Her mother had always taught her exactly how life should be lived. For years Helen shared the same roof with her, but now she’d had enough. She craved freedom again. Leaving a domineering mother wasn’t actually that difficult. They owned a spacious four-room flat. Why not split it? Three rooms for Helen (she had two children, after all) and a small one-room place for the old lady.
Unfair, you think? Not at all. That was precisely how it ought to be.
Years earlier Helen had lived on her own. Then she gave in to her mother’s pleading and they swapped their two separate two-room flats for one big one. That happened right after Mum caught Helen’s then-husband Nick in bed with Yana—Helen’s supposed best friend. Some friend.
Helen’s life was littered with “exes”: ex-husband, ex-best friend, ex-girlfriends, ex-lover, ex-jobs. Yet she kept marching forward; change never frightened her. She had just turned fifty-four—time to start all over again.
—Mum, I can’t go on like this. You’re the closest person in the world to me, but living with you is impossible. We’re too different. I feel suffocated.
Her mother pressed her lips together, hurt, and walked silently to her room. “She’ll be crying in there,” Helen thought guiltily and felt a pang of sadness. Of course she felt sorry for the old woman. She had once been a stunning beauty. Now? Sagging chin, deep wrinkles, thinning grey hair. A proper old lady.
When Helen was born, her mother Evelyn was only twenty. There had been no happiness in that young marriage. After endless affairs, Evelyn packed her cheating husband’s clothes into a suitcase, set his guitar beside it, and pointed firmly at the door. Helen has no memory of her father; she only knows he was a musician.
Life was hard for Evelyn afterwards. She had loved the bastard deeply. In an attempt to erase him completely she tore up every photograph, so Helen never even knew what he looked like.
At first the two of them lived in a draughty old barracks with no comforts. By the age of seven Helen could light the stove; by ten she was hauling buckets from the street pump.
The old women next door shook their heads. “That flighty Evelyn—what’s she playing at? Off gallivanting somewhere and leaving the little girl to manage the house.” And it was true—Evelyn was gone from morning till night. But she wasn’t out enjoying herself; she was working long shifts at the clothing factory, staying late whenever overtime was offered so her daughter would want for nothing.
The other children shunned Helen. Of course they did. She was always better dressed, never hung around with the rough crowd, never learned to smoke or sneak kisses behind garages. A proper little oddity. Easy target. The fact she had no father gave them all the ammunition they needed.
One day a horrible boy called Victor humiliated her in front of the whole class.
—If I ever catch my dad going to your mum’s place again, I’ll burn your door down. Got it?
Victor’s father had indeed come round once—to fix the wiring. Evelyn gave him tea and three roubles. He wouldn’t leave. Kept winking, making suggestions. Evelyn lost her temper.
—One more word and I’ll scream so loud the whole street comes running!
Helen burst into tears; the man fled and never darkened their door again.
Then came a real miracle—one spring day Helen would remember for the rest of her life. It was too early for a winter coat and she was sick of her old fur jacket. Water dripped everywhere, the sun shone gently, birds chirped happily. Helen stood in the yard watching the other children play at a distance—she was never invited.
Suddenly a bright yellow car pulled up. Helen was expecting her mother, but not in a taxi. Evelyn stepped out with a smartly dressed stranger in a dazzling white naval uniform, holding an enormous teddy bear.
—Darling, look who’s come! This is your new daddy! There’s no daddy like him anywhere—he’s a captain!
The neighbourhood kids froze mid-game. The old ladies whispered meaningfully. Even the sparrows cocked their heads in surprise.
—Well I never, Evelyn’s husband’s come back at last, croaked an old woman who sounded exactly like a crow.
No one could even remember what the real husband—the musician—had looked like.
The smiling captain walked over, handed Helen the bear, lifted her high and kissed her cheeks. “Take that!” she thought triumphantly. “See how much my new daddy loves me? Just try teasing me now!”
