Swallow the Sun

Morning arrived like an alarm clock with no snooze button. Sandra jolted upright, her eyes darting to the digital numbers glowing accusingly from her bedside table. 7:18. Eighteen minutes past when she should have been up. Eighteen minutes that would ripple through her entire morning routine.

"Bugger," she muttered, throwing back the duvet. "Bugger, bugger, bugger."

Pepper, her aging border collie, lifted his head from his dog bed in the corner, his cloudy eyes following her frantic movements as she pulled her uniform from the wardrobe. The neon yellow jacket with reflective strips looked garish against her bedroom's faded floral wallpaper—a clash of worlds that somehow summarized her life.

The kettle had just boiled when her phone buzzed. A text from Ellie. Sandra's heart quickened as she swiped to read it.

*Mum, they want us at the estate at 6 for dinner on Sunday. Dad says you should come too. Let me know x*

Sandra stared at the words. *Dad says*. Not Ellie saying she wanted her there. And "the estate" – as if her daughter had already absorbed the language of her soon-to-be in-laws. The Harringtons, with their sprawling country property, their political connections, and their thinly veiled disapproval of Ellie's background.

She put the phone down without replying. No time now, anyway. She'd have to skip breakfast. Tea would have to wait. A quick brushing of teeth, Pepper's lead clipped to his collar, and she was out the door, the dog trotting obediently beside her. The High Street was a fifteen-minute walk away, and her shift started at eight. If she hurried, she might just make it.

It wasn't until she was halfway there, Pepper panting beside her, that she realized she'd forgotten her water bottle. The one thing she never left home without, especially on days like today when the weather app promised unseasonable heat. Too late to turn back now.

"Never mind," she told Pepper, who wasn't concerned one way or the other. "I'll pick something up."

But as she continued her brisk pace toward the primary school where she'd been helping children cross the road safely for nearly two decades, the forgotten water bottle seemed to take on an outsized significance. A small oversight that would lead to discomfort, to thirst. To a day endured rather than lived.

Like so many other small oversights in her life.

---

"You're cutting it fine today, Sandra," called Mr. Winters, the head teacher, checking his watch as she arrived at the school crossing. "Everything alright?"

"Fine," Sandra replied, shedding Pepper's lead and securing him to the fence where he could lie in the shade. "Just overslept a bit."

She pulled on her white gloves and took her position at the edge of the zebra crossing, lollipop sign resting against her shoulder like a knight's lance. The morning rush was beginning, parents dropping children off before heading to jobs in the city or the industrial park. Cars slowing, children waving, parents nodding gratefully as she stopped traffic to let their precious cargo cross.

By nine o'clock, the stream of children had dwindled to a trickle. By nine-fifteen, the road was relatively quiet. Sandra would have her mid-morning break soon, then return for the school's half-day dismissal. In between, she'd take Pepper for a proper walk, maybe stop by the charity shop where she volunteered on her days off.

But first, water. Her throat felt like sandpaper.

"I'm just popping to the shop," she told Pepper, who had settled into a comfortable doze. "Back in a tick."

The convenience store was blessedly cool after the morning heat. Sandra nodded to Raj behind the counter, a familiar face after all these years.

"Morning, Sandra," he called. "Forgot your bottle today?"

She smiled, embarrassed at being so predictable. "Is it that obvious?"

"Only to someone who sees you every day with it." He reached below the counter. "I was about to put these out. New delivery. Thought you might like one."

He held up a water bottle, sleek and modern, with a built-in filter. Nothing like her old plastic one with the faded Manchester United logo, a long-ago gift from Ellie when such things still mattered to them both.

"Thanks, but I've got a perfectly good one at home," she said, selecting a regular bottle of water from the refrigerated section instead. "Just forgot it today."

As she paid, her phone buzzed again. Another text from Ellie.

*Mum? Did you get my message? Need to know for the numbers*

Sandra sighed, thumbs hovering over the screen. What should she say? That she felt like an afterthought? That every time she visited the Harringtons' home, she felt the weight of everything she hadn't provided for her daughter?

*Sorry love, was working. Sunday at 6 is fine. Do they need me to bring anything?*

The reply came almost instantly.

