Mrs. Margaret Peterson, youll mind the boys, wont you? Can we count on you? Claire pleaded, eyes wide as she stared at her motherinlaw.
Margaret smiled at her grandsonssevenyearold Oliver and fiveyearold Leowho were already kicking off their trainers in the hallway.
Of course, dear. No worries. Well have a right proper time together, she replied.
Claire gave the boys a quick kiss on the head, slipped out the door, and vanished into the garden. Margaret smoothed her silver bun, turned to the lads, and watched Oliver haul Leo toward the living room, where the television stood.
Grandma, can we watch cartoons? Leo shouted.
Sure thing, love. But first wash your hands and have something to eat. Ive made pancakesyour favourites, with a dollop of curd.
The boys squealed with delight and bolted for the bathroom. Margaret floated into the kitchen, where a pan of golden pancakes waited on the stove. Cooking for her grandchildren gave her a feeling of purpose. Since retiring three years ago, shed often taken the boys in while Claire and her husband Paul were at work or out on errands.
She set the table, recalling her chat with Sarah the other morning. Sarah had moved to Brighton four years ago, closer to the sea, and left her London flat to her daughter Emily. Margaret never liked Emilyshed grown into a spoiled, Instagramobsessed whiner. At twentytwo, Emily claimed she was a digital creator of some sort, earned a tidy sum, and spent it on designer shoes and frequent getaways abroad.
Grandma, is there any cream? Oliver asked, peering into the kitchen.
Its in the fridge, sunshine. Want to fetch it yourself or need a hand?
Ill do it! the boy declared, throwing the fridge door open with a flourish.
They scarfed down the pancakes, slathered in cream, while Margaret narrated tales of autumn woods and mushroom hunts with their grandfather. Leo listened with his mouth agape, Oliver peppered her with questions. After breakfast the boys sprinted to the TV for cartoons, and Margaret set about washing the dishes.
The phone rang. It was Sarah.
Hey, Maggie! Im in London for three days. Drop by Emilys tomorrow, well have a proper catchup. Ive missed you like mad!
Margarets heart liftedshe hadnt seen Sarah in over a year, only on video calls.
Sarah dear, Id love to, but the boys are here. Claire left them for the weekend.
Bring them along! The flats huge, theres room for everyone.
Margaret hesitated. She wanted to see her friend, but hauling two hyperactive boys around didnt sound appealing.
Fine, she sighed. Ill tell them to behave.
The next morning she dressed the lads a bit smarterOliver in a navy sweater with a tiny car printed on it, Leo in a green hoodie sporting a dinosaur. She threw on her best camelcoloured coat, the one she saved for special occasions.
Boys, were off to visit a friends house. Her daughter Emily lives there and has all sorts of pricey stuff, so dont touch anything without asking, okay?
Okay, Grandma! they chorused.
Emilys flat greeted them with the scent of expensive perfume and pristine white walls. Sarah embraced Margaret, kissed her cheeks, and looked noticeably slimmer and sunkissedclearly the southern coast had done her good.
Bless you, Maggie, you made it! Come in, come in. Emilys just stepped out for a meeting.
They wandered into a massive kitchen with a marble island and bar stools. The boys clung to Margaret, eyes darting around at the fragile glassware, porcelain vases, and sleek appliances.
Heres some juice and biscuits, Sarah placed on the table. Feel free to flick on the TV in the lounge; they have a good selection of kids channels.
Oliver and Leo exchanged a glance, grabbed their glasses of orange juice, and darted to the lounge. Margaret watched them go.
Dont worry, nothing there you can break, Sarah waved dismissively. Tell me, hows life treating you?
The women chatted about health, family, and the everrising cost of livingtypical banter for two women in their sixties.
Suddenly a crash echoed from the lounge, followed by Leos frightened whimper. Margaret sprang up, toppling her tea cup, and bolted into the room. On the carpet lay a sleek silver laptop, its screen shattered in two. Oliver stood pale as a sheet; Leo wailed, tears streaking his cheeks.
