The Right Not to Rush
The text from her GP arrived just as Alice was drafting yet another email at her desk in a London office. The phones soft buzz, lying beside her keyboard, jolted her from her thoughts.
Test results ready, please come by before six, it read, curt and to the point.
Her computer clock showed 3:45. Three stops on the bus got her to the surgery, but thered be queues, the waiting room, and then the journey back… Plus, her son had promised to pop in if he managed, and her manager had hinted at a new report to prepare. A bundle of paperwork for her mother rested in Alices handbag under the deskanother errand for tonight.
Off out again this evening? her desk mate quipped, catching Alice eyeing the clock.
Looks like it, Alice replied automatically. Dampness prickled under her blouse collar, and a heavy fatigue pulsed in her chest.
The day slogged on, thick and claggy as cold porridge. Emails, phone calls, relentless team chats. Mid-afternoon, Lorraine, her manager, poked her head out of the office.
Alice, love, the contractor wants the summary done by weekend. Im off Saturday, can you handle it? Nothing trickyjust pull the numbers together. Three, four hours, all can be done from home.
The phrase nothing tricky hung in the air like a command. Alices neighbour ducked into her screen, suddenly invisible. Alice opened her mouth for the reflexive of course, but at that moment her phone vibrated gently. An alert: Evening: 30 min walk. A reminder shed set after yet another bout of high blood pressure last summer. Usually, shed swipe it away without looking.
This time, she paused. She looked at the reminderalmost like it was waiting for her to respond.
Alice? Lorraine repeated.
Alice drew a quiet breath. Her head buzzed, but somewhere deep there was a stubborn certainty: agreeing would mean another late night at the laptop, an aching back by morning, and then Sundays laundry, cooking, her mothers doctors appointment.
I cant, Alice said, surprised by how steadily those words left her lips.
Lorraine raised her eyebrows. What do you mean? You always
My mum, Alice said, naming the reason shed always used for lateness, but never to refuse work. And the doctor said to cut back on overtime. Sorry.
She didnt mention her GP had said this in passing, years ago. But stillhe had.
A silence stretched. Her insides twisted, waiting for the coming sigh and the inevitable allusions to the team and dependability.
Fine, Lorraine sighed, folding her arms before waving her away. Ill find someone else. Carry on.
When the frosted glass door clicked shut, Alice noticed her back was damp. Her fingers trembled on the mouse. Guilt skittered through her, quick and sharpshe could have said yes; it was only a few extra hours on Saturday after all.
But next to the guilt, an unfamiliar, slightly terrifying sensation: relief. Like finally dropping a heavy shopping bag and sitting down.
That evening, instead of dashing over to the shopping centre for report supplies while she was out, Alice left the surgery and didnt rush for her bus. She paused near the door, breathing steadily, and realised just how much her feet ached after a day of running about.
Mum, Ill come by tomorrow, she told her mother on the phone after picking up the results.
Not tonight? Youre not even stopping by? her mothers voice, gently reproachful as ever.
Mum, Im exhausted. Its late, I need to eat properly for once. Ill get your tablets, dont worry. Ill bring them in the morning.
She braced herself for a storm, but what she heard was just a tired sigh.
Well, its up to you. Youre not a child, are you?
Not a childAlice smiled at the phrase. Fifty-five, with two grown children and her mortgage nearly gone, but she still felt like she needed to prove she was a good daughter, mother, employee.
The flat was quiet. Her son messaged: Sorry Mum, wont make it, mad at work. Alice put the kettle on, sliced some tomatoes. For a moment, she reached for the hooverthose floors needed attention. Then, she sat down with her mug of tea, letting it cool, flicking through a book shed started on her last holiday.
The urge to hang out the washing, scrub the pans, draft that report, look up new surgeries for her motherall still buzzed in her head. But the voice grew fainter. There was a hairline crack in the clamour of have-tos, through which a quieter It can wait seeped.
She read slowly, doubling back over paragraphs now and then. At some point, she found herself gazing out the window, unhurried. Headlights trailed in the dusk, the odd pedestrian carried bags home, dogs strolled along with weary owners.
Its fine, she murmured, to herself, as if summing it all up. Doesnt matter if the floors not spotless.
And the thought didnt seem criminal at all.
* * *
The next day, everything spun on as if yesterday never happened. At nine oclock, Mum phoned, edged with anxiety.
Alice, youll make it before lunch, wont you? I need my blood pressure checkedthe nurse calls by at eleven.
