Valentine lets out a weary sigh, shaking her head. “He’s not coming… We’ve stopped getting upset—used to it by now. Always the same story. Promises first, then silence.”
I glance at her. “What happened this time? Did the daughter-in-law put her foot down again? I remember you two never quite got along.”
“Maybe she did,” Valentine mutters. “Not that my son ever admits it outright, but it’s obvious. He used to visit more often. Now? Nothing. She’s found ways to keep him close. We’ll have to hire help for the roof repairs—he can’t even spare a single day.” Her voice wavers with resentment.
She’s talking about her son Thomas, now forty. He left their quiet village twelve years ago, settled in Manchester, and works as a mechanic. Once hands-on, now he mostly manages. He married late—his wife, Gemma, was no spring chicken either when they met.
“Never had a serious relationship before him,” Valentine continues. “I can see why. Her temper’s… difficult. We clashed from the start. I tried, truly. But she—well, she decided I was the enemy right off.”
A neighbor chimes in, “Heard her on the phone once—sounded like she was mocking just saying hello. No idea what he sees in her.”
Gemma barely speaks to Thomas’s parents. Once a year, if she permits it, he can visit them—alone. This spring, he promised to come help with the roof. Even booked his train tickets. But Gemma, as it turns out, had other plans.
“She’s pregnant,” Valentine says bitterly. “Now, apparently, he can’t leave her alone. A grown woman, a nurse—what’s going to happen to her? Two weeks of nagging, and he caved.”
Her husband, John, scowls. “Does he hold her hand at work? Her parents live nearby—let them help. Why must he drop everything for her?”
“Exactly!” Valentine snaps. “I’ll bet her mother’s behind it. ‘Don’t let him go, he might leave you.’ Her younger sister already ended up a single mum—living with their parents now.”
“But Thomas isn’t like that,” I say. “He’s decent. Why not come together?”
“Ha!” She waves a hand. “Gemma would never set foot here. John rang her once—she threw such a fit he told me not to call Thomas again. Waste of breath.”
“What did she say to him?”
“That we’re always demanding things. That we’re keeping him from his family. That she’s tired of battling us. That his holiday should be with his wife and child, not ‘coddling old folk’s whims.’ And that she doesn’t want our house—we can keep it.”
“Rude,” I mutter. “And Thomas?”
“Says it’s not his fault. Doesn’t want to stir trouble. Worries about the pregnancy.” Valentine’s voice breaks. “I understand, but it’s not fair. We raised him, gave him all we had. Now he can’t spare even one day?”
John finally lost patience. He told Thomas to stay with his wife if she mattered more than his parents—he’d hire help and manage without him.
Valentine’s quiet now. “He doesn’t get it. There could be other wives… But parents? Only one set. And they won’t be here forever.”
