The air in the cottage kitchen hung thick with the scent of burnt pastry as Eleanor barged in, her face flushed. Mum! Youve left the oven on again! she snapped, twisting the knob sharply. How many times must I remind you? Youll burn the whole place down!
Margaret Whitmore flinched, tearing her gaze from the window where shed been watching sparrows flit along the ledge. No need to shout, Eleanor. I only stepped away for a momentthe kettle was boiling.
Moment? Eleanor scoffed. At your age, moments turn into disasters. Mrs. Thompson from next door complained about the gas smell in the corridor last week!
She wasnt wrong. Margaret had grown forgetful, especially after burying Arthur two winters prior. It was as though part of her mind had slipped away with himthe small things, like turning off taps or recalling yesterdays breakfast, blurred into fog. Yet she remembered the weight of Eleanor in her arms as a newborn, Arthurs proposal under the oak in Regents Park, her daughters first wobbly steps across their sitting room rug.
Ill put the kettle on properly, Margaret offered, forcing calm into her voice. Fancy a scone? Baked them fresh this morning, just how you like.
Eleanor dropped into a chair, drumming her fingers on the checked tablecloth. Mum, we need to talk.
Something in her tone set Margarets hands trembling as she set out the china. Go on, then.
You cant live alone anymore. Its not safefor you or the neighbours. The gas, the electrics What if you took a fall? Whod find you?
Eleanor, whats this about? I manage perfectly well!
Eleanor shook her head, pulling papers from her handbag. Ive arranged everything. A lovely care home in Surrey. Theyll tend to your meals, your medications, keep you social. Youll have companypeople your own age.
Margarets throat tightened around a bite of scone. A care home? What nonsense is this?
Its not some grim institution, Eleanor insisted. Private, respectable. Ive paid the deposit already.
Without consulting me? Margarets voice cracked. This is my home! My entire life is here!
Be sensible, Mum. Youre rattling about in a three-bedroom cottage. The heating bills alone are astronomical, the roof leaks, and its me footing all the repairs while you
While I what?
Eleanor held up a hand. And theres Simon. Hes relocating from Manchester. Weve decided to marry. This place is idealcentral, characterful. Wed rather not sell, given its been in the family.
Simon? Margaret frowned. Youve known him barely six months!
Im forty-three, Mum. I know my own mind. Simons establishedowns his own firm. Hes even suggested I leave the office, focus on myself for once.
And where does that leave me?
At the care home! Its for the bestreally! Ive read the brochures. Theyve gardening clubs, watercolour classes, a choir. Youll make friends, have a purpose.
Margaret stood, her slippers whispering against floorboards worn smooth by forty years of pacing. Forty years of breakfasts at this table, of watching seasons shift through these leaded windows. Eleanor had taken her first steps in this room, done her maths homework sprawled across this very rug. Arthur used to tut over the morning paper here, clucking at the headlines.
So thats it? Margaret whispered. No discussion?
Eleanor shrugged. Youd only refuse. This way, Ive handled it.
Handled it. The words curdled in Margarets mouth. Im your mother, not some inconvenient parcel to be posted away!
No ones saying that! But we must be practical. Ive spent thirty years putting you and Dad first. Now its my turn.
The blow landed sharp as a slap. Margaret remembered remortgaging the house for Eleanors tuition, stitching her prom dress by lamplight, minding little Sophie while Eleanor worked late shifts at the hospital.
Sophie Where was her granddaughter in all this?
Does Sophie know? Does she approve of carting her gran off to some home?
Eleanor looked away. Sophies at university in Edinburghbarely visits. Why upset her?
You havent even told her?
I will. Once youre settled.
That evening, Margaret traced photographs in the leather album Arthur had gifted her on their ruby anniversary. Eleanor at five, gap-toothed in a school pinafore. Their family picnic in the CotswoldsArthur swinging a squealing Eleanor skyward. Eleanors graduation, radiant in white, arms slung around her parents shoulders.
When had her child begun seeing her as a burden? Perhaps when she married that dreadful Nigel. Hed resented Margaret from the start, needling about young couples needing space. At first Eleanor defended her, but gradually the barbs took root. And when Nigel ran off with his secretary, abandoning Eleanor with baby Sophie, somehow the blame settled on Mum always interfering.
Ridiculous. Margaret had never meddledonly helped with Sophie when Eleanor worked nights.
Sophie The one who still rang just to chat, who asked her advice about boys and books. But Edinburgh might as well be the moon. And Eleanor was rightwhy distress the girl before exams?
By Monday, a liveried car idled at the kerb. The driver, a grandfatherly sort with kind eyes, loaded Margarets single suitcase.
Far to go? he asked.
Leatherhead, Eleanor answered. Forty minutes.
Forty minutes from her life.
The care home smelled of antiseptic and overcooked sprouts. Her room overlooked a manicured lawn where residents shuffled behind walkers. Across the hall, a former librarian named Agnes prattled about bridge tournaments.
Eleanor visited Sundays, bearing grapes and gossip, always checking her watch.
Then Sophie came, all windswept curls and fury. Gran, why didnt anyone tell me? she demanded, clutching Margarets hands on the garden bench.
Your mother thought exams
Exams were weeks ago! Im coming for you this weekend.
And she did. But Eleanor remained unmoved. Sophie, stay out of adult matters. I know whats best.
Or is it whats easiest? Sophie shot back.
Margaret adapted. Bingo nights. Beetroot salads. The relentless cheer of activities coordinators. But her dreams were full of her cottage, of Arthurs pipe smoke lingering in the curtains.
Then Eleanor arrived on a Wednesday, mascara streaking her cheeks. Simons gone, she choked out. Some girl half his age. Said I was too matronly for his lifestyle.
Margaret said nothing. The I told you so perched on her tongue tasted bitter.
What now? she asked instead.
Eleanor crumpled. The cottage is half-demolished. He took loans in my name I quit my job because he
Come home, Margaret said simply.
Eleanor looked up, raw hope in her eyes. Youd really after everything?
Margaret smoothed her daughters hair, just as she had when Eleanor skinned her knees chasing butterflies. Were family. Families forgive.
The cottage smelled of plaster and loss. Simon had stripped the place bareeven nicked the good silver. But as Eleanor unearthed Margarets wedding china from a cobwebbed cupboard, something like peace settled between them.
Proper tea tomorrow? Margaret asked, running a finger over the gilded rim of a cup.
Eleanor nodded, tears sparkling. Proper tea, Mum. The properest.
