The first wife of my husband once asked us to mind their grandchildren, and I gave her a proper answer.
“Honestly, is it really that hard for you? It’s only for three days. Emily is in a fix, you seeshe’s been given a last-minute holiday in Spain, she hasn’t had a break for ages, and me… well, you know, my blood pressures all over the place, and Ive done my back in at the allotment, can hardly stand up straight. And Johnhes their real grandfather. He ought to help out.”
Her voice came through the receiver so loudly there was hardly a need for the speakerphone. Margaret, standing at the cooker stirring her vegetable casserole, could hear every word as clear as day. That same tonehigh and petulantly demandingshed know it anywhere. Catherine Margaret, Johns first and, regrettably, utterly unforgettable wife.
John glanced sheepishly at Margaret, holding the phone between ear and shoulder as he sliced bread, each piece somehow more wonky than the last.
“Cath, wait” he tried to get a word in, “Whats this got to do with Emilys trip? Margaret and I did have plans for the weekend”
“Oh, come on, what plans could you possibly have?” The ex-wife cut him off without ceremony. “Weeding the garden? Going round some old museum? John, it’s about your grandsons. About Oliver and Henry. Boys need a man about, not some cosseting. You havent seen them in a month. Dont you have any conscience left? Or has your new darling cut off your air supply completely?”
Margaret placed her spoon gently onto its stand and turned off the hob. “New darling.” She and John had been married for eight years now. Eight calm, content years, if you didnt count the regular storms that blew in with “Hurricane Catherine.” At first, there were demands for more maintenance for their now-grown daughter Emily, then endless requests to pay for repairs, dental treatments, or a new car. Johnever so gentle and honourablekept paying up, guilt-ridden after leaving the family, even though he’d only left when Emily was twenty and he and Catherine lived like flatmates under the same roof.
“Catherine, don’t talk about Margaret like that,” John said more firmly, though uncertainty lingered in his voice. “Its not about her. Its justthese things need some notice. The boys are sixthey run circles round you and we’re not youngsters anymore”
“Exactly!” Catherine crowed triumphantly. “Old age isnt easy, but youve got to keep movingkeep up with the grandchildren and youll feel young again. RightEmilyll drop them off tomorrow at ten. I cant manage, I’ve told youmy back. And dont argue, John. This is your family.”
With that, the line went dead. John slowly put his phone down and sighed heavily, not quite meeting Margarets eyes.
The kitchen fell into silence, broken only by the ticking of the wall clock. Outside, the city hummed in the softening light, and summer rain began to tap at the window ledge. Margaret walked to the table, brushed away imaginary crumbs with a napkin.
“So, ten oclock tomorrow then?” she asked, her voice even.
John finally looked up at her, an unspoken plea for forgiveness in his eyes.
“Maggie, Im sorry. You heard herlike a bulldozer. Emily’s off abroad, Catherine claims shes crippled What are they supposed to do? Theyre my grandchildren.”
“John,” Margaret sat across from him, hands clasped, “theyre your grandchildren, not mine. I treat them well, but lets be honestthey dont even call me by name, just ‘that lady,’ the way their grandma taught them. And every visit means our flats reduced to a wreck because Emily insists on no boundaries for children.”
“Ill look after them myself,” he promised, almost desperately. “You wont have to lift a finger. Ill take them to the park, to the cinema, to the funfair. Just maybe do your soup, a few meatballs They love your food, even if they wont say it.”
Margaret smiled ruefully. She knew how it would go: John would last two hours before the noise and running wore him out, his blood pressure would spike, and hed end up flat on the sofa for “five minutes.” Then it would be two unruly six-year-olds, running wild, left in her carejumping on the furniture, demanding cartoons, flinging food and ignoring any scolding, because “Grandma Catherine said were allowed everything here since Grandads in charge.”
“We had tickets for the matinee on Saturday,” she reminded him, “and we planned to head down to the cottage to prepare the roses for winter.”
“The theatrell still be therewe’ll sell the tickets off The roseswell Mags, help me, please. Just this once. Ill speak to Emily, tell her this cant go on.”
“Just this once.” Shed heard it a dozen times. And each time she’d relented, pitying her husband, avoiding conflict. But something snapped inside today. Maybe it was Catherines tonesimply ordering her about as if Margarets time and efforts were hers to command.
“No, John,” Margaret said quietly.
