Why would he need such a grandmother? I heard Margaret Thompson mutter, her voice cracking with exasperation. You invited us to stay for the whole summer, we had everything planned, and now you tell us not to bring the boy? What are we to do?
Her daughterinlaws voice rose over the humming of the phones speaker. Margaret held the handset a short arms length from her ear, so even without the loudspeaker every word came through clearly.
Emma, your plans are your own problem, the young woman snapped. You never consulted me, and now you?
Dont forget, you were the one who urged us to bring Sam to you! Emma interrupted, her tone sharp. I cant fathom what kind of grandmother you are. You cant take the grandson to your cottage, nor can you drive him to the garden. Youve never brought any fruit for him, only piled your own crates onto the house! Why would he need a grandmother like you when theres a perfectly normal one elsewhere?
Margarets face tightened; she pressed a free hand to her chest and let out a short, strained breath. She understood the subtext: either bow down and hand over the boy, or never see him again. A low, spiteful blackmail.
Emmas words had a grain of truth when you looked at the facts, but she twisted the whole situation on its head.
It would be best to start with the cottage Margaret had once hoped to use for Sam. It was modest, lacking most comforts. The toilet was outside, the shower was just a summer bucket. The garden produced a few berries that Margaret never bothered to eat. A battered barbecue where she and her first husband had once grilled meat, and a set of plastic chairs and a table. Simple, perhaps, but to Margaret it felt cozy in its own unpretentious way.
When Andrew, Margarets son, announced he wanted to bring his fiancée to the cottage for a weekend, Margaret grew uneasy.
She knew Emma only superficially: attractive, wellkept, confident, but with a hint of spoiled entitlement. She always looked down on everything and everyone, as if constantly assessing them. At their first meeting, the future daughterinlaw wandered through Margarets house without invitation, like an inspector. Margaret didnt like it then, but she obliged and gave her a tour, showing off her collection of figurines and family photo albums.
Andy, it sounds nice but are you sure Emma will like it? You grew up at that place, but I suspect Emma isnt used to such simplicity, Margaret warned gently as her son enthusiastically outlined his weekend plans.
Ill explain everything to her. Shes said she wants a country break, and this place is just that, Andrew replied. Margaret sighed, choosing not to argue. After all, people might think she didnt want them there.
It would have been easier to say no outright.
Margaret spent two days prepping. She cleaned, baked pies, hauled out the cellars special treats saved for rare occasions. Anxiety gnawed at her heart, yet the anticipation of a joyful reunion eclipsed the uneasy feeling.
From the moment Emma stepped out of the car, things went awry. She wore a white dress and highheeled sandals, glanced around with a disdainful squint, and her face darkened instantly.
This is a bathroom, or what? she said, pointing with a finger.
Yes its outside, but its clean, just like any proper one, Margaret replied with a strained smile.
Ah, communion with nature in every sense, Emma replied sarcastically.
The situation only worsened.
Bloody hell it feels like Ive been tossed back to the Stone Age, she complained to Andrew. Did you bathe in a bucket when you were a child? There are so many mosquitoes you could stay in the car! And the smell is horrendous.
Its just the neighbours chickens. Nothing to worry about, Andrew shrugged.
Emmas outcry was so loud Margaret heard every word. She felt embarrassed; she hadnt even invited Emma. She had prepared, waited, only to be met with a slap in the face.
Maybe shell get used to it, Margaret thought. The daughterinlaw and son lived far away, a days drive, so they had planned to stay the whole weekend.
But Emma didnt last a day. After another mosquito bite, she flailed her arms and headed back to the car.
Thats it! Either you drive me home, or Ill call a taxi, she shouted at Andrew. You cant live like this!
Andrew didnt protest. He hurriedly said goodbye to his mother and awkwardly slipped away from Emma.
I never imagined it would be this hard for her, he muttered, embarrassed.
Margaret tried to chalk everything up to unfamiliarity and poor adaptation. She herself struggled with the new lifestyle. Yet she didnt throw tantrums or slam doors. It was Andrews choice to live with that woman.
Six years later Emma and Andrew were married, and they had a son, Sam. Their relationship with Margaret never fully clicked, but she still hoped to bond with her grandson, despite the distance between towns. She believed a chance would arise.
