You didn’t even say thank you.
“Mum, now don’t start again!” Oliver snapped irritably, not looking up from his phone. “I told you, I’m busy!”
“Busy is he!” Margaret smacked a damp cloth onto the table. “Nearly forty and still acting like a schoolboy! Oliver, I need you to go and see Gran. She rang yesterday, poor dear says she’s not at all well!”
“Mum, I’ve got a meeting in an hour! An important meeting!” Oliver finally tore his eyes from the screen. “I’ll go later, this evening or tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow, then the day after…” Margaret sank onto the chair opposite her son, sighing wearily. “Your gran’s lived eighty-three years, and you always find reasons not to visit.”
“Don’t start that broken record!” Oliver stood up, shoving the phone into his pocket. “I *work*, see? Paying the bills! Not like some, who only know how to nag!”
Margaret flinched at her son’s harshness but stayed silent. She was used to these exchanges. Oliver was always sharp, especially about family obligations.
“Alright,” she said softly. “Then I’ll go myself. The trouble is—the car’s in the garage. The bus takes a good two hours each way…”
“So what?” Oliver was pulling on his jacket. “Then take the bus, what’s the issue? Or call a cab!”
“Cabs cost the earth, son. My pension’s stretched thin, you know that.”
“Know, I know!” Oliver was already at the door. “Listen, Mum, let’s chat later, yeah? I really must dash!”
The door slammed. Margaret was alone in the kitchen where the smell of vegetable soup she’d made for him still hung. Oliver hadn’t touched a bite.
She went to the window, watched her son get into his new car. A smart, expensive motor. Oliver was proud of it, often bragged about its features to mates. Yet he couldn’t spare the time to run his mother out to see Gran.
Margaret retrieved her worn purse from her handbag, counting the coins. A taxi to Gran’s *would* cost a packet. The bus it was.
She picked up a bag of groceries for her mother-in-law, wrapped a scarf around her head, and stepped out. The bus stop was about fifteen minutes’ walk away. Margaret went slowly, pausing now and then to catch her breath. Her heart had been playing up lately, but she hadn’t seen the doctor. No time, and the money, well.
She waited at the stop for half an hour. The bus arrived packed; Margaret squeezed on with difficulty. It was a long journey, needing connections. Youngsters sat plugged into headphones, glued to their phones. No one offered their seat to the elderly lady.
At last, she reached the village where Oliver’s gran lived. An ageing cottage stood on the outskirts, surrounded by an overgrown garden. Margaret opened the gate, walked the path to the porch.
“Gran!” she called, knocking. “It’s me, Margaret!”
The door opened slowly. Ethel, her late husband’s mother, stood in the doorway, leaning on a stick. The old lady looked noticeably thinner since their last visit.
“Margaret love!” Her face lit up. “How lovely to see you! Come in, come in!”
“How are you, Gran?” Margaret hugged her mother-in-law, kissing her cheek. “You’ve got ever so thin.”
“Oh, mustn’t grumble…” Ethel led her into the sitting room weakly. “Appetite’s gone. Can’t sleep proper either. Just aches and pains…”
“Have you seen the doctor?”
“Went, yes. Said it’s age. What can you expect, eighty-three after all.” Ethel gestured to a chair. “Cup of tea?”
“Of course.” Margaret unpacked the food bags. “Here, brought you some soup, some sausage rolls, cabbage pasties.”
“Oh, bless you, pet!” Ethel beamed. “Where’s our Oliver then? Not seen him in a dog’s age.”
Margaret paused, pouring the tea.
“He’s very busy at work, Gran. Lots on.”
“Right,” Ethel nodded. “A man’s got to work. Only…” She hesitated, then added softly, “Only I miss him something awful. He’s my only grandson, you know.”
“I know, Gran. He misses you too, just hard to get the time.”
“No, Margaret love,” Ethel shook her head. “He don’t miss me. If he missed me, he’d find the time. Like you do.”
Margaret didn’t know what to say. She’d often thought it herself. Oliver really could find an hour for Gran if he wanted. But he didn’t want to. Sitting in this old house, listening to talk of ailments and times gone by didn’t interest him.
“Tell me how you’ve been, Gran,” Margaret asked instead.
“What to tell…? Get up, have me breakfast, potter about. Neighbour Joan pops round sometimes, for a natter. Otherwise… just me. Watch the telly, but it’s all such doom and gloom…”
“And your health?”
“Poor, love. Really poor now. Heart aches, sharp pains in me chest. Dizzy spells too. Yesterday, I fell right over in the kitchen, lucky I grabbed the table.”
“Gran!” Margaret gasped. “Why didn’t you say? Should we have called an ambulance?”
“What good? They’d come, poke about and say it’s me age. Medicines cost a fortune, pension doesn’t stretch.”
“Don’t fret about money. We’ll help with the medicines.”
“Our Oliver will help?” Ethel asked hopefully.
“Course he will,” lied Margaret. She knew she’d have to explain it to her son, persuade him, and he’d be sore about the extra expense.
They sat together until evening. Ethel talked about neighbours, her ailments, missing her late son. Margaret listened, nodding, made supper in the tiny kitchen.
“Margaret,” Ethel said as it grew dark. Any chance you could stay the night? Fearful lonely on me own…”
“Course I’ll stay, Gran. Not going anywhere.”
Next morning, Margaret took her to the local clinic. The young doctor looked exhausted. He examined Ethel quickly, scribbled prescriptions.
“Take them exactly as it says,” he instructed. “And if it worsens, ring for an ambulance.”
“Doctor,” Margaret ventured timidly. “Is it… serious?”
“At her age, any condition is serious,” he replied flatly. “Heart’s weak, BP all over the shop. Needs proper looking after.”
On the walk back, Ethel clung to Margaret’s hand.
“Thank you, pet,” she murmured. “You’re like a daughter to me. Better even than my own might’ve been.”
“Don’t say such things, Gran. We’re family.”
“Family…” Ethel repeated sadly. “But our Oliver, he don’t see me as family.”
“Don’t
Nigel knew he must visit Gran next Sunday, yet already felt the familiar tension coiling in his shoulders as he contemplated the excuses he’d inevitably make.
