Summer Rules
When the train slowed alongside the small rural platform, Margaret Collins was already at the very edge, clutching her canvas shopping bag to her chest. Apples rolled inside, a jar of raspberry jam rattled, and there was a plastic box of sausage rolls. Of course the children would arrive well-fed, straight from London with their rucksacks and bags, but her hands always itched to cook anyway.
The train gave a little jolt, the doors slid open, and out tumbled three things at once: tall, gangly Daniel, his younger sister Emily, and a backpack that seemed to have a life of its own.
Gran! Emily noticed her first, waving so hard her charm bracelets jangled.
Margaret felt a warm lump rise in her throat. She carefully set down the bag so as not to drop anything, and opened her arms.
My goodness, youve She meant to say grown, but bit her tongue just in time. They knew anyway.
Daniel approached more slowly, giving her a half-hug with one arm while holding onto his backpack with the other.
Hi, Gran.
He was nearly a head taller than her now. There was a shadow of stubble on his chin, skinny wrists, and headphones poking out under his t-shirt. Margaret caught herself searching for the boy who used to run about their garden in wellies, but all she saw were remnants of adulthood creeping in.
Grandads down at the car waiting for us, she said. Come on now before my homemade burgers go cold.
I just need a picture, Emily had already pulled out her phone, snapping shots of the platform, the train, and Margaret herself. For my story.
The word story passed by her ears like a bird. Shed asked her daughter about it last winter, but the explanation had slipped away. The important thing was her granddaughter was smiling.
They walked down the concrete steps. Below, by the battered Land Rover, Arthur Collins waited. He got up to meet them, clapped Daniel on the shoulder, hugged Emily, and gave his wife a stiff nod. He never made a fuss, but Margaret knew he was just as happy as she was.
So, schools out? he asked.
Yep. Summer break, Daniel replied, tossing his bag into the boot.
On the way home the children seemed quieter. Outside, gardens, cottages, and the odd goat slipped past the window. Emily flicked through her phone a couple of times. Daniel snorted with laughter now and then, and Margaret found herself watching their fingers, never far from their sleek black rectangles.
Never mind, she told herself. As long as we keep things our own way in the house, let them do whatever it is youngsters do nowadays.
The house greeted them with the scent of fried burgers and fresh parsley. On the veranda an old wooden table was set with a lemon-patterned wipe-clean cloth. The frying pan sizzled on the hob; a cabbage pie baked in the oven.
Wow, this is a feast! Daniel said, poking his head into the kitchen.
Its just lunch, not a feast, Margaret replied automatically then caught herself. Go onwash your hands first, at the sink.
Emily had her phone out again already. As Margaret set salad, bread, and the burgers on the table, she watched her granddaughter taking photos of the meal, the window view, and the old ginger cat Thomas, who was peering nervously from beneath a chair.
No phones at the table, she said in an offhand way once everyone had sat down.
Daniel looked up.
Wait, what?
She means exactly that, Arthur chimed in. Eat first, then you can use them as much as you like.
Emily paused, then placed her phone face-down beside her plate.
I only wanted to get a photo
Youve got plenty already, Margaret said gently. Lets eat now, you can upload them after.
Her pronunciation of upload sounded hesitant. She wasnt quite sure if that was the right word, but hoped it sufficed.
Daniel, hesitating, also put his phone at the edge of the table. He looked as if someone had asked him to remove his helmet on a space shuttle.
Now then, she continued, pouring out the blackcurrant squash, weve got a little routine here. Lunch at one, dinner at seven. Up by nine in the morning. After that, the days yours.
Not up later than nine Daniel muttered. But what if I want to watch telly at night?
Night is for sleeping, Arthur said, not lifting his eyes from his plate.
Margaret felt a thin thread of tension string itself taut between them. She hurried on:
Were not the army, dont worry. But if you sleep through the morning, the whole day will be gone before you see anything. Theres the river, the woods, bikes.
I want to go to the river, Emily said quickly. And on the bike. And have a photoshoot in the garden.
Photoshoot sounded more familiar now.
Very well then, Margaret nodded, but first a bit of help. Potatoes need weeding, strawberries must be watered. You didnt come here to be waited on hand and foot.
But Gran, its the holidays Daniel began, but Arthur gave him a look.
