Theres always something that needs doing at home, isnt there
Old Nan Edith managed to open the garden gate with a struggle, shuffled up to the front door, and then spent a good five minutes wrestling with the rusty old lock. When she finally stepped inside her chilly, draughty cottage, she landed with a sigh on the creaky chair beside the cold fireplace.
The place smelled unattended, you know what I meanlike the house itself was miffed at her for being away. Shed only been gone three months, but already the ceiling was draped with cobwebs and the musty air had settled in thick. The wind was whistling down the chimney, and the old, faithful chair groaned under her. Even the house itself seemed to scold her: Whereve you disappeared to, Edith? Who did you leave me with? And now how will we survive the winter?
Just a mo, my dear, just let me catch my breath Ill get the fire going, well warm up soon
Only a year before, Edith had been everywhere at once around that houseslapping a bit of whitewash on the walls, touching up the paintwork, hauling buckets of water up from the well. Her tiny, wiry frame would be bowing before the old family photos, bustling by the cooker, or flitting through the garden, always sowing, weeding, watering like there was no tomorrow.
And the cottage would come to life with herfloorboards creaking merrily under her brisk steps, doors and windows swinging open at the lightest press of her busy, hardworking fingers, and her old oven baking the most glorious pies youve ever tasted. It really was happinessEdith and her old house together.
She lost her husband young, raised three children, put them all through proper schools, saw them set out into the world. Her eldest boy, Peter, became a ships captainalways out at sea, rarely ever home. Her second, George, went into the Army and reached colonel, but lived far away too, barely making it back for visits.
Only her youngest, Maggie, had stayed on in the villagebecame head gardener at the local estate. She was always at work, barely stopping by on Sundays to drop in for a slice of pie, then off again without so much as a proper catch-up.
But Nan Ediths real treasure was her granddaughter, Lucy. You could say Lucy grew up right under her nans wing.
And what a girl she turned out to be! Absolutely lovelybig grey eyes, hair the colour of ripe summer wheat flowing down her back in shiny heavy curls. When she pulled it back, strands would tumble over her shoulders and the local lads would just stand there gobsmacked, jaws practically on the floor. She walked with such poise and graceno one could understand where a village lass picked up such elegance and beauty.
Edith had been pretty herself back in the day, but if you put her old photo next to Lucy, it was like comparing a shepherdess to a queen.
And clever too! Lucy finished university in the city, learned to be an agricultural economist, and then came back home to put her skills to use. She married the village vet, and thanks to one of those new families schemes, they were given a sparkling new housenot just any old house, but a solid brick job that really stood out in the village.
Thing was, Ediths cottage was surrounded by a lovely gardenflowers and fruit and veg growing everywhere, everything neat and loved. Lucys new place though, it was far too new, not a bush or blossom in sight yet, just some spindly saplings out the front. And, truth be told, Lucy really wasnt much of a gardenershe was more the delicate sort, her nan always had to wrap her up in jumpers and keep her indoors if there was even a whiff of a draught.
Then Lucy had a son, little Charlie. After that, there really wasnt time for gardening or much of anything else.
Soon enough, Lucy started pleading with her nan to come and live with themCome on, Nan, theres loads of space, central heatingno more messing with fires!
And then Edith turned eighty and, as if right on cue, her strength started to flicker outher legs that once darted everywhere just didnt want to work anymore. In the end, she gave in and went to live with Lucys family.
She stayed there a couple of months. But one day, she overheard this little conversation:
Nan, I love you so much, you know I do! But why are you always just sitting there? All your life youve been working and bustling about, but now, just lookyou just sit. I want to start keeping animals, I was hoping youd help
But love, I cantmy legs, they just cant manage it any more Im old now
Funny how you got old the minute you moved in here
Pretty soon after, Edith found herself sent back home, not having lived up to her granddaughters hopes.
All that shame and disappointment knocked the wind right out of her. Her legs dragged and scraped over the floorit was a real battle just to get from bed to the table. Getting to church? Out of the question.
Father Richard started dropping byhed been used to her bustling about and helping at the old church, always the first to lend a hand. He took one look round the placeit was cold, the oven barely managed a puff of heat, and the floor was like ice. There was tidy, careful Edith, looking lost in a shapeless old cardigan, a grubby headscarf, and a pair of battered slippers.
He sighed, thinking Edith could really do with a bit of help. Maybe Anna from down the lane? She was still strong and a good twenty years younger.
