13December
I trudged up the stairs to the fourthfloor flat, my grocery bags weighing a stone. I never skimp on food; after all, my pension is modest but decent, and Ive spent a lifetime insisting on quality. I set the bags on the kitchen table and began unloading: a loaf of crusty bread, a jug of milk, a block of cheddar, a dozen eggs, fresh carrots, apples, a tin of smoked salmon. I bought the tin out of habitwhat else would I give my only son as a little treat? Yet James hasnt turned up for two years, not even for my birthday.
James dear, I sighed, maybe youll come round next weekend?
I dialled the familiar number. The line rang long, then a mechanical voice told me the line was temporarily unavailable. I set the phone down on the sill.
He must be busy. Ill try again this evening, I muttered.
Evening came, and the line was still dead. I switched on the telly to kill the quiet hours, flicking through a new drama series. My thoughts drifted back to my boy.
James has always been my pride. I raised him alone after my husband left when he was just seven. He grew up clever and determined, left school with a gold medal, then earned a place at a prestigious university to study economics.
After graduating, he landed a job at a large firm. I was thrilled by his progress; he visited often, chatted about work, and spoke of future plans.
Then everything changed. He met Claire, a lovely girl from a welloff family. Six months later they were married and moved to Birmingham. At first James called every week and visited once a month, but the calls grew sparse and the visits even rarer. The last time he was here was last Christmas.
I turned off the television, brewed a mug of tea, and reached for my favourite shortbread. My heart felt uneasy. I knew James had his own life, job, and family, but I longed to hear his voice and see his familiar face.
The next morning the phone rang. I rushed to answer, hoping it was him, but it was my neighbour, Ethel.
Ned, how are you? Fancy a cuppa? Ive baked a Victoria sponge.
Thanks, Ethel, but Im not feeling well. Maybe another time, I replied.
Ethel was kind, but I wasnt in the mood for chat. I typed a message to James on the smartphone hed given me for my sixtieth birthday: James, love, I called earlier. No answer. Could you drop by? I miss you. I hit send and waited.
A few hours later he replied: Sorry Mum, swamped at work. Ill try to visit next month.
The month slipped by, and James never came. I told myself not to bother him: Hes busy, thats all.
One afternoon scrolling through Facebook, I saw a picture of James standing beside a handsome brick house, with Claire and a golden retriever, captioned: Our new home! Dreams do come true! My chest tightened. Hed bought a house and hadnt even told me!
I dialled again. This time he answered almost instantly.
Hey Mum, how are you? his voice was bright.
I saw the photos. Congratulations on the house! Why didnt you tell me?
Oh, I completely forgotwork, the move, everything. Sorry.
Will you show me the new place soon? Im lonely here.
Im not sure maybe you could come over? Its a bit of a trek, he said.
I felt foolish. But Im not sure how to get there, I protested.
He laughed, Well sort it out later. Ive got to run. Talk soon!
The call ended, and I stared at the silent screen, heart heavy. I thought about baking a cake for him, then chastised myself: Dont be foolish, he lives far away now.
Days stretched thin. I shopped, watched telly, and occasionally visited Ethel for tea, yet the ache of solitude lingered. I stopped calling James, unwilling to be a nuisance.
New Years Eve approached, and I decided to treat myself. I bought a small fir, a few ornaments, and all the trimmings for a festive table, hoping maybe James would ring in the year with me.
On 31December I prepared everything: salads, roast chicken, an apple crumbleJamess favourites. Dressed in my best dress, I brushed my hair, applied a touch of makeup, and waited for his call as the clock neared midnight. The chimes of Big Ben struck twelve, the Prime Ministers New Year message played, but my phone remained mute.
I kept watching the screen until three in the morning. Exhausted, I finally fell asleep. At dawn I found a message from James: Happy New Year, Mum. Wishing you health and happiness. Just one line, no inquiry about how I was.
I sat at the kitchen table, staring at the cold salads and untouched chicken, wondering if I had become a stranger to my own son.
A week later I visited my old friend Helen at the local health centre, where she works as a nurse.
Ned, youve lost weight! Whats happened? she exclaimed, hugging me.
Nothing special, just age, I smiled weakly.
And James? Havent seen him in ages.
Hes fine. Bought a house in the suburbs, works a lot.
Does he ever come to see you?
Rarely. Hes always busy.
Helen looked concerned. Youre living alone; thats not healthy. Maybe you should move in with him?
I cant be a burden, I whispered. He doesnt even invite me.
Dont say that! Youre his mother, not a burden. Come over to my place for tea; I finish my shift in an hour.
Later, at Helens kitchen, I finally poured out my loneliness, my yearning for James, and the pain of his indifference.
You understand his life is busy, but cant he spare a few minutes for his mother? she asked.
Have you ever told him that? she pressed.
Im afraid hell think Im demanding.
You have a right to his attention. If he doesnt see that, remind him. She suggested I call him and be blunt about my feelings.
I hung up and, with trembling hands, left a voicemail: James, please call when you can. I need to talk. He returned the next day.
Mum, whats wrong? Everything okay?
Just wanted to hear your voice, I said.
Busy at work. Can we chat tonight?
Ill be waiting.
He never called that evening, nor the next two days. I decided not to pester him further.
