«You’re not needed anymore,» the children said before driving away.
«Mum, why do you do this? We agreed!» Emily sighed in frustration as she unpacked the groceries shed brought for her mother.
«Darling, I just wanted to help. I thought you and Paul might like it if I knitted little Lily a jumper for winter,» Margaret said, sitting by the window, her thin fingers fidgeting with the knitting needles.
«Lilys fourteen, Mum. She wont wear a granny-knitted jumperget that through your head! She has her own style. Kids these days wear completely different things.»
Margaret sighed deeply, setting aside the half-finished pink jumper. Something tightened painfully inside her. Was her gift really that terrible? Shed tried to pick a modern pattern, the softest wool she could find.
«When will you come round for tea? Ill bake an apple piethe one Lily loves.»
Emily hesitated by the fridge before slamming it shut harder than necessary.
«Mum, we dont have time for tea. Lilys studying for her GCSEs, Pauls swamped with work, and Im at the office from dawn till dusk. We talked about this last time.»
«Yes, of course,» Margaret smoothed the crease in her housecoat. «I just thought maybe Sunday…»
«Dont start,» Emily cut in. «On Sunday, were going to Oliver and Sophies cottage. Its Jacks birthdayremember?»
«Jacks already sixteen,» Margaret smiled faintly. «They grow up so fast. Will you take me with you?»
Emily frowned as if the question had caught her off guard.
«Mum, itll just be young people there. Youd be bored. And the drives exhausting.»
«I wont get tired,» Margaret assured her quickly. «And I could bake a cake. Remember how Jack loves my honey cake?»
«Theyve ordered one from the bakery. A modern one, with edible photos.»
Margaret nodded and picked up her knitting again, hiding her disappointment. The children were grown, the grandchildren too. They had their own lives now, and there seemed to be less and less room for her in them.
Emily glanced at her watch. «I should go. Ive put the groceries away. Dont cook riceyour blood pressure spikes from it. And dont forget your pills tonight.»
«Thank you, love,» Margaret walked her to the door and hugged her goodbye. Emily stiffened, as if the embrace was unwelcome, and slipped out of it quickly.
«Bye, Mum. Ill call next week.»
The door clicked shut. Margaret stood in the hallway for a few seconds, listening to the fading sound of her daughters footsteps. Then she slowly returned to the living room. The flat, once filled with childrens laughter, now felt too quiet and empty.
She went to the sideboard, opened the glass door, and pulled out the family album. There was Oliver and Emily as toddlers in the sandpit. A seaside holidayback when her husband was still alive, saving up for that trip to Brighton. School plays, graduations. Weddings and tiny grandchildren in Grandmas arms. When Lily was born, Margaret had quit her job early, even though retirement was still three years away. Emily and Paul had been so relievedsomeone to look after the baby. Jack, too, though not as much. Sophie had managed on her own.
The doorbell jerked her from her memories. Mrs. Thompson from downstairs stood on the doorstep.
«Margaret, can you believe it? The hot waters gone againno warning! Fancy a cuppa? I cant even wash the dishes.»
«Of course, come in,» Margaret brightened. «I was going to bake a pie, but now it seems theres no one to share it with…»
«Emily stopped by?» Mrs. Thompson slipped off her shoes and headed to the kitchen. «Saw her car outside.»
«Just dropped off some groceries,» Margaret nodded, fetching the teacups. «Rushed off, as usual. Says she hasnt got a minute to spare.»
«They all say that,» Mrs. Thompson waved a hand. «My Daniels always too busyuntil he needs me to babysit the grandkids in Devon for the summer. You should invite yourself over. Better than sitting here alone.»
«I tried,» Margaret sighed, setting out the cups. «But they always have their own plans.»
«Dont asktell them. Im coming Saturday to see my granddaughter. Full stop. What, theyd turn their own mother away?»
Margaret stayed silent. Mrs. Thompson didnt know that the last time shed shown up unannounced, Emily had been so cross she hadnt called for a week. Said theyd had Pauls colleagues over, and there she was, barging in with her pies.
