Dorothy Whitaker shuffled back from the grocer, her legs aching as she climbed the narrow stairwell to the fourthfloor flat. The bags were heavy, but she would not skimp on food; her modest pension in pounds and pence was enough, and she had spent a lifetime insisting on quality provisions.
The flat was quiet and cool. Dorothy set the sacks down on the kitchen table and began to unpack: a loaf of fresh bread, a bottle of milk, a block of cheddar, a dozen freerange eggs, crisp carrots, shiny apples, and a tin of smoked salmon. She always bought the salmon out of habithow could she deny her only son his favourite treat? Yet James had not visited in two years, not even on her birthday.
Ah, James, she sighed, perhaps youll pop round next weekend? She lifted the rotary phone and dialled the familiar number. A long series of tones, then a mechanical voice announced that the line was temporarily unavailable. She set the receiver on the sill.
Just busy, I suppose, she murmured. Ill try again this evening.
When night fell the handset still rang in silence. Dorothy turned on the television, letting the flicker of a new drama fill the empty hours. Her thoughts drifted back to James.
James had always been Dorothys pride. She had raised him alone after her husband walked out when their boy was only seven. He grew up sharp and determined, winning a gold medal at school and earning a place at a prestigious university to study economics.
After graduation James secured a position in a large firm, and Dorothy swelled with pride each time he sent a letter describing his work and future plans.
Then things changed. James met Alana Hart, a striking young woman from an affluent family. Six months later they married and moved to Sheffield. At first James called his mother every week and visited once a month, but the calls grew rarer, the visits even rarer. The last time he had been home was the previous Christmas.
Dorothy switched off the TV, brewed a pot of tea, and reached for her favourite shortbread. A knot of unease settled in her chest. She understood that James had his own job, his own house, his own life, yet she longed to hear his voice and see his face.
The next morning the phone rang. Dorothy rushed to answer, hoping it was James, but it was her neighbour, Eleanor Clarke.
Dorothy, love, how are you? Fancy a cuppa? Ive baked a Victoria sponge.
Thanks, Eleanor, but Im not feeling up to company today. Maybe another time?
Eleanors kindness was welcome, but Dorothy did not wish to converse with anyone else. She decided to write a message to her son. With careful taps on the screen of the smartphone James had given her for her sixtieth birthday, she typed: James, dear, I called earlier but you didnt answer. Could you drop by? I miss you terribly. She hit send and waited.
A few hours later a reply arrived: Mum, sorry, swamped with work. Ill try to visit next month.
The month passed and James did not come. Dorothy resolved not to pester him. He has his own life, she thought. He must truly be busy.
One afternoon, scrolling through her social feed, Dorothy saw a photograph of James standing beside a sleek new house, Alana by his side, and a golden retriever named Baxter wagging his tail. The caption read: Our new home! Dreams do come true!
Dorothys heart clenched. The house had been bought without her even knowing; all the news came from the internet, as if she were a stranger.
She dialled James again. This time he answered almost at once.
Hello, Mum! How are you? his voice was bright.
Mum, I saw your pictures. Congratulations on the house! Why didnt you tell me?
Oh, love, I completely forgot. Work, the moveso much on my mind. Sorry.
I understand. When will you show me the new place? Ive missed you.
Im not sure, Mum. So many things Perhaps you could come over? See how weve settled.
Come to us? Dorothy stammered. But its so far I dont know how to get there.
Then maybe another time. I must dash, Mum, well speak later. The call ended abruptly.
Dorothy stared at the dead screen, a bitter laugh escaping her. Ill bake a cake, James will come home hungry and Ill feed him, she mused, only to scold herself: What nonsense, he lives in Sheffield now.
Days blurred. She shopped, watched television, occasionally visited Eleanor for tea, yet the ache of solitude lingered. She stopped calling James, fearing she would be a nuisance.
The New Year approached, and Dorothy decided to treat herself. She bought a modest fir tree, a few new baubles, and the ingredients for a proper holiday feast, hoping maybe James would ring or even appear.
