My son isnt our grandson any more, my exmotherinlaw said before slamming the line.
David, Im asking you for the last time are you going to send money for Micks boots? Winters coming, the boys outgrown his old pair and has nothing proper to wear.
Eleanor gripped the receiver as if she could squeeze not only Davids voice but the last shreds of his conscience from the line. On the other end there was a pause, then a hesitant, foreverjustifying sigh.
Eleanor, you know its tight at the moment. Works a nightmare, the bonus got held up
I hear that every month, she cut him off. David, its your son. He needs winter boots, not another toy. Im not asking for anything myself; Im doing this for him.
I understand, he muttered. But Mum Mum thinks youre asking for too much. She says the maintenance should be enough.
What maintenance? The three pence you send once a quarter when your own mother remembers to remind you? You cant even buy the laces for those boots with that!
Tears welled, hot and helpless, as she stood in her cramped kitchen, the air still smelling of yesterdays stew and damp laundry drying on a line above the stove. In the only other room, Mick, her sixyearold, slept her sole joy and constant worry.
Ill talk to her again, David promised without conviction. Maybe something will work.
Dont waste your breath, Eleanor snapped, hanging up.
Speaking to his mother, Tammy Harding, was like banging your head against a granite wall. The cold, domineering woman expected the world to revolve around her wishes and her sons whims. Eleanor brushed the tears from the back of her hand, checked on her son. Mick lay with his arms flung wide, his fair hair splayed across the pillow, a battered plush rabbit at his side. She pulled the blanket up, kissed his warm cheek. For him she would move heaven and earth.
The phone rang again, a strangers city code flashing on the screen, but her heart leapt she knew who it was. She shuffled back to the kitchen and lifted the handset.
Hello?
Eleanor? Its Tammy.
The exmotherinlaws voice was as cold as ice, no pleasantries, straight to the point.
Yes, MrsHarding, good day.
I asked David to tell you to stop pestering him with endless requests. Looks like you never got the memo. Listen carefully, and we wont have to bring this up again. Davids starting a new life, a proper family. Were done supporting you and your problems.
Eleanor fell silent, feeling the chill sink deeper.
As for the boy Tammy paused, choosing the most cutting words. Your son is no longer our grandson. Forget this address, forget this number. All the best.
A short, harsh buzz sounded like a gunshot in the quiet kitchen. Eleanor lowered the phone, staring at a point on the wall. Grandson. Simple and terrifying. As if you could just erase a child who bore their surname, who had his fathers eyes and his grandfathers stubborn chin. She sank onto a stool, cradling her head. It was the end not just a divorce, but a total, final severance from the life that once held hopes, countryhouse holidays and the notion that her boy could have a real, complete family.
Morning found her with a heavy head but a clear resolve no more hoping for anyone else. It was just her and Mick now, a duo against the world. She worked as a seamstress in a modest workshop, earning little but enough for a modest existence. Now shed have to tighten the belt even further.
Mum, are we going to Grandma Tammys this weekend? Mick asked over breakfast, tapping his foot under the table. She promised to show me the big car dad bought.
Eleanors heart tightened. How could she explain that Grandma Tammy no longer wanted to see him? That Dad now had another child, a boy or girl, to show the new car to?
Mick, Grandmas very busy right now, and Dads as well. How about we go to the park this weekend, ride the carousel, have some fun?
Mick hesitated, but the thought of the carousel quickly won him over.
I want it! And cotton candy!
Cotton candy it is, Eleanor smiled, hiding the ache behind her grin.
And so their new life began. Eleanor took any side job she could find hemming neighbours trousers, fitting zippers, sewing curtains by night. She survived on four or five hours of sleep, but a happy face on Mick, a chocolate biscuit he loved, or his delight at a new book they could finally afford, made the fatigue fade. She learned to stretch the pound. The winter boots were bought on clearance not fashionable, but warm.
Sometimes, after Mick was asleep, desperation washed over her. She sat at the sewing machine, the rhythmic clack echoing her thoughts on lifes unfairness. She thought of David indecisive, childish, once dear. She recalled his proposal, their dreams of children, and how his parents, especially his mother, wrested him from her, insisting she was plain and had no standing or money. Then a tiny mistake was blown up by Tammy into a cosmic betrayal, and David, unable to bear the pressure, simply walked away.
