28October
I am writing this on a rainy evening in my flat above the bakers shop on Camden Road, hoping the words will settle my thoughts. My heart feels like a kettle whistling on the stove, and I need to pour it out before it boils over.
It began when Lucy my youngest daughter burst into the kitchen, cheeks flushed, voice trembling. Mum, please tell Christopher to come straight away! All three of the grandchildren are running fevers, theyre whimpering. I cant get them to the urgent care myself. He has a car, he could drive. I tried to stay calm, but the knot in my stomach tightened. The house seemed to shrink around the worry for my grandchildren.
Hold on, love. Ill sort it out, I whispered to Lucy, hoping my steadiness would be enough to keep her from panicking. My fingers fumbled with the phone, searching for Christophers number in my contacts. Three sick little ones, Lucy alone, Christopher at work the situation was dire.
The first ring sounded, then a second. Finally Christopher answered, his voice bright as ever.
Hey Mum, he said hurriedly.
Chris, dear, its terrible, I began, choosing words as carefully as one picks a delicate teacup. Lucy called. All three of the grandkids have come down with something and need to see a doctor urgently. Her husband cant get leave from work. Could you possibly drive over and take the little ones? It shouldnt take long.
Silence hung heavy on the line, broken only by the sound of his breathing and a distant clatter from the kitchen.
Mum, today is well, its Emmas birthday. We booked a restaurant two weeks ago. The traffic through the city is horrendous right now, and we wont make the reservation in time. So Im afraid I cant, he sighed.
My hand tightened around the receiver, my palm slick with sweat. Could he truly be turning his back on his own kin?
Chris, can you hear me? The children are ill! Your nieces! Lucy cant manage three cranky toddlers on her own. They need a doctor now! I tried to keep my voice from cracking.
I understand, Mum, he replied flatly, but we have plans. We cant cancel everything over this. Perhaps you could call a taxi, or you and Dad could help. Whats the problem?
I sank into the chair, my legs trembling. The words that escaped my mouth felt absurd.
Dad is at work! I cant possibly handle three sick children by myself. Dont you see how basic this is?
My apologies, but I cant, he snapped, the tone suddenly sharp. It isnt my problem. The children are Lucys responsibility. Shell have to sort it.
Anger rose like a tide. How is that not your problem? Theyre family! Your sister! Cant you help a relative once?
I told youI cant. We need to get ready for our evening, sorry. He hung up, and the line clicked shut.
The short beeps of the unanswered call echoed in my ears. I stared at the screen, unable to process what had just happened. My hands shook. I redialed, but there was only silence.
A hot, burning frustration flared inside me. How could my own son behave so coldly? I called my daughterinlaw, Hannah, hoping she might persuade him.
Hello, Evelyn? Hannah answered almost immediately.
Hannah, love, why wont you ask Christopher to help? These are his nieces! Lucy is struggling alone. You understand, youre a mother yourself, I pleaded, trying to keep my composure.
Hannah sighed, her tone indifferent.
Evelyn, the childrens parents should handle their own issues. There are taxis and NHS ambulances. The kids arent infants any more; Lucy is an adult, shell manage.
Her words cut deeper than Christophers refusal. Do you really think we can fit three sick toddlers into a taxi? I asked, my voice shaking. Theyre tiny! She cant do it by herself!
Thats Lucys children, Evelyn, Hannah replied nonchalantly. We have our own plans. We dont want to ruin our evening because of someone elses trouble.
Rage boiled over. Then perhaps you should just keep your future children to yourselves and never bother anyone else! I snapped, slamming the receiver down.
The following days passed in a grey fog. I didnt call Christopher again; he stayed silent. I tried not to think about the argument, but the sting of his rejection gnawed at me night after night. I lay awake, replaying the conversation, wondering where I had gone wrong as a mother. Had I raised my son to be so selfish? Why couldnt he see that family is supposed to look after each other?
My husband tried to talk to me a few times, but I brushed him aside. I needed to sort the mess in my own head, to understand what had broken.
