At sixtyfive I finally understood that the worst thing wasnt being left alone; it was begging my children to call, knowing I was a burden to them.
Mum, hello, I need you urgently, my son James said, his voice flat as if he were speaking to a weary subordinate rather than his mother.
I froze, remote still in my hand, the evening news never turning on.
James, love, whats happened? I asked.
Nothing, alls well, he snapped impatiently. Sophie and I have booked a cheap holiday, we fly out tomorrow morning. Weve got to look after Duke, the huge slobbery mastiff, while were away. No one else can take him.
Duke was a massive, drooling dog who filled my tiny flatontheground more than the old sideboard ever did.
Will he stay long? I asked, already knowing the answer.
For a week, maybe two, if we need to. Mum, who else would care for him? Dropping him at a kennel would be cruelty. You know how sensitive he is.
I glanced at my sofa, freshly reupholstered in a light fabric Id been saving for months, refusing little luxuries while the sofas springs creaked under Dukes weight. I could barely afford the repair.
James, Im not comfortable. I just finished the refurbishment, I said.
What refurbishment? Did you put up new wallpaper? he replied, irritation thinly veiled.
Duke is wellbehaved, just dont forget to walk him. Sophies already packing. Well have him in an hour, he added, his tone brisk.
He didnt even ask how I was, didnt wish me a happy birthdayjust a week ago Id turned sixtyfive.
I had spent the whole day preparing my favourite salad, putting on a new dress. The kids promised to drop by, but they never did. James sent a quick text: Mum, at work, cant talk. Emily didnt reply at all. And nowI need your help right now.
I sank slowly onto the sofa. The problem wasnt the dog or the ruined upholstery. It was the humiliating feeling of being a freestanding emergency service, a last resort, a human function.
I remembered how, years ago, when the children were small, I had dreamed theyd grow up independent. Now I realised the real terror wasnt loneliness in an empty flat; it was the heartstopping dread of waiting for a call that only came when I was needed for something inconvenient, pleading for their attention at the cost of my own comfort and dignity.
An hour later James arrived at the door, leash in hand. Duke bounded in, leaving muddy footprints on the pristine floor.
Heres his food, his toys. Remember three walks a day. Were off, we dont want to miss our flight! James thrust the leash into my hand, gave me a quick peck on the cheek and was gone.
I stood in the hallway, Duke sniffing the arm of the armchair. From somewhere in the flat a piece of fabric rippled.
I looked at my phone. Should I call my daughter? Emily, maybe shell understand? My finger hovered over the screen. It had been a month since Emily had called; she was busy with her own family.
For the first time I felt something other than resentmenta cold, clear, sober realisation. Enough.
The morning began with Duke leaping onto the bed, leaving two dirty paw prints on the fresh duvet. The new sofa was already torn in three spots, and the ficus Id tended for five years lay on the floor, its leaves chewed.
I poured a measure of valerian tonic from its bottle and dialled James. He didnt answer straight away.
In the background I could hear waves and Sophies laugh from a beach resort.
Mum, what? Everythings brilliant here, the sea is gorgeous! James shouted.
James, about the dog. Hes wrecking the flattore the sofa, I cant manage him, I said.
What do you mean? Hes never scratched anything. Maybe youre keeping him locked up? He needs freedom. We just arrived, we want to relax. Just take him for a longer walk, hell calm down.
I walked him two hours this morning! He pulled the leash so hard I nearly fell. Please, take him back, find somewhere else for him.
A pause. Then Jamess voice hardened.
Mum, are you serious? Were on the other side of the world. How am I supposed to take him back? You agreed. Do you want us to drop everything and fly back because of your whims? Thats selfish, Mum.
The word selfish landed like a slap. The woman whod spent her life for themselfish?
Im not being capricious, I just
Alright, Sophies brought the cocktails. Keep Duke entertained. Im sure youll get along. Bye.
More beeps. My hands trembled. I sat at the kitchen table, the feeling of helplessness almost physical. I decided to call Emily, the one who had always seemed more sensible.
Emily, hi.
Hi, Mum. Everything okay? Im in a meeting.
Its urgent. James left his dog with me and flew off. Hes out of control, he’s tearing up the furniture, Im afraid hell bite me next.
Emily sighed heavily.
James asked for help, so there was an emergency. Isnt it hard to help a brother? Were family. Replace the sofa, hell sort it out eventually.
Its not about the sofa! Its about being forced into this position!
How could he? Begging on his knees? Mum, youre retired, you have plenty of time. Just look after the dog. Theres nothing wrong with that. My boss keeps staring at me, thats all.
The call ended. I placed the phone back down. Familya strange word that, in my case, meant people who remembered you only when they needed something and called you selfish if you couldnt instantly oblige.
Later that evening the downstairs neighbour, Mrs. Patel, slammed the door open, furious.
Miriam! Your dog has been howling for three hours! My baby cant sleep! If you dont quiet him Ill call the police!
Duke barked merrily behind me, confirming her claim.