We we just wanted to watch cartoons Oliver stammered. It was on the sofa, we thought
Emily stormed back in, eyes blazing at the broken device.
What on earth happened?! Thats my work MacBook! All my projects are on there!
Emily, calm down, the kids didnt mean any harm Sarah tried to intervene.
Didnt mean any harm? Its a brandnew MacBook, £2,500 brandnew! You cant just
Emilys scream was so loud Margaret felt her ears ring. Leo clung to his grandmother, sniffling. Oliver lowered his head, trying to hide his tears.
Ill pay for the damage, Margaret whispered. Im so sorry. The boys didnt intend to
Pay? Seriously? When? I cant wait ten years for you to scrounge five grand from your pension! Emily sneered, measuring Margaret from head to toe with a contemptuous glance.
Emily, stop! Sarah pleaded, but Emily turned on her.
This is your fault! You brought these little vandals into my home! I have deadlines! Now everythings ruined!
Margaret gathered the boys into a tight hug.
Well be off, dear, she said, trying to keep her dignity. Ill transfer the money as soon as I can. Give me your card details.
Emily huffed, muttered the number, and Margaret scribbled it down with trembling fingers. Sarah saw them to the door, whispering, Dont take it personally, Maggie. Shes just on edge, work stress and all.
Margaret nodded, though inside she felt a hot sting of humiliation. On the tube, the boys sat silently, pressed against her on either side. At home she served them soup and tucked them into bed.
That evening, Claires children arrived. Summoning her courage, Margaret recounted the incident.
£2,500, she repeated, looking at Claire. Maybe you could help a little? I know the boys were reckless, but
Claires perfectly made-up face stayed impassive.
Mrs. Peterson, youre an adult. You volunteered to watch the kidstake responsibility. You didnt keep an eye on them, so you pay the price.
The words cut deep. Margaret glanced at her son, Paul, who was quietly putting the boys to bed.
Paul
Mom, Claires right, he said without looking up. You should have watched them more closely. Its on you.
His family, the people shed held most dear, left her with a cold farewell.
Margaret shuffled to the kitchen and sat down. Her pension was £170 a month. Council tax and utilities took £60, food and medication another £70, leaving just £40usually saved for the boys birthdays and little gifts.
There was no other way out.
At the bank a young female adviser nodded sympathetically as she processed the paperwork. The interest rate was absurd, the repayments £12 a month for three yearsmore than half her pension.
Margaret wired the money to Emily the same day. Emily merely replied with a thumbsup emoji.
A month later the boys stopped coming. Calls to Paul were briefWork, too busy, the kids are at school. He eventually admitted the grandchildren no longer wanted to visit; she couldnt afford presents or tasty meals.
For Olivers birthday she could only buy a cheap building set. Claire accepted it with a look that said, Anything less would be scandalous.
Thanks, Mrs. Peterson. Weve already bought him a console, so she muttered.
Sarah stopped answering her calls. Two weeks later she sent a text: Maggie, sorry, but because of you I fell out with Emily. She wont speak to me now. Lets not keep in touch for a while.
Margaret sat in her tiny kitchen, phone screen glowing, bills for electricity, gas, and a repair fund spread out on the table, plus the loan agreement. In the fridge was a packet of milk, a loaf of bread, a little rice. Her pension would run out in a week.
Neighbour Nina Ivanova popped in to borrow some salt, stared at Margarets pallor.
Maggie, you look pale. Are you ill?
Never mind, just tired, Margaret replied.
How are the grandsons? Havent seen them in ages.
The lads theyre fine. Growing up.
Nina left, and Margaret remained in the dimming kitchen, refusing to turn the lights onto save electricity. Somewhere beyond the wall a television blared childrens laughter. She sat alone, feeling useless.
Once she was the goto personfeeding grandkids, helping on the garden, chaperoning school plays when parents were tied up. And now? The moment she stopped being convenient, she was as good as invisible.
