At sixtyfive I finally understood that the worst thing wasnt being alone it was having to beg my own children to call, knowing I was a burden to them.
Mum, hello, I need you urgently, my sons voice crackled through the handset, flat as if he were speaking to a reluctant employee rather than his mother.
Nancy Whitfield froze, remote still in her hand, the evening news never having been turned on.
Hey, Harry, whats up? she asked.
Nothing, all good, he sighed impatiently. Kat and I booked a lastminute flight; we leave tomorrow morning.
Whos going to look after the Duke? Hes huge, slobbery, takes up more room in my little flat than the old sideboard.
Long term? Nancy asked, already knowing the answer.
For a week, maybe two, if it works out. Mum, who else? Leaving him at a kennels is cruel you know how sensitive he is.
Nancy glanced at the sofa, freshly reupholstered in a light fabric shed been saving for months, denying herself any little luxuries. Within days Duke would shred it.
Harry, I I just finished the renovations, she said.
What renovations? Did you repaper the walls? his tone edged with irritation. Duke is wellbehaved, just dont forget to walk him. Kats calling, we need to pack. Well have him in an hour.
A short, dismissive beep. He hadnt even asked how she was, hadnt wished her a happy birthday a week ago. Sixtyfive.
Shed spent the whole day waiting for his call, prepared her signature salad, slipped into a new dress. The kids had promised to drop by, but never came.
Harry sent a terse text: Mum, busy at work cant talk. Blythe didnt reply at all.
And today I need you urgently.
Nancy let herself sink slowly onto the sofa. The problem wasnt the dog or the ruined upholstery. It was the humiliating feeling of being a freestanding emergency service, the last resort, a human placeholder.
She remembered dreaming, years ago, that her children would grow up independent. Now she realised the true terror wasnt an empty flat; it was the heartstopping wait for a call that only came when they needed something. Begging for their attention, trading her own comfort and dignity for theirs.
An hour later there was a knock. Harry stood in the doorway, leash in hand, Duke bounding in, tail wagging, already leaving muddy prints on the spotless floor.
Mum, heres his food, his toys. Three walks a day, remember? Were off, or well miss the flight! He shoved the leash into her hand, planted a quick kiss on her cheek and was gone.
Nancy stood alone in the hallway, Duke nosing the arm of the chair. From somewhere deep in the flat the sound of tearing fabric drifted. She stared at her phone. Should she call Blythe? Maybe shed understand? Her finger hovered over the screen, frozen. Blythe hadnt called in a month; she had her own life, her own family.
For the first time a cold, clear, sober awareness washed over her. Enough.
Morning broke with Duke, in a sudden burst of affection, leaping onto the bed and leaving two dirty pawprints on the crisp white duvet. The new sofa was already ripped in three places, and the ficus shed nurtured for five years lay on the floor, leaves gnawed.
Nancy poured herself a measure of valerian from the bottle and dialed her son. He didnt answer right away. In the background the sound of waves and Kats laugh drifted from the beach.
Mum, what? Harry shouted from somewhere sunny. Everythings brilliant, the sea is gorgeous!
Harry, about the dog. Hes wrecking the flat, tearing the sofa, I cant manage him.
What do you mean? Hes never chewed anything before. Maybe youre being too strict? He needs freedom. We just got here, we want to relax. Just walk him longer, hell settle.
I walked him two hours this morning! He pulls the leash so hard I almost fell. Please, take him back. Find another place for him.
Silence stretched. Then Harrys voice grew hard.
Mum, seriously? Were on the other side of the world. How am I supposed to bring him back? You agreed yourself. Are you trying to make us scrap the whole trip because of a whim? Thats selfish, Mum.
The word selfish hit her like a slap. All her life shed lived for them and now she was the selfish one?
Alright, alright, Kats brought the drinks. Keep Duke entertained. Im sure youll get on. The line clicked back to the beach chatter.
Another beep. Nancys hands trembled as she sat at the kitchen table, the wreckage of her home around her. She decided to call Blythe the daughter whod always seemed the most sensible.
Blythe, hi.
Hey, Mum. Anything urgent? Im in a meeting.
Yes. Harry left his dog with me and flew off. Hes out of control, Im scared hell bite me.
Blythe sighed. Mum, he asked for help. It was an emergency, wasnt it? Were family. Just buy a new sofa, hell get it fixed later.
Its not about the sofa! Its about being left with this responsibility!
Do I need to be on my knees begging? Im retired, I have all the time in the world. Look after the dog, its not a big deal. My boss is watching.
The call ended. The word family now felt like a hollow echo.
Later that evening a furious neighbour from downstairs banged on the door.
Nancy! Your dog has been howling for three hours! My baby cant sleep! If you dont quiet him Ill call the police!
Duke barked triumphantly from behind her, confirming the accusation.
She shut the door, looked at the dogs wagging tail, then at the shredded sofa, then at her phone, a low hum of irritation building inside her. She had always tried to resolve things politely, to reason, to empathise. Her logic, her feelings, her pleas were now meeting an indifferent wall.