Holiday, not a spa break.
Daniel sighed but said no more. Under the table Emily nudged his trainer, and he gave her a lopsided grin.
After lunch, the children headed upstairs to unpack. Margaret checked in on them after half an hour. Emily had draped her t-shirts over a chair and arranged her makeup and phone charger on the windowsill. Daniel sprawled on his bed against the wall, scrolling on his phone.
I put clean linen out for you, Margaret said. If somethings not right, let me know.
All good, Gran, Daniel answered, eyes glued to his phone.
That all good stung a bit. But she just nodded.
Well do a barbecue tonight. Once youve rested, come out to the veg patch for a bit of work.
Kay, Daniel mumbled.
She left, quietly shutting the door, lingering in the hall. From inside, she could hear Emilys muffled laughter as she spoke to someone on video chat. Margaret suddenly felt oldnot because her back ached, but in another way, as if the children lived on some separate, invisible layer shed never reach.
Its all right, she told herself. Well work it out. The trick is not to push.
That evening, as the sun dipped low, they stood outside in the garden. The ground was warm, dry grass rustling underfoot. Arthur showed which were weeds and which were carrots.
Pull those, not those, he told Emily.
But what if I get it wrong? She squatted, wrinkling her nose.
Its not the end of the world, Margaret said. Were not running a commercial farm.
Daniel stood off to one side, leaning on a hoe, eyes on the house. In his bedroom window, a pale blue glow flickeredthe forgotten monitor screen.
Not lost your phone, have you? Arthur asked.
Its upstairs, Daniel replied, a little gruffly.
That admission pleased Margaret more than she would have thought.
The first days passed in decent balance. Each morning shed knock on their door to rouse them; theyd grumble and turn over, but by half-nine both were at the kitchen table. Theyd help a bit with the chores before drifting off: Emily set up photoshoots with Thomas and the strawberries for her phone stories, Daniel would read, listen to music, or cycle round the lanes.
The rules survived in the details. No phones at meals. Quiet at night. Only once, on the third night, did Margaret wake to muffled laughter behind Daniels door. The clock read half past midnight.
Shall I leave it, or go in? she thought, lying in the dark.
The laughter came again, followed by a distinct voice note. Sighing, she slipped on her dressing-gown and tapped at his door.
Daniel, are you awake?
Instant: silence.
Coming
He opened the door, squinting into the corridor light; his eyes were red, hair sticking up, phone in hand.
Youre not asleep? she tried to keep her voice gentle.
I was just watching a film.
At midnight?
We were all starting it at the same timeme and my mates were messaging as we go along
She pictured teenage boys in city flats, each watching in the dark, all messaging about some film.
Tell you what, she said. I dont mind you watching a film. But if youre awake half the night, youre useless in the morning and no use in the garden. Lets set a deal. Up to midnightfine. After thatbed.
He grimaced.
But theyll
Theyre in the city, youre here. Different rules. Im not saying you have to be asleep by nine.
He scratched his head.
All rightmidnight.
And close the doorlights bright, and keep the sound down.
Back in bed, she wondered if shed been too soft. In her day shed have laid down the law. But things were different now.
Little things became battlegrounds. On a particularly hot day, Margaret asked Daniel to help Arthur move timber to the shed.
In a minute, he mumbled, still glued to his phone.
Ten minutes later he hadnt budged.
Daniel, Grandads moving it by himself, she said, voice getting a steel edge.
Ill just finish this and go, he shot back, irritated.
Whats so important? she lost patience. The world wont stop without you.
He looked up sharply.
It is important, he replied. Were in the middle of a tournament.
What tournament?
A game. Online. If I leave now, the ladsll lose.
She wanted to say there were more important things than games, but saw how tense he was, lips pressed tight.
How long will it take?
About twenty minutes.
Okay. Youve got twenty minutes, then you go and help. Deal?
He nodded and went back to his phone. Sure enough, twenty minutes later, he was there tying his shoes.
Im coming, Im coming, he said before she even asked.
These little deals gave her hope they could still steer things. But then came a day when it all went wrong.
It was mid-July, and they were meant to go to the market for seedlings and groceries. Arthur said help was needed, the bags were heavy, and the car couldnt be left unattended.