Emma, could you bring Sam over? Margaret asked one afternoon. I have a garden, a river nearby, fresh air. He could get a years worth of vitamins.
Where would I bring him? To this squalor? Hed be better off staying at home, Emma sneered. You can send the vitamins yourself. You brag about having cherries you cant even use. At least you could have handed him over once this summer, as you boasted.
The rebuke cut to the bone, but Margaret said nothing. It was absurd to explain to a pampered city girl that hauling cherries all day in the heat was a miserable idea, that neighbourhood children adapted quickly, and that she simply wanted to see her grandson.
But that had been last year. The world had turned upside down in the meantime.
Now Margarets life was half spent in hospitals, drip stands, and endless queues at the clinic. A quarter of it was ruled by strict medical limits. She had just undergone surgery, and the doctor warned her against any heat or heavy lifting.
Take this seriously, the doctor said. Your heart cant handle strain. No heavy work, just light walks.
The most painful thing was that Andrew never visited, not even when she lay in the hospital. They spoke on the phone, but that was it. Margaret saw her friend Vicky more often than her own son. Vicky, incidentally, had helped her financially a bit. When Vicky learned the cottage was now offlimits for Margaret, she suggested:
Listen, why dont I talk to them? They wanted a summer escape, but their holiday budget is peanuts. The seaside is pricey these days. Ill sort something out, no strings attached. Itll be good for you and them to have a break out of town.
Margaret welcomed any extra penny in her condition.
Just as she was beginning to get back on her feet, Emma finally seemed ready to compromise. When the young couple started making plans, the cottages shabby state no longer mattered.
Emma, I offered you this a year ago. A year! Plans are wonderful; I had plans for this summer too, but life had other ideas. The cottage now has other occupants, I cant go there, I just had surgery.
When? Emma asked.
Two months ago, Margaret replied.
Two months? People are training for marathons now! Youre lucky you can sit at home on a pension. Some still have to work, Emma retorted. If you cant take Sam to the cottage, bring him to your flat.
From one city flat to another? Whats the point?
The point is we could finally have a proper break! Weve never had a day alone with Sam since he was born, and you kept shouting you wanted to see your grandson. Here, finally, you can!
Emma, are you even listening? A child needs constant care, and Im barely moving around the house.
Its just laziness, admit it, Emma snapped.
Margaret hung up, unable to bear the emptiness of the argument. She felt the whole dispute draining her. She was alone; if she fell ill, would Emma really come to look after her? Of course not.
That evening Andrew called, apologising for Emmas behaviour and gently asking if there was any chance they could still take Sam to her. The request made Margaret feel like a little girl, hurt and wanting to cry.
Andrew be honest, did you tell Emma Id had surgery? she demanded. How could you know and still leave the boy with me without asking?
Andrew fell silent. Seconds stretched, his silence choking her.
Mum I said you were unwell. I didnt know it was that serious.
Unwell. He didnt know. Those words hit Margaret hard. He seemed indifferent to how she felt; he hadnt even tried to understand when she told him that even climbing a second floor was a struggle.
Right, she managed.
Three days of oppressive silence followed. It felt as if, by refusing the young couple help, she had become invisible, forgotten. Even Andrew stopped writing in the evenings, stopped asking about her day.
On the fourth night Vicky called, just in time.
Maybe we could break into your cottage? My folks wont be there until the weekend. Its a cool day, we could sit, chat, she suggested.
Lets do it, Margaret answered, feeling a cats claws on her heart, desperate for any company.
They brewed tea, opened a box of biscuits Vicky had brought. The conversation flowed, and Margaret poured out everything.
Honestly, what can I tell you You understand, dont you? They have their own lives now. Dont tear yourself apart, live as you can. You have me, at least. Who knows, maybe youll find a nice old chap to share evenings with, Vicky said with a smile. Or finally do something for yourself. Your health is precious; you wont get it from them, only more stress.
Margaret sighed, pulling the biscuit box closer. In her chest a dull ache lingered, but she finally felt she was doing the right thing. She wasnt bending to others whims at the cost of her health. Life, with all its highs and lows, would go on even without the sons indifference or the daughterinlaws scorn.
