Why should he have such a grandmother?
Ever the inquisitive one, arent you! First you invited our grandson for the whole summer, wed already set the programme, and now you say dont bring him? What are we to do?
The phones speaker crackled with the daughterinlaws indignation. Margaret held the handset a short arms length from her ear; it was clear enough without turning the speakerphone on.
Ethel, your plans are your own business. You never consulted me, and now
Exactly, you were the one who urged us to bring Sam to you! the daughterinlaw snapped. I cant understand you at all. What sort of grandmother are you? You cant even take your own grandson in, let alone drive him to the cottage. Youve never brought him any berries; you only haul boxes into your house! And why should he have a grandmother like you when theres a proper one elsewhere?
Margaret winced, pressed a free hand to her heart and exhaled in short bursts. She caught the subtext in every word: either take the boy in, or youll never see him again. Low, relentless blackmail. In the cold facts, Ethel had a point, but she turned the whole matter on its head.
It must be said that the cottage Margaret once hoped to use for Sam was decidedly rustic. The toilet was a simple outhouse, the shower an outdoor bucket rig, and the gardens berries were the sort one would rather not eat. A modest charcoal grill stood where she and her first husband had once seared a Sunday roast. Plastic chairs and a tiny table made up the furnishingshumble, but, in Margarets eyes, cosy in the plain English way.
When Andrew, her son, announced he wanted to visit the cottage with his sweetheart, Margaret grew anxious. She knew Ethel only superficiallypretty, wellkept, confident, yet with a hint of pampered entitlement. Ethel looked down on everything and everyone, as if constantly appraising. At their first meeting she had trotted through Margarets home without invitation, like an inspector. Margaret had not liked it, but she obliged, giving the young woman a tour of her collection of porcelain figurines and family photo albums.
Andrew, the idea sounds lovely but are you sure Ethel will like it? You grew up at that cottage. Ethel, I think, isnt used to such simple comforts, Margaret whispered as her son eagerly described his weekend plans.
Ill explain everything to her. Shes always said she wants a bit of country air. This place is perfect for that.
Margaret sighed, deciding not to argue. She feared people would think she didnt want them. It would have been easier to refuse outright.
She spent two full days preparing: cleaning, baking pies, bringing out from the cellar the special treats reserved for only the most momentous occasions. A knot of worry twisted in her stomach, but the anticipation of a joyful reunion eclipsed the bad omens.
From the moment Ethel stepped out of the car, dressed in a white frock and highheeled sandals, things went awry. She scanned the grounds, narrowed her eyes with disdain, and her face fell instantly.
This is a toilet, isnt it? she remarked, her finger pointing.
Well yes. Its outside, but its tidy, just like a proper one, Margaret replied, forcing a smile.
A true communion with nature, in every sense, Ethel retorted sarcastically.
The complaints only grew.
Its barbaric feels like weve been tossed back to the Stone Age, she told Andrew. Did you bathe in a bucket all your childhood? There are so many mosquitoes you might as well stay in the car! And the stench
Its just the neighbours chickens. Nothing to worry about, Andrew shrugged.
Ethels shrieks filled the air, and Margaret heard every word. She felt embarrassed; after all, she hadnt invited Ethel. She had prepared, she had waited, and she was met with a verbal slap.
Perhaps shell get used to it, Margaret thought, noting that the daughterinlaw and son lived a good drive away, so they had planned to stay the whole weekend.
But Ethel lasted less than a day. After another mosquito bite, she swatted wildly and headed for the car.
Thats it! Either you drive me home or Ill call a cab. You cant live like this! she declared to Andrew.
Andrew said nothing, merely said a hurried goodbye to his mother and slipped away from Ethels side.
I never imagined it would be this hard for her, he muttered.
Margaret tried to blame it on habit and unfamiliarity; adapting to this new countryside life was hard for her too. Yet she kept her composure, not slamming doors, because the choice lay with Andrew, not her.
