On the narrow balcony of their terraced house, Natalie watched with a twinge of pity as her motherinlaw, Eleanor Whitfield, sat in the dim light on the bench by the lift shaft: should she call her over or let her stay? If she tried, Eleanor would lift her head, shake it slowly and mutter that shed linger a bit longer. The old lady only ventured out for a breath of fresh air when the bench was completely empty; the chatter of her peers about council tax, soaring grocery bills and the like was a language she never understood. She had spent her whole life in a Yorkshire village and for the past two years had been forced to live under the same roof as her son and daughterinlaw.
Mothers really given up the ghost, Natalie sighed to her husband. Its time we honoured her wish.
Hold on a little longer; were not ready to move her yet, James replied.
Two years earlier a fire had reduced Eleanors cottage to a blackened foundation. The blaze devoured the house, the chicken coop, the tiny greenhouse and a shed where she kept her prizewinning cucumbers and tomatoes from the garden. She had been at the market that day, selling the produce, when a stray spark from a neglected kettle ignited the thatch. The wind fed the flames, and by the time she arrived the place was a pile of ash. Neighbours remembered, long after the smoke cleared, the sight of her sprinting across the sootblack yard, covered in ash, shrieking in despair. She had lived alone; the chickens survived, but the home was her greatest treasure.
After Eleanor suffered a stroke, James and Natalie brought her into their home. For months she lay halfparalysed, then slowly began to stand on shaky legs.
Darling, rest a bit more; youll hurt yourself walking so much, Natalie urged.
No, Im getting my feet under me again, and soon Ill return to my village, Eleanor answered.
They all concluded that perhaps Eleanor had lost her mind. Maybe you dont remember what happened? they asked gently. Eleanor, with a wry smile, retorted, You think Im mad? I recall the fire, the hospital bed. Ive decided Ill stay with my neighbour, Mrs. Dorothy shes also alone. Ill help her around, save my pension and rebuild, slowly. I know youre not welloff either; my granddaughter is growing, and Im crowding her room. Im a spare piece here.
No one wanted to admit that Dorothy had passed away just weeks before, and her house was now being contested by a swarm of relatives, each threatening the other with lawsuits. Everyone feared another stroke. Dorothy had been Eleanors closest friend, both emotionally and because she lived just down the lane. Eleanor also missed her younger sister, Annie, who lived up north where the weather was harsher. Her two sons, Harry and the younger David, were busy; their brother Mick roamed the seas as a motor sailor, forever on a voyage.
What weighed most on Eleanor was that she now occupied the room of her granddaughter, Lucy, a university student who could barely fit a friend over for tea. Grandma, its not the age of tea parties any more; we all talk on the internet now, Lucy would explain.
Whats this internet then? Eleanor would ask, puzzled. We cant even share a cuppa together.
Eleanor tried not to be a burden. She saw how modestly James and Natalie lived and did what she could to help with cleaning and cooking, though her clumsy hands and a weak left arm made it difficult. When she learned of Dorothys death, tears fell for days before she announced, Children, Im sorry to be a bother, but Ive decided: place me in a care home. Harry, you have my power of attorney; I wrote it at the hospital. You can settle everything for me. Please, I just want some company. If it costs too much, sell my plot. It may be cheap, but at least it will raise some money.
Natalie, Harry and Lucy were outraged, yet over time Eleanors resolve seeped into them. Harry began to sort the paperwork, claiming he had already sold the land, but the bureaucracy was a nightmare. He slipped cash to the director, who still stalled, waiting for his turn. Autumn approached, and the longing to move grew stronger.
One evening, after her stroll, Eleanor burst through the doorway, Harry, if you dont get me to the care home by Monday, Ill go myself. Ill go to the director and demand a bed; the state has already taken my money, so it must look after me!
All weekend Harry disappeared, only to reappear late Sunday, whispering anxiously to Natalie. Everythings arranged with the homes manager; therell be a room for you tomorrow, even a private one.
At dawn they piled into Harrys battered Ford Escort. Eleanor could not fathom why her son was driving towards the direction of her old village when they were supposed to head the opposite way.
Mother, theyve closed the road; we have to take a detour, Harry replied.
The familiar lanes of the neighbouring hamlets slipped by, then the village where Eleanor had grown up appeared. She squinted, unwilling to see the familiar streets and the plot she had sold two years earlier. She closed her eyes, feeling the car slow and roll through gates she could not recognise. When she opened them, the vehicle was pulling into a new redbrick house on her former plot, and standing at the gate, smiling, was her sister Annie.
The world swam; Eleanor felt faint, as if the scene were a dream. When she steadied herself and embraced Annie, she learned the whole ruse.
Mother, nobody intended to sell the land. We decided to build a new house from the start, Harry explained. We didnt tell you because we took a mortgage, and Mick sent over a hefty sum. The area was redeveloped, and the construction went ahead. Now you have three rooms, a spacious kitchen with a veranda, a double boiler, shower, and loo. Annies here too; shes been living here for six months after moving from the north, doing the interior work. It was all meant to be a surprise! If youd waited another fortnight, the shed and chicken coop would have been finished, but you insisted on moving now, and Mick will arrive in two weeks.
Eleanor laughed through tears, hugging sister, son, daughterinlaw, and granddaughter in turn, unable to decide who deserved thanks most. Who could have guessed such a surprise was being plotted? Their silence nearly gave her a second stroke from sheer joy. How sweet it is, she thought, to have such devoted kin.
