The weight of Susan’s story hung heavy in her Cheddar cottage, the ticking of an old clock the only sound breaking the silence. James’s heart ached for her, a woman who’d poured everything into her daughter only to be shut out. He glanced at Patricia, whose usual confidence seemed tempered by Susan’s quiet pain. The tea had gone cold, but Susan’s words still burned, painting a picture of Ellie that James struggled to reconcile with the woman he loved.
— Susan, that’s… a lot, James said softly. — I had no idea Ellie felt that way. She never talks about you or Cheddar.
Susan’s lips trembled, but she managed a nod. — She’s always been driven, my Ellie. Wanted a bigger life than this village could give. I don’t blame her for that. I just wish she’d let me in, even a little.
Patricia’s eyes gleamed with resolve, her voice firm but kind. — She will, Susan. We’ll make sure of it. Your daughter needs to see what she’s left behind. Would you come to the wedding if we invited you?
Susan’s gaze dropped to her hands, twisted in her apron. — I’d love to see her happy, but… I don’t know if she’d want me there. I’d only upset her.
— Nonsense, Patricia said, leaning forward. — You’re her mum. She needs you, whether she admits it or not. We’ll sort this out, won’t we, James?
James hesitated, picturing Ellie’s fierce reaction if she learned they’d gone behind her back. — Mum, we need to tread carefully. Ellie’s dead set on keeping her family out. We can’t just spring this on her.
— We won’t, love, Patricia said, her tone sharp with purpose. — We’ll invite Susan quietly, give Ellie a chance to come round. She’s not heartless, James. She’s just… lost, maybe.
Susan stood, fetching a tin of homemade scones from the kitchen. — Here, have these. I bake when I’m anxious. Keeps my hands busy.
James took a scone, its warmth comforting. — Thanks, Susan. Look, we’ll talk to Ellie, okay? No promises, but we’ll try to make this right.
As they spoke, James’s mind raced. Ellie’s ambition, her polished exterior, her distance from everyone—Susan’s story explained so much. But it also raised questions. Why was Ellie still taking money from her mum, a woman she claimed to want nothing from? He thought of their Bristol flat, Ellie’s Kurt Geiger shoes tucked neatly by the door, her carefree laughter over a Bristol Balti takeaway. Was there a side to her he’d missed?
The drive back to Bristol was quiet, the Somerset hills fading into dusk. Patricia broke the silence, her voice low but commanding.
— James, love, I’m not sure about this wedding anymore. Ellie’s got a hardness to her I didn’t see before.
James gripped the wheel, his chest tightening. — I know, Mum. But I love her. Maybe we can help her heal.
Patricia sighed, staring out at the darkening sky. — Maybe. But we need to know who she really is, James. For your sake.
Back in Bristol, Ellie was planning their wedding in their flat overlooking the Cut, unaware that her past was catching up.
In their Bristol flat overlooking the Cut, Ellie hummed softly, arranging wedding invites from Paperchase on the kitchen table. The glow of fairy lights strung across the window, reflecting off the Cut, cast a warm sheen on her vintage dress sketches, her excitement palpable. But beneath her cheerful facade, a calculated edge simmered. James was her ticket to a life she’d always craved—far from the cramped Cheddar cottage and her mum’s endless sacrifices. She’d played her part perfectly: the charming, independent uni student who didn’t care about his wealth. But in truth, every step was planned, every smile rehearsed.
As she sipped a glass of Tesco Finest prosecco at £8 a bottle, Ellie let herself relax. James was out, likely with his nosy mum, Patricia, who never stopped prying. *Let them have their little chats,* she thought, smirking. She’d worked too hard to let Patricia’s suspicions derail her. The wedding was weeks away, and with it, a job at James’s dad’s firm—a stepping stone to the top. She’d charm her way up, maybe even nudge James aside one day. Failure wasn’t an option.
Her phone buzzed, a bank notification: £100 from Susan Harper. Ellie’s jaw tightened, her heart racing as she deleted the notification. Her mum’s money was pocket change compared to James’s world, but she hadn’t told Susan to stop sending it. Why should she? It was the least Susan owed her for a childhood of hand-me-downs and pitying looks from village kids. Ellie’s mind drifted to her carefully curated life—Kurt Geiger shoes, freelance gigs, a flat that screamed success. She’d earned it all, hadn’t she?
Meanwhile, James and Patricia pulled into Bristol, the weight of Susan’s story clinging to them. James’s hands shook as he parked the Mini Cooper, Susan’s tearful voice echoing in his head. Ellie, his Ellie, had turned her back on a mum who’d given everything. Worse, she was still taking her money, living a lie. He thought of their evenings sharing Bristol Balti takeaways, her laughter so warm, so real. Was it all an act?
— Mum, what do we do? James asked, his voice low. — I love her, but… this changes things.
Patricia’s face was stern, her eyes sharp. — We confront her, love. Gently, mind. She needs to know we’ve met Susan. If she’s got a heart, she’ll come clean.
— And if she doesn’t? James whispered, dread settling in his chest.
— Then you rethink this wedding, Patricia said firmly. — You deserve someone who’s honest, James. Not someone playing a game.
Back at the flat, Ellie greeted James with a radiant smile, offering a glass of prosecco. — Missed you, love! How’s your day been?
James hesitated, Susan’s words burning in his mind. He took the glass, his throat tight. — Ellie, we need to talk. About your mum.
Her smile faltered, eyes narrowing. — What about her? I told you, she’s not part of my life.
— We went to Cheddar today, James said, voice steady. — We met Susan.
Ellie’s glass slipped, shattering on the floor. The truth was out, and nothing would be the same.