Mrs. Thompson poured the tea, reaching for the biscuit tin.
«Im thinking of spending Christmas with my sister in York. Warmer there, good company. Whats here? Just you, the telly, and no one to cheer when Big Ben strikes.»
«Emily promised to have me over for New Years,» Margaret said quickly. «They always celebrate at home, with Olivers family.»
«Well, fingers crossed,» Mrs. Thompson nodded, though her tone was doubtful. «Theyre all talk, these kids. When it comes to doing…»
After her neighbour left, Margaret baked the apple pie anyway. A small one, just four slices. She ate one, wrapped two for the elderly couple downstairs she sometimes chatted with, and saved the last for tomorrow.
That evening, Oliver called.
«Hi Mum, how are you?» His voice was cheerful but distant.
«Fine, love. Emily came by today with groceries. Hows Sophie? Hows Jack?»
«All good. Listen, Mumremember the cottage?»
Margaret tensed. The cottage, left by her late husband, was in her name. A small place with an old but sturdy house. Once, theyd spent every summer there as a family. Then the kids grew up, her husband passed, and she went less oftentoo hard to maintain alone.
«Yes, I remember,» she said cautiously.
«Well, heres the thing. Sophie and I have a chance to build a bigger placesomewhere nicer. But we need the deposit. We were thinking maybe sell the cottage? You barely go there anyway.»
Margaret clutched the phone, silent. She hadnt expected this. The cottage was the last remnant of her life with George. The veranda hed built himself, the apple trees hed planted.
«Oliver, but its all we have left of Dad. And I thought maybe the grandkids»
«Mum,» impatience edged his voice. «What grandkids? Jack wouldnt set foot there if you paid himall he cares about is his Xbox. And the place is falling apart. Better to sell now while its still worth something. Well give you your share, of course.»
«Ill think about it,» she whispered.
«Mum, theres nothing to think about. Its a solid offerbuyers have already viewed it. Papers need signing tomorrow. Ill pick you up at ten, alright?»
The next day, Oliver arrived as promised. Unusually attentive, even helped her with her coat. On the way to the estate agents, he talked about the new househow spacious the guest room would be.
«You can visit every weekend, Mum. Gorgeous spot, fresh air. Not like that old place by the motorway.»
Margaret listened and nodded. Deep down, she knew no one would ferry her out every weekend. And that guest room would stay empty. But arguing felt pointless. He was so set on this.
At the office, she signed the papers. A young man in a suit droned about taxes and deadlines, but she barely heard. All she saw was the cottage porch where she and George had sipped tea at sunset.
«Sorted,» Oliver said brightly as they left. «Moneyll come through in two days. Your cut goes straight to your account.»
«Alright, love,» she forced a smile. «Are you in a rush? Fancy popping by for tea? I baked a pie yesterday.»
Oliver checked his watch.
«Cant, Mum. Meeting in half an hour. Rain check?»
He dropped her at the door with a wave. Margaret climbed the stairs slowly. Mrs. Jenkins from across the hall peeked out.
«Margaret, that pie you bakeddivine! Mind sharing the recipe? My grandkids are visiting this weekend.»
Margaret smiled. At least someone appreciated her baking.
Days later, Emily called, breathless.
«Mum, why werent you answering? I tried the landline.»
«I was at the shops, love.»
«Oh. Well, listenbig news! Pauls been offered a contract in Aberdeen, minimum three years. Double the salary, company flat. Were taking it.»
Margaret sank onto a chair, legs weak.
«Aberdeen? But thats so far…»
«Not really. Just an hour by plane. Well fly back for holidays.»
«What about Lily? Her school, her friends…»
«Its an amazing opportunity for her. Theres a grammar school with a science focusshe wants to study medicine later. Everythings falling into place.»
«When do you leave?» Margaret fought to keep her voice steady.
«Two weeks. Sorting paperwork now, packing. No time at all! But well stop by before we go.»
The fortnight vanished. Margaret waited, hoping theyd visit as promised. Each morning, she woke thinking today shed see Lily, bake her favourite pie. But the phone stayed silent.
