“Don’t Count on My Pension”
“Mum, honestly, you’re doing it again!” Emily snapped, slapping her palm on the kitchen table. “We agreed you’d help with the loan!”
“No, we didn’t,” Margaret replied calmly, stirring her tea. “You decided that I would help.”
“How is that not an agreement?” Emily retorted. “You said you’d think about it!”
“I did. And I decided against it.”
An uneasy silence filled the room. Emily stared at her mother, wide-eyed, as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. Her husband, James, shifted awkwardly by the fridge, clearly uncomfortable.
“Mum, we’re in a tough spot,” Emily said, softening her tone. “James lost his job, I’m on maternity leave with little Olivia. Money’s tight, and the bank won’t wait.”
“Should’ve thought of that earlier,” Margaret said, setting her cup down. “I warned you about taking out that loan for the car.”
“What car?” Emily flared up. “It’s barely more than scrap metal! We needed something to get around!”
“You could’ve taken the bus. I did for forty years—worked just fine.”
“Mum!” Emily pushed back her chair and paced the kitchen. “Are you seriously suggesting we drag a baby around on buses?”
“Why not? I raised you alone, worked all hours, and never asked for handouts.”
James finally spoke up. “Margaret, we’re not asking for charity. We’ll pay you back as soon as I find work.”
“When will that be?” she asked plainly. “A month? Six? The loan’s due every month.”
“I’ll find something. I’ve got qualifications, experience.”
“I’m sure you will,” Margaret nodded. “But not overnight. And what do I live on in the meantime? Thin air?”
Emily turned sharply. “You’ve got a decent pension—two thousand pounds! We only need eight hundred a month. You’d still have twelve hundred left!”
“For what?” Margaret pulled a notebook from the drawer. “Let’s see: bills—six hundred. Medicine—three hundred or more. Food—at least five hundred. That’s fourteen hundred. What about clothes? Repairs? Private doctor fees?”
“You don’t buy clothes every month,” Emily argued.
“Shoes? Underwear? What if the washing machine breaks? The fridge?”
“We’d help then,” James offered.
Margaret gave him a wry smile. “You’re a good man, James, but you’ll have nothing to spare. You’re asking for help yourselves.”
A cry came from the nursery. Emily shot her mother a glare and hurried out. James stayed behind.
“Margaret, I know it’s awkward,” he said quietly. “But we’re desperate. The bank calls daily, threatening repossession.”
“Good,” she said evenly. “Shouldn’t have borrowed beyond your means.”
“But family helps family, doesn’t it?”
“I already did. Raised her thirty-five years, put her through uni, gave her the flat when she married. Thought it was my turn to rest.”
James looked down. Emily returned, holding Olivia.
“Mum, don’t you care about your granddaughter?” she asked, rocking the baby. “What if we lose everything?”
“You won’t. They’ll take the car, that’s all. You’ve still got the flat I gave you.”
“How do we commute without a car?”
“Like millions do: tubes, buses.”
Emily sat, clutching Olivia tighter. “Why are you being so cold? You always helped before.”
“Because I worked then. Now I live on my pension—my savings.”
“But you’re not poor! You’ve got savings!”
Margaret’s gaze sharpened. “How do you know?”
Emily flushed. “I—I saw your bank book.”
“In my locked drawer?” Margaret’s voice turned icy. “You went through my things?”
“It doesn’t matter! The point is, you can afford to help!”
“It’s my safety net—for care, emergencies.”
“What emergency?” Emily snapped. “Ours is happening now!”
“Because you lived beyond your means. My emergency’s still ahead. When I’m too frail to care for myself—who’ll pay then?”
“We will,” Emily vowed.
“With what? My own pension?”
“Just a temporary loan!”
“Temporary,” Margaret repeated. “Then what? Another loan? A bigger flat? A fancier car? Back to me?”
“Of course not!”
“Exactly what you’d do. Easier than thinking for yourselves.”
James tried again. “We’re family. Doesn’t that mean anything?”
“Which is why I won’t turn us into a bank,” she said. “Money kills love.”
Emily scoffed. “Since when are you heartless?”
“Not heartless. Wise. Retirement gives perspective. The more you bail out grown children, the less they try.”
“That’s not true!”
“Isn’t it? If you hadn’t expected my help, what would you’ve done?”
Emily hesitated. “Asked friends, maybe…”
“Or found flexible work. Or James took any job. But why bother if Mum’s your backup?”
“He’s applying daily!”
“Only for high-paying roles. Ever tried delivery work? Labour?”
James reddened. “I’ve got a degree—”
“So? Honest work’s nothing to shame. My dad swept streets post-war. Too proud for that?”
“The pay’s peanuts!”
“Better than nothing. What’s your salary now?”
“None,” he admitted.
“There you go.”
Emily stood. “Fine. We’re on our own.”
“Best way to be.”
“Then don’t expect us later. When you’re old, cope alone.”
Margaret nodded. “I will. My savings’ll cover care.”
“What if they run out?”
“Then a care home. Paid for.”
Emily froze. “You can’t mean that.”
“I do. Strangers paid to care for me beat being a burden to family.”
“You’d never be—”
“I would if you resent me for it. Boundaries are kinder.”
Emily turned to leave. James followed.
“Wait,” Margaret called.
“What now?”
“Visit often. But no money talk.”
“And if we’re truly desperate?”
Margaret paused. “Then we’ll talk. But prove you’ve exhausted every option first.”
After they left, the flat fell silent. Margaret cleared the cups, then sat knitting by the window. Her chest ached, but she knew she’d done right.
Emily needed to stand on her own feet. And she—her independence.
Her bank book lay in her dressing gown. There was enough to help, but she knew: start now, and she’d never stop.
She’d face old age with dignity—not outstretched hands.
Late that night, the phone rang. Emily’s voice was small.
“Mum… I’m sorry. I’ve thought about it. You’re right.”
“About what?”
“We took the easy way. James has an interview tomorrow—not his field, but it’s work.”
“Good,” Margaret exhaled.
“We’ll sell the car. Buy a cheap one, no loans.”
“Smart girl.”
“Mum… would you really go to a home?”
Margaret smiled. “Let’s see how life unfolds. What matters is we all have choices.”
