Margaret sat alone on a wooden bench in the garden of the care home, thin raindrops tracing silent paths on the window beyond. Her seventy-first birthday had arrived with little fanfare; not a word, not a card, not even a call from either of her children. Only her roommate, a kind old woman named Edith, remembered, presenting Margaret with a pair of warm socks and a gentle hug. The nurse, Sarah, brought her a shiny red apple for your birthday, love, shed said. The care home itself wasnt unpleasant, but its staff went about their business with a brisk, professional detachment that left Margaret feeling invisible.
It was an unspoken truth here in Surrey: once you became a burden, your family deposited you in a place like this and rarely looked back. Margarets son had driven her here under the pretence of rest and recuperation, murmuring something about recovery and getting back to your old self, when in fact, shed simply become an inconvenience for his wife.
She had once owned her own flat, but Michael, her son, had persuaded her to transfer the deed over to him. Youll stay with us, Mum, nothings changing, hed promised, but as soon as the paperwork was done, he’d moved his whole family in. Margarets daughter-in-law quickly found faults with everything: the stew too bland, the bathroom always damp, the tiniest criticisms stacking up. At first, Michael would defend his mother, but after a while, he joined in the accusations, shouting over her attempts to explain. Margaret then noticed the two of them often whispering together out of earshot.
Eventually, Michael started suggesting that a little time away would do her good. One rainy afternoon, Margaret looked him square in the face and demanded, Michael, are you trying to put me in a home for the elderly?
He flushed, avoiding her gaze. Mum, please. Its just a care home in the countryside. Youll get some rest, and after a month, you can come home.
But home never came. He brought her to this place, signed a few forms, promised to visit. That was two years ago.
Shed rung Michaels number many times, until one day a stranger answered and told her, bluntly, that her son had sold the flat. She had no idea where to find him anymore. In the following months the ache in her chest never fadeda gnawing regret, not just for her son, but especially for how shed once hurt her daughter, all in the name of her sons happiness.
Margaret had grown up in a small village in Kent. The family had a sizeable house and a tidy patch of land. One day, their neighbour came by, boasting of jobs and city life in Londonbetter wages, a real flat.
Her husband, Thomas, jumped at the prospect of London living. They sold everything, moved to a little council house in Croydon, and slowly built a new lifesecond-hand furniture, a battered old Morris, until one day Thomas died in a car crash, leaving her alone with Michael and her daughter, Alice.
To keep the family going, Margaret took every job she could, scrubbing floors late into the night, desperate just to get by. She held onto a belief that her tireless hard work would bring its own reward when her children grew upbut things didnt turn out that way.
Michael got into trouble with some rough types and Margaret had to borrow hundreds of pounds to keep him out of prison. Later, Alice married young and had a baby. At first things seemed well, but the child grew ill, and after a while Alice quit her job to care for him. No matter how many doctors they saw, no one could tell them what was wrong.
Eventually, the grandsons condition was diagnosedonly treatable at a specialised hospital in Birmingham, with a desperate waiting list. While Alice was fighting for her sons health, her husband walked out. During that time, Alice met a widower at the hospital whose own daughter suffered from the same rare illness. They moved in together.
Four years later, the man needed money for a costly operation. Margaret had savingsmoney shed put aside for Michaels first piece of property. When Alice asked for a loan to save her new partner, Margaret refused, unable to spend her precious savings on what she saw as a stranger. Alice was shattered by this; Youre not my mother anymore, she spat, and hadnt spoken to Margaret for eleven long years.
Now, stooped with sorrow, Margaret stood from her bench and shuffled back toward her tiny room. Suddenly, sharp on the air through the drizzle, she heard a cry: Mum!
A jolt ran through her, her heart pounding wildly. She turned, and therethrough the soft English rainstood Alice. Margarets knees buckled and Alice rushed to catch her, holding her close in trembling arms.
Ive been looking everywhere for you, Alice whispered fiercely. Michael never gave me your address. Only when I threatened him with a solicitor over the illegal sale of your flat did he tell me anything. Her voice broke. Im so sorry, Mum. At first I was angry. And then I put it off for so long I was too ashamed. A few weeks ago, I dreamed you were lost in the woods, crying, and I woke up feeling awful. My husband told me to go, to find you and make things right. I came to the flat, but strangers lived there. It took ages to track down Michael. We have a place by the sea now, Mum. My husband said you are to come live with us.
Margaret clung to her daughter, tears streamingnot of despair this time, but of hope long denied. For once, the rain on her cheeks was mixed with laughter.
