On the balcony, Natalie watched her motherinlaw shiver in the gloom on the cold bench outside the council flats. Should she call her? If she called, Mrs. Margaret Whitcombe would lift her head and shake itJust a moment longer, love. The old woman only left the building for fresh air when the bench was empty; the chatter of the younger tenants about council tax hikes and the soaring price of groceries made no sense to her. She had spent her whole life on a farm in Yorkshire and, for the past two years, had been forced to live with her son and his wife.
She’s gone completely mad, Natalie sighed, turning to her husband, Ian. We have to do what she wants.
Not yet, Ian replied, voice tight. Everything isnt ready for her to move out.
Two years earlier Margarets home had burned to the ground, leaving only a cracked foundation. The house, the chicken coop, even the small greenhouse were gone. Shed been at the market that day, hawking cucumbers and tomatoes from her garden, when a sparkeither a shortcircuit or a forgotten ironcaught fire. The wind fanned the flames, and in minutes the blaze reduced everything to ash. Villagers later recalled, with trembling voices, how she ran across the blackened yard, covered in soot, screaming from the heat. The chickens had survived, but the house had been her principal wealth.
After a stroke, Margaret was taken in by Ian and Natalie. For months she lay halfparalysed, then slowly began to stand. Mum, stay in bed a little longer; walking too much will do you no good, Natalie urged.
No, Ill get my feet on the ground now and then head back to the farm, Margaret retorted.
The family began to wonder if shed truly lost her mind. Had she forgotten what had happened? They probed gently. Do you think Im losing it? Margaret asked Natalie with a wry smile. Of course not. I remember the fire, the hospital, everything. Ill stay with my neighbour, Mrs. Pauline Hughes. Shes lonely, Ill help her around, save my pension, and rebuild slowly. I know youre not welloff either; the granddaughter is growing up and Im taking her room. Im just a burden here.
No one wanted to mention that Pauline had died weeks earlier, and her house was now a battlefield of relatives threatening lawsuits. Everyone feared another stroke. Pauline had been Margarets closest friendnot just emotionally, but because she lived next door. Margaret also missed her younger sister, Anne, who lived up north where the climate was harsher. Her two sons, Victor and the younger David, were often away; only Michael, the seafarer, spent his time on distant waves.
What weighed on Margaret most was sharing a room with her granddaughter, Lily, a university student who could barely fit a friend over her bed. Grandma, were all on the internet now, you cant just call on people to come over! Lily explained.
Whats this internet you speak of? Margaret asked, bewildered. Even a cup of tea together seems a thing of the past.
She tried not to be a nuisance to Ian and Natalie, seeing how frugal their lives were. She helped with cleaning and cooking the way a daughterinlaw would, but her left hand trembled and the effort left her exhausted. When she learned of Paulines death, she wept for a long time before saying, My dears, dont be angry, but Ive decided: place me in a care home. Victor, you have my power of attorneyI wrote it at the hospitalso you can settle everything. Please, I just want to be with people. If it costs too much, sell my plot. It wont fetch much, but any amount will do.
Natalie, Ian and Lily were outraged, yet gradually the idea settled like dust on a windowsill. Victor, after a flurry of paperwork, claimed hed sold the land, but the bureaucracy of the local councils housing department was a nightmare. He handed money to the director, who still stalled, waiting for his turn. Autumn was drawing near; everyone longed for peace.
When Margaret returned from her evening stroll, she stood at the doorway and declared, Victor, if you dont take me to the care home on Monday, Ill find my own way. Ill go to the director myself and demand a bedmoneys already paid, the state must look after me!
The weekend slipped away with Victor disappearing, only to appear late on Sunday, whispering anxiously to Natalie. Its arranged. The director has a room for you tomorrow, even a private one.
The next morning they piled into Victors battered old Vauxhall Viva. Margaret could not understand why her son was driving toward the countryside when the care home lay in the opposite direction.
Mum, theyve closed the roaddetour only, Victor said.
Fine, Margaret muttered.
The familiar villages whizzed by, then the old village where Margaret had grown up appeared. She shut her eyes, unwilling to see the familiar lanes and the plot she had sold two years before. When she opened them, the car had stopped at a gate leading onto that very piece of land, now occupied by a brandnew redbrick house. Anne stood there, smiling, a basket of fresh scones in her hands. Margarets vision swam; she felt herself faint.
When she steadied herself, Anne embraced her, and Victor explained, Mum, no one was going to sell the land. We took a loan and built this house. Mitchel sent over a hefty sum; the council granted us planning permission. You now have three rooms, a large kitchen with a veranda, a dualfuel boiler, a proper shower and toilet. Anne has been here for six months, renovating the interior. It was meant to be a surprise. If youd waited two more weeks, the outbuilding would have been finished with a chicken coop, but you didnt want to wait! Mitchel will be here in fortnight, and you already ruined the plan!
Tears and laughter mingled as Margaret hugged her sister, her son, her daughterinlaw, and Lily, not knowing how to thank each of them. Who could have imagined such a surprise? Their silence almost brought another strokefrom joy. How sweet it is to have a family that fights for you, even when the world seems to crumble around you.
