**Not His Problem**
Tell Oliver to come at once! Her daughters voice trembled. All three children are feverish and fussing. I cant manage them alone at the clinic. He must drive us!
Margaret nodded, though Emily couldnt see it. Her chest tightened with worry for her grandchildren.
Ill sort it, love. Dont fret, Margaret kept her tone steady, not wanting to upset Emily further.
She hung up, fingers shaking as she scrolled for her sons number. Three sick children, Emily alone, her husband at workit was desperate.
Oliver would help. She was certain.
The first ring, then the second. At last, he answered.
Mum, hello, he said briskly.
Oliver, dear, theres trouble Margaret searched for the right words. Emily just rang. The little ones are poorly, need to see the doctor straightaway. Her husband cant leave work. Could you take them? It wont take long.
Silence. Only his breath and muffled noise in the background.
Mum, I cant today, Oliver sighed. Its Sophies birthday. We booked the restaurant weeks ago. Emilys clear across Londonthe traffics dreadful. Wed lose our reservation. So, no.
Her grip on the phone tightened. Was he truly refusing?
Oliver, listen! Those children are illyour nieces and nephew! Emily cant manage three little ones alone! They must see a doctor!
I understand, but weve plans, he said evenly. Call a cab. Or you and Dad go. Whats the issue?
Margaret sank onto a chair, legs weak. She couldnt believe her ears.
Fathers at work! I cant manage alone! Are you blind to this?
I cant. Sorry, he snapped. Not my problem. Emily chose to have children. Let her sort it.
She nearly choked. How could he say such a thing?
Not your problem? Shes your sister! Your own flesh and blood! Cant you help just once?
I said no. Were leaving. Goodbye. The line went dead.
The dial tone pierced her ears. She stared at the screen, numb. She called again. Nothing. Again. Silence.
Rage boiled inside her. How dare he? She dialled her daughter-in-law. Perhaps Sophie would talk sense into him.
Margaret? Sophie answered too quickly.
Sophie, darling, Margaret forced calm into her voice. Please, make Oliver see reason. His nieces and nephewtheyre ill! Emilys drowning! You must understand, youre a woman.
Sophie exhaled. Her voice was cool, detached.
Margaret, childrens troubles belong to their parents. Cabs exist. So do doctors. Theyre not infants. Emilys grownshell manage.
Margaret froze. The words stung worse than Olivers refusal.
Sophie, have you any idea what its like, hauling three feverish toddlers in a cab? She cant do this alone!
Her children, Margaret, Sophie said flatly. We planned our evening weeks ago. We wont ruin it over someone elses troubles.
Shock gave way to white-hot fury.
Then dont come crying when you need help with your own! Margaret slammed the phone down.
The days blurred. Margaret didnt call Oliver. He didnt call her. She avoided thinking of it, but bitterness gnawed at her.
Nights were sleepless. That wretched conversation looped in her mind. How could her son be so cold? Where had she gone wrong? Had she raised a heartless man?
Her husband tried to speak of it, but she waved him off. She needed to understand alone.
By the fourth evening, she snapped. She went to Olivers. They had to talk face-to-face. She needed to see his eyes when she asked how he could betray his family.
Sophie opened the door, startled, but stepped aside wordlessly. Margaret stormed in, still in her coat.
Wheres Oliver?
In there. Sophie gestured to the bedroom.
Margaret flung the door open. Oliver met her gaze. For a second, something flickered in his eyesthen nothing.
Mum? Whats wrong?
How could you? Her shout made him flinch. Four days of fury spilled out. How could you abandon those children? Your sister? I didnt raise you to be selfish! To be cruel!
Oliver stood slowly, face blank. His calm infuriated her.
You couldve called a cab. Gone yourself, he shrugged. Im not at everyones beck and call.
He paused, locking eyes with her.
Or have you forgotten how Emily cut us off? he continued. The things shes saidsince we bought the flat. Six months of silence, and now suddenly she needs help?
Margaret faltered. Words failed her.
Thatsthats nonsense, she stammered. Emilys struggling with three children in a rented flat. You and Sophie have your own place, no little ones. Of course shes hurt. But not speaking? I didnt know. Whats she said?
Oliver narrowed his eyes. Sophie leaned in the doorway, arms crossed.
Plenty. About me, about Sophie. Our flats none of her business, Oliver said coldly. We earned it ourselves. No handouts. Her problems are hers. Dont drag my family into it.
Margaret stepped closer, fists clenched.
What rubbish! Shes your sister! Family!
No, Mum, Oliver raised his voice. Sophies my family. Emily shouldve thought before having three children. Im not her errand boy.
Margaret winced.
Youre selfish! Only think of yourself! Your sisters drowning, and you wont lift a finger!
Help? Oliver scoffed. Why help someone who hasnt spoken to me in half a year? Were done with Emily. How didnt you notice?
He took a breath, quieter now.
But why am I surprised? Youve only ever cared for Emily. Ive never mattered.
Heartless! How can you say that? Margaret turned away. She couldnt look at him. I didnt raise you this way, Oliver! I taught you to stand by family!
She fled the flat. On the landing, she stopped, gasping. Everything burned. How could he speak to her like that?
Cold air stung her cheeks, but breathing was no easier. As she walked to the bus stop, one thought pounded in her skull: Where had she failed? How had she raised such a man? Why didnt he understandfamily helped family?
Yet somewhere deep, in a corner she feared to face, doubt stirred. Olivers words about Emily. The silence after the flat. The things shed said. That he had his own family now. That Margaret had always favoured Emily.
She halted on the pavement. Passers-by streamed around her. What if Oliver was right? What if shed demanded too much, blind to his own burdens?
No. She shook her head sharply. Impossible. She was the mother. She knew best. Always had.
But the doubt festered, sharp and growing with every step.
On the bus, she stared blankly out the window. Life moved on outside, but inside, something had shattered.
She didnt know if it could be mended. If theyd ever speak as before. If she could forgive his refusalor if hed forgive her blindness.
The bus jolted over potholes. She closed her eyes. Perhaps tomorrow would bring clarity. Perhaps the right words would come. Perhaps the family would be whole again.
Or perhaps it was already too late.
