“So, sweetheart, have you thought about it? I saw this gorgeous Vauxhall yesterday! White, leather interior. Absolute stunner. Only thirteen grand,” Tamara’s voice was light, but there was pressure behind it.
“Mum…” Marina sighed and closed her laptop. “We’ve talked about this. We’ve got the mortgage, Lily’s sick every other week. Where am I supposed to find that kind of money? Look for something cheaper.”
From the bedroom came the sound of giggles and protests. Steven was wrestling with Lily, who was stubbornly refusing to put on her socks. It was ten to eight. Marina had to leave for work in ten minutes, and here was her mum, bringing up the car again at the worst possible moment.
“Just take out a loan,” Tamara said calmly, reaching for a biscuit. “You’re young, you’ve got steady jobs. It’s not like I’m asking for funeral money—it’s for something useful.”
Marina spun around, fists clenched.
“And pay it back with what, Mum? Thin air? Are you even listening? We’ve already got a mortgage!”
Tamara scoffed, crossed her arms, and turned away.
“Right. Steven’s parents have a car, but I’m just supposed to make do, as usual.”
That was the last straw.
“Steven’s parents have a car because they saved for it. Sold their old one, put money aside. They didn’t demand it from anyone. You’ve only just passed your test, and already you expect a thirteen-grand Vauxhall?”
“And why do you think I only passed my test now?” Tamara snapped. “Because I raised you, spent every penny on you, saved for your first deposit! And now, when I finally have a chance, I’m just brushed off.”
Marina glanced at Steven. He was helping Lily with her shoes, looking tired and awkward. As usual, he stayed out of it, hoping they’d sort it themselves. But his pressed lips said it all—he’d had enough.
“Mum, you were the one who said you were scared of driving. Listen, we’re not monsters, but we don’t have a platinum credit card.” The anger in Marina’s voice gave way to exhaustion. “We already help you with everything—bills, medicines, presents, you name it.”
Tamara clutched her chest dramatically, as if suddenly remembering her high blood pressure.
“Oh, I see how it is. So now you’re going to throw every pound back in my face?”
Marina exhaled sharply, like steam from a kettle. Her mouth was dry, her palms sweaty. This wasn’t the first car talk, but today was worse. Everything piled up—sleepless nights, Lily’s constant colds, work, unpaid bills in the mailbox.
Then Tamara dropped the final blow:
“What if I look after Lily when she’s sick? You could work more, earn more. We could manage the loan then.”
Marina froze for a second.
“Wait. So you’ll babysit—but only if we buy you a car? Suddenly your health’s fine when there’s a Vauxhall involved?”
“Don’t twist my words,” Tamara muttered. “I’m just trying to compromise. Make things work for everyone.”
“A compromise means both sides give a little. You’re just bargaining.”
Tamara spun on her heel and headed for the door.
“Fine. I get it. Live without me. And don’t call when you need Granny again.”
Marina didn’t chase her. She just sat by the window, eyes closed, trying to process it.
Steven came over and put a hand on her shoulder.
“You did the right thing,” he said quietly. “Shame it ended like this.”
The flat fell into an odd silence. Even Lily stopped fussing, just staring worriedly at the door.
“Is Granny gone forever? Aren’t we going to see her?”
Marina didn’t know. Her heart was a mess—anger, exhaustion, childish hurt. They’d helped her mum so many times, no strings attached. And now she’d withhold being a grandmother… over a car.
Two months passed. Life settled, sort of. Lily went to nursery, Marina stuck to her shifts, Steven took extra work and was rarely home. No one mentioned Tamara, but her absence lingered—in the toys she’d brought Lily, the knitted socks, the recipe for their family cake.
And Lily missed her. At first quietly, then with questions.
“Mum, did Granny go away?”
“No, she’s just… busy.”
“She always called when I coughed. Now she doesn’t. Did she forget me?”
Marina forced smiles, mumbled about repairs, broken phones. But her voice wavered, and Lily’s little heart grew uneasy.
Things came to a head one evening. Lily sat with her tablet while Marina washed up. A normal day—Steven late, soup simmering, bills piling up.
“Can I call Granny?” Lily asked softly from the doorway.
Marina sighed but nodded. Maybe this time Tamara would answer. Maybe seeing Lily’s number would soften her.
The phone rang and rang, then went to voicemail. Lily tried again. And again. After the fourth try, she burst into tears—not a tantrum, but the quiet, confused crying of a child who doesn’t understand why they’re not loved anymore.
Marina pulled her close, already regretting this.
“Sweetheart, maybe… maybe she didn’t hear it. She could be asleep.”
“She’s not asleep,” Lily sniffed. “She doesn’t love me anymore. Because we didn’t buy her the car. Granny’s cross with us…”
Marina’s vision darkened. Like a knife to the heart. She held Lily tighter, murmuring empty reassurances. But inside, she burned. You don’t drag a child into this. You don’t punish a five-year-old for not buying you a Vauxhall. That’s low.
Later, after Lily slept, Marina sat with a cheap glass of wine. Her neighbour Imogen popped in, as she often did, to check if “the daily grind hadn’t swallowed Marina whole.”
“You look like you’ve lost a tenner and found a penny. What’s up?” she asked, slicing fruit.
“Mum again. Or still. Lily cried tonight. Tried calling her. She didn’t even pick up.”
Imogen sighed—she’d had her own mother troubles.
“You know… sometimes when people get older, wisdom doesn’t come. Just grudges. This idea that the world owes them.”
Marina just nodded weakly.
“But look at it another way. She’s lonely,” Imogen continued. “No husband, no friends. You were her whole world. Then Lily. Now it’s just her, the telly, and thoughts about being ‘betrayed.’ Maybe… make the first move?”
“I get it. But I can’t forgive. Not yet. Maybe never. Fine if it’s me, but Lily? She reached out. And what?”
“You don’t have to. Just… don’t wait for her to cave. She’s too proud.”
After Imogen left, nothing changed. Except inside Marina, where anger, pity, and understanding tangled. Still, she wasn’t ready to beg.
Another month passed. A cold but clear Saturday. Lily, fresh from nursery, begged for the playground. Marina gave in—her day off, a chance to breathe. The park was quiet, just a couple of teens by the swings and an old man with a newspaper.
Lily ran to the slide while Marina sat on a bench, squinting in the sun. She craved quiet, but her mind replayed Lily’s questions: “Does Granny love me? Aren’t we seeing her? What if she’s poorly?”
Then—familiar clipped footsteps, a sharp voice.
“No, I don’t want your ‘exclusive offer.’ I’ve got a brick phone, thanks.”
Marina’s chest tightened.
There was Tamara, striding along in her favourite faux-fur-trimmed jacket—the one she wore everywhere. Lips pursed, face stern. Then she slowed. Noticed Lily.
Lily, halfway up the climbing frame, turned. Saw her. Froze. Then scrambled down and sprinted over, breathless with joy.
“Granny!”
Tamara hesitated, eyes widening. But when Lily wrapped her arms around her waist, clinging tight, she gave in. Tamara stuffed her phone away and hugged back.
Marina stood, heart hammering, and walked over.
“Hello, Mum.”
“Hello,” Tamara said, still holding Lily but not smiling. “She’s grown. Hair’s longer.”
“Yeah. Unlike some people’s grudges.”
Tamara sighed, looking at Lily but talking to Marina.
“I thought you’d be cross.”
“I am. But your granddaughter isn’t. Why didn’t you call her?”
Marina bit back harsher words for Lily’s sake.
“Didn’t want to force myselfAnd as they walked home together, Lily swinging between them, Marina realized that family wasn’t about keeping score—it was about showing up, even when it hurt.