Six years later, Ethel and Andrew were married, and a son, Sam, had been born. Their relationship with Margaret never warmed, but she still hoped to build a bond with her grandson. The distance between their towns made it difficult, yet desire and possibility persisted.
Ethel, could you bring Sam over to me? Margaret asked one afternoon. I have a garden, a brook nearby, fresh air. He could have a years worth of vitamins.
Where? To this squalor? Hed be better off at home, Ethel sneered. You can send the vitamins yourself. You bragged about having more cherries than you could use. If you sent them just once this summer, wed have met.
The rebuke cut to the bone, but Margaret did not argue. It was absurd to expect a city girl to haul a basket of cherries in the scorching heat for a whole day. Neighbouring children were accustomed to similar conditions, and Margaret simply wanted time with her grandson.
That was last year. Since then, Margarets life had become a patchwork of hospital visits, drip bags, and endless queues at the local clinic. A recent operation left her with strict orders: no heavy lifting, no exposure to heat, only gentle walks.
Take this seriously, the surgeon warned. With your heart condition you must stay under cover. No strenuous activity, just light strolls.
The most painful part was that Andrew never once visited Margaret while she was in hospital. They phoned, and that was the end of it. Margaret saw her old friend Violet more often than she saw her own son. Violet had even helped her financially when the cottage became offlimits this year.
Listen, why not let me speak to them? They wanted a summer break, but the budget is thin, and the seaside is pricey. Ill arrange something modest for you, no strings attached, Violet suggested. It would be good for you and give them a bit of countryside air.
Margaret welcomed any penny, given her frailty.
When she was finally on her feet, Ethel finally seemed to change her mind. As the young couple made fresh plans, the cottages lack of sanitation lost its importance.
I suggested this a year ago, Margaret reminded Ethel. Plans are grand; I had my own for this summer, but life had other ideas. The cottage now hosts other people; I cant go there, especially after my operation.
When? Ethel asked.
Two months ago.
Two months is hardly enough to train for a marathon, you know! You can sit at home and be content, while the rest of us keep working, Ethel snapped. If you cant bring Sam to the cottage, at least take him to your flat.
To another city flat? Whats the point?
The point is we could all have a proper holiday. Youve shouted for years that you want to see your grandson. Here you gosee him!
Ethel, do you even hear me? A child needs constant care, and Im barely able to move around the house.
Its just laziness, admit it, Ethel pressed.
Margaret hung up, feeling the argument had become pointless, draining her spirit. She was alone; if she fell ill, would Ethel ever come to tend her? Of course not.
That evening Andrew called, apologising for Ethels behaviour and gently asking if there might still be a chance to bring Sam to Margaret. The request made Margarets eyes water, as if she were a small girl hurt by betrayal.
Andrew tell me honestly, did you tell Ethel about my operation? she demanded. How could you both decide to put the boy on me without asking?
Andrew paused, the silence heavy enough to choke her.
Mum I said you were ill. I didnt realise it was that serious.
Ill? I didnt know The words fell like a stone into her chest. He seemed indifferent to her condition, never asking how she truly felt, never noticing that even a secondfloor step now felt like a climb.
Understood, she whispered.
Three days of oppressive quiet followed. It seemed that, having refused the young couples help, she had become invisible; even her son stopped writing in the evenings, stopped asking about her day.
On the fourth day, Violet rang. Shall we break into your cottage? No one will notice until the weekend. A cool day, a cup of tea, a chat
Lets, Margaret agreed, the loneliness gnawing at her.
They brewed tea, opened a box of biscuits Violet had brought, and talked.
Honestly, you know how it is. They have their own lives now. Dont tear yourself apart, live as best you can. At least you have me. Maybe youll find an old chap to share evenings with, or finally devote yourself to your own wellbeing. Health is what matters, and you wont get any peace from their drama.
Margaret sighed, pulling the biscuit tin closer. Though grief still gnawed, she finally felt she was doing the right thing. She would not sacrifice herself to meet others expectations, nor bend to capricious demands at the cost of her health. Life, with its highs and lows, would go on even without them.