In early spring my heart ached, my blood pressure spiked, and I called an ambulance. They gave me a quick injection and advised admission, but I refused. Who would look after the flat? Who would water the plants? What if James decided to visit and found the place empty?
Ethel visited daily, bringing fresh bread, soup, and sometimes mince pies. One afternoon she suggested, Maybe you should let James know youre ill.
I dont want to bother him, I replied.
But hes your son! she protested.
Ill tell him when Im better, I promised.
Weeks passed, his calls grew shorter, always polite but brief.
One evening the doorbell rang. I struggled to rise from the sofa, wondering who it could beEthel usually called first. Opening the door, a young woman with a large tote stood there.
Good afternoon, are you Margaret? she asked.
Yes, and you are?
My name is Lucy. I work for the local councils social services. Your neighbour mentioned you might need help.
I was taken aback; I hadnt asked for assistance. Lucy spread out some papers on the kitchen table.
We can arrange a care packagethree visits a week, help with shopping, checking your blood pressure. Its free, dont worry, she explained.
I didnt request this
Its just your neighbour is worried. She says you live alone and have health problems.
I began to feel faint and sat down. I thought of the recent fall when I tried to reach a jar on the top shelf.
Alright, I whispered. Thank you.
Lucy proved efficient and kind, handling chores with ease. Over time I grew accustomed to her visits and even looked forward to them.
One afternoon, while sharing tea, Lucy asked, Do you have children?
My son, James, I answered. He lives elsewhere.
Does he know youre unwell?
No. I dont want to trouble him.
Lucys eyes softened. My own mother lived alone, and I regretted not calling. Perhaps you should let James know how you feel.
I realised I had been hiding my condition. When James called, I always said I was fine.
Youre right, Lucy. Ill call him tonight, I said.
After Lucy left, I sat with the phone, gathering courage. Finally I dialled.
James answered after a pause.
Hello, Mum. Is everything alright? You dont usually call so late.
Mum I I need to talk, my voice trembled.
Whats wrong? he asked, concern in his tone.
Im ill, James. My heart, I began.
Why didnt you say something? his voice sounded hurt. You should have told me!
I didnt want to add to your worries. You have your own life, your work, your family
Are you in hospital? he asked urgently.
No, at home. A social worker visits me, I replied.
LLucy, right? Ill come tomorrow, he said.
Dont come, James, I protested. I can manage.
No, Im coming. Ill be there first thing in the morning.
I hung up, heart pounding. The thought of him seeing me frail terrified meI didnt want to be a burden.
The next morning I rose early, tidied the flat as best I could, and prepared a light lunch, hoping to greet him properly.
He arrived in the afternoon, lugging two large bags. He hugged me tightly, and tears welled in my eyes.
James, Im so happy youre here! I whispered.
He looked at me, noticing my pallor and the dimness in my eyes.
Mum, why didnt you tell me you were ill? Why hide it?
I didnt want to trouble you. You have your own responsibilities
Mum, youre my family. Im sorry I was selfish all these years, caught up in work and my own problems, while you were alone, he said, holding my hands. Youve always cared for me; now its my turn.
I squeezed his hand back. Its enough that youre here.
We talked long into the eveningabout his job, the new house, his plans. It felt good simply to be together.
Later Lucy appeared, surprised to see a man in the flat, but quickly understood.
Hello, you must be James. Im Lucy, the social worker, she said.
Thank you, James replied. I didnt know Mum was ill.
Lucy glanced at me, She didnt want to worry you.
James turned to me, determined. Mum, Im taking you to live with us.
What? I cant leave my flat, my friends I stammered.
Claire will be delighted. Weve wanted you to move in for ages, but I kept putting it off, thinking you wouldnt want to give up your home.
But Id be a burden, I protested.
Youll never be a burden. Youre my mother, and Ill care for you as you cared for me, he said firmly.
If I refuse?
Then Ill move closer, work remotely, but I wont let you stay alone any longer, he promised.
Tears streamed down my cheeks. I never imagined he would sacrifice so much for me.
Alright, I whispered. Ill go with you.
James embraced me tightly. Thank you, Mum. I promise youll be happy with us.
The following days were a whirlwind of packing, arranging paperwork, and saying goodbye to neighboursespecially Ethel, who had been a lifeline.
Thank you, Ethel, I said, hugging her. If it werent for you, Id still be sitting here alone.
Youre welcome, dear. Now youll be with your son. Hes a good lad, just a bit busy, she replied with a smile.
A week later James drove me to their new home on the outskirts of Birmingham. The house was spacious, modern, with a welltended garden.
This is your room, Mum, James said, opening the door to a bright, cozy bedroom. Claire greeted me warmly, showing me around and explaining the daily routine. I felt genuinely welcomed.
That evening, the three of us sat on the patio, and James spoke softly.
Mum, Im sorry for being selfish. I was only thinking about my career, never realising I was neglecting the person who gave me everything.
Its okay, son. Were together now, and thats what matters, I replied.
He promised never to let me feel alone again. As I looked at his face, Claires gentle smile, and the garden blossoming around us, I finally felt a sense of peace. My son had returned to my life, not in the way Id imagined, but in a way that mattered. And for the first time in years, I was truly happy.