On the fourth evening, my patience finally cracked. I decided I had to see Christopher in person, to look him straight in the eye and demand an explanation.
Hannah opened the door for me. Surprise flickered across her face, but she stepped aside without a word. I entered the living room, still wearing my coat, and didnt bother to hang it up.
Wheres Christopher? I asked sharply.
In the study, she said, nodding toward the doorway.
I pushed the door open. Christopher looked up, his expression momentarily flickering with something I could not name, then hardening into a mask.
Mum? he asked, his eyebrows lifting.
How could you? I shouted, my voice echoing off the walls. All the anger of the past four days surged out of me in one breath.
How could you refuse to help the sick children? Your own sister? I didnt raise you to be a selfish, coldhearted man!
He rose slowly, his face calm, almost indifferent, which only fueled my fury.
Mum, you could have called a taxi yourself, he said, shrugging. Im not obligated to drop everything at the first call. We have our own commitments.
He paused, meeting my gaze directly.
Did you forget how Lucy stopped speaking with us after we bought the flat? Shes always been talking behind peoples backs, he added.
Since we bought the apartment, shes been sulking, refusing the phone, even turning her back on us on the street. Its been half a year, and now she wants help? I stammered, words catching in my throat.
Its simple, I tried to recover, Lucy lives in a rented flat with her three kids.
You and Hannah live in your own twobedroom house, no children. Of course she feels resentful. I didnt know she was speaking badly about anyone, Christopher muttered, his tone dismissive.
Hannah stood in the doorway, arms folded, her face unreadable.
Its not my business, Christopher continued, his eyes cold. We earned that house ourselves. No one helped us. Lucy should sort out her own problems, not drag our family into them.
I stepped closer, fists clenched without my realizing it.
This is your sister! Shes family! I snapped. You cant just ignore her!
My family is Hannah, he shot back, raising his voice. Lucy should have thought ahead! She chose to have three children on her own; no one forced her. Im not required to drop everything at a moments notice.
Youre selfish! I cried. You only think of yourself! Your sister can barely cope with the kids, and you wont even give her a lift!
Help? he laughed. Why should I help someone who hasnt spoken to me for six months? We stopped seeing Lucy. You never noticed that, did you?
He took a breath, his tone softening just a fraction.
What am I even talking about? he asked, shaking his head. Youre always only worried about Lucy. Its always been that way. Im just an empty space in your life.
Youre heartless! I shouted, turning away, my vision blurring. I didnt raise you like this, Christopher! I taught you to look after each other!
I fled the flat, stepping out onto the stairwell. The cold night air hit my face, but it did nothing to ease the burning inside. I walked to the bus stop, each step heavy with the weight of the argument.
What had I done? How had I raised a man so indifferent? Why couldnt he understand the simple truth that family should support one another, that you never turn away from your own blood?
A tiny voice in the back of my mind echoed Hannahs words about Lucys own behavior after the flat purchase, about her gossip, about the fact that Christopher now had a family of his own. My mind swirled with doubtsperhaps Id demanded too much, perhaps Id ignored his own burdens.
I stopped midstreet, surrounded by strangers hurrying past. What if Christopher was right? What if Id been unreasonable, pushing too hard without seeing his side? Still, I could not accept that my son could be so callous.
I shook my head, refusing to let the thought settle. I was a mother; I knew what was right for children. I had always believed that. Yet the seed of uncertainty was planted, sharp and persistent.
I boarded the number14 bus, looking out the window at passing houses, cars, the ordinary flow of life. Something inside me had fractured, something changed forever.
I dont know if Ill ever be able to mend this. I dont know if Ill ever speak with Christopher as we once did. Will he ever forgive my outburst? Will I ever forgive his refusal? The bus rattled over potholes, and I closed my eyes, hoping tomorrow might bring clarity, hoping the right words will surface, hoping the family can become a family again.
Or perhaps it is already too late.
