At sixty-five, she realised the true horror was not being alone, but begging her children for a phone call, knowing she was a burden to them.
Mum, hi, I need your help.
Her sons voice crackled down the line, as if addressing an irritating subordinate rather than his mother.
Margaret Whitmore froze, the TV remote still clutched in her hand, the evening news forgotten.
James, hello. Is everything all right?
Yeah, fine, he sighed impatiently. Its just, me and Emily found this last-minute holiday deal. Flights tomorrow.
Weve got no one to look after Duke. Can you take him?
Duke. A slobbering Great Dane whod take up more space in her tiny flat than her old china cabinet.
For how long? she asked cautiously, already knowing the answer.
A week, maybe two. Depends. Mum, come on, who else? Boarding kennels would be cruelyou know how sensitive he is.
Margaret glanced at her sofa, newly upholstered in pale fabric after six months of scrimping. Duke would ruin it in days.
James, IIve just had the place redone.
Mum, what redo? His voice sharpened. Did you change the curtains?
Dukes well-behavedjust walk him regularly. Right, Ems calling, gotta pack. Well drop him off in an hour.
The line went dead.
He hadnt even asked how she was. No mention of her birthday last week. Sixty-five.
Shed waited all day, made her famous trifle, worn her new dress. Theyd promised to visit but never came.
James sent a text: Happy bday, Mum! Works mad. Charlotte hadnt written at all.
And today? Need your help.
Margaret sank onto the sofa. It wasnt about the dog or the ruined upholstery.
It was the humiliation of being reduced to a function. A free dogsitter, an emergency contact, a last resort. A person whose purpose was utility.
She remembered, years ago, wishing her children would grow independent.
Now she understoodthe real terror wasnt an empty flat. It was the ache of waiting for a call, knowing you were only wanted when something was needed.
Begging for scraps of attention, bargaining with your own dignity.
An hour later, the doorbell rang. James stood there, leash in hand. Duke barrelled past, muddy paws stamping across the clean floor.
Mum, heres his food, his toys. Walks three times a day, yeah? Right, were offflights soon! He shoved the leash into her hand, pecked her cheek, and vanished.
Margaret stood in the hallway. Duke was already sniffing the armchair legs.
From the living room came the sound of tearing fabric.
She picked up her phone. Maybe call Charlotte? Would she understand? But her finger hovered.
Charlotte hadnt rung in a month. Too busy, probably. Her own life, her own family.
And suddenly, Margaret didnt feel the usual sting of resentment. Just something cold, clear, and final. Enough.
Morning began with Duke launching onto the bed, leaving two dinner-plate-sized paw prints on her white duvet.
The sofa was shredded in three places. Her prized orchid, nurtured for years, lay on the floor, leaves chewed.
Margaret gulped valerian straight from the bottle and dialled James. He answered after several rings. Waves and Emilys laughter echoed in the background.
Mum, what? Were greatseas brilliant!
James, about the dog. Hes wrecking the flat. The sofas ruinedI cant handle him.
What? He sounded genuinely shocked. Hes never done that. Maybe youre locking him up? He needs space. Mum, dont start, alright? We just got here. Walk him morehell calm down.
I walked him two hours this morning! He nearly yanked me over. James, please, take him back. Find another sitter.
A pause. Then his voice hardened.
Mum, seriously? Were in Spain. How? You agreed to this. Or dyou want us to drop everything because youre being difficult? Thats selfish.
Selfish. The word struck like a slap. Her, whod lived for themselfish.
Im not being
Mum, Ems got cocktails. Entertain Duke. Youll bond. Love you.
Click.
Her hands trembled. She sat at the kitchen table, away from the wreckage. The helplessness felt physical. She called Charlotte. She was always the sensible one.
Lottie, hello.
Hi, Mum. Something urgent? Im in a meeting.
Yes. James left his dog here. Its uncontrollabledestroying everything. I think it might bite me next.
Charlotte sighed.
Mum, James asked. Mustve been desperate. Cant you help your own son? Were family. So the sofas tornbuy a new one. Jamesll pay. Probably.
Charlotte, its not about the sofa! Its how he treats me! He just dumped this on me!
How else? On his knees? Mum, stop. Youre retiredgot all the time in the world. Look after the dogwhats the fuss? Boss is staringgotta go.
Silence.
Margaret set the phone down.
Family. What a strange word.
For her, it meant people who remembered you only when they needed something, then called you selfish if you refused.
That evening, her downstairs neighbour hammered on the door, furious.
Margaret! That dogs been howling for hours! My baby cant sleep! Sort it, or Im calling the RSPCA!
Duke, behind her, barked cheerfully in agreement.
Margaret shut the door. She looked at the tail-wagging dog, the ruined sofa, her silent phone. A slow, heavy anger rose.
Shed always tried to be reasonable. To explain, to compromise.
But her logic, her feelingsnone of it mattered. They bounced off a wall of patronising indifference.
She grabbed the leash.
Come on, Duke. Walk time.
They moved through the park, tension knotting her shoulders.
Duke strained ahead, each tug echoing her childrens words: selfish, all the time in the world, cant you help?
Thenbright laughter. A familiar figure: Patricia, an old colleague. Silk scarf, chic haircut, sparkling eyes.
Maggie, love! Didnt recognise youso frazzled! Babysitting? She nodded at Duke.
My sons dog, Margaret muttered.
Ah! Patricia laughed. Always the rescuer. Listen, Im off to Portugal next week! Flamenco lessonscan you believe? At our age! Girls from my class are going. Hubby grumbled, then said, Go on, youve earned it. When did you last have a break?
The question hung. Margaret couldnt remember. Her breaks were weeding the garden or babysitting.
You look exhausted, Patricia said gently. You cant carry everyone forever.
Kids are grownlet them cope. Or youll be stuck dog-sitting while life passes you by. Right, must dashrehearsal!
She vanished, leaving perfume and a hollow ache.
While life passes you by.
The words detonated. Margaret stopped dead. Duke cocked his head.
She stared at the massive dog, her hands gripping the leash, the grey buildings.
Enough. Not one more day.
She pulled out her phone, fingers shaking. Best luxury dog hotel London.
The first link showed glossy photos: spacious suites, swimming pools, groomers, personal trainers. Prices that made her gasp.
She dialled.
Hello. Id like to book a suite. Yes, for a Great Dane. Two weeks. Full board, spa treatments.
She called a taxi from the park. Duke sat quietly, as if sensing change.
The hotel smelled of lavender and expensive shampoo. A smiling receptionist handed her a form.
Without blinking, Margaret wrote James name and number under Owner.
Under Payerhis again. She paid the deposit from her coat savings. Best investment ever.
Well send daily photo updates to the owner, the girl smiled, taking the leash. Dont worry, hell love it here.
Back home, amidst the quiet wreckage, Margaret felt not loneliness, but peace.
She poured tea, sat on the surviving sofa edge, and sent two identical texts. One to James. One to Charlotte.
Duke is safe. Hes at The Barkley. All enquiries to his owner.
Then she silenced her phone.
It buzzed three minutes later. James flashed on the screen. She sipped her tea.
She didnt answer. Another
