Why would he need a grandmother like that?
Youre a curious sort, arent you! First you begged us to bring the grandchild for the whole summer, we had everything mapped out, and now you say dont bring him? What are we to do?
The phones speaker thumped with the daughterinlaws outrage. Gillian kept the handset a short arms length from her ear; the sound was crisp without the need for a speakerphone.
Ethel, your plans are your problem. You never consulted me, and now
But you urged us to take Sam to you! the daughterinlaw snapped. I dont get you at all. What kind of grandmother are you? You cant keep the boy, cant even drive him to the cottage. You never brought him any berries, only carted your own crates in! Why would he need a grandmother like you when theres a normal one next door?
Gillian winced, exhaling in short bursts, hand pressed to her heart. She understood the subtext: either drag the boy in, or youll never see him again. Lowkey, spiteful blackmail.
Ethel was right on the facts, but she twisted the whole picture upside down.
It helps to start with the cottage Gillian once imagined for Sam. It was primitive: the toilet was a privy outside, the shower a summertime bucket rinse, the gardens berries were never for her to eat. A rusty grill where shed once fried meat with her first husband, plastic chairs and a tablemodest, but to Gillian it felt snug, simple.
When Andrew, her son, announced he wanted to bring his sweetheart to the cottage, Gillians nerves tightened.
Shed only known Ethel in passingpretty, wellkept, selfassured, with a glint of spoiled entitlement. Ethel looked down on everything and everyone as if she were grading them. At their first meeting she wandered the house uninvited, like an inspector. Gillian didnt like it, but she forced a tour, showing off her figurines and family albums.
Andy, the ideas lovely but are you sure Ethel will like it? Its one thing for you; you grew up at that cottage. Im not convinced Ethels used to such rustic charm, Gillian warned, when Andrew burst out his weekend plans.
Ill explain everything. Shes always said she wants a nature break. Look at this placepure beauty, all hers, he replied.
Gillian sighed, stayed silent. To argue would look like she didnt want them. Better to have said yes outright.
She spent two days preparing: cleaning, baking pies, hauling out the pantrys special reservesthose saved for only the most momentous occasions. Anxiety gnawed at her, but the prospect of a joyful reunion eclipsed the dread.
From the first moment, things unraveled. Ethel stepped out of the car in a white dress and skyhigh stilettos, glanced around, and squinted in disdain. Her face darkened instantly.
Is this a loo or what? she asked, poking a finger at the gardens makeshift facilities.
Well yes. Its outside, but tidy, just like anyones, Gillian replied, smile stretched thin.
A true communion with nature, in every sense, Ethel muttered sarcastically.
It got worse.
Its dreadfullike being tossed back to the Stone Age, she complained to Andy. Did you bathe with a bucket all your childhood? Mosquitoes everywheredont even step out! The stink is unbearable.
Just the neighbours chickens, Andy shrugged.
Ethels shrieks filled the air, echoing in Gillians ears. She felt tiny, an uninvited host to a guest whod never asked for her. All her preparation, all her waiting, reduced to a spit in the face.
Maybe shell get used to it, Gillian thought. The daughterinlaw and her son lived far away, a days drive, so they had planned to stay the whole weekend.
But Ethel didnt survive a single day. After another mosquito bite, she flailed and headed back to the car.
Enough! Either you drive me home or Ill flag a cab. This place is uninhabitable! she snapped.
Andy didnt argue, gave a hurried goodbye to his mother, and awkwardly shuffled away from Ethel.
I didnt realise it would be this hard for her, he murmured, embarrassed.
Gillian tried to chalk it up to habits and unfamiliarity; she herself struggled with the new routine. She didnt throw tantrums or slam doorsthose were Andys choices, after all.
Six years later, Ethel and Andy were married, with a son Sam. Gillians relationship with her daughterinlaw never thawed, but she still hoped to bond with her grandson, even though they lived in different towns. Hope, she thought, would find a way.