Finally, the day before their flight, the doorbell rang. Emily and Paul stood there. Lily waited in the carheadache, Emily explained. They stayed half an hour, gulped tea, refused piewatching their weight.
«Mum, we got you a basic mobile,» Emily pulled a box from her bag. «Simple to use. Well call. And here,» she handed over a note. «Numbers of my mates here, Vicky and Sarah. If anything happens, ring them.»
«What about Oliver»
«Olivers got that new place in the country, you know how it is. But dont worry, the girls are reliable.»
As they left, Emily hugged her tighter than usual, whispering:
«Just stay well, alright? Itll ease our minds.»
That evening, Oliver called.
«Mum, how are you? Not ill?»
«Fine, love. Emilys gone?»
«Yeah, theyre settled. Flat sorted, Lily in school. All good.»
«Im glad. Why dont you visit? Ive baked a pie.»
A pause.
«Mum, works mad right now. And the new houseyou know how it is. Endless jobs.»
«I understand,» she said softly. «But maybe the weekend? Id love to see Jack. Miss him so much.»
«Jacks got hockey matches. And honestly, Mumvisits arent a priority now. Well come when things calm down, promise.»
They never came. Calls grew rarer, shorter. Then the worst happened. Oliver rang to say he and Sophie had job offers in London.
«Huge opportunity, Mum. Jack could get into a top uni there. Londons where things happen.»
«What about the house? Youve only just built it.»
«Well rent it. Or sellhavent decided.»
«When do you leave?» Her heart hammered in her throat.
«About a month. Sorting paperwork now.»
«Son, will you visit before you go?»
Oliver cleared his throat.
«Thing is, Mum no time for visits. Too much to sort. Maybe well pop down from London sometime.»
«Oliver,» Margaret steeled herself. «We need to talk. About the care home. Im not going. This is my home. Where I lived with your father, where you grew up. All my memories are here.»
«Mum, not this again We just suggested it for your own good.»
«My own good would be you remembering you have a mother.»
«What?» His voice hardened. «Weve forgotten? I call, Emily messages from Scotland. We send money. What more do you want?»
«I want my children and grandchildren. Not money.»
«Mum, were adults. Weve got our own lives. You cant expect us to hover around you forever. Times have changed. Families spread out.»
«I dont expect hovering. Just not to be forgotten.»
«Here we godrama. Ive got to go. Well talk later,» he hung up mid-sentence.
On moving day, Oliver did comealone, for thirty minutes. Brought chocolates, kissed her cheek like a stranger. Spoke distractedly, as if ticking a chore.
«You managing alright, Mum?»
«Managing,» she forced a smile. «Wheres Sophie? Wheres Jack?»
«Home, packing. No time to spare.»
As he left, she suddenly knew she wouldnt see him for a long time. Maybe never. Her throat tightened.
«Oliver,» she called. «Son, dont you need me anymore?»
He turned in the doorway, hesitating. Then, without meeting her eyes:
«Mum, dont be daft. Weve just got our own lives. You understand.»
«I understand,» she nodded. «I do, son.»
He left. She stood at the door, staring at the empty hall. Then slowly returned to the sofa. The flat was silent. Only the clock tickedGeorges old mechanical one. Hed loved them, said they had soul.
She picked up the phone, dialled Mrs. Thompson.
«Dorothy, remember you mentioned York for New Years? Can I join you?»
Her neighbour sounded surprised but pleased.
«Margaret! Of course! My sisterll be chuffed. Plenty of space. Changed your mind about the kids?»
«Yes,» Margaret felt lighter. «Decided to look after myself. Theyve got their own lives now.»
«Good on you!» Dorothy cheered. «Youre still youngwhy mope at home? Yorks lovely this time of year. Theyll come crawling back when the grandkids are older, mark my words.»
«Maybe,» Margaret smiled. «But Im done waiting. I deserve my own life too, dont I?»
She hung up and went to the window. The first snow fell outside. A new winter was beginningand perhaps, a new life. Without her children, but maybe not entirely alone.