Daniel, youll come with Grandad tomorrow, Margaret said at dinner. Emily and I will stay and make jam.
I cant, he answered at once.
Why not?
Im meeting my mates in town. Theres a festival onmusic, food stalls He glanced at Emily, searching for support, but she only shrugged. I did mention it.
She didnt recall, but perhaps she missed itthered been many conversations.
What town is this? Arthurs voice got hard.
Well, our town. By train. Only just by the station.
Do you even know the way?
Everybodys going. And anyway, Im sixteen now.
That sixteen settled like a brick on the table.
Your dad said youre not to go off alone, Arthur said.
Im not alone. Ill be with mates.
Which makes it worse.
Margaret felt the air tighten around her once more. Emily finished her pasta and quietly pushed her plate away.
How about you and Grandad go this evening, and Daniel meets his friends tomorrow? she ventured.
Markets only tomorrow, Arthur cut in. And I need help. I wont manage alone.
I could go, Emily piped up.
Youre needed here for jam, he replied mechanically.
I can handle it, Margaret insisted. The jam can wait. Let Emily go with you.
Arthur studied her, caught between surprise and gratitude and something stubborn.
And what about him? He nodded toward Daniel.
I Daniel began.
You know youre not in London now, Arthurs voice was granite. Things are different. Were responsible for you.
Someones always in charge of me! Daniel burst out. Cant I take responsibility for myself for a single minute?
Silence. Margaret felt something tighten inside. She wanted to say she understood, that shed once craved her own freedom too, but instead her voice came out dry and alien:
While youre under our roof, you follow our rules.
Fine then, he spat, pushing his chair back. I wont go anywhere.
He left the kitchen, door banging. Somewhere above, a thumpbackpack on the floor, or him flinging himself onto the bed.
The rest of the evening was tense. Emily tried to lighten things up with stories about a blogger, but the laughs were forced. Arthur brooded over the paper. Margaret washed dishes, thinking about what shed said. Our rules rang in her head like a spoon against glass.
At night, she woke to silence. Usually, the house would creak, a mouse would rustle in the walls, an occasional car would whoosh by. Now it felt too still. She strained to listen. No light under Daniels door.
Maybe hes finally sleeping, she thought, rolling onto her other side.
In the morning, as she entered the kitchen, the clock read quarter to nine. Emily sat yawning at the table. Arthur drank tea and leafed through the paper.
Wheres Daniel? she asked.
Still sleeping? Emily ventured.
Margaret went upstairs and knocked.
Daniel, time to get up.
No answer. She pushed open the door. The bed was barely made, thrown together as he did when he couldnt be botheredbut no sign of him. His hoodie on the chair, charger on the table. Phone gone.
Something dropped inside her.
Hes not there, she said, coming down.
What do you mean not there? Arthur straightened.
Beds empty. Phones gone.
Maybe hes outside, Emily suggested.
They checked the garden. Nowhere. He wasnt in the shed, and his bike was still there.
First trains at eight forty, Arthur muttered, staring towards the lane.
Margaret felt her palms go cold.
He might just be with kids on the green
What kids? He doesnt know anyone here.
Emily reached for her phone.
Ill message him.
She tapped nervously. After a moment, she lifted her head.
Hes not reading. Just the one tick.
Margaret didnt know what one tick meant, but from her granddaughters face, it wasnt good.
What shall we do? she asked Arthur.
He paused.
Ill drive down to the stationsee if anyone saw him.
Maybe dont she began, but he cut her off.
He left without a word. Thats serious.
He dressed quickly, grabbed the keys.
You stay in, he told her. In case he turns up. Emily, if he messages or rings, you shout straight away.
When the car left, Margaret sat on the veranda, clutching her dishcloth. She pictured Daniel at the platform, boarding the train, getting pushed or losing his phone, all sorts of wild scenes. She tried to steady herself.
Calm now. Hes not a child. Hes not stupid.
An hour went by. Then another. Emily checked her phone and shook her head.
Nothing, she said. Hasnt even gone online.
By eleven Arthur returned, worn out.
No ones seen him. I went to the station, even swung by town Nothing.
Maybe he went to that festival after all, Margaret murmured. On his own.
With what money? Hes got nothing, Arthur growled.