Overnight Helen became the star of the yard and the school. Soon Captain Boris would whisk them away to Sevastopol—sea, sunshine, and a brand-new life. She strutted like a peacock, stuffed herself with sweets, and believed every word of the fairy tale. Two months later Boris left to “prepare everything” and would send for them soon.
Evelyn didn’t grieve long. Next came cheerful policeman Alex, who gave Helen toy pistols and promised to teach her to shoot a real gun when she was older. Then outdoorsy Gene, who taught her to camp and survive in the woods. Then Vladimir, who showed her how to stand up for herself. Finally lazy Sergey, who did nothing but lie on the sofa.
Whenever a new “daddy” appeared, Evelyn floated on air—sang, laughed, cooked Helen’s favourite pancakes, showered her with presents. The moment he vanished, everything turned black. Evelyn would scream the most terrible names at her daughter—little bitch, monster, cow—far worse than that.
—You disgusting creature! You’re exactly like your worthless father! I hate that useless musician! I wasted the best years of my life on him!
From then on Helen learned two lessons that stuck: music was a pointless waste of time, and all men were bastards—selfish, ungrateful traitors.
For moral support Evelyn often visited her wealthy older cousins. Helen hated going there. They were much older than her mother, comfortably off, and loved lecturing—especially after a few drinks. She still remembers their fat, trembling cheeks, stubby ring-covered fingers, and gold teeth.
—Don’t be stupid, Evelyn, Cousin Olive would say, piling her plate high. —This Derek is perfect. Loaded. He’ll dress you and the girl properly. You’ll live like queens.
—Olive’s talking sense, Cousin Tanya would chime in, topping up her glass. —Listen to your sisters; we only want the best for you. Yes, Derek’s old—so what? Where are all your handsome young ones now?
Evelyn would hesitate, knock back her wine, and say she’d think about it.
Then the singing would start. They had beautiful voices, but Helen hated the endless mournful songs that always ended with all three women sobbing into their handkerchiefs.
When they got home the interrogation began. Had Helen been with any boys yet? Better not come home pregnant, or she’d be thrown out “with the little bastard.” Terrified, twelve-year-old Helen would huddle on the sofa until her mother sobered up. That was when she learned for good that every single man was a villain.
Soon afterwards they moved into a comfortable two-room flat with central heating and running water. At the new school Helen finally made friends, and life brightened.
She saw the famous Derek only once. Tall, thin as a rake, dry, wrinkled, with a sticky stare that made her skin crawl. He looked at her for a long time, muttered something, and left with Evelyn. That evening Evelyn came home laden with gifts: a fluffy white sheepskin coat, a jaunty crimson beret, long leather gloves.
—Try them on, darling! All your friends will be green with envy!
In her new outfit Helen felt like a princess, and Evelyn kept repeating how beautiful she was—“just like me when I was young.”
Life really did feel like a palace: silk sheets, long scented baths with salts Evelyn brought back from trips with Derek.
All thanks to the mysterious Uncle Derek—and, grudgingly, to those bossy cousins who had introduced them.
But everything ends eventually. One day generous old Derek died. Luckily Evelyn was no fool—she’d managed to put away a nice little nest-egg of cash and gold before the next protector appeared.
Helen had been named after her grandmother who died in childbirth, leaving Evelyn motherless the moment she was born. For a while her young wastrel father tried to raise her, then gave up. The same cousins—Olive and Tanya—took her in, bringing her up between their two homes. Occasionally her father’s conscience stirred and he took her back, but she always ran to the aunts who spoiled her rotten and dreamed of marrying her off well. Instead she fell for the musician, lived with him a couple of years, and that was that.
One day Evelyn burst into Helen’s room beaming.
—Guess what? Derek fixed us a trip before he died—East Germany!
So at fifteen and a half Helen went abroad for the first time. After that came Czechoslovakia, Poland, Bulgaria.
In Bulgaria a girl from the group persuaded the guide to take them to a local bar. A handsome Bulgarian lad noticed Helen; they wrote to each other for ages and she was praised at every Communist Youth meeting for fostering international friendship.
