The air in the hallway was thick with unspoken words, like fog rolling in from the Thames.
«Three years, Evelyn,» murmured Margaret, her voice trembling as if balancing on the edge of a knife. «Three years youve nagged me for a grandson, scolded me for waiting too long. And now, in front of everyone, its only little Paul who matters. But Alfie is your grandson too! Or have you forgotten?»
Evelyn adjusted her immaculate silver-blonde curls, her gaze as cold as a December morning. Behind her, in the sitting room, childrens laughter and party music swirledPauls birthday celebrations undisturbed.
«And when you ignore Alfie, when you dont give him gifts like the other grandson» Margaret pressed on, her words sharp as broken glass, «it hurts him. Hes ten, Evelyn. Old enough to know you dont love him.»
Evelyn scoffed, flicking her hand dismissively, as though shooing away an inconvenient pigeon.
«Youre imagining things, Margaret. I treat them both the same. And really, must you start a scene today of all days?» Her arched brows lifted in theatrical offence. «My grandsons party is in full swing. Ive no time for your hysterics.»
With that, she turned on her polished heels and swept back into the sitting room, leaving Margaret rooted to the spot. Anger and sorrow tangled in her throat like a barbed knot. She leaned against the wall, steadying herself. To Evelyn, Alfie might as well have been a ghosta boy made of smoke, overlooked in favour of those who mattered more.
Gathering herself, Margaret returned to the party. The sight before her made her heart twist further. Evelyn hovered over Paul, cooing at his every word, pressing sweets into his palm, stroking his hair. And there, in the corner, Alfie stood pressed against the wallpaper, watching with poorly concealed longing. His small shoulders slumped; his eyes held a quiet, aching sadness that made Margaret want to snatch him up and run.
That evening, once Alfie was asleep, Margaret sat beside her husband on the sofa.
«Thomas,» she began, voice low, «we must talk about your mother. The way she treats Alfieits cruel. He understands. Hes suffering.»
Thomas rubbed the bridge of his nosea telltale sign he wished to avoid unpleasantness.
«Margaret, youre reading too much into it,» he muttered. «I was the unfavoured child too. My sister always came first. Hell learn not to expect anything from Gran. Boys toughen up. Besides, she loves him in her own way. Just differently from Paul.»
Margaret stared, stunned. Did he truly not hear himself? How could he dismiss their sons pain so easily?
A week later, Evelyn arrived unannounced. Alfie was bent over his schoolwork at the kitchen table when the doorbell rang. Seeing his grandmother, his face flickered between hope and wariness.
«Alfie, darling, Ive brought you sweets!» Evelyn announced, offering a handful of cheap boiled candiesthe sort sold in newsagents jars. For Paul, she always bought expensive Belgian chocolates.
«Thanks, Gran,» Alfie mumbled, accepting them without meeting her eyes.
Evelyn turned to Margaret, triumphant.
«See? No favouritism. Just your silly notions.»
Alfie lingered awkwardly before murmuring he ought to finish his homework. He gathered his books and vanished upstairs. Margaret knew whyhed learned not to linger where he wasnt wanted.
Alone in the kitchen, Margaret tried once more. Perhaps if she spoke of Alfies achievements
«Evelyn, did you know Alfie won a maths competition? His teacher says hes brilliant.»
«Mm, very nice,» Evelyn said absently, then brightened. «Paul won his swimming gala last week! First in the borough. His coach says he could go far.»
Margaret clenched her teeth. Evelyn prattled on, singing Pauls praises as if Alfie didnt exist.
«and just yesterday, Paul fixed his own bicycle! Eight years old and already so clever with his hands»
Margaret slammed her palm on the table. Cups rattled.
«Why, Evelyn?» Her voice was steel. «Why do you hate my son? You begged Thomas for a grandson!»
Evelyns mouth puckered as if shed bitten a lemon. For a moment, she hesitatedthen spoke, slow and deliberate.
«I wanted my grandson. A proper one. But Alfie» She wrinkled her nose. «Hes your spitting image. Every bit of him. Walks like you, talks like you. Its ghastly.»
Margaret froze. The words hung in the air, absurd and grotesque.
«Youyou dont love him because he looks like me?»
Evelyn nodded, as though explaining something obvious to a dull child.
«I never approved of Thomass choice. But I thoughtwell, at least youd give me a sturdy grandson. Youre healthy enough. But him?» She waved a hand. «A perfect little copy of you. Even the way he tilts his headits uncanny.»
Margaret sat motionless. This couldnt be real.
«Perhaps if you had another?» Evelyn mused, oblivious. «One that takes after our side?»
Margaret stood so fast her chair toppled. The world dimmed at the edges.
«Another?» she whispered, then louder: «Get out. Now.»
Evelyn gaped. «This is my sons house!»
«Its our home!» Margaret hissed. «And I wont let you poison my boy any longer. Leave!»
She wrenched the front door open. Evelyn, scarlet with outrage, snatched up her handbag and stormed out.
«This isnt over!» she spat.
The door slammed. Margaret pressed her forehead to the wall. Her entire body trembled.
When Thomas returned that evening, Margaret recounted everything. With each word, his expression darkened.
«She truly said that? She dislikes Alfie because he resembles you? And demanded another child?»
Margaret nodded. Tears spilledones shed held back all day.
«Thomas, how can she wound a child for looking like his mother? Its monstrous!»
Thomas pulled her close.
«Thats it,» he said firmly. «No more visits unless necessary. Alfie comes first.»
Months passed. Life settled. Then came the change that mended everythingMargarets parents moved nearby, selling their countryside cottage for a flat just streets away.
«We missed you both,» her mother, Dorothy, explained. «And you could use the help.»
Alfie blossomed under their lovetheir only grandson, doted on at last. His laughter returned, bright and frequent.
On Alfies birthday, Margaret extended an olive branchshe invited Evelyn.
Evelyn arrived with a small box. Inside was a flimsy plastic toy car, the sort sold at market stalls.
«Thanks, Gran,» Alfie said politely, then turned eagerly to his grandparents. «Grandma Dot, Grandad Georgecan I open yours now?»
They exchanged a glance and handed him a large parcel. Ripping it open, Alfie gaspeda professional drawing tablet.
«Oh! Thank you! Thank you!» He flung his arms around them. «Its the exact one I wanted!»
Evelyns lips pursed.
«Such an extravagant gift. Youll spoil him.»
Dorothy smiled serenely.
«Actually, Alfie wishes to be a graphic designer. Hes got real talent.»
Alfie beamed, kissing their cheeks.
«Dad, help me set it up!» He tugged Thomass sleeve.
«Righto, birthday boy!» Thomas winked, and they disappeared upstairs.
Margaret and Evelyn stood alone. Evelyn looked bewildered, as though the world had tilted.
«Something wrong, Evelyn?» Margaret asked coolly.
Evelyn bristled. «Paul won his football match last week»
«If youre here to speak of Paul,» Margaret cut in, «you may leave. This is Alfies day.»
«But Pauls clearly superior!» Evelyn blurted. «Stronger, brighter»
Margaret strode to the door and opened it wide.
«I warned you. Goodbye.»
«You cant do this!»
«I can. This is my home. My sons birthday.» She all but pushed Evelyn out. «Goodbye.»
The door clicked shut. Margaret exhaled. No more compromises. Alfie mattered more than outdated grudges.
From upstairs, Alfies delighted laughter rang outclear and bright as morning light. Smiling, Margaret went to join them.