John blinked, as though the word made no sense.
“No what?”
“No, were not having the boys. Not this time. I wont cancel my plans, or hand back our tickets, or stand over a hot stove for three days cooking for children who last time declared my soup ‘smelled funny’ and said their mothers was better.”
“Maggiecome on, theyre just children. Wheres Emily to go? Shes got her holiday booked.”
“Thats Emilys problem. Shes a grown woman, shes got a husband, a mother-in-law, plenty of nannies if she likes. Why must her troubles always be settled at my expense?”
“Our expense,” corrected John.
“No. Mine. Because its me who clears the flat after their rampages, me who does the cooking and the laundry, while you play doting Grandad for a couple of hours and then retreat to your pills. I respect your bond with them, but I didnt sign on as a free nanny for a woman who despises me.”
John frowned; hed never seen Margaret so resoluteusually she was a model of patience and tact.
“What do you propose? Call Catherine now and say ‘no’? Shell make such a scene Ill have a heart attack.”
“Dont call,” Margaret stood and walked to the window. “Let them come.”
“So youll do it then?” he asked, hopeful.
“No,” she replied. “Let them bring the boys, and well see what happens.”
Saturday dawned bright and mild, but the air in the flat was anything but. John paced about, fiddling with pillows and glancing at the clock every minute. Margaret remained serene, eating her breakfast, slipping into her favourite linen dress, applying a bit of make-up, and calmly packing a small satchel.
“Are you going out?” John asked warily as he watched her slip a book and brolly inside.
“The plays at seven tonightremember? Until then, I thought Id drop by the hairdressers and stroll along the river. I need some fresh air.”
“Mags! Theyll be here in fifteen minutes! I cant cope with them alone! I dont even know what they eat, where their bits and pieces are”
“Youll manage. Youre their grandad. Their ‘manly example,’ as Catherine puts it.”
Right then, the bell ranglong, loud, insistent. John dashed to answer, while Margaret remained in the bedroom, fastening her sandals.
From the hallway came the commotion.
“Thank goodness, no traffic!” came Emilys voice. “Dad, hello! Here are your troops. Bag here, tablets chargedring if needed. Im late, taxis waiting!”
“Em, waittheir meals… their routine?” John stammered.
“Routine, its the weekend! Boil up some pasta. Right, love yoube good for Grandad!”
The door slammed. Instantly came the thunder of two pairs of feet and a shout: “Charge!”
Margaret entered the hall. The scene was pure chaos: two sturdy boys climbing on the shoe rack, reaching for Johns hat; John, holding their oversized bag, looking utterly at sea. And, most striking of allthere, caught in the open door, was Catherine herself.
She evidently decided to supervise the “handover” personally, in spite of her supposed bad back. She looked remarkably spry: heavy make-up, perfect hair, chunky gold jewellery.
“Ah, there you are,” she said, eyeing Margaret as if shed found her lacking. “I trust youre ready? No fried foods for Henry; Oliver reacts to oranges; neither likes onions. The soup must be fresh, cooked today. And do ensure theyre off the tablet after an hour.”
Her tone was that of a lady of the manor instructing an errant maid. John shrank, anticipating an eruption.
Margaret calmly adjusted her hair in the mirror and picked up her satchel.
“Good morning, Catherine. Good morning, boys.”
The twins froze for a second, staring at her, then resumed their antics.
“Thank you for your advice,” Margaret continued, smiling sweetly. “Be sure to tell Johnhes in charge today.”
“What do you mean?” Catherine drew herself up. “Where do you think youre off to?”
“Its my day off. Personal business, friends, the theatre. Ill be home late, if not tomorrow.”
Catherine flushed a furious red, blocking the door.
“Are you mad? What business? Youve got two children in the house! Theyre your husbands grandsonsyoure obliged”
“Im obliged to those Ive made promises to,” Margaret interrupted gently but firmly. “I made no promise to look after your grandchildren. I didnt bring up these boys, nor offer to play nanny. Theyve got their mother and father, two grandmothers. You, as far as I know, are retired.”
“My back!” Catherine squeaked.
“And II have a life. I wont spend it serving others wants, especially not when asked in that tone.”
“John!” Catherine rounded on her ex-husband. “Are you hearing her? Are you a man or a doormat? Tell her!”