Ethel, could you bring Sam over? Gillian asked one bright morning. I have a garden, a river nearby, fresh air. He could fill up on vitamins for a year.
Where would you ship him? To this squalor? Better let him stay at home, Ethel sneered. You could still send the vitamins. You bragged about having too many cherries to spare. At least you could meet once.
The sting brought tears, yet Gillian didnt argue. Explaining to a pampered city girl how hauling cherries in scorching heat was a nonsense venture seemed pointless. She simply wanted a glimpse of Sam.
That was last year. The daughterinlaws awakening now seemed fresh, though a whole year had changed everything.
Gillians life had split between hospitals, drip stands, and endless clinic queues. A quarter of her days were spent under strict medical restrictions. Shed just undergone heart surgery; the doctor forbade her from any heat or heavy lifting.
Take this seriously, the doctor warned. Your heart needs a protective dome. No strenuous activity, just gentle walks.
The cruelest part was that Andy never visited, not even when she lay in the ward. Their calls were perfunctory, and that was the end of it. Gillian saw her friend Val more often than her son. Val, a longtime companion, had also bailed her out financially when times grew tight. When Val learned this years cottage season was medically barred, she offered:
Listen, let me talk to them. They want a summer break, but their holiday allowance is peanuts. The seaside isnt cheap now. Im not doing it for thanks, I just get it. Itd be good for you, and theyd have a proper escape.
Gillian accepted gratefully; every penny mattered in her condition.
Just as she was gaining strength, Ethel finally seemed ready. When the young couple made plans, the cottages filth no longer mattered.
Ethel, I suggested this a year ago. A year! Plans are grand; I had my own for this summer, but life had other ideas. The cottage now belongs to other people; I cant go, especially after my operation.
When was recently? Ethel asked.
Two months ago.
Two months is when people start marathon training! Youve got to pull yourself together. You sit at home on a pension, while many still have to work. She scoffed. Cant you take Sam to the cottage? At least bring him to you.
To an apartment? From one city flat to another? Whats the point?
The point is well finally get a break! You and Andy have never had a day alone with Sam. Youve been shouting you want to see your grandchild. Here, have a look!
Ethel, are you even hearing me? A child needs constant attention, and I can barely move around the house.
Its laziness, admit it, Ethel pressed.
Gillian slammed the phone. The argument felt endless, draining. She was alone; without her, who would look after her if she faltered?
That evening, Andy called, apologising for Ethels behaviour and gently asking if there was any chance they could still bring Sam over. The request made Gillians eyes water like a childs, hurt and humiliated.
Andy be honest, did you tell Ethel Id had surgery? she demanded. How could you both put the grandson on me without asking?
Andy paused, silence choking the room.
Mum I said you were unwell. I didnt know it was that serious.
Unwellthose words crashed over Gillian. He seemed indifferent to her condition, never truly listening when she described how even a secondfloor stair was a mountain.
I see, she whispered.
Three days of heavy, oppressive silence followed. It felt as though, by refusing the young couple help, shed vanished from everyones thoughts. Even Andy stopped texting in the evenings.
On the fourth night, Val called, perfectly timed.
Shall we break into your cottage? No one will see us until the weekend. Itll be cool, well have tea.
Lets, Gillian agreed at once; her heart felt like a cat clawing at the walls, yearning for any company.
They brewed tea, opened a box of pastries Val had smuggled over, and talked. Gillian poured out everything.
What can I say? You know it already. They have their own lives now. Dont tear your soul apart. Live as you can. Youve still got me, at least. Maybe youll find an old chap to share evenings with, or finally give yourself a chance. Health is precious; you cant expect anything but nerves from them.
Gillian sighed, nudging the pastry tin closer. Inside, a knot of grief still throbbed, but she finally felt she was doing rightno longer bending to others whims at the cost of her own wellbeing. Life, with its soaring highs and crushing lows, would go on, even if the son was cold and the daughterinlaw turned away. The world would keep turning, dreamlike and strange, no matter who watched.