I shut the door, looked at the wagging tail waiting for praise, then at the shredded sofa, then at my phone, a low growl of irritation building inside.
I grabbed the leash.
Come on, Duke, lets get a walk, I said, leading him down the park lane, feeling the tension in my shoulders turn into a dull ache.
Duke tugged hard, nearly ripping the leash from my weakened grip. Each yank echoed the words of my children: selfish, too much free time, hard to help?
From the opposite side of the path came Zara, a former colleague, bright scarf, stylish haircut, smiling eyes.
Miriam! I barely recognised youstill juggling everything? Another grandchild? she laughed, nodding at Duke.
Its Jamess dog, I replied flatly.
Oh right! Youre always the goto mum. Im off to Spain next week for a flamenco workshopmy husband finally gave me the green light. When was the last time you had a break?
The question hung in the air. I couldnt recall a real break; my breaks were always at the cottage, with grandchildren, or fixing other peoples problems.
You look exhausted, Zara said sympathetically. You cant keep bearing everything on your own. Let the grownups manage their own lives. Otherwise youll end up looking after their pets while life sails past. Ive got to runrehearsal calls!
She flicked past, leaving behind a trail of perfume and a hollow echo of life sailing past.
That phrase struck me like a detonator. I stopped abruptly, Duke staring at me bewildered.
I looked at the massive dog, at my hands gripping the leash, at the grey houses around me, and realised I could no longer keep carrying this load. Not a day, not an hournothing.
I grabbed my phone, fingers shaking, and typed Best dog hotel. The first link showed a glossy site: spacious runs, a swimming pool, grooming salon, oneonone sessions with a trainer, and prices that made my breath catch.
I pressed the number.
Good afternoon, Id like to book a twoweek stay for a dog, full board and spa treatments, please.
A taxi whisked me to the hotel, Duke unusually calm as if he sensed the change. Inside, lavender and premium shampoos scented the air. A cheerful receptionist handed me a contract.
Without a blink, I wrote my name and Jamess number in the Owner box, and again in the Payer box. I paid the deposit from the money Id been saving for a new coata the best investment Id ever made.
Well email daily photos to the owner, the receptionist said warmly, taking the leash. Dont worry, your pup will love it here.
Returning to my modest, slightly battered flat, I felt a calm I hadnt known in years. I poured tea, settled on the edge of the rescued sofa and sent two identical messagesone to James, one to Emily.
Duke is safe at the hotel. All matters can be dealt with by his owner.
I muted my phone. Three minutes later it buzzed with Jamess name. I took a sip of tea and didnt answer. Another buzz came, this time a message from Emily: Mum, what does this mean? Call me back right now!
I turned up the TV volume, aware of the storm brewing on the other end. Panic, outrage, attempts to understand how their everreliable mother could act like this.
Two days later a firm knock came at the door. James and Emily stood there, suntanned but angry, their holiday clearly ruined.
Mum, have you gone mad? A hotel? Look at the billthose numbers! Youre trying to ruin us over a dog? James shouted.
Come in, children, I replied calmly. Take off your shoes, Ill mop the floor.
My calm diffused the tension more effectively than any argument could. They stepped inside, James eyeing the torn sofa, the overturned flower pot.
This, he said, pointing at the sofa, whats this?
Its the result of your wellbehaved dog staying in my flat. I called a tradesperson; heres the estimate for reupholstering and a new ficus. I handed him a neatly printed sheet.
Youre billing me for this? he snapped. You should have looked after him!
Should have? For the first time in decades Im looking at you not with love but with cold curiosity, I said.
I owe you nothing, Mum. Neither do you owe us. Are you here for a refund on the hotel, or what? James asked, his voice shaking.
Emily stepped forward, trying to mediate. Mum, why? Were family. We could sort this out. James, calm down. No need for extremes.
Extremes are when a son accuses his mother of selfishness because she refuses to let their home become a ruin, or when a daughter claims you have plenty of time to babysit her brothers dog. Those are the consequences of your choices, I replied.
James turned red. I wont pay a penny for that hotel! he declared.
Fine, I said. Then Ill sell the cottage.
The cottage they had all planned to use for barbecues, a sauna, weekend retreatsmy cottagewas suddenly theirs no longer. You have no right! Emily shouted, forgetting diplomacy. It was our childhood too!
The papers are in my name, I shrugged. And childhood, dear, ended long ago.
The money Id earned from the hotel would cover the repair costs, compensate my emotional distress, and perhaps fund a trip to SpainZaras suggestion. She had said it was wonderful there.
They stared at me as if I were a stranger. Before them stood not the obedient, meek mum theyd known, but a woman with a steel spine theyd never imagined.
A heavy silence settled over the room, the first in years. It was the uncomfortable realisation that they had lost.
A week later James transferred the exact sum to my account; no apologies, no further calls. I didnt wait for them. From an old attic chest I pulled out a nearly new suitcase, dialed Zara.
Hey, love. Do you still have a spot in that flamenco class?
