**Diary Entry 8th May, 2024**
*”This is all mine, and you dont belong here,”* my daughter declared, demanding I clear out my own room.
*”Mum, you left the gas on again!”* shouted Emily, bursting into the kitchen and sharply turning off the stove. *”How many times do I have to remind you? Youll burn the house down!”*
Margaret Winthrop flinched, tearing her gaze from the window where shed been watching sparrows on the ledge.
*”Dont shout at me, Emily. I just got distracted… I was boiling water for tea.”*
*”Distracted!”* Emily scoffed. *”At your age, distraction is dangerous. The neighbours have already complained about the smell of gas in the hallway.”*
She wasnt wrong. Margaret *had* grown forgetful, especially since burying her husband a year ago. It was as if, when Charles passed, he took with him her ability to hold onto lifes little details. The big thingsEmilys birth, Charless proposal, her daughters first stepsshe remembered perfectly. But yesterday, or the day before? Blurred, like fog.
*”Ill make the tea,”* Margaret offered gently. *”Would you like some scones? I baked them fresh this morning, with raisinsjust how you like.”*
Emily sat at the table, drumming her fingers irritably on the oilcloth.
*”Mum, we need to talk.”*
Something in her tone made Margaret uneasy. She set the teacups down slowly, sliced the scones.
*”Go on, Im listening.”*
*”You cant live alone anymore. Its not safefor you or the neighbours. The gas, the electricity… What if you fall? Whod find you?”*
*”Emily, what are you on about? I manage just fine. So I forget things sometimeseveryone does!”*
Emily shook her head, pulling papers from her handbag.
*”Its already settled. Ive arranged for you to stay at a lovely care home. Theyll look after youmeals on schedule, pills on time. Youll have company your own age, no more loneliness.”*
Margaret felt the blood drain from her face. The scone caught in her throat.
*”A care home? Emily, have you gone mad?”*
*”Not a grim old peoples homea private residence, very respectable. Ive paid the deposit.”*
*”Without asking me?”* Margarets voice trembled. *”Emily, this is my house! My whole life is here!”*
*”Mum, be realistic. Youre alone in a three-bedroom flat. The bills are sky-high, the buildings falling apart, and Im footing it all.”*
Margaret opened her mouth to argue, but Emily raised a hand.
*”Besides, Daniel wants to move to London. Weve decided to marry. This flats perfectcentral, good layout. Id hate to sell it; its our family home.”*
*”Daniel?”* Margaret frowned. *”Youve only known him six months!”*
*”Mum, Im forty-two. I know what I want. Daniels seriousowns his own business. Hes happy for me to quit work, finally focus on myself.”*
*”And where does that leave me?”*
*”The care home, obviously! Youll be comfortable, trust me. Ive researched ityoga, painting, choir. New friends, a fresh start.”*
Margaret stood, pacing the kitchen. Forty years of breakfasts at this table. Forty years gazing through this window. Emily had been born in the next room, done her homework at this very table. Charles used to sit here every morning, tutting over the *Times*.
*”So youve decided? No discussion?”*
*”Whats to discuss?”* Emily shrugged. *”Youd have refused. Ive taken responsibility.”*
*”Responsibility…”* Margaret echoed. *”Emily, Im your mother, not some burden.”*
*”No one said you were! But we must be practical. I spent thirty years sacrificing for you and Dad. Now its my turn.”*
The words stung. Margaret remembered skipping meals to pay for Emilys tuition, stitching her prom dress by lamplight, minding little Sophie while Emily worked late.
*Sophie… Where was she in all this?*
*”What about Sophie? Does she agree to shoving her gran into a home?”*
Emily looked away.
*”Sophies grown, busy with uni. She rarely visits. No point upsetting her.”*
*”You havent even told her?”*
*”I will. Once youre settled.”*
Margaret sank back into her chair, legs weak.
*”And if I refuse?”*
*”Mum, youve no choice. Ive paid. Daniel moves in next week. Pack essentials; well sort the rest later.”*
*”My things? Emily, every spoon, every cup is mine! That china set was our wedding gift! The lace tablecloth I embroidered! And my plantswholl tend them?”*
*”You can have plants at the home. As for the china… Mum, theyve proper crockery there. Why drag old junk?”*
*Old junk.* Her treasuresreduced to that.
Margaret moved to the sideboard, lifting a photograph: Charles holding newborn Emily, their faces alight with joy.
*”Remember when Dad built your treehouse? Youd swing for hoursI feared youd fall.”*
*”Mum, dont.”*
*”Or when you had pneumonia at twelve? I barely slept for weeks. Dad took leave to relieve me.”*
*”Please”*
*”And when that boywhat was his name?Mark? Broke your heart. You sobbed for months. I held you every night.”*
Emily stood abruptly.
*”Enough! Im not to blame for how life turned out! I cant sacrifice mine for your old age!”*
*”Old age?”* Margaret whispered. *”Im sixty-nine, Emily. Not some helpless crone.”*
*”You forget the gas! Lose things! Mrs. Thompson saw you roaming the garden in one slipper yesterday!”*
Margaret *had* done that. But was it reason enough to
*”Emily, I understand you want a life. But must it be like this? Ill stay in my room, quiet as a mouse. Daniel wont even know Im here.”*
*”You dont get it. Daniel needs space, quiet. You blare the telly, clatter pans at dawn. Well have partiesits awkward with a mum next door.”*
*”Ill be invisible. Take long walks. Promise.”*
*”No. My decisions made.”*
Margaret slumped. For the first time in years, she felt utterly powerless. After Charles died, she thought the worst was over. She was wrong.
*”What if I stay?”*
Emily produced another document.
*”Ill petition the court. Have you deemed unfit. The neighbours statements, the GPs noteseven the constable who came about the gas.”*
*”Youve… seen doctors already?”*
*”A specialist. Said with my testimony, the court would likely rule in my favour. Especially as your only child, concerned for your welfare.”*
Margaret said nothing. This couldnt be her Emilyher baby, whose tiny hands shed held crossing roads, whose tears shed kissed away.
*”When?”*
*”Monday. Well pack this weekend.”*
*”Todays Friday…”*
*”Yes. Time to prepare.”*
Emily stood, adjusting her handbag.
*”Dont be dramatic. Its not the end. Youll make friends, find hobbies. Ill visit Sundays.”*
*”Sundays…”* Margaret repeated hollowly.
*”Honestly, its for the best. Since Dad died, youve shut yourself away. There, youll have a social life.”*
*”I go to the chemists, the post officethats not shutting away!”*
*”Whatever. Its settled.”*
Emily turned to leave, then paused.
*”Oh, and Mumdont you dare ring Sophie and upset her. Shes got exams.”*
The door slammed. Margaret sat amid the scent of cooling scones and bitterness.
That evening, she took out the photo albums. Emily at nurserysolemn-eyed in pigtails. Their family holiday in BrightonCharles tossing her into the waves. Emilys graduationradiant in white, hugging them both.
When had it changed? When had her child started seeing her as an obstacle?
Perhaps after her first divorce. That good-for-nothing Simon had resented her from the start, whispering about *