So, Father Richard brought some bread, a few ginger biscuits, and half a still-warm fish pie (with love from his wife, Margaret). He rolled up his sleeves, cleaned the grate, fetched a load of logs, got the oven roaring again, and put on a massive old kettle.
Dearest boy!oh, wait, I mean, Father dear, can you help me with the addresses on these envelopes? My handwritings gone all chicken scratch, and who could ever work out what Ive written?
He obliged, scribbling the addresses on the envelopes. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the wobbly letters of her letters to her sons. All he could make out in huge, shaky print was: Oh, Im doing just fine, darling, I have everything I need, thank God!
But those bits of paper telling of her so-called happiness all spattered with inky smears, and those smears, well, they looked suspiciously like salty tears.
Anna stepped in to keep an eye on Edith, and Father Richard made sure to visit for confession and communion. On feast days, Annas husband, old Uncle George, an ex-sailor with tattoos up both arms, would pop her on the back of his motorbike and take her to church. Things kept chugging on.
Lucy, though, never really came around any more. And then, heartbreakingly, she got very illa dodgy tummy that turned out to be something far worse. Lung cancer. No one knew how or why, but within half a year, Lucy had slipped away.
Her poor husband was hardly seen anywhere but the cemetery. Hed buy a bottle, sit by her grave all night, wake up, and go for another one. Their four-year-old Charlie was left adriftdirty, hungry, always with a runny nose, and no one to care for him.
Maggie took him in, but she was so busy running the estate gardens she just didnt have time. So they started making arrangements for Charlie to go to a council homenot a terrible place, really, with a good headmaster, decent meals, and weekends at home if possible.
Still, it broke Maggies heart, but she had little choicenot with work eating up all her hours, and pension a long way off.
Just then, into the yard rolled Uncle Georges old sidecar motorbike, driven by him in his striped fishermans shirt. He and Edith looked like a right pair, turning up together with stubborn fire in their eyes.
Edith set her jaw and said, Ill take Charlie in myself.
Mum, you barely walk now! How are you going to cope with a little lad? Hell need looking after, cooking, washing!
So long as Im alive, that boys not going to any institution, Edith said, and that was final.
Stunned by Ediths new-found steel, Maggie had nothing more to say, just packed up Charlies things.
Uncle George took them both home, basically carrying them up to the cottage. Neighbours were full of judgmentwhats that old dear thinking, can barely look after herself, now taking in a child? Hes no stray pup, you know, he needs a proper carer. And whats Maggie playing at?
After Sunday service, Father Richard went round, worried he might have to step in if Charlie was being neglected.
But what did he find? The cottage was proper toasty and the oven was blazing away. Theres Charlie, neat as a pin, sitting on the sofa listening to stories on Nans ancient gramophone. And Edithour helpless old ladywas whizzing about: greasing a baking tin, kneading dough, cracking eggs into curd and bustling around like she was forty years younger.
Father! Im just making a batch of cheese bunshang on a tick, Ill have a little something hot for Mrs. Margaret and young Matthew.
Father Richard went home still reeling, and told his wife all about it.
Margaret paused, went to her bookshelf and fished out a thick blue notebook, leafing through until she found the right page:
Old Mrs. Hewitt had lived her long, good life. Everything had come and gonedreams, loves, hopesnow asleep under sparkling white snow. One wild February night, she prayed for hours before the old family photos, then lay down and said to the family, Fetch the vicarIm not long for this world.
And her face went white as the snows outside. The family called the vicar, Mrs. Hewitt confessed and took communion, and for a day and a night, she lay there silent, still, barely breathing.
Next thing, in bustled her granddaughter Alice, just back from the hospital with a newborn, red and wriggly. The house emptied for work, and left the old lady and the new mum alone. Alices milk hadnt come in, she had no idea how to settle the baby, and the little one wailed and wailed, utterly ruining any peaceful passing away.
Mrs. Hewitt sat up, got out of bed, found her slippers, and by the time the family returned, not only was she not even thinking of popping off, but in fact, she looked healthier than everjiggling the baby, singing softly, while the worn-out Alice napped on the sofa.
Margaret shut the diary, looked up at her husband, smiled, and said, My Great-Granny Vera adored me, and just couldnt bear to leave. She used to sing, Its not our time yetto leave, weve still got work to do at home! She lived another ten years after that, helping my mumand your mother-in-law, Anneraise me, her beloved great-grandchild.
And Father Richard grinned back at her.