She grabbed the leash.
Come on, Duke, lets go for a walk.
In the park she felt the tension in her shoulders turn to a dull, aching pain. Duke lunged forward, nearly pulling the leash from her weakened grip. Each jerk echoed the words of her children: selfish, too much time, hard to help.
From the opposite path came Zinnia Clarke, a former colleague, bright scarf, sleek haircut, eyes sparkling.
Nancy! I barely recognised you! Still juggling everyones messes? Again with the grandkid? she laughed, nodding at Duke.
Its Harrys dog, Nancy replied flatly.
Oh dear! Youre always the emergency kit, arent you? Im off to Spain next week for a flamenco course can you believe it? The lads at the office said, Go on, youve earned it. When was the last time you had a proper break?
The question hung in the air. Nancy couldnt remember a break that didnt involve her garden, the grandchildren, or helping the kids.
You look exhausted, Zinnia said kindly. You cant keep carrying the whole lot on your own. Let them sort themselves out. Otherwise youll spend the rest of your days looking after other peoples dogs while life passes you by. Ive got to run, rehearsal!
She vanished, leaving a trail of expensive perfume and a ringing emptiness.
The phrase while life passes you by struck Nancy like a detonator. She stopped deadcenter, Duke blinking at her, her hands gripping the leash, the grey houses looming around. She realised she could no longer bear another day, another hour.
Enough.
She opened her laptop, trembling fingers typing best dog hotel in London. The first result showed glossy pictures: spacious runs, a pool, a grooming salon, private sessions with a trainer, and prices that made her gasp.
She dialled the number without hesitation.
Good afternoon, Id like to book a suite for a dog, two weeks, full board and spa treatments.
A taxi roared up in the park. Duke sat unusually calm, as if sensing the shift. At the hotel the scent was lavender and highend shampoo, not dog. A smiling receptionist handed her a contract.
Nancy filled in the owners details Harrys name and number and the payers details the same. She paid a deposit from the money shed been saving for a new coat. The best investment of her life.
Well send daily photos to the owner, the receptionist said warmly, taking the leash. Dont worry, your dog will love it here.
Back in her quiet, slightly battered flat, Nancy poured a cup of tea, settled on the remaining edge of the sofa and sent two identical messages. One to Harry, one to Blythe.
Duke is safe. Hes at the hotel. Any queries, contact the owner.
She muted her phone.
Three minutes later it buzzed Harry. She took a sip, didnt answer. A minute later it buzzed again. Then a message from Blythe: Mum, what does that mean? Call me back urgently!
She turned up the TV volume, trying to gauge what was happening on the other end. Panic, outrage, the need to understand how their convenient, indefatigable mother could have acted so.
Two days later a determined knock came at the door. The neighbour from below, furious, banged again.
Nancy opened slowly, eyes meeting Harry and Blythe, sunkissed but clearly irritated. Their holiday had clearly gone off the rails.
Mum, are you mad? Harry shouted, stepping inside. What hotel? Look at that bill! Youve ruined us financially over a dog!
Good afternoon, children, Nancy replied calmly. Come in, get your shoes off, Ill mop the floor.
Her composure stunned them more than any argument. They entered, Harry gesturing at the torn sofa, the overturned flower pot.
This, he said, stabbing a finger at the wreckage, is what happens when your wellbehaved dog stays in my flat.
I called a professional, he assessed the damage. Heres the invoice for reupholstering and a new ficus. She slid a neatly printed sheet across the table.
Youre billing me for this? Harrys voice cracked with anger. You should have been looking after him!
I should have? Nancys eyes finally met his, not with love but with a cold, curious stare. I owe you nothing, as you owe me nothing. So, what are you really here for? To reclaim the deposit for the hotel and settle the damages?
Blythe stepped forward, trying to smooth things over.
Mum, why? Were family. We could sort this out. Maybe Harry just got carried away.
Harry snarled, Extremes are when a son accuses his mother of selfishness because she wont let her house turn into a dump. Extremes are when a daughter says you have plenty of time to tend to her brothers dog. Those are the consequences of your choices.
He turned red. Im not paying a penny for this hotel or the repairs!
Nancy simply said, Fine. Then Ill sell the cottage.
The cottage they’d all been planning to use for barbecues, a sauna, weekend getaways. Their summer retreat.
You have no right! Blythe shouted, forgetting peace. Its ours too! We grew up there!
The paperworks in my name, Nancy shrugged. And childhood is over, dear.
The money from the hotel would cover the damages, the moral loss, maybe even a ticket to Spain. Zinnia had been raving about it. They stared at her, seeing not the meek mother theyd known but a woman with a steel spine theyd never imagined.
For the first time in years the room fell into a heavy, uncomfortable silence. They had lost.
A week later Harry transferred the exact sum to her account, no apologies, no further calls.
Nancy, without waiting, pulled a nearnew suitcase from the attic, dialed Zinnia.
Zinnia, love, is there still a spot in the flamenco class?
