At sixty-five, it dawned on me that the worst thing wasnt being aloneit was begging your own children to call, knowing you were nothing but a burden to them.
The phone rang.
“Mum, hi, I need your help. Urgently.”
My sons voice crackled through the receiver, sharp and impatient, as though he were speaking to an underling rather than his own mother.
Margaret Ellis froze, the TV remote limp in her hand, the evening news left unwatched.
“James, hello. Is everything all right?”
“Yeah, fine,” he exhaled, irritated. “JustEmily and I booked a last-minute holiday. Flights tomorrow morning.”
A pause.
“And theres no one to take Duke. Can you have him?”
Duke. A massive, slobbering Great Dane who would occupy more space in her tiny flat than her grandmothers old china cabinet.
“For how long?” she asked carefully, already knowing the answer.
“A week. Maybe two. Depends how things go. Mum, come onwho else is there? Boarding him would be cruel. You know how sensitive he is.”
Margarets eyes flicked to her sofa, freshly upholstered in pale fabric after months of scrimping. Duke would ruin it in days.
“James, IIve just had the place redone.”
“Mum, what redo?” His voice dripped with derision. “Changed the cushions?”
“Dukes well-behaved, just dont forget his walks. Right, Emilys callinggot to pack. Well drop him off in an hour.”
The line went dead.
He hadnt even asked how she was. Hadnt wished her a happy birthdaylast week, her sixty-fifth. Shed waited all day for their call, made her famous potato salad, worn her new dress. Theyd promised to visit. Never showed.
James had texted: *”Happy birthday, Mum. Swamped at work.”*
Louise hadnt even bothered.
And now*urgent help needed*.
Margaret sank onto the sofa. It wasnt about the dog. Or the ruined upholstery.
It was the humiliating realisation of her function. She was free dog-sitting. Emergency backup. Last resort. A woman-shaped utility.
She remembered, years ago, dreaming her children would grow up independent. Now she knew the truthloneliness wasnt the worst fate. Worse was waiting with bated breath for a call, knowing you only mattered when they needed something.
Begging for their attention, bargaining with your own dignity.
An hour later, the doorbell chimed. James stood there, Dukes lead in hand. The dog barrelled past, leaving muddy paw prints on her clean floor.
“Mum, heres his food, his toys. Walks three times a dayyou remember. Got to dash or well miss the flight!”
He thrust the lead into her hands, pecked her cheek, and vanished.
Margaret stood in the hallway. Duke was already sniffing the chair legs. From the living room came the sound of tearing fabric.
She picked up her phone. Should she call Louise? Maybe shed understand. But her finger hovered. Louise hadnt called in a month. Too busy. Her own life.
For the first time, Margaret didnt feel the usual sting of hurt. Instead, something colder, clearer settled in her chest.
*Enough.*
Morning arrived with Duke launching himself onto her bed, leaving two dinner-plate-sized paw prints on the pristine duvet. The new sofa was already shredded, her five-year-old ficus uprooted, leaves half-eaten.
Margaret swigged valerian straight from the bottle and dialled James. He answered on the fourth ring. Waves crashed in the background. Emilys laughter.
“Mum? What? Everythings great hereseas brilliant!”
“James, about the dog. Hes destroying the flat. Ripped the sofa. I cant handle him.”
“What dyou mean?” He sounded genuinely baffled. “He never scratches. Maybe youre locking him up? He needs space. Mum, dont start, alright? We just got here. Walk him more, hell calm down.”
“I walked him two hours this morning! He nearly pulled me over! James, please, take him back. Find another sitter.”
A pause. Then his voice hardened.
“Mum, seriously? Were on the other side of the world. How? You agreed to this. Dyou want us to drop everything because youre being difficult? Thats selfish.”
*Selfish.* The word slapped. *Her*whod lived for them her whole lifeselfish.
“Im not being”
“Look, Mum, Emilys got cocktails. Entertain Duke. Youll bond. Love you.”
Click.
Her hands shook. She called Louise. Surely shed be more reasonable.
“Lou, hi.”
“Hi, Mum. Something urgent? Im in a meeting.”
“Yes. James left his dog. Its uncontrollable. Ruining the furnitureI think it might bite me next.”
Louise sighed.
“Mum, James asked. Mustve been desperate. Cant you help your own son? Family sticks together. So the sofas tornbuy another. James can pay you back. Probably.”
“Lou, its not the sofa! Its the way he just”
“How else? On his knees? Mum, stop. Youre retired, loads of free time. Look after the dogwhats the big deal? Boss is staring. Gotta go.”
Silence.
*Family.* What a strange word.
For her, it meant people who remembered you only when they needed somethingthen called you selfish if you hesitated.
That evening, the downstairs neighbour banged on her door, furious.
“Maggie! That dogs been howling for three hours! My baby cant sleep! Sort it or Im calling the police!”
Duke, behind her, barked cheerfully in agreement.
She closed the door. Looked at the dog. At the shredded sofa. At her phone.
Something inside her snapped.
She clipped on Dukes lead.
“Come on. Walk time.”
In the park, tension coiled in her shoulders. Duke yanked the lead, each tug echoing James and Louises words: *selfish, loads of time, cant you help?*
Ahead, a familiar figure approachedPatricia, her old colleague. Bright scarf, stylish bob, radiant smile.
“Maggie! Didnt recognise you! Grandkid duties?” She nodded at Duke.
“Jamess dog,” Margaret muttered.
“Oh!” Patricia laughed. “Youre always the fixer, arent you? Me? Off to Spain next week! Flamenco lessonscan you believe it? Girls trip. Hubby grumbled, then said, Go on, youve earned it. Whend you last have a break?”
The question hung in the air. Margaret couldnt remember. Her breaks were babysitting, gardening at the cottage, helping the kids.
“You look exhausted,” Patricia said gently. “Cant carry everyone forever. Kids are grownlet them cope. Or youll be minding their dogs while life passes you by. Anyway, rehearsal! Ta-ta!”
She floated off, leaving perfume and quiet devastation.
*While life passes you by.*
The words detonated. Margaret stopped dead. Duke cocked his head.
She stared at him. At the lead in her hands. At the grey buildings.
And knew*no more.*
She pulled out her phone. Typed: *Best dog hotel.*
The first link showed glossy photos: spacious kennels, pools, grooming salons, private training. Prices that made her gasp.
She dialled.
“Hello. Id like to book a suite. Yes, for a Great Dane. Two weeks. Full board. Spa treatments included.”
The taxi came to the park. Duke, oddly calm, sat like a statue.
The hotel smelled of lavender, not dog. A smiling girl handed her a contract.
Without blinking, Margaret wrote Jamess name as *owner*, his number as *contact*. Under *payer*his details again. She paid the deposit from her coat fund. Best money shed ever spent.
“Well send daily photos to the owner,” the girl beamed, taking Dukes lead. “Dont worryhell love it here.”
Back home, the flat was quiet. Ruined, but peaceful.
She made tea, sat on the intact edge of the sofa, and sent two identical texts:
*Duke is safe. Hes at a hotel. All questionsask his owner.*
Then, she silenced her phone.
Three minutes later, it buzzed. *James calling.* She sipped her tea. Didnt answer.
Another buzz. A text from Louise: *Mum, whats this? Call me NOW.*
She turned up the TV.
She knew exactly what was happening on the other end. The panic. The outrage. The disbelief that