On the morning of 31December she prepared salads, roast chicken, and an apple crumbleJamess favourites. When the table was set she put on her best dress, tidied her hair, and applied a touch of makeup, convinced that his voice would ring through the line at midnight. The clocks hands crept toward twelve as she waited, the phone silent. At the strike of twelve the chimes of Big Ben echoed across the city, the Prime Ministers broadcast filled the airwaves, but no call came.
She lingered at the phone until three in the morning, then, exhausted, fell asleep. At dawn she discovered a brief text from James: Happy New Year, Mum. Wishing you health and happiness. It was only a line, devoid of any personal query.
Dorothy sat amidst the cooling salads and untouched chicken, wondering if she had become a stranger to her own son.
A week later she paid a visit to her longtime friend, Margaret Ellis, a nurse at the town clinic. Margaret greeted her with a flourish.
Dorothy, youve lost weight! What on earth?
Just getting on in years, Dorothy replied with a weak smile.
And James? Havent seen him lately.
Hes fine. Bought a house in the suburbs, works a lot.
Does he ever come to see you?
Rarely. Hes very busy.
Margarets eyes softened. You live alone, love. Thats not right. Maybe you should move in with him?
He doesnt invite me, Dorothy whispered. And where would I go with my ailments? Id just be a burden.
Dont be foolish! Youre his mother, not a burden, Margaret protested. Come over to my place for tea, I finish my shift in an hour.
That evening, over tea at Margarets kitchen, Dorothy finally confessed how lonely she felt, how the silence from James cut deep.
I understand he has his own life, Margaret said, but could he not find a moment for his mother? A short call once a month, a proper chat, not just a brief text?
Did you ever tell him that? Margaret asked.
No. I didnt want to seem demanding.
Then you must. You have a right to his attention. If he doesnt see it, remind him.
Dorothy considered this. Perhaps Margaret was right.
Back home she tried James again. No answer, so she left a voice note: Son, please call when you can. I need to speak with you. The next day James returned the call.
Hey Mum, whats wrong? All good?
Just wanted to hear your voice, she replied.
Can we talk tonight?
Yes, whenever youre free.
Evening came and went without a call. The following days were the same. Dorothy decided not to press further.
In early spring Dorothys health falteredher heart pounded, blood pressure rose. An ambulance arrived, doctors suggested a brief hospital stay, but she refused. Who would tend the flat? Who would water the plants? And what if James came only to find her gone?
Eleanor, learning of Dorothys condition, began visiting daily with fresh bread, sometimes soup or meatballs.
Dorothy, perhaps you should phone James? she suggested one afternoon.
No, Eleanor. He already has enough on his plate. I dont want to worry him.
But hes your son! He should know youre ill!
Ill tell him when Im better. I dont want him to drop everything and rush over only to find me already recovered.
Days turned into weeks. Dorothys condition swayed between better and worse. Jamess calls grew shorter, always polite but fleeting.
One evening a knock sounded on the door. With effort Dorothy rose from her armchair. Who could it be? Eleanor usually called before appearing.
She opened to find a young woman carrying a large bag.
Good afternoon, are you Dorothy Whitaker? the stranger asked.
Yes, and you are?
My name is Claire Morgan. I work for the local social services. Your neighbour called, saying you might need assistance.
Dorothy was taken aback. She had never asked for help. Yet the woman entered, laying out paperwork on the kitchen table.
Youll need to sign an agreement for regular visitsthree times a week. Ill help with chores, shopping, check your blood pressure. Its all free of charge, dont worry.
But I didnt ask
Your neighbour is very concerned. She told us you live alone, often fall ill, and struggle to manage everything yourself.
Dorothy tried to protest, but a wave of dizziness sent her to a nearby chair. She thought of Eleanor, who had indeed been worried after a nearfall from a high shelf.
Alright, she whispered. Thank you.
Claire proved pleasant and efficient, handling household tasks with a gentle smile. Over time Dorothy grew to welcome her visits, even looking forward to them.
One afternoon, while they sipped tea, Claire asked, Do you have any children?
