«Come visit, just leave the grandkids at home.»
«Theyre my grandchildren, and if they bother you that much»
«Linda, just hold on a minute! I invited *you*. Just you. I thought wed take a stroll along the pier, maybe catch a show at the theatreremember? Hows that going to work with kids in tow? Ive only got a one-bed flat. Four children? Where would we all fit?»
«Youd manage if you wanted to. But I get ityou dont.»
«Linda… At my age, hosting a nursery is exhausting,» Marion sighed. «I can barely keep up with one, let alone a whole pack. I thought wed chat, have tea, reminisce. Instead, Id be cooking by the potful and, no offence, listening to screeching. If youre set on bringing them, I can help find you a rental nearby.»
«Right. Well, Marion, if theres no room for my grandkids, theres no room for me,» Linda said flatly. «Seems weve gone our separate ways. Happy New Year.»
The line went dead. Marion pressed a hand to her forehead. When had Linda turned into such a mother hen? Then again, theyd always been different.
…
Marion and Linda met through mutual friends when they were sixteen. Three years later, they married around the same timeLinda was Marions bridesmaid, and Marion, Lindas. They stood as godmothers to each others firstborns, and then Linda had a second.
Marion stopped at one daughter, Sophie. She was an introvert by nature, but Sophie was a whirlwind, always craving attention. Nursery was her saving gracethose few hours when she could breathe, cook, and tidy up. Sick days were a nightmare. Not only did she fret over Sophie, but the girl turned impossibly fussy, whining, never settling on what she wanted.
Marion marvelled at Linda. Two kids, yet she handled them effortlesslynever complained, always bright-eyed.
«How do you manage? Doesnt it wear you out? Im climbing the walls with just one.»
«Took some getting used to, but I learned to let things go. Muddy hands? Builds immunity. Clothes backwards? Developing style. Ate the cats food? The cats problem. Plus, they entertain each othergives me a breather. Mostly. Still have to stop them wrecking the place, but its manageable.»
Marion could only shake her head. Shed never manage that. She bundled Sophie in layers to fend off colds, held her hand everywhere. Maybe Lindas way workedbut Marion wasnt built for it.
With grandchildren, it was the same. Marion had one, Emily. Linda had four grandsons.
Emily mirrored her motherdemanding, clinging. While Marions husband was alive, she coped; after he passed, she struggled. Emily refused to play aloneevery puzzle, every toy required a partner.
And she talked non-stop. Questions fired rapid-fire, her attention flitting before Marion could answer. By the third hour, Marions temples throbbed. She craved silence, a blanket over her head.
Linda thrived in chaosnoise, mess, summer photos of strawberry-stained boys trampling flowerbeds, hosing each other down.
«How do you keep up?»
«The eldest is ninehe watches the others. They entertain themselves.»
Marion saw just how «self-sufficient» they were when she visited.
Life had scattered themLinda stayed put; Marion moved to London after Sophie turned eight. Theyd met only twice since, briefly.
«Youve no kids or chores now Sophies grown. Come see the cottageyouve only seen pictures,» Linda said.
Marion agreed, craving a break from monotony, evenings reminiscing on the porch.
How wrong she was. Two grandsons were already there when she arrived; the others joined by lunch. Thenchaos. A toy car sparked a food fight, oatmeal dripping down Marions cheek as Linda scrubbed walls.
«Enough!» Linda brandished a cloth. «Or no supper!»
It barely worked. They drummed pot lids, shot toy guns, wailed. By day three, Marion packed early.
«Sorry, but I need quiet,» she said. The air between them soured.
Now history repeated. A month ago, Linda lamented the grandsons ditching her for New Yearssome off to in-laws, others skiing. Marion saw a chance for a proper reunion.
«Lets spend it together.»
Linda leapt at it. They planned walks, a play, *Love Actually*. Marion mapped out Lindas favourite rum cake at a bakery, deep-cleaned, stocked up. Then
«Marion, your son-in-laws car only has one child seat, right? No spare?»
«Why? What for?»
«Well, Im coming to yours. Forgot? Told the boys Id show them London.»
Marion froze. *The boys?*
«Lin… I cant survive another oatmeal war. This was meant to be just us.»
«Whats the problem?»
«My nerves. They cant take it.»
For Linda, grandchildren were an extension of herself. Going without was unthinkable. Marion couldnt fathom why every meeting had to be a circus.
They never reconciled. On December 31st, Marion sat alone, reminiscingriver trips, Linda accidentally hooking her husbands sleeve while fishing, her homemade cordial. Back then, their bond seemed unbreakable. Now?
She ended up at Sophies.
«Grans here! I *told* you shed come!» Emily cheered.
That New Year was warmthpine, roast beef, sparklers. Noise, but *her* noise. Maybe it was for the best.
Linda stayed cold. Weeks later, she ignored Marions birthday call. Marion set the phone down. Their paths had truly diverged. One craved being the sun in her grandsons sky; the other, a quiet nook to rest. The real issue? They didnt speak the same language anymore.
