«I wont live with a strangers grandmother,» the grandson said, locking eyes with his mother. «Mum, tell him yourself! Im tired of explaining!» Helen nervously twisted the edge of the tablecloth, refusing to look up at her son.
«Whats there to explain?» Edward set his mug of tea on the table and sat across from his mother. «Ive made myself clearIm moving out next week. Ive rented a flat, paid the deposit.»
«Son, but what about us here» Helen began, but Edward cut her off with a sharp wave of his hand.
«Mum, Im twenty-seven! Dont you think its time I lived on my own?»
From the next room came the muffled sound of coughing, followed by something clattering to the floor and a muttered complaint.
«There, you see?» Helen sighed. «Shes dropped something again. Id better check.»
«Dont go,» Edward placed a firm hand on her shoulder. «Let her sort it out herself. Youre not her carer.»
«Eddie, shes old…»
«Mum, stop it!» His voice hardened. «Shes nothing to you. Absolutely nothing! Just Dads mother, the woman who never had a kind word for you in all these years.»
Helen winced as if struck. It was trueMargaret Whitmore had never accepted her. Twenty-eight years ago, when shed married Helens late husband, the woman had greeted her with cold indifference. Shed told the neighbours her son couldve done better, that Helen came from the wrong sort of family, that she had a sharp tongue. And after Edward was born, shed declared shed raise the boy herself because his mother was too inexperienced and foolish.
«Remember what she used to call you?» Edward pressed, seeing hed hit a nerve. «That Helen of yours. Not even by namejust that one. And when Dad died, she»
«Enough,» Helen whispered. «Dont bring it up.»
But her son wouldnt relent. Three years had passed since the funeral, yet the memories still stung. Margaret had outright claimed the house belonged to her son, and now it was hers. That Helen and ‘her Eddie’ ought to find somewhere else to live. That shed suffered enough from this ‘outsider family.’
«Who picked her up off the floor when she had that stroke?» Edward demanded. «Who called the ambulance? Who sat by her hospital bed?»
Helen stood, gathering the dishes. «Thats enough.»
«Its not! You see what she doesbangs things at night, drops pans so you cant sleep, blares the telly. And those little remarks about the food being rubbish, the wrong medicine…»
From Margarets room came a sharp call: «Helen! Helen, come here!»
Helen moved automatically toward the door, but Edward caught her wrist.
«Dont. If she needs something, she can get up herself.»
«Eddie, shes ill»
«Ill? Shes healthier than both of us! Shes just used to giving orders. Dad waited on her hand and foot, and now you do.»
«Helen!» The voice grew shriller. «Are you deaf?»
Helen pulled free and went to her mother-in-law. Margaret lay in bed, blankets drawn to her chin, a newspaper sprawled on the floor beside her.
«Pick that up,» she nodded at it. «I want to read.»
«Margaret, your glasses are right there.»
«Course they are. Think Im blind?» The old woman fumbled for them on the nightstand. «And bring tea. Properly hot this time. Yesterdays was lukewarm rubbish.»
Silently, Helen retrieved the paper and left to put the kettle on. Edward sat at the table, his expression grim.
«Running to her again?»
«Dont start,» Helen said wearily.
«Mum, listen to me,» Edward leaned forward. «Im moving. And youre coming with me.»
Helen froze, kettle in hand.
«What?»
«Its simple. The flats got two bedroomsplenty for us. Youll live properly, without the shouting and the nagging.»
«And her?»
«She can manage. People reap what they sow.»
«Eddie, I cant… Shell be all alone.»
«Good. Maybe then shell appreciate what youve done.»
Helen set the kettle on the hob, bracing herself against the counter. Guilt and relief twisted inside her.
«Mum, remember what she said after Dads funeral?» Edwards voice softened. «You can start packingthe house is mine now. Remember?»
Helen nodded. That conversation was burned into her memory. Theyd returned from the cemetery, changed out of black, sat with tea. Then Margaret, silent all through the service, had announced everything would change. That Helen and her son didnt belong there. That they should find their own place.
«And who said you wouldnt leave?» Edward continued. «Who promised to care for her no matter what?»
«I did,» Helen admitted. «But it was different then. Shed just buried her son»
«Mum, its been three years! Three years of cooking, cleaning, doctors appointments. And what thanks have you had? None. Just complaintssoup too salty, laundry done wrong, wrong pills from the chemist.»
Helen swallowed. Last week, Margaret had told Mrs. Thompson next door she lived with strangers who couldnt wait for her to die and take the house.
«Helen! Wheres my tea?»
«Coming!» Helen called, but Edward blocked her path.
«No. Sit down.»
«Eddie»
«We need to talk. Properly.»
Reluctantly, Helen sat. Edward took her hands.
«Mum, I wont live with a strangers grandmother,» he said, holding her gaze. «And you shouldnt either. Youre only fifty-two. Youve got your whole life ahead. Why waste it on someone who doesnt care?»
«Shes not a stranger. Shes your grandmother.»
«Grandmother?» Edward laughed bitterly. «She never liked me. Remember how shed say I took after you? That sharp tongue, just like his mother. And when I got into uni, she said it was a waste of moneythat Id never amount to anything.»
Helen said nothing. She remembered every slight, every cruel word about her boy. But her husband had brushed it offMums difficult, but she means well.
«Helen!» Margarets voice turned shrill. «Have you died out there?»
Edward marched to her room. Helen heard him say, «Gran, Mums busy. If you want tea, make it yourself.»
«How dare you speak to me like that? Fetch your mother!»
«I wont. And just so you knowwere leaving in a week.»