Meanwhile Evelyn had secured her rich protector. The good life continued. The shy girl became a spoilt, confident woman who knew exactly what she wanted.
At a concert one night she met Victor—someone who seemed vaguely familiar, perhaps one of the fleeting “daddies” from childhood. Victor fell hard and fast. Helen became the mistress of a powerful, well-connected man. He carried her in the palm of his hand. The Iron Curtain had fallen; soon she was seeing Paris, Rome, Milan.
Victor bought her a luxurious two-room flat, had it renovated beautifully, filled it with designer furniture. Only he never married her—he already had a wife (a marriage of convenience for career reasons) and children. Property and obligations kept him tied.
Time passed. Helen turned thirty. All her friends had families, children starting school. Helen remembered the lesson: men are only tolerable for their money.
By now even Victor’s money wasn’t enough compensation. She would have left years ago, but he paid for regular trips to Italy—her favourite place on earth. Without those trips life would be unbearable.
She didn’t love Victor, yet she often cried at night. Female pride hurt. She had wasted her youth—what would she have to show for it? She wasn’t the legal wife. Men—all the same, every last one a scoundrel.
Younger women were everywhere now, nipping at her heels—fake lashes, duck-pout lips, ready to do anything.
Helen lost interest in life and made no plans—until she met Nicholas. Love at first sight. She didn’t hesitate: invited the married man to move in. He left his wife and little son without a backward glance.
Soon their son Vlad was born. The doctor had warned that a first birth at her age was risky, but everything went perfectly. Vlad was healthy, bright, lively. Two years later came Veronica—Daddy’s little princess.
Several happy years flew by. Vlad was five, Veronica three. One fateful day the grandchildren were at Granny’s while Helen went shopping. When the children started getting restless, Evelyn decided to take them home.
—Come on, darlings, let’s walk back, buy something tasty, and make a surprise for Mummy and Daddy.
She walked in and found Nicholas on the sofa with Yana—Helen’s best friend.
The coward tried to blame Yana.
—I didn’t mean anything, I swear. Came home from work, she was here waiting for you, then she threw herself at me…
Yana insisted Nicholas had been chasing her for months, buying expensive gifts. The new gold earrings in her ears glinted accusingly.
After the divorce Helen and her mother swapped their two flats for one large one and moved in together. Nicholas paid maintenance, Evelyn looked after the grandchildren, Helen found work—first one job, then another, never staying long anywhere.
At first it seemed bearable. But as Evelyn grew older her character worsened. Helen’s children were now university students, yet their grandmother controlled everything—what they ate, where they went, what they wore, constant complaints about mess.
The grandchildren had it tough too. They studied hard, helped around the house, tried not to upset her, but nothing was ever good enough.
One evening, after a glass or two of wine, Evelyn opened up.
—You know, I’m actually glad we got rid of that Nicholas of yours. You’d have suffered even more with that pretty boy.
Helen didn’t argue. Let the old lady say what she wanted. What did it matter now? The main thing was sorting out the flat.
—I can feel trouble coming, she told her friend Irene one evening. —She’ll never agree to the exchange. She nags me all day and seems to enjoy it.
At that moment the phone rang.
—Yes, Mum?
The tirade poured out:
—Where are you? It’s nearly nine! We’re waiting, the children are waiting, and you’re off gallivanting. Get home—now!
Helen sighed.
—Looks like I’d better go, Irene, before she has a full-blown fit.
She put on her coat and walked sadly to the door.
—She thinks my life turned out perfectly—and all thanks to her. Says without her I’d have ended up just like my useless father. Tells the kids the same thing.
That’s women’s fate for you. At her age many are just waiting for their pension, existing rather than living. But Helen still hoped, still dreamed of big changes. Fifty-four wasn’t old at all.
“As soon as I get the flat swapped,” she told herself, “I’ll buy a dog. We’ll travel together. Then, at last, I’ll really start living.”
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