Hes got a bank card, Emily piped up. On his phone, too.
They exchanged glances. To them, money lived in a wallet; to the kids, it floated in a digital ether.
Should we ring his father? Margaret suggested.
Ring him, Arthur nodded gruffly. Hell hear anyway.
It was not an easy call. Their son went quiet, then swore, then accused them of not looking after the boy. Margaret listened, weighed down by fatigue. When she hung up, she sat on a stool, head in her hands.
He hasnt disappeared, Gran, Emily said gently. Hes just angry.
He left and didnt say a word, Margaret replied, hollow. Like were the enemy.
The day dragged on. They tried to keep busy: Emily helped with the jam, Arthur fiddled in the shed, but all half-heartedly. Emilys phone stayed silent.
In the evening, with the sun low, there was a sound outside. Margaret, whod been sitting with tea, jumped. The gate creaked. Daniel stood there in the dusk.
He wore the same shirt, his jeans dusty, rucksack on his shoulders. He looked tired, but safe.
Hi, he said quietly.
Margaret stood. For a second, she nearly flung her arms round him but something held her back.
Where have you been?
In town at the festival.
Alone?
With mates. Well, sort of. Some are from the next village, I messaged them. We met.
Arthur stepped onto the veranda, rubbing his hands on a cloth.
Do you have any idea what we he began, but his voice failed.
I messaged, Daniel said quickly. Then my phone lost connection and then the battery died. I forgot my charger.
Emily hovered nearby gripping her phone.
I texted you too. Only one tick for ages.
I didnt do it on purpose, he said, looking at each in turn. I just Thought if I asked you wouldnt let me. And Id already promised them. So
He trailed off.
You decided not to bother asking, Arthur finished for him.
Silence again. But now it was heavy with weariness, not just irritation.
Come on inside, Margaret said at last. You need a bite to eat.
He obeyed without protest, slump-shouldered at the table. She set a bowl of soup and some bread, poured elderflower cordial. He wolfed it down as if he hadnt eaten all day.
Its so expensive there, he grumbled. Your lots food stalls
She ignored the your lot.
When hed finished, they sat quietly on the veranda. The air had a chill, sun almost down.
Heres the deal, Arthur said. You want freedom, we get that. But were responsible for you. While youre with us, we cant just pretend were not. If you want to go somewhere, you tell us in advanceproper notice. We sit, talk through the route, timings, whos meeting who. If it works, fine. If not, you stay with us. But vanishing without warning is not on.
What if you say no? Daniel asked.
Then youre angry and you stay put, Margaret replied. And well be annoyed toobut you stick with us at the market.
He looked at her, a flicker of pain, exasperation, confusion in his face.
I didnt want you to worry, he said softly. I just wanted to decide things for myself.
Deciding for yourself is good, Margaret said. But responsibility includes those who care about you.
The words surprised her with their certainty.
He sighed.
Fair enough. I get it.
And one more thing, Arthur added. If your phones dead, you find somewhere to chargecafé, station, doesnt matter. First thing, call or text us. Even if we sound cross.
Okay, Daniel nodded.
They lingered a while. A neighbours dog barked. Somewhere in the garden, Thomas meowed lazily.
How was the festival? Emily asked suddenly.
Okay, he shrugged. Music was a bit naff, but the food was good.
Photos?
My phone died.
So, no evidence, no content? Emily threw up her hands.
He actually smiled thentired, but still a smile.
After that, life at the house shifted. The rules remained but felt kinder, more flexible. Margaret and Arthur one evening wrote out what they thought was important: up by ten, help round the house for two hours a day, tell us if you go out, no phones at meals. They stuck the list onto the fridge.
Like school camp, Daniel smirked.
Family version, Margaret shot back.
Emily made some of her own:
You dont ring me every five minutes if I go to the river. And dont barge into my room.
We dont barge in! Margaret protested.
Write it anyway, Daniel insisted. Fairs fair.
Two extra lines were added. Arthur grumbled but signed.
Gradually, they found shared activities that didnt feel like chores. Emily dug out an old boardgame from the veranda one rainy evening.
Lets play tonight?
I remember this from when I was little, Daniel perked up.