«Leaving where?»
«A new flat. Me and Mum.»
Silence. Then Margarets disbelieving voice: «And me?»
«Youll stay here. Alone. Like you always wanted.»
«Edward!» Helen called, but he returned to the kitchen, satisfied.
«Done. Now let her think.»
«Why like that? You shouldve discussed it»
«Mum, weve talked it to death. Youve said yourself youre exhausted, that you cant take her nonsense anymore.»
It was true. Helen had complained often, especially after Margaret called her a freeloader in front of the neighbours.
«But shes old, shes ill»
«Shes seventy-five, not a hundred! And no more ill than anyone her age. Shes just learned to play it up.»
From the bedroom came quiet sobs. Helen stood, but Edward shook his head.
«Dont. Its an act. The tearsll stop the second she realises it wont work.»
«Eddie, what if shes really upset?»
«Really?» He scoffed. «Where were her tears at Dads funeral? Where was her pity then?»
Helen remembered. Margaret had been dry-eyed, stern. Almost triumphant when shed told them to leave.
«And after that? The stroke. Who saved her then? Who called the ambulance, sat in A&E, ran for prescriptions?»
«I did,» Helen whispered.
«Right. And what thanks did you get? None. Just more naggingfoods wrong, cleanings wrong, youre not trying.»
The sobs stopped. Silence fell.
«See?» Edward nodded toward the room. «No audience, no performance.»
Helen drank a glass of water, thoughts churning. Edward was right. Margaret had never loved her, never valued her. Criticised, humiliated her for thirty years. Tried to throw them out when her son died.
But to leave an old woman alone… It felt cruel.
«Mum, I know this is hard,» Edward said gently. «Youre kind. You care. But think of yourself. Dont you want to live too?»
Helen nodded. She did. Desperately. Without the tension, the daily jabs, the walking on eggshells. To wake up and not dread the next confrontation.
«Remember how it used to be?» Edward asked. «When Dad was alive? Wed talk, go to the cinema. Whens the last time you went anywhere?»
Helen thought. Three years of work, chores, hospital trips. Her friend Linda had invited her for coffee, but shed refusedcouldnt leave Margaret alone too long.
«Mum, lets try it,» Edward urged. «A month or two in the new place. If she really cant cope, well figure something out.»
«And if something happens while were gone?»
«Shes got a phone. Neighbours. She can hire help if shes willing to pay.»
Footsteps shuffled down the hall. Margaret appeared in the doorway, leaning heavily on the frame.
«So, youre abandoning me?»
«Gran, no ones abandoning you,» Edward said calmly. «Were just moving out.»
«And what am I supposed to do? Im old, Im ill»
«Youre not as ill as you pretend,» Edward said. «Three years ago, you told us to leave. Remember?»
Margaret blinked, caught off guard.
«That was different»
«How? Same house, same people. Whats changed?»
«Im frail now! I need help!»
«Then maybe you shouldve thought of that sooner,» Edwards voice turned sharp. «Maybe you shouldnt have hurt the person whos looked after you all this time.»
Margaret turned to Helen.
«Helen, you wont leave me? I need you…»
Helen said nothing, torn between pity and resentment.
«Mum,» Edward said softly, «tell her the truth. How tired you are. How much it hurts to be called an outsider in your own home.»
«I never said that!» Margaret protested.
«Really? What did you tell Mrs. Thompson? That you live with strangers waiting for you to die?»
Margaret faltered.
«II didnt mean it like that»
«Then how?» Edward pressed. «Mums been here thirty years. Put up with everything. And you still treat her like she doesnt belong.»
Helen walked to the window, her chest tight.
«Margaret,» she said quietly, «do you remember what you said three years ago?»
«Helen, I was grieving»
«You said, You can pack your thingsthis house is mine. Remember?»
Silence.
«You said youd had enough of this outsider family. Do you remember that?»
Margaret sank into a chair, suddenly frail.
«But Im ill… I need help…»
«You do,» Helen agreed. «But why should it come from the people youve called outsiders?»
Margaret twisted the edge of her dressing gown.
«Helen… its just how things are done…»
«Done by whom?» Edward cut in. «You? And whats done for us? A lifetime of criticism?»
Margaret looked up, tears in her eyes.
«Eddie, youre my grandson…»
«A grandson you never loved. One you said would never amount to anything.»
«I… I didnt think youd remember…»
«I remember. And so does Mum.»
Something in Helen snapped. A tension shed carried for years finally broke.
«Margaret,» she said, firm but quiet, «we are leaving. In a week.»
The old woman flinched.
«Helen»
«Helen Margaret, actually. And yes, were going. Youll have the house to yourselfjust like you wanted.»
«But how will I?»
«How would we have managed?» Helen sat across from her. «When you threw us out three years ago? Wed have coped, wouldnt we?»
Margarets head drooped.
«I was… grieving…»
«So were we,» Helen said. «Burying a husband, a father. But we didnt throw you out.»
Silence stretched. Edward stood by the window, Helen at the table, Margaret hunched and suddenly ancient.
«Perhaps we can… reconsider…» Margaret whispered.
«Reconsider what?» Edward asked.
«I… mightve been wrong… Perhaps I was too harsh…»
Helen shook her head.
«Its too late, Margaret. Weve made our decision.»
And she had. Right then, sitting at the kitchen table, looking at the woman whod made her life miserable. She deserved peace. A home without shouting. Evenings without drama. Mornings without fear.
«Mum,» Edward squeezed her shoulder, «Im proud of you.»
Helen smiledreally smiledfor the first time in years.
