“Mum, maybe we should let Gran wander off and get lost? It’d be better for everyone,” said Emily with defiance.
“Emily, don’t forget to lock the door,” her mother sighed, rising from the table.
“Mum, how much longer? Will you remind me for the rest of my life?” the fifteen-year-old girl snapped.
“Not the rest of your life—just while Gran lives with us. If she goes outside, she’ll get lost and—”
“And die in a ditch, and we’ll feel guilty forever. Mum, maybe we should just let her?” Emily challenged.
“Let her what?” her mother blinked.
“Let her go and get lost. You’ve said yourself you’re sick of looking after her.”
“How can you say that? She’s my mother-in-law—not blood, but still your grandmother.”
“Grandmother?” Emily narrowed her eyes, as she always did when anger stirred. “Where was she when her precious son walked out on us? When she refused to look after me—her own grandchild? She never spared you a thought while you worked yourself to the bone just to earn a few extra pence… She even blamed you for Dad leaving!”
“Stop it!” Her mother’s voice cracked. “I never should have told you any of this.” She exhaled sharply. “I’ve failed as a mother if you have no compassion for family. It frightens me. When I’m old, will you treat me the same? What’s happened to you? You were always such a kind girl—you couldn’t walk past a stray kitten without bringing it home. Gran isn’t a stray…” She shook her head wearily. “She’s suffered enough. Your father abandoned her too.”
“Mum, you’ll be late for work. I’ll lock the door, I promise.” Guilt flickered in Emily’s eyes.
“Right. Before we say things we’ll regret.” Yet her mother didn’t move.
“Mum, I’m sorry, but it hurts to look at you. Skin and bones. You’re only forty, and you move like an old woman, hunched over, dragging your feet. Exhausted. Why are you staring at me like that? Who else will tell you the truth but your own daughter?” Emily didn’t notice her voice rising again.
“Thank you. Make sure she doesn’t touch the stove or the taps.”
“See? Exactly what I mean—we’re tied to her like prisoners. No life of our own. Mum, let’s put her in a home. She’d be looked after there. She doesn’t understand anything anyway…”
“Not this again!” her mother cut in.
“It’d be better for everyone, especially her,” Emily pressed on, ignoring her mother’s rising temper.
“I won’t hear another word. I’m not sending her away. How much time does she have left? Let her stay here—”
“She’ll outlive us both. Go to work. I won’t leave. I’ll lock the door, I swear,” Emily repeated bitterly.
“I’m sorry. I’ve burdened you… All your friends are out enjoying themselves, and you’re stuck watching Gran.”
They spoke without noticing Gran’s door ajar. She heard everything, though she scarcely understood—and would forget within minutes.
Her mother left, and Emily entered what had once been her room, now Gran’s.
“Gran, do you need anything?” she asked.
The old woman’s gaze was vacant.
“Come on, I’ll give you a sweet.” Emily helped her up and led her to the kitchen.
“Who are you?” Gran stared blankly.
“Drink your tea.” Emily sighed and placed a candy before her.
Gran adored sweets. She and her mother hid them, rationing one per cup of tea. Emily watched as her gnarled fingers struggled with the wrapper. Beneath thinning grey hair, pale scalp peeked through. Emily looked away.
Once, Gran had dyed and teased her hair into voluminous curls, painted her lips scarlet, arched her brows with precision. Emily remembered the sweet musk of her perfume. Men had turned their heads—until her mind began to slip.
Emily couldn’t name what she felt—pity, resentment, disgust? A sharp knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.
“Mum must have forgotten something.” She went to answer.
But it was her friend, George. Her mother disapproved of him, so he visited when she was out.
“Hi. You’re early. Mum just left,” Emily whispered.
“I know. She didn’t see me.”
“Margaret!” Gran’s voice called from the kitchen.
“Who’s Margaret?” George asked.
“That’s what she calls Mum—thinks she’s her daughter. Wait in the loo and stay quiet. She’s having one of her lucid moments.” Emily nudged him toward the bathroom.