A year passed. Mick started school. Eleanor proudly walked him to the assembly, his new uniform a jacket shed sewn herself and a bouquet of bright dahlias. She knew she was doing right; they would make it.
At the workshop, the owner changed. The new proprietor, Angela Whitaker, was stern but fair. She immediately noticed Eleanors precision and talent.
You have golden hands, Ellie, she said, inspecting a flawless silk seam. Ever thought of doing more than just alterations?
What do you mean? Eleanor asked.
Maybe creating your own line. Youve got an eye.
Eleanor brushed it off. What own line when I have to worry about rent and school fees? Yet Angelas words lodged themselves in Eleanors mind. One evening, while rummaging through old fabrics, she found a strip of bright chintz with tiny flowers. An idea sparked. She stitched a tiny jumpsuit and a little cap for Micks plush rabbit. It was so cute she took it to the workshop to show.
Angela examined the miniature outfit, then declared, Tomorrow bring everything else youve made toys, doll clothes, anything.
Eleanor was bewildered, but the next day she brought a small box of creations: a few doll dresses, a tiny bear costume, an embroidered shirt for Mick with berry motifs. Angela displayed them on the shops front counter.
Experiment, she said shortly.
By evening the display was empty. Women picking up orders cooed over the tiny pieces and bought them for their children and grandchildren. One lady even ordered an entire wardrobe for a pricey German doll her granddaughter owned.
Eleanor could hardly believe her eyes. What shed dismissed as a hobby turned profitable. She began sewing not only curtains but these little garments. First for the shop window, then as orders grew, she launched a socialmedia page, calling her venture Mums Warmth.
Money stopped being a constant nightmare. She enrolled Mick in an art club hed longed for. They moved into a larger, though still rented, flat with a separate room for Mick. Eleanor blossomed. The perpetual fatigue left her eyes; a spark returned. She still worked hard, but now her craft brought both income and deep satisfaction.
Mick grew into a gentle, caring boy. He never asked about his father or that other grandmother again. His world was his mum. He bragged to friends that his mother was the best wizard in the world, capable of stitching anything.
When Mick was twelve, the phone rang again. An unfamiliar number, yet Eleanor answered.
Eleanor? Hello, this is Tammy Harding.
She froze. She hadnt heard that voice in six years. It was the same cold metal.
Im listening.
Im calling about business, Tammy said, no hint of embarrassment. A friend recommended you as a wonderful childrens seamstress. My grandsons birthday is coming up hell be five. Id like an exclusive costume, something special. I know youre busy, but Im willing to pay double. Its very important to me.
Eleanor closed her eyes. Grandson. Five years old. So Davids new family really did exist. And now the woman who had once cast her son out wanted her services. The irony was bitter.
Tammy, Im sorry, but I must decline, Eleanor said, her voice steady, devoid of anger or spite, only calm dignity.
A stunned silence hung on the line. It seemed refusals were foreign to her.
What do you mean, decline? Ill pay any price!
Its not about the price, Eleanor replied evenly. A few years ago you called me and said my son was no longer your grandson. You erased him from your life without a thought for the child.
That was long ago Tammy began, but Eleanor cut her off.
For you it might be long ago. For me, every second of that conversation lives on. I built my life and my business from scratch, putting love into every stitch for my child. My brand, Mums Warmth, cant be used for a family that discarded a child with such cold cruelty.
She paused, letting the former motherinlaw absorb the words.
My son the one you said no longer a grandson is right there in the next room, drawing. Hes talented, kind, and the only thing I have. Keep your money; maybe itll buy you a conscience, though I doubt it. All the best.
Eleanor hung up without waiting for a reply. Her hands trembled slightly, but her heart felt light. It wasnt revenge; it was justice. She slipped into the doorway of Micks room and peered in. He was bent over a sketchpad, so engrossed he didnt notice her. His drawings lined the wall bright, full of light and life.
She smiled. Yes, they were fine. And they would only get better. She closed the door, went to the kitchen, and put the kettle on. Another ordinary evening lay ahead, filled with the quiet happiness she had crafted with her own two hands, and no room for ghosts of the past.
