Gran’s Broken Heart: The Drama of the Wilson Family
Emily was frying up some bangers in the kitchen of their cosy flat in Manchester when the front door slammed open, and her daughters burst into the hallway, back from their visit to Gran’s.
“Oh, my girls! How was your time with Gran?” Emily wiped her hands on her apron and stepped out to greet them with a smile.
“Gran doesn’t love us!” cried Sophie and Lily in unison, their voices trembling with hurt.
“What? Why would you say that?” Emily froze, her stomach knotting with worry.
“Gran did something awful today…” the girls began, exchanging glances.
“What did she do?” Emily’s voice sharpened, a chill creeping into her chest.
Sophie and Lily, barely holding back tears, spilled everything. As Emily listened, her expression hardened with horror.
“Gran doesn’t love us!” they repeated, barely over the doorstep.
“Where’s this coming from?” James, the girls’ father, looked up from his newspaper, frowning. Emily shot him a glance, waiting for answers.
“She gave all the best bits to Jack and Chloe—I saw it!” Sophie started, fiddling with her jumper. “Us? Nothing. They could run wild, stomp about, but we had to sit quiet. And when they left, Gran stuffed their pockets with sweets—chocolate bars each, big hugs, walked ’em to the bus stop. But us…” Lily sniffled, “she just shut the door!”
Emily’s face drained of colour. She’d long suspected James’s mum, Margaret, doted far more on her daughter Jessica’s kids than on theirs. But this blatant? It was too much. Things with Margaret had always been polite—no real warmth, but no rows either. That changed when Jessica and her husband had Jack and Chloe. Then, Margaret truly showed her colours.
Over the phone, she’d gush for hours about Jessica’s “perfect angels”—”Bright as buttons, just like their mum, absolute darlings!”
Emily had hoped their girls might get a scrap of that love. But when Sophie and Lily came along two years later, Margaret met the news coldly.
“Two at once? Blimey, you don’t half go for it! I haven’t the energy for that.”
“Didn’t ask you to,” James had shrugged. “We’ll manage.”
“Course you will,” Margaret sniffed. “Jessica needs me more. Two under two—it’s exhausting!”
“And ours aren’t yours too?” Emily snapped.
Margaret glared. “A brother ought to help his sister. Blood’s thicker.”
After that, James and Emily knew—Margaret wouldn’t lift a finger. Twins were a handful, but Emily’s mum stepped up, rushing across town to help without complaint. Margaret? She only had eyes for Jessica’s lot. She’d drone on about Jack and Chloe for hours but brush off James’s girls with a flat, “They’re fine.”
Visits were rare—they lived miles from Margaret—and crossing paths with Jessica was chaos. Four kids in one house? Bedlam. The moment play got lively, Margaret clutched her head, moaning about migraines. James and Emily would pack up and go, while Jessica’s family stayed.
When they did visit, it was nitpicking—Sophie and Lily took sweets without asking, knocked things over, were “too loud.” Another headache, another swift exit. Meanwhile, Margaret bragged about Jessica’s kids—”Such lovely grandkids my girl gave me! Well-mannered, sweet as pie, always ‘Gran this, Gran that’!”
Jack and Chloe got new clothes weekly, treats, toys. Sophie and Lily? Birthday and Christmas presents—token ones.
Friends noticed first. When asked why Margaret favoured Jessica’s kids, she said proudly, “They’re my own!”
“And James’s girls?”
“Who knows whose they are? They’ve his name, that’s all.”
That venom reached James and Emily through the grapevine. James finally lost his temper and confronted her. Margaret simmered down—briefly.
Jessica lived close, visited often. James took the girls less, but they loved playing with their cousins. At first. Soon, even Jack and Chloe noticed Gran treated them differently. Naturally, they pinned every mishap on Sophie and Lily—and Margaret believed them.
The final straw was what the girls revealed. Margaret showered Jack and Chloe with sweets, chocolate bars, hugs, and walked them to the bus stop right outside. Sophie and Lily? She shooed them out, claiming a “bad head.” Their bus stop was a ten-minute walk across wasteland.
“You went alone?!” Emily gasped, icy dread gripping her.
“Uh-huh,” Sophie nodded, sniffling.
“There were stray dogs… We were scared,” Lily added, eyes glistening. “Never going back!”
James and Emily exchanged a glance. They backed the girls’ choice, but James still rang his mum.
“Mum, were you really that poorly?”
“What’s this about?” Margaret sounded baffled.
“Then why send them off alone? You knew where their stop was! Could’ve called me or Em.”
“Don’t fuss. They’re not babies. Made it, didn’t they? Need to toughen up.”
“Mum, they’re six! That wasteland’s dodgy! You’d never let Jessica’s kids go alone. Why?”
“Now you’re having a go? That wife of yours putting ideas in your head? I won’t be spoken to like this!” She hung up.
James looked stricken. Emily sighed. Of course, it was her fault. At least James was on her side. It took ages to calm him—he couldn’t grasp why his mum drew lines between grandkids. Emily understood: Jessica was blood; her kids were “real.” Sophie and Lily? The outsider’s children.
James still struggled. “Mum raised me and Jess the same! She was chuffed at our wedding…”
Emily reminded him how Margaret crowed when Jack was born—calls to everyone, gifts piled high for Jess. Chloe? Tearful joy—”my precious girl.” Their girls? “Two at once? Blimey.”
“Enough,” Emily cut in. “They’re not going back. Let her have her ‘perfect’ grandkids. Our girls have a gran who doesn’t pick favourites.”
Margaret didn’t seem to notice Sophie and Lily stopped visiting. Nor did their parents. Years later, when Margaret fell ill, doctors ordered rest. She rang her darling Chloe, begging for help with the house.
“Gran, I’m swamped with revision!”
Jack refused too—”Me? Do cleaning? Get lost!”
Suddenly, Margaret remembered her son’s girls. Grown now—surely they’d help? But she didn’t have their numbers, so she called James.
“James, it’s Mum. Tell Sophie and Lily to come tidy up. Too big for their boots, never visiting!”
“Remembered them, have you? Five years on? Ask your favourites—you’ve two of ’em.” He hung up.
Fuming, Margaret rang Emily. “Emily! Why won’t your girls help their poorly gran?”
“Because that gran cut them out long ago,” Emily said evenly. “You made your choice. There’s Jessica—mum to your darlings. Ask her. I can’t—I’m away for work. James too. The girls are with their other gran—the one who loves them.”
Margaret glared at the phone. Jessica had brushed her off too. Was she really to hire help? The shame! And those girls—no wonder she never warmed to them! Too selfish to lift a finger. That she’d pushed them away? Forgotten. Or buried.
Her precious grandkids? Jack was right—cleaning’s women’s work, what a lad! Chloe was busy studying, such a diligent girl. She’d never let her gran down. Not like those two!