“There’s no one here.” Emily stepped into the kitchen—empty cup, crumpled wrapper on the table.
“I want tea,” Gran said.
“But—” Emily bit back frustration.
Gran forgot everything quickly, especially the immediate past. Yet distant memories lingered. Often, she confused them, failed to recognize them. But sometimes—briefly—clarity returned.
Emily couldn’t tell if Gran was scheming for another sweet or genuinely forgot. She put down a fresh cup and another candy.
Gran fumbled with the wrapper. When the tea was gone, Emily guided her back to bed.
“Sleep now,” she said, shutting the door.
George peered out from the bathroom.
“All clear?”
“Yes. Kitchen.” Emily glanced at the door—latched—and followed him.
They sat close, sharing earbuds, swaying to the music. Eyes closed, Emily didn’t notice Gran slip into the hall…
When she went to see George out, she froze—the door was open.
“The door… I didn’t lock it. She’s gone. Mum’ll think I did it on purpose—” Emily’s voice trembled.
“Why would she think that?” George asked.
“You don’t understand. I said we should let her wander off. She’ll think I left it unlocked out of spite.”
“Come on, let’s find her. She couldn’t have gone far,” George said.
Emily checked the coat rack—Gran’s quilted jacket hung untouched. Her boots, too.
“Did she go out in slippers and a dressing gown?” Emily stared helplessly.
“Maybe she’s at a neighbour’s? Went to the landing, got confused… I’ll check outside, you knock on doors,” George said, darting downstairs.
No one answered. Emily gave up and ran outside. George was scouring the courtyard—under bushes, the playground slide…
“Nowhere. Let’s check nearby. You go right, I’ll go left. Whoever finds her first calls. Meet back here,” George ordered, sprinting off.
Emily even checked the bus stop. No sign. How long had it been? Half an hour? Where could she go in slippers?
“We should call the police,” she said.
“Wait. Think—where did she talk about most? Favourite places?” George panted.
Emily frowned, drawing a blank.
“Alright, widen the search. You head toward the school, I’ll go the other way.”
Streetlights flickered unevenly. Emily hurried past dark patches, certain figures lurked in the shadows. Near the school, she remembered Gran’s story—once, she’d leapt from a first-floor window to retrieve a forgotten notebook, nearly breaking her leg.
Though Gran hadn’t attended this school, she’d always recounted the tale passing by. Emily pushed the gate—unlocked. The building was laid out like a ‘P.’ Rounding the corner, she spotted a group of lads jeering at someone.
There stood Gran in her pale-blue dressing gown. One boy dangled an empty wrapper, yanking it back when she reached for it. Their laughter boomed.
“She doesn’t get it. Escaped from the loony bin, have you? Want a sweet?” He taunted.
“Leave her alone!” Emily shouted.
The boys turned.
“Look, another one!”
“Who’re you? Her granddaughter?”
“Run off from the asylum together?”
The boy with the wrapper sauntered toward her. The others followed.
Emily stepped back. The boys closed in, blocking Gran. Their grins turned predatory, sensing her fear. Her back hit the iron fence. The gate was too far.
Like a pack, they lunged.
Emily lashed out, but three against one—one grabbed her wrists, the others pinned her against the bars. Hands groped, deciding who’d go first—
“Get away from her!” George’s voice cut through.
Two backed off, but one held fast. George fought them. Emily kicked her captor’s shin. He howled, releasing her. Snatching a broken plank, she swung—too short for his head, the blow struck his back.
He cursed, charging. She bolted for the gate.
“Miss, over here! We’ve called the police!” A couple stood beyond the fence. “Bloody hooligans, no peace with them aroundGran clutched Emily’s hand tight as they hurried home, her once-empty eyes now glistening with something like understanding, and Emily realized—perhaps too late—that love wasn’t measured in memories but in the quiet moments between them, like shared laughter over tea and sweets long after anger had faded.
