You dont belong here, Mum
The door didnt open right away. Margaret Evans had just caught her breath, but the sweat on her forehead kept trickling down in sticky little streams, clinging to her brows and the bridge of her nose. First, a surprised gasp came from behind the door, then the click of the lock, and only then did she appearher daughter.
Mum?! Bloody hell How on earth did you carry all these bags? And why? And why didnt you tell me you were coming?
Tall, tanned, with an expression of irritated shock on her facethats how her own daughter, Emily, greeted her. Margaret hadnt seen her in over a year. When was Emily ever going to visit them, the old folks? Too busy! So Margaret, driven by a nagging worry, had mustered the courage for the long journey.
I managed, love, Im used to it, Margaret answered one of the questions, couldnt come empty-handed, could I?
She dragged both bags over the threshold with a grunt. Emily didnt even think to helpor maybe she was too stunned to react. Finally, she bent down, grabbed one of the bags, and pulled it aside to clear the way.
Christ, Mum, did you stuff a whole hog in here or what?
Her voice was smooth, like polished stone, and there was no joy in itjust bewilderment and annoyance. She didnt hug her mother, just stared helplessly at the other luggagean old-fashioned, bloated suitcase on wheels, standing in the middle of the polished hardwood floor like some misplaced relic from another time.
Margaret took a small step forward. Her fingers, trembling from the effort, fumbled nervously with the buckle on her raincoat.
Sorry, love Just packed a few bits. Jam for our Ben, your favourite chutney. All from the garden, your dad and I grew it Her voice faltered, worn out from the journey, laced with guilt.
Emily sigheda deep, exhausted sound, heavy with the dread of inconvenience. She looked from the suitcase to her motherthe wrinkled dress, the scarf askew, the tiny beads of sweat above her lip.
Margaret, not waiting for an invitation, sank onto the nearest white leather ottoman. She sat bolt upright, old-fashioned, her work-worn hands folded in her lap. The trip had drained her completely. The train had taken eight hours, and then there was the Underground with that clunky suitcase that kept getting stuck in the ticket barriers.
But how could she come without it? She never visited her daughter empty-handed. Never. And especially not now, after over a year apart.
Did you change your number? Margaret exhaled, glancing around. I rang for four days straightnothing. Your dads blood pressure shot up by the second day, and by the third, I was beside myself, heart in my boots just thinking what mightve happened She waved a hand, brushing away the memory. Anyway! When I still couldnt reach you on the fourth day, I thought, righttime to buy a ticket. Got one for three days later, still no word from you, we were worried sick, and then the slog to London What happened to your phone? You cant do that to your parents, love. Were in our seventies, remember? And here Ive dragged myself all this way with bags.
Emily looked away. A faint blush crept over her usually composed face. She touched her flawless ponytail, smoothing an invisible strand.
Its fine, Mum. Just switched providers, got a new numbergot busy, forgot to tell you She said it quickly, almost mumbling the last words.
Bens number didnt work either.
Changed his too. We both switched.
Sitting on the stiff, uncomfortable ottoman, Margaret couldnt help but admire her daughter. Emily Their youngest, the one theyd prayed for. After two rough-and-tumble boysa longed-for girl, the one theyd poured their hearts into.
Her thoughts drifted, as they always did, to the boys. The eldest, James, was across the pond in America. Moved there years ago for work. Rarely called, only on holidays. He had kids over theregrandchildren Margaret only knew from photos on her phone. Sometimes she caught herself imagining their voices, their laughter, but her mind refused to paint clear pictures. Too far away.
Mum? Youve gone quiet. Feeling alright? Emilys voice, sharp with concern, snapped her out of it.
Fine, love, just thinking. Still recovering from the trip. Margaret forced a small smile. Hows Ben? Everything peaceful here?
Hes at football practice, should be back any minute. Maybe you should freshen up?
In a bit, in a bit, let me catch my breath. Fetch me some water, will you?
With measured steps, Emily headed to the kitchen, leaving Margaret another moment to drift into memory. The middle son, William, lived up north in Manchester, but they rarely saw him. His wife, Claire, had rubbed Margaret the wrong way from the startsharp-tongued, impatient. Margaret tried her best: knitted jumpers for the grandkids, baked their favourite cheese pasties, brought homemade jams. But it never seemed enough. The jumpers were too old-fashioned, the pasties too plain. She never argued, never made a fuss. Swallowed the hurt, smiled, and prayed William was happy.
But EmilyEmily was the one who weighed heaviest on her heart. Nine years ago, theyd married her off to Daniel, a decent, hardworking lad from a nearby town. It shouldve worked, but after Ben was born, something soured. Emily came back home with the baby, then, leaving one-year-old Ben with them and her dad, Robert, she bolted for Londonto study, to work. Said she was suffocating in the countryside.
Hows our Ben doing, then? Mustve shot up, Margaret asked softly, sipping the water, her heart aching with familiar sorrow.
Emilys face softened.
Tall as anything now, Mum. Proper little man. His football coach says hes brilliant. Only
She trailed off, turning to fiddle with a vase on the console.
Only he still asks sometimes when were going to visit Granny Marg and Grandad Rob in the village. Especially when hes upset or poorly. Says it smells like apples and baking at yours, and here it just stinks of traffic.
Margaret closed her eyes. She remembered every night when Ben, already taken back by his mother, would cry down the phone, begging to come home. He didnt cry anymore. She remembered Robert, smoking silently on the porch, swiping away the odd stubborn tear. Theyd poured all their simple love into that boy, and then hed been taken away like a borrowed thing. And no one could explain it to him.
He should be with his mother, Margaret had told herself more than Robert at the time. Its only right.
On the train, watching the blur of fields through the window, Margaret had tried to picture Ben. What did he look like now? If he took after Danielstocky, broad-shoulderedhed be shooting up. Robert had begged for photos: Take loads, love, itll be lonely here without you. Hed wanted to come himself, but a week before her trip, hed come down with fever. Only just got back on his feet the morning she left, pale but stubborn.
Youll manage on your own, wont you? I cant sit here not knowing, its eating me alive, shed fretted, packing jars of jam into her bag.
Ill manage, Robert had croaked, tugging the blanket higher. Go on. Just make sure our Ems alright. Got a feeling its not just work keeping her away.
Come on, Mum, up you getlets get some food in you! Emily guided her deeper into the flat, her voice warming slightly. Got some soup and pre-made pies from M&S. Ohheres Ben! she exclaimed at the sound of a key in the lock.
The door swung open, and there stood a tousle-haired ten-year-old with a sports bag slung over his shoulder. Spotting his grandma, he froze, eyes wide, then kicked off his trainers mid-stride and launched himself at her, arms tight around her waist.
Gran! You came!
Margaret clung to him, his small body warm and smelling of autumn air and boyish sweat. Tears spilled freely down her cheeks.
Blimey, Gran, youll squeeze me to bits! He laughed but didnt let go, grinning up at her with a shy, delighted smile.
Look at you! So tall now! she sniffled, holding him at arms length to take him in. She smoothed his messy hair, ran a rough thumb over his sun-kissed cheek. Proper grown. I knitted you a jumper, green with reindeer Her voice wavered slightly. Probably too small now. Missed the mark again.
Salright, Gran, you can add to it! he said cheerfully
