Margaret sat on a creaky bench under the shabby chestnut trees in the NHS hospitals tiny park, dabbing her eyes with a tissue shed illicitly acquired from the nurses station. It was her seventieth birthdaythree score years and ten, as if that number deserved a medalbut neither her son nor her daughter had bothered to so much as give her a ring. Only her hospital roommate had managed a feeble Happy Birthday, along with a pair of fluffy pink socks clearly regifted. Nurse Cathy brought her a Granny Smith apple, allegedly in celebration, though it felt like a consolation prize for surviving this long. Generally, the hospital was all right, but the staffs indifference couldve won awards.
Everyone seemed to know the drill: when families get tired of doddery old relations, they pop them into the local care home, like putting out last weeks milk. Margarets own son had deposited her here, solemn-faced, muttering something about rest and recuperation, when all along it was his wife, with her permanent frown, who really had enough of her.
Margaret had once proudly owned a small flather castleuntil her son had sweet-talked her into signing it over. Before shed fully spelled her signature, hed assured her nothing would change: she would still live there, same as always. But suddenly, the whole bunch had moved in with her, and shed found herself in pitched battles with her daughter-in-law over everything from the flavour of the stew to splashy puddles on the bathroom floor.
At first, her son had come to her defenceonce. But afterwards, he too fell in with the complaints, embarking on dramatic tirades about her failings. She soon noticed her son and daughter-in-laws late-night whispering.
One day, her son started on about the benefits of a good rest, a proper break, Mum, itll do you wonders. Looking him in the eyes, Margaret asked, Youre putting me in a care home, arent you?
He blushed furiously, found sudden fascination in his shoes, and murmured, Mum, please, dont start. Its justsort of a spa retreat, really. Go and relax for a monthyoull feel brand new.
But a month turned to two years. Hed brought her here, signed a ream of forms, promised hed visit in a tick, then vanished. Technically, she was a permanent resident now.
Shed called her son not long ago, only to have a strange man pick up. Sorry, love, hes sold the place, moved on. Margaret hadnt the faintest idea where hed gone. Sleepless nights, tears into her pillowshe knew the moment she arrived shed never see her old home again. The worst pain, though, wasnt what her son had done: it was the memory of how shed once hurt her daughter, all for the sake of her sons happiness.
Margaret hailed from an old Kentish village. Theyd had a big rambling house, chickens, the lot. Then a neighbour had come round, brimming with grand tales about life in the city: fancy wages, all mod cons. Her husband took to the idea like a duck to water. Soon theyd flogged the lot and headed for the city. The neighbour was right in the endthey got a council flat, some battered furniture, and eventually, a twitchy old Ford. Tragically, her husband died in a crash not long after theyd finally saved up for a holiday.
Suddenly, she was left alone with two children, scrubbing university corridors at night just to keep them clothed. Margaret had always believed her children would look after her someday, but the universe had other plans.
First, her son tangled himself in trouble, and Margaret borrowed wads of cash to keep him out of jail. Later, her daughter got married and had a little boy. At first, all was fine, but then her grandson developed some rare condition no doctor seemed able to diagnose. Her daughter gave up work to care for him, but answers remained elusive.
Eventually, they got a diagnosis, but the treatment was only available in some far-flung London hospital, which theyd be waiting months to get into. While shuttling between appointments, her daughters husband legged it, leaving her daughter to piece together a new life. In hospital waiting rooms, she met a widower with a poorly daughterthe identical lottery of life. Soon, they formed a little patched-up household.
Four years on, her new son-in-law needed an expensive operation. Margaret had the money in a tin on top of the wardrobe, saved for her sons house deposit. Her daughter asked to borrow itand Margaret, unable to spend her last savings on a stranger, refused. Hurt and furious, her daughter declared I dont have a mother anymore, and eleven stony years passed without a word.
Now, on her birthday, Margaret steadied herself and shuffled back towards the common room, her old bones grumbling as ever. Then she heard it: Mum!
Her heart leapt. She turned, nearly toppling, to see her daughter dashing towards her. If not for her daughters arms, shed have been a heap on the gravel.
Ive been looking for you for ages. Your brother refused to tell me where you wereonly caved when I threatened him with a solicitor for illegally selling your flat. God, Mum, Im so sorry. I shouldve come sooner, but I was so cross, and then it all got lost in the business of life. Honestly, I was too embarrassed to face you. The other week, I dreamt you were wandering through a gloomy wood, sobbing. It felt real. I told my husband, and he said, ‘Go! Make your peace.’ When I got to your old place, all I found were strangers. Took me weeks to track down my brother. Now, we’ve got a big house near the seaside, and youre coming with us. Thats final.
Margaret embraced her daughter, tears streaming down her facebut this time they were tears of joy, brighter than the seaside sun.
