadn’t ever been one before! Explain where you were last night!”
Mum whipped around and hot tea sloshed out of the cup and onto her hand. She didn’t even flinch.
“How dare you talk to me that way after all I have done for you?” Her voice was even and controlled, but her eyes glistened with anger. “After all I have sacrificed for you!”
“I never asked you to degrade yourself for any of this!” Emmy swept her arm in front of her to include the room’s furnishings.
“You have no business scolding me for what I do for you.”
“And you can’t keep blaming me for your mistakes!”
Emmy and her mother stood there glaring at each other for several seconds. Then Mum brushed past Emmy and walked back into the kitchen. Emmy followed her. Mum poured more tea into her cup, but a second later she hurled it into the sink. The teacup shattered and bits of porcelain flew up like ocean spray.
“You can’t keep blaming me for your mistakes,” Emmy said again. It was all she could say.
Mum placed her hands on the countertop and lowered her head. Her chest was heaving but she made no sound other than the inhalation and exhalation of air in her lungs.
“I have paid for everything I have ever given you, Emmy,” Mum said calmly. “I have paid and paid and paid.”
The accusation slid into Emmy’s core like a steel blade. “It’s not my fault you got pregnant.” Tears spilled down her cheeks.
“Just because it’s not your fault doesn’t mean you’re not a part of this. Leave me alone, Em.”
Emmy started to walk away but then abruptly turned back. Mum was not going to ruin anything for her ever again. She was through. She would get out of the flat and out of her way as soon as she could. Emmy would prove herself worthy to Mrs. Crofton and the woman’s cousin. She would move heaven and earth to make something of herself. As soon as she had her feet under her and her own place to live, she would come for Julia. Mum would be free to live whatever kind of life she wanted or had been denied. They would both have what they wanted most.
“I got a job working for the lady at the bridal shop,” Emmy said.
Mum faced her. “What?”
“I said I got a job. At the bridal shop. Two afternoons a week and some Saturdays.”
“The bridal shop.”
“Yes, the bridal shop. The owner is going to teach me to sew. She also looked at my sketches today and she said I have talent.”
“You and your brides,” Mum said derisively, under her breath but loud enough for Emmy to hear.
“She said I have talent! She likes my wedding gowns!”
“Pieces of paper, Emmy! They’re just pieces of paper. Just wait until you grow up and you see what real life is like. You can draw all the dresses you want and imagine your life an endless parade of perfect tomorrows. But wishing it won’t make it happen and neither will all the white bridal lace in the world. You’re chasing after moonbeams, Em. Someday you’re going to remember I told you this. You’ll thank me then. Just you wait.”
“I am grown-up. And I’m not like you.” The words felt like poison off Emmy’s lips, distasteful even to her. This time, Mum flinched but she held Emmy’s gaze.
“Everybody’s like me,” she said.
Emmy turned from her.
“I didn’t say you could take on a job!” she called after Emmy, almost like an afterthought.
“I’m not asking for your permission.”
“What am I supposed to do with Julia while you’re working?” she yelled as Emmy and her mother reassumed their roles.
“I’m not her mother. You are,” Emmy shouted back.
Emmy headed for the stairs that led to the bedrooms to get dressed for the day. She met Julia halfway.
“Why are you and Mum yelling?” Julia’s eyes were half-closed with the remnants of sleep. She hadn’t heard much.
“Mum broke a teacup. She’s just sad about it. Let’s leave her alone for a little bit.”
Emmy led her sister back up the stairs to their room and shut the door.