Ill be there, Alice said, juggling her jeans on with one hand and stuffing the blood pressure monitor into her bag with the other.
Her son pinged her on WhatsApp.
Mum, hi. Quick oneweve got an issue with the flat. Can we call this evening? His tone was all business, as if discussing a bank loan, not family.
After seven, alright? Im off to Grans now, Alice replied, shoving her feet into boots.
Again? he laughed.
Again, she replied, calm and clear.
The bus ride was its usual dramasomeone arguing with the driver, shopping bags crinkling in corners. Alice dozed, clutching the blood pressure kit, and woke up outside her mothers door.
Her mother greeted her in her dressing gown, wearing her customary frown.
Youre late. That nursell be here soon and the place is a tip, she grumbled, nodding towards the lounge, where indeed a pile of clothes sat slumped on the chair.
Years ago, this would have had Alice snapping backIm racing all over for you and now its a mess? Then would come the guilt, the exhaustion.
This time she just stood in the hall, set her bag on the floor, and breathed in. She could see their whole tired script laid out in front of herresentful words, sighs, wounds opened up afresh. Then her, leaving, eyes stinging, making up excuses for her mood to her kids.
Mum, she said, quietly. I get it, youre anxious. But lets sort the table first, then Ill tackle the washing. I dont have unlimited energy.
Mum scowled, mouth poised to protest, but something in Alices face triggered a changenot the usual plea, not outrage, but steady certainty.
Alright, she muttered. Go on then, set your thing up.
After the nurse left, her mother, fidgeting with her dressing gown belt, spoke in a tone Alice didnt usually hearnot the one for berating the news.
Dont think I mean to be difficult. Its justI hate being on my own. Its frightening.
Alice stood at the sink, rinsing mugs. The warm water tingled her skin. Her insides thawed with a swell of shared pain and understanding.
I know, she replied. It scares me sometimes, too.
Mum huffed, brushing it off, and turned up the television. But the tension in the room softeneda thread pulled gently, not taut.
* * *
On her way home that evening, Alice stopped at the chemist by her flat. The neighbour from her landing was in front, the one always pushing a pram laden with shopping, except today there was no pram and she looked completely flustered.
Cant work out which vitamins my husband needs, she murmured, clutching a battered notepad. The doctor scribbled two names, but there are discounts everywhere, too many choices
Usually, Alice would have nodded politely and turned to her phoneher own hands were full. Now, she felt the very real confusion of standing at the pharmacy counter uncertain what to choose. Her mother had just asked her to write a medicine schedule because she kept getting muddled. Only last winter, Alice stood here herself, paper in hand, stumped by the selection.
Lets have a look together, Alice offered.
They moved to the side, and Alice slipped on her specs, carefully untangling the prescriptions. She asked the pharmacist, confirmed which box was which, pointed to the right one for her neighbour.
Oh, thank you, the woman breathed out. Its all a blur. Youre good at thisguess it comes naturally if youre caring for someone.
Alice grinned. Not really good, just used to it, I suppose.
Outside, her neighbour lingered.
Could I ask you sometimes? My husband wont read instructions, you see. If I get stuckwould you mind?
In years past, Alices reply would be, Of course, pop by anytime, then shed bite her lip if the neighbour phoned at ten in the evening. Today, she hesitated just a beat, wary of piling another obligation on herself.
Call if you need, she said after the pause. But best during the day, if possible. My evenings are rather tied up.
Hearing herself say my evenings felt almost like a confession, as if shed finally admitted her time mattered just as much as anyone elses.
Her neighbour just nodded, thinking it perfectly normal. That pleased Alice more than any thank you.
* * *
That night, Alice prepared a simple dinner. No sense getting out all the pots and pans for just herselfand maybe her son, if he popped in. Pasta, a bit of grilled chicken, a chopped cucumber. The kitchen looked a little messya shirt of her sons slung over a chair, a basket of unsorted washing in a corner. A decade before, shed never have sat down until everything was sorted.
Now, she just pushed the basket against the wall with her foot.
Her son called soon after, voice tense.
Mum, its a bit tricky. Weve been offered the mortgage, but the deposits steep. Is there any chance you could help again? I know you already have
Alice closed her eyes. These conversations always scraped a raw spotold anxieties about having failed him somehow, not earning enough, not making the right life choices. An old splinter still stung: that time she lost a chunk of savings bailing out her husbands failed business. Shed never forgiven herself for that.
How much do you need? she asked, leaning on the table.
