The door didnt open right away. Margaret Collins had just caught her breath, but sweat still trickled down her forehead, sticking to her eyebrows and the bridge of her nose. First came a startled gasp from behind the door, then the click of the lock, and finally, there she washer daughter.
“Mum?! Bloody hell How on earth did you carry all these bags? And why? Why didnt you call ahead?”
Tall, tanned, with an expression of irritated surprisethats how her own daughter, Emily, greeted her after more than a year of absence. When was the last time Emily had visited them, her ageing parents? Too busy, of course. So Margaret, driven by nagging worry, had mustered the courage for the long journey.
“Carried them the same way I always do, love,” Margaret answered one of the questions. “Couldnt come empty-handed, could I?”
She dragged both suitcases across the threshold with a heave. Emily made no move to helpperhaps too stunnedbut then she bent down, grabbed one of the handles, and tugged it aside to clear the way.
“Christ, did you stuff an entire hog in here?”
Her voice was smooth as polished stone, not a trace of joyjust bewilderment and annoyance. No hug, just a helpless glance at the second bagan old-fashioned, bulging wheeled suitcase that sat in the middle of the parquet floor like a relic from another time.
Margaret took a small step forward. Her fingers, trembling from exertion, fidgeted with the buckle on her raincoat.
“Sorry, love Packed a few bits. Jam for our William, chutneythe kind you like. All from our garden, your dad and I grew it” Her voice faltered, still winded from the effort, and it came out sounding guilty.
Emily sigheda deep, weary sound, heavy with the anticipation of inconvenience. Her gaze shifted from the suitcase to her motherthe crumpled dress, the scarf askew, the tiny beads of sweat on her upper lip.
Margaret, not waiting for an invitation, sank onto the nearest white leather ottoman. She sat stiffly, hands folded on her lap, the way people from her generation did. The journey had drained her completely. The train had taken twenty-eight hours, and then there was the Underground, wrestling with that clunky suitcase that kept jamming in the ticket barriers.
But how could she have come without it? She never visited her daughter empty-handed. Never. Especially now, after more than a year without seeing her.
“Did you change your number?” Margaret exhaled, glancing around. “I called for four days straightnothing. Your dads blood pressure shot up by the second day, by the third I was a wreck, imagining all sorts” She waved a hand, brushing off the memory. “Anyway! When I still couldnt reach you on the fourth day, I thoughtright, time to book a ticket. Got one for three days later, still no word from you. We were beside ourselves. And then, dragging myself through London What happened to your phone? You cant just leave your elderly parents in the dark like that. Were in our seventiesremember? And here I am with my bags.”
Emily looked away. A faint flush spread over her usually composed face. She touched her sleek ponytail, adjusting a nonexistent strand.
“Everythings fine, Mum. Just changed providers, been hectic, forgot to tell you” The words tumbled out quickly, half-swallowed.
“Williams number didnt work either.”
“Changed his too. We switched networks.”
Sitting on the stiff, uncomfortable ottoman, Margaret couldnt help but admire her daughter. Emily Their youngest, the one theyd prayed for after two rowdy boys. Theyd poured their hearts into her.
Her thoughts drifted, as they always did, to the boys. The eldest, James, was overseasAmerica, somewhere. Moved there years ago for work. Rarely called, only on big holidays. He had kids nowgrandchildren Margaret knew only from phone screens. Sometimes she imagined their voices, their laughter, but her mind refused to picture them clearly. Too far away.
“Mum? Youve gone quiet. Feeling alright?” Emilys voice pulled her back.
“No, love, just thinking. Still tired from the trip.” Margaret forced a weak smile. “Hows William? Everything peaceful?”
“Hes at football, should be back any minute. Maybe you should freshen up?”
“In a bit. Fetch me some water, would you?”
With measured steps, Emily headed to the kitchen, giving Margaret another moment to linger in memory. The middle son, Thomas, lived up north in Manchester, but they saw him rarely. His wife, Charlotte, had always been sharp-tongued, and Margaret had never quite fit in. Shed triedknitted jumpers for the grandkids, baked their favourite meat pies, brought home-made preserves. But it was never right. The jumpers werent stylish enough, the pies too plain, too rustic. She never argued, never made a fuss. Swallowed the hurt, smiled, and prayed Thomas was happy.
But Emily Emily was the one who worried her most. Nine years ago, theyd seen her married to Daniel, a decent, hardworking lad from Yorkshire. It shouldve been a good life. But after William was born, something shifted. Shed returned home with the baby, then, barely a year later, left him with Margaret and her husband, Robert, and bolted for Londonwork, studies, something. Said she was suffocating in the countryside.
“And hows our William? Must be taller now,” Margaret asked softly, sipping the water, her heart clenching with familiar ache.
Emilys face softened.
“Shot up, Mum. Proper little man now. Coach says hes brilliant at football. Only”
She trailed off, turning to adjust a vase on the console.
“Only he still asks sometimes when were going back to Grandma and Grandads. Especially when hes upset or poorly. Says your house smells like apples and pies, and here it just stinks of traffic.”
Margaret closed her eyes. She remembered every night William, already taken back to the city, had cried down the phone, begging to come home. He didnt do that anymore. She remembered Robert, smoking in silence on the porch, wiping away the odd tear. Theyd given that boy every bit of love they had, and then hed just been taken, like a borrowed thing. No explanation.
“He should be with his mother,” Margaret had told herself back then, more to convince herself than Robert. “Its right.”
On the train, watching the blur of fields through the window, shed tried to picture William. What did he look like now? If he took after Danielbroad, sturdyhed be shooting up fast. Robert had begged, “Take loads of photos, love. Itll be dull here without you.” Hed wanted to come too, but a fever had laid him low the week before she left. Only yesterday had he dragged himself up, pale but stubborn.
“Youll manage on your own? I cant sit here not knowing, worrying myself sick,” shed fretted, stuffing jars of jam into her bag.
“Ill manage,” Robert had croaked, tugging the blanket higher. “Just go. Butkeep an eye on Emily. Somethings not right. Shes pulling away.”
“Come on, Mum, lets get you fed!” Emily ushered her further inside, her voice warmer now. “Ive got soup and some ready-made pies. Ohheres William!”
The door swung open, and in bounded a tousle-haired ten-year-old, a sports bag slung over his shoulder. Spotting his grandmother, he frozethen kicked off his trainers and launched himself at her.
“Gran! You came!”
Margaret held him tight, his small body warm against hers, smelling of autumn air and boyish sweat. Tears spilled freelyshe didnt try to stop them.
“Oi, Gran, youll squash me!” He laughed but didnt let go, grinning up at her with unguarded delight.
“Look how tall youve got!” she sniffled, holding him at arms length. She smoothed his messy hair, ran a rough hand over his sun-kissed cheeks. “Proper lad now. I knitted you a jumpergreen, with reindeer” Her voice wavered. “Probably too small now. Got it wrong again.”
“S alright, Gran, you can fix it!” he chirped, hugging her again. “Missed you.”
Now, seated at the sleek dining table, Margaret picked at a single pie. The soupthin, barely therehad vanished without filling her. She eyed the plate where five neat, shop-bought pies still sat. Emily didnt cookno time.
“Mum, want another?” Emily asked politely, already stacking plates.
“No, love, Im fine,” Margaret lied, her stomach growling. “Not hungry after the trip.”
She glanced around the kitchengleaming appliances, stylish fittings, fresh paint. Williams room had a computer, a guitar, fancy sports gear. Emily wore expensive loungewear, gold studs
