**Diary Entry 18th April**
*”The neighbour means more to me than you do,”* Mum said before hanging up.
I stood in the kitchen of my London flat, the phone still gripped in my hand as if it had turned to ice. Id called her in Manchester to share the news of my promotionsomething Id hoped would make her proud. Instead, I got that.
*”Whats wrong?”* James asked, stepping in and frowning at the look on my face. *”Youve gone pale.”*
*”Mum just told me her neighbour is closer to her than I am.”* My voice was flat as I set the phone down. *”No warning, no argumentjust like that.”*
*”Did you two have a row?”*
*”No! I was telling her about the promotion, and she cut me offEmily, youre always wrapped up in your own world, while Margaret next door checks on me every day, brings my prescriptions, even does my shopping. Shes more like family than you are.”*
James sat opposite me, his frown deepening. *”Maybe shes not well. Could it be her nerves?”*
*”Nerves? Shes perfectly sharp!”* I let out a bitter laugh. *”She knew exactly what she was saying. And do you know what started it? I suggested she come stay with us for the summer, maybe rent a cottage in the Cotswolds. She snapped back, What do I need a cottage for when Margaret helps me in the garden every week?”*
I fell quiet, then sighed. *”And Ive been sending her money every month£200. Just in case, Id say. Thought it would make things easier for her.”*
*”Stop sending it,”* James said firmly. *”If the neighbours so important, let her help.”*
*”James, dont say that. Shes still my mum.”*
*”A mother who just belittled her own daughter? Emily, wake up. No decent parent talks like that to their child.”*
I moved to the window. Outside, children were laughing in the courtyard, their voices bright and carefree. It felt miles away.
Margaret *was* a good neighbour. Lived next door, widowed, her own children up in Scotland, visiting once a year if that. I remembered her from childhoodstern, always telling us off for playing too loudly in the hall. Now, apparently, she was *more family* than me.
The phone rang againMums number.
*”Dont answer,”* James said.
*”What if somethings wrong?”*
*”Then let *Margaret* deal with it.”*
I picked up anyway.
*”Emily, whyd you hang up? We were talking.”*
*”You hung up, Mum. Right after bringing up Margaret.”*
*”Oh, that”* Her voice turned sharp. *”Well, its true. Margarets here every day, while youre off in London. When my blood pressure spiked last month, who called the ambulance? Margaret. Where were you?”*
*”At work! I didnt even know! You never called!”*
*”Whats the point? You wouldnt have come anyway. Too busy with your *important* job.”*
My throat tightened. Old wounds, never really healed.
*”Do you want me to come tomorrow? Ill take the day off.”*
*”Dont bother. Margarets taking me to the doctors. Youd just be on your phone the whole time anyway.”*
The words stung like a slap. *”Fine. If thats what you want.”*
*”Oh, and dont bother sending any more money,”* she added briskly. *”Margaret says its wrongchildren buying their way out of guilt. I dont need your handouts.”*
Silence. Then, muffled in the background*”Margaret, love, whats this medicine? For my stomach? Bless you, dear”*
I hung up.
James squeezed my shoulder.
*”She might not be in her right mind.”*
*”She is.”* I pulled away. *”Ive just become expendable. Remember when I was at uni? Why bother with degrees? Just marry well. When I got my job? Career-obsessed, neglecting family.”*
*”But you call her every week!”*
*”And every time, I hear how Im failing. Not visiting enough. Wrong gifts. Not enough time with the grandkids. Now Margarets the golden child.”*
I sank into a chair, rubbing my temples.
*”The worst part? I was going to ask her to move in with us. Not just for summerfor good. Clear out the spare room, make it hers. Thought itd make her happy. And she”* My voice cracked. *”A neighbour means more.”*
The twins burst in thenLiam and Sophie, back from school, chattering about their day.
*”Mum, when are we seeing Grandma?”* Sophie asked, bouncing on her toes. *”You promised half-term.”*
I hesitated. *”I dont know, love. Maybe not this time.”*
*”Why?”* Liam frowned. *”We made her that photo book!”*
Theyd spent weeks on itdrawings, pressed flowers, Sophies cross-stitched bookmark. All boxed up, ready for our trip to Manchester.
*”Well send it later,”* I murmured.
Sophie peered at me. *”Mum, are you poorly? Your eyes are red.”*
*”Just tired.”*
James steered them away, whispering something about Grandma not feeling well.
That evening, after the kids were asleep, I flipped through old albums. Me as a toddler, Mum laughing as she pushed me on a swing. Baking biscuits together, my eight-year-old self covered in flour. My graduationher beaming beside me, so proud.
When had things changed? After Dad died? Or earlier?
Five years gone, and shed grown colder, sharper. Id told myself it was grief. But time didnt soften herjust deepened the distance.
*”Whats on your mind?”* James asked, settling beside me.
*”That I *am* a terrible daughter.”*
*”Rubbish. You call. You send money. You visit when you can. What else is there?”*
*”Living next door. Dropping everything. Being Margaret.”*
*”And what about your life? The kids? Us?”*
I shrugged. *”Doesnt matter to her. Only that Im not there.”*
The phone rang againunknown number.
*”Emily? Its Margaret, your mums neighbour. You need to come. Shes not herselfcrying nonstop since your call. Keeps saying, Ive hurt my girl, Ive hurt my girl. Wont calm down.”*
My chest tightened. *”Is she ill?”*
*”No, no. Just heartbroken. Says she spoke out of turn. Loves you dearlyjust doesnt know how to say it.”*
The bitterness in my chest wavered.
*”Tell her Ill be there tomorrow. With the children.”*
*”Oh, thank goodness. I was about to ring the GP.”*
After hanging up, I sat frozen, the phone limp in my hand.
*”Youre going?”* James asked.
*”Yes. Maybe she *cant* say she misses me. Maybe thats just how she is.”*
*”And if she brings up Margaret again?”*
*”Then Ill remind herneighbours come and go. Family doesnt.”*
The next morning, we took the train north. The twins chattered about their gifts; I stared out the window, thinking how often love gets lost in clumsy words.
Mum answered the dooreyes red, hands shaking. She pulled me into a hug before I could speak.
*”Im sorry, love. I didnt mean it. I dont know why I”*
*”Its alright,”* I whispered, stroking her hair. *”Were here now.”*
In the hallway, Margaret smiled softly and slipped back inside. Neighbours are kind, but blood runs deeper.