*Just yourself. And maybe not the dog this time?*

Sandra felt heat rise to her face that had nothing to do with the weather. Last time, Pepper had been perfectly behaved, except for that one moment when he'd gotten excited and jumped up on Lady Harrington's silk trousers. The looks exchanged between Ellie's future mother-in-law and her son had said everything.

*Of course. See you Sunday x*

She slipped the phone back into her pocket and left the shop, unscrewing the water bottle as she went. The first sip was blissful, cool relief flooding her parched throat. But it didn't touch the deeper thirst—the one that had been growing since Ellie had announced her engagement to James Harrington six months ago.

---

The midday sun beat down mercilessly as Sandra helped the half-day children across the road. Sweat beaded at her temples despite the shade of a nearby oak tree. Her water bottle, already half empty, sat alongside Pepper in the shadow of the school fence.

"Thank you, Mrs. Watts!" called a small boy as he safely reached the other side of the road, his mother smiling appreciatively.

"You're welcome, Tommy," Sandra replied automatically, though her mind was elsewhere. On Sunday dinner at the estate. On what she would wear. What she would say. How she would navigate the subtle barbs and pitying glances.

"Ms. Watts?"

She turned to find Mrs. Chen, mother of twins in Year 2, approaching with a concerned expression.

"Sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if Ellie had decided on a birth plan yet? My sister-in-law is a doula, and I thought, well, she might be interested in some support. Especially with her first."

Sandra blinked, momentarily thrown. "I'm not sure, to be honest. She hasn't mentioned it to me."

Mrs. Chen's eyebrows rose slightly. "Oh, I assumed... well, you two are so close. And with the baby coming so soon."

"Yes, well, she's been busy with the wedding plans," Sandra said, her smile tight. "I'm sure she's got it all sorted with James's mother. Lady Harrington knows everyone in the medical profession, apparently."

"Of course," Mrs. Chen nodded, her expression carefully neutral. "Well, just let her know the offer's there. No pressure."

As Mrs. Chen walked away, Sandra felt the familiar ache of exclusion. It wasn't just that Ellie hadn't discussed her birth plan with her. It was that Sandra hadn't even thought to ask. Somewhere along the way, they'd stopped having those kinds of conversations. Or any real conversations at all.

When had that happened? When had Sandra started assuming that her daughter preferred the Harringtons' guidance to her own? When had she started believing that she had nothing of value to offer?

The realization hit her with the force of a physical blow. It wasn't Ellie who had left her behind. It was Sandra who had stepped away, convinced that her daughter would be better off without her working-class opinions and embarrassing mannerisms.

"Come on, Pepper," she said suddenly, gathering her things as the last of the children disappeared around the corner. "We're going for a proper walk."

---

The park was quiet at this hour, most people seeking refuge from the midday heat. Sandra found a bench in the shade and sat, Pepper settling at her feet. She pulled out her phone and, after a moment's hesitation, called Ellie.

It rang four times before going to voicemail.

"Hi, you've reached Ellie Watts. Leave a message, and I'll get back to you."

Sandra hesitated, then spoke. "Hi, love. It's Mum. Just checking in. Wanted to ask you about... well, I realized I don't know much about your plans for when the baby comes. If you want to talk about it, I'm here. Not that I'm any expert, but I did do it once." She laughed awkwardly. "Anyway, I'm looking forward to Sunday. Love you."

She hung up, feeling simultaneously relieved and foolish. What did she expect? That one voicemail would bridge the canyon that had formed between them over years?

Pepper whined softly, sensing her distress. She reached down to stroke his graying muzzle. "It's alright, boy. We're alright."

But they weren't, were they? She'd left something vital behind—not just her water bottle this morning, but her relationship with her daughter. Her confidence in her own worth as a mother, a woman, a human being deserving of respect regardless of her job or her address or her accent.

And if she was honest, she'd left something else behind too: the ability to see herself clearly. Somewhere along the way, she'd started seeing herself through the Harringtons' eyes—as someone lacking, someone less-than. She'd accepted their assessment and retreated accordingly.

"Time to go back to work," she told Pepper, standing up with new resolve. "And maybe time to stop hiding."