My son, James, Dorothy answered. He lives in Sheffield.
Does he visit?
Rarely. Hes occupied with work and his family.
Does he know youre unwell?
No. I never want to trouble him.
Claires gaze softened. My own grandmother lived alone after her daughter moved away. She always regretted not telling her. Perhaps you should call James, let him know how you feel?
Dorothy reflected. She had always hidden her illness, replying that she was fine whenever he rang. She did not want to add to his burdens.
Youre right, Claire. Ill call him this evening.
When Claire left, Dorothy sat at the phone, gathering her thoughts. What would she say? How would she explain her silence?
Finally she dialed. James answered after a brief pause.
Mum? Its late for you to call, he said, a hint of concern in his tone.
I I wanted to talk, Dorothys voice trembled.
Whats happened? James asked, worry sharpening his words.
Ive been ill for a whilemy heart, she confessed.
Why didnt you tell me? his voice now edged with reproach. You should have let me know!
I didnt want to bother you. You have your own life, your responsibilities
Are you in hospital?
No, at home. A social worker comes by now.
A social worker? Mum, Ill come tomorrow.
No, James, I can manage, she tried to protest. Just please know how Im feeling.
Ill be there, he insisted. First thing in the morning.
Dorothy hung up, heart pounding. Would James really come? Would she become a burden in his new home?
The next morning she rose early, tidied as best she could, prepared a simple lunch, hoping to greet him properly.
James arrived in the early afternoon, his briefcase heavy with parcels. He embraced her, and tears welled in Dorothys eyes.
James, Im so glad youre here!
He surveyed her pallor, the thinness in her cheeks, the loss of sparkle in her eyeshow had he missed this?
Mum, why didnt you tell me you were unwell? Why keep it hidden?
I didnt want to trouble you. You have a job, a wife, a new house
Mum, you are my family, he said, gripping her hands. Ive been selfish, thinking only of myself. I should have been there for you.
Dorothy brushed his hand gently. It matters that youre here now.
They talked long into the evening, James describing his work, the new home, his plans. Dorothy listened, grateful simply to be in his presence.
Later that night Claire arrived, surprised to see a man in the doorway. Good evening, you must be James, she said. Im Claire, the social worker.
Thank you for looking after my mother, James replied. I didnt know she was ill.
Claire nodded, her eyes lingering on Dorothy. She didnt want to burden you, she murmured.
James turned to his mother. Mum, Im taking you to live with us.
What? I cant leave my flat, my neighbours Dorothy began.
Alana will be delighted. Weve wanted you to move in for ages, but I kept putting it off, thinking youd rather stay, James admitted. Youll never be a burden.
What if I still feel like Im in the way?
Youll never be a nuisance. Youre my mother, and I want to care for you as you have always cared for me.
Dorothys eyes filled with tears. She had never imagined her son would abandon his own life for her.
Very well, she whispered. Ill come with you.
James hugged her tightly. Thank you, Mum. I promise youll be safe and loved.
In the days that followed, James helped her pack, sorted out the lease on her flat, and said heartfelt goodbyes to Eleanor and Margaret. Thank you both, he said to Eleanor, for looking after my mother.
Eleanor smiled. Youve done the right thing, love. Shell be much happier with us.
When the moving van arrived, James opened the door to a bright, spacious bedroom. Heres your room, Mum, he said, gesturing to the airy space.
Alana greeted Dorothy warmly, showing her around the garden and the cosy sitting room. Dorothy felt, at last, genuinely welcomed.
That evening the three of them sat on the veranda, the winter air crisp. James spoke earnestly.
Mum, Im sorry. I was selfish, wrapped up in my career and my own concerns. I forgot theres a mother who has always been there for me.
Nothing to apologise for, my dear, Dorothy replied softly. Im just glad were together now.
James promised never to let his duties eclipse his duty to her again. Dorothy looked at her son, his wife, their homenow also hersand for the first time in many years felt a quiet happiness. She knew the future would be different, but the most important thing was that they were finally, at last, a family again.