Johns gaze flickered from one woman to the other, an agonising conflict in his eyes. Decades of submitting to Catherine warred with a new respect for Margarets resolve.
“Cat…” he started, hesitant. “Margaret did warn me shed plans. I thought Id manage, but…”
“Manage what? Youll be knocked for six in an hour! And wholl feed them? Bathe them? Look at herdressed up! Off to the theatre! Not a care for family in crisis”
“Family?” Margarets smile faded, her gaze turning cool as steel. “Lets clear this up. John and I are family. You, Emily, and your grandsons are Johns relationsnot mine. Ive put up with your late-night calls, your demands, your insults behind my back. Letting my home become a thoroughfare and myself unpaid staffI wont allow it.”
“How dare you! This is my husbands flat! Well, ex-husband… but hes got rights!”
“Hes welcome to see whomever he likes. He cant force me to serve his guests. John,” she turned to her husband, “its your choicestay with your grandsons and Catherine, whos clearly spry enough to help. Im going out.”
Margaret stepped to the door.
“Wait!” Catherine grabbed her arm. “Youre not leaving while youve still soup to cook! Emilys gone to the airport! Where am I to put the boys?”
Margaret calmly but firmly released herself.
“Not my problem, Catherine. Call a taxi, go home, cook the soup yourself. Or call Emily and have her come back. And keep your hands to yourself, or Ill phone the police and report trespassing and assault. And I will.”
A heavy silence filled the hall. Even the twins, sensing the tension, shrank into the corner. John looked at his wife with awe and a little fearhed never seen her like this before. This wasnt gentle little Maggie but a woman of iron, defending her boundaries.
Catherine gasped for words, unaccustomed to Margarets unflinching stand. Shed grown used to Margarets silence and endurance, mistaking it for weakness. This was something else.
“Youyoure wicked,” she hissed at last. “Selfish. Ill tell everyone what a wretch you are.”
“Feel free,” Margaret shrugged. “I couldnt care less.”
She opened the door and stepped onto the landing.
“John, you have the keys. If you sort this out, call me. If notIll see you when the boys are gone.”
The lift doors closed behind her, shutting out the row. Out in the fresh air, she took a deep breathher hands trembled a bit, but she felt astonishingly light. Shed done it. Shed finally said no.
Margaret truly did have a wonderful day. She went to an exhibition, had coffee at her favourite café, wandered the park in peace. Shed switched her phone off, not wanting to spoil it with angry calls or messages.
That evening, after the play, she turned her phone on. Ten missed calls from John. One message: “Catherines taken the boys. Im home. Forgive me.”
She got back around eleven. The flat was quiet and clean. John sat at the kitchen table before a cold cup of tea, exhausted but at ease.
“Hello,” he said quietly as she came in.
“Hello. Where are the boys?”
“Catherine took them to hers. Kicked up a dreadful fuss. Swore shed never speak to us again. Rang Emily, demanded she cancel her holiday or refund the cost so she could mind the children. Utter pandemonium.”
“And you?”
He looked up.
“I for the first time ever, I told her to shut up.”
Margaret raised her eyebrows in surprise.
“Truly?”
“Yes. When she started slating youcalling you useless and all sortsI couldnt stand it. I said if she ever insulted my wife again, Id not give her another penny beyond whats legally owed, which was all done years ago. And that she wasnt welcome here any more.”
Margaret crossed the room and hugged him, John leaning into her like a child seeking comfort.
“She took the lads, slammed the door so hard the plaster cracked, and declared were no longer her family.”
“Well live,” Margaret said, stroking his grey hair with a smile. “And Emily?”
“She called from the airport in tears. I sent her a bit of money for a nanny in Spain. Shes decided to take the boys with her after all. Catherine refused to look after themclaimed her sciatica had flared up through the stress.”
“You see? Theres always a way. Emilys their mother, let her have her holiday with themthats as it should be.”
“Mags,” John looked her in the eye, “thank you.”
“For what? Leaving you in the lurch?”
“For letting me feel like a man again, instead of an errand boy for my ex-wife. All those years I was afraid to upset herwracked by guiltand today I saw that I owe nothing but to you. Youre my family. Youre my anchor. Ive acted like a traitor.”
“You understand now, and thats what matters,” Margaret smiled. “Shall we have some tea and cherry tart? I bought your favourite today.”
The next day Johns phone was silentno calls