---

The afternoon shift was always quieter than the morning rush. Sandra stood at her post, lollipop at the ready, watching as a few parents arrived early for the end-of-day pickup. Her new water bottle, refilled at a drinking fountain in the park, stood sentinel beside Pepper's makeshift water bowl.

Her phone buzzed. Ellie.

"Mum?" Her daughter's voice sounded strained. "I got your message. Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine, love," Sandra said, surprised at the concern in Ellie's tone. "I just realized we haven't really talked lately. About the baby and all that."

A pause. "I know. I'm sorry. It's been a bit mad here with all the wedding preparations and James's parents wanting to be involved in everything."

"I understand," Sandra said, though she wasn't sure she did. Not really. "They must be very excited about their first grandchild."

Another pause, longer this time. "They're thrilled. But Mum... they're not you."

Something inside Sandra's chest loosened slightly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Ellie's voice wavered, "that I've been thinking a lot about how I want things to be when the baby comes. And I keep remembering how it was with you and me. Just us against the world."

Sandra swallowed hard. "We did alright, didn't we? You and me."

"We did more than alright," Ellie said, and now there was a definite tremor in her voice. "And I want... I need you to be part of this, Mum. I don't want my child to miss out on knowing you the way I did."

The words washed over Sandra like cool water on a parched day. "I'd like that too, love."

"Good," Ellie said firmly. "So, about Sunday dinner. I was thinking maybe you could come a bit earlier? Help me sort out some things for the nursery? James's mum has opinions, but I'd rather hear yours."

"I'd like that," Sandra repeated, her voice steadier now. "And Ellie? I'm sorry if I've been... distant. I thought you might be embarrassed by me. Around James's family."

"What?" Ellie sounded genuinely shocked. "Mum, no. Never. I've been worried that *you* were pulling away. That maybe you didn't approve of James, or thought I was getting above myself."

Sandra laughed, a short, surprised sound. "Look at us. Both assuming the worst."

"Sunday then?" Ellie asked. "Four o'clock?"

"Four o'clock," Sandra confirmed. "I'll be there."

As she hung up, she noticed a woman waiting to cross, a toddler in a pushchair and a young boy of about five holding her hand. Sandra straightened, lifted her lollipop, and stepped into the road with renewed purpose.

"Thank you, Mrs. Lollipop Lady!" the little boy called as they crossed.

"You're very welcome," Sandra replied, and meant it.

---

The remainder of her shift passed in a blur of children, parents, and the occasional impatient driver. By the time four o'clock rolled around, Sandra was more than ready to head home, Pepper trotting contentedly beside her.

"Fish and chips tonight, I think," she told the dog, who wagged his tail appreciatively. "And maybe a new outfit for Sunday."

Something had shifted during that phone call with Ellie. Not everything—there were still conversations to be had, misunderstandings to clear up. Lady Harrington would still look down her nose at Sandra's occupation and her modest home. James might still treat her with that careful deference that bordered on condescension.

But Sandra would no longer shrink away, assuming her own irrelevance. She was a woman who had raised a daughter alone, who had worked honestly all her life, who stopped traffic so that children could cross roads safely. There was value in that—value that had nothing to do with estates or titles or the right schools.

As she rounded the corner onto her street, she caught sight of a familiar car parked outside her house. Ellie's little blue Fiat, dented on one side from a parking mishap last winter.

And there on the front step, waiting, was her daughter. Hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, one hand resting on the pronounced curve of her pregnant belly, the other holding a familiar object.

"You forgot this," Ellie said as Sandra approached, holding out the Manchester United water bottle. "I used my spare key to grab it. Thought you might need it tomorrow."

Sandra took the bottle, running her thumb over the faded logo. "Thank you, love."

"I was thinking," Ellie continued, a little hesitantly, "maybe we could have dinner together? I picked up some things from that deli you like. The one with the good olives."

"I was going to have fish and chips," Sandra admitted.

Ellie laughed. "Even better. My treat."

As they entered the house together, Pepper dancing excitedly around their feet, Sandra felt the weight of the day—of many days—begin to lift. She had forgotten her water bottle this morning. But she had found something much more precious instead.

The door closed behind them, shutting out the world with all its judgments and expectations. Inside, there was just mother and daughter, finding their way back to each other one small step at a time.

And perhaps that was the most important journey of all.