He named a sumnot enormous, but sizeable enough to deplete her modest savings, hoarded bit by bit for her somedaya seaside break, a new fridge, proper dentures for her mum.
Something rustled in her chest, like old receipts in a desk drawer. It wasnt just about numbers, but everything sacrificed, everything shed not done. Not moving city when she was young. Not defending her thesis on her favourite topic. Staying with her husband long after she knew she should have left.
Mum, dont worry, well pay it back, her son rushed.
I know you willor youll try. She meant it, though experience told her otherwise.
A few seconds ticked by, possibly an eternity for her son on the other end. In those moments, she saw it all: the childrens winter boots bought on credit, Christmases without their dad, the small boy clinging to her at night, frightened. And her own dreams, shoved on the top shelf like last years scarves.
Ill help, she said finally. But only half. You and Olivia will have to find the rest.
Mum Disappointment edged his voice.
Alex, she rarely used his name quite like this. Im not a cashpoint. And I do have my own life, too. I need to consider myself, just a bit.
Silence. She listened to her own heart, bracing for guiltbut it didnt come. The nerves were there. So was the shame. But strangely, also calm.
Alright, he said at last. Youre right. Well work something out. Even half is a lifesaver.
They chatted a bit morework, his sister, the latest dramas on TV. When Alice hung up, the tick of the kitchen clock seemed louder.
She sat on a stool beside the laundry basket, looking at it. Suddenly she imagined her thirty-five-year-old self beside herfrazzled, perpetually apologetic, certain shed never get it right.
So then, Alice thought to herself, as if speaking to that young woman. Yes, we missed things. Made mistakes. But thats no reason to keep beating yourself up for another twenty years.
It wasnt some great wisdom. Just a gentle truce. She picked up a t-shirt, folded it carefully, then another. She stopped, leaving the rest for tomorrow. She allowed herself not to aim for perfection.
* * *
On Saturdaya rare one without extra workAlice woke up without her alarm. Her body, out of habit, tried to leap out of bedmust dash, must cook, must wash. But she held herself still for ten more minutes, listening to the shuffling of neighbours on the street.
Later, after a cup of tea and a quick tidy-up, she dug out a small notebook from the drawera Christmas present from her daughter. Mum, write down things you want to do for yourself, shed said, beaming.
Alice had only smiled then and left the notebook blank. What own things did a woman have, caught between her mother, children, and work?
Now, she opened to a clean page. Her pen hovered. No grand plans emerged. No round-the-world trips, no drastic changes of career. She just felt no urge for another project.
Instead, she wrote neatly: Id like to go for a walk some evenings, with no purpose. Underneath: Sign up for computer basics at the local library.
Not Spanish lessons, not potterynot the kind of thing that gets posted on social media. Just a wish to use technology confidently, without having to call her son every time she needed to book an online appointment.
She slipped the notebook into her handbag. She left the house and, for once, didnt turn toward the shops. Instead, she wandered down a side street, past the old trees casting dappled shadows along the benches. Two women her age sat chatting about prices, health, their childrenthe same worries echoing everywhere.
Alice strolled on, not hurrying, not dawdlingher own pace. Her chest felt unusually light, as if shed cleared space in a packed cupboard.
She hadnt mastered a new way of being. Shed still snap, still give in, still regret. But now, between all that and herself, shed found a sliver of space to pause and ask: Do I want this?
On her way home, Alice ducked into the librarya building shed passed a hundred times and never entered. Inside, it smelt of paper and dust, and the librarian behind the desk wore a knitted vest.
Can I help? the librarian smiled.
I was wondering about classes, Alice asked, feeling every bit a schoolgirl again. For, well, us older ones. How to get better with computers.
The librarian nodded. Of course! Evenings, twice a weeka groups forming now. Shall I put your name down?
Yes, please, Alice said.
She wrote her age on the form55and it felt less like a sentence than a signpost: shed arrived at a place where she had the right not to rush anymore.
When she got home, the frying pan still needed scrubbing, her sons shirt was still slung over the chair. Her mothers test results and an unread email from Lorraine with the subject New Tasks for the Month lay on the table.
Alice set her bag down, took off her coat, and stood at the window for a minute. Her breathing was steady, light. She knew shed soon wash the pans, ring her mother, reply to the email. But she knew something else now: amidst it all, shed find a windowfive minutes for a cuppa, a page of her book, a short walk outside.
And the certainty of that, quietly, meant more than anything else.