Arthur acted like he was busy in the garage but sat down after all. Oddly enough, he remembered the rules best. They played, argued, swapped pieces, their phones forgotten on the sideboard.
Cooking became a joint project. One day, tired of whats for tea?, Margaret announced:
Saturdayits your turn to cook. Ill just tell you where things are.
Us? Daniel and Emily chorused.
You. Anythingbeans on toast if you must. Just edible.
They took it surprisingly seriously. Emily found a recipe for something trendy; Daniel chopped veg while they argued over tactics. The kitchen smelt of fried onions and herbs, a mountain of washing up grew, but everyone seemed lighter, almost celebratory.
Dont be cross if we all end up fighting for the loo, Arthur muttered, but cleared his plate.
In the garden, compromise was reached. Instead of insisting on daily weeding, Margaret assigned private plots.
This strip is yours, she told Emily, pointing at the strawberries. Yoursanother row, for Daniel. Do as you like. Water or not. But you cant moan if nothing grows.
An experiment, Daniel declared.
Control versus test group, Emily agreed.
In the end, Emily checked her berries nightly and proudly posted my garden snaps; Daniel tossed water over his carrots a couple of times and then forgot. At summers end, Emily had a boxful to show off, Daniel had a handful of stunted carrots.
So, any conclusions? Margaret teased.
Yeah, he deadpanned. Carrots arent my calling.
The laughter was genuine this time.
By summers end, the house had found its rhythm. They breakfasted together, went their ways by day, then gathered for tea in the evening. Daniel sometimes stayed up with his phone, but at midnight, lights were out and Margaret heard only his quiet breathing. Emily still went off with a friend down to the river, but always texted where she was.
There were still squabblesover music, the right amount of salt in the soup, washing up now or laterbut that felt less like warfare, more like ordinary life under one roof.
The last night before departure, Margaret baked an apple pie. The house smelled sweet, valley breeze drifting through the veranda. Bags and folded clothes stood ready.
Lets get a photo! Emily piped up once the pie was sliced.
Not your social media again Arthur started, then stopped.
Just for us. Doesnt have to go anywhere.
They stood in the garden, sunlit apple trees overhead. Emily set her phone on an upside-down bucket, timed it, and scurried back, directing:
Gran in the middle, Grandad right, Daniel left.
They stood awkwardly shoulder to shoulder. Margaret felt Daniel just brush her elbow. Arthur drew closer. Emily looped her arms round their waists.
Smile, Emily called.
Click. Then again.
All done, Emily checked the photo and grinned. Perfect.
Lets see, Margaret asked.
On the little screen, they looked a touch silly: her with her apron still on, Arthur in his oldest shirt, Daniel with rumpled hair, Emily in her loud t-shirt. But there was something in their closenesssomething unspoken, familiar.
Can I print that one? Margaret asked hopefully.
Of course, said Emily. Ill send it to you.
But how will I print it from your phone? Margaret faltered.
Ill help you, Daniel chipped in. Come visit, well do it togetheror Ill bring it next time.
She nodded. A new calm settled inside. Not because everything made sense now; theyd still bicker plenty, she was sure. But it seemed that between rules and freedom, they had forged a little path back and forth.
Late that night, after the children had gone to bed, Margaret stepped onto the veranda. The sky was dark, a few stars winking above the rooftops. The house was quiet. She sat on the step, arms around her knees.
Arthur joined her, sitting heavily.
Theyll be off tomorrow, he said.
They will.
Silence.
Turned out all right, I suppose, he added.
It did, she agreed. And weve all learnt a thing or two.
Not sure whos taught who, he chuckled dryly.
She smiled. In Daniels window, all was dark; in Emilys too. Daniels phone would be charging on his bedside table, quietly gathering strength for the next day.
Margaret got up, slid the bolt on the door, and as she passed the kitchen, her eyes fell on the rule sheet on the fridge. Its edges curled slightly, the pen theyd signed with resting beside it. She ran a finger over the names, and thought: next summer, perhaps theyd rewrite it. Add some things. Remove others. The heart of it would stay.
She flicked off the kitchen light and went to bed, feeling the gentle, steady heartbeat of the houseabsorbing all that was, and saving space for what might come.
Personal lesson: Sometimes the best rule is to bend a littlebecause the true heart of family lies in meeting each other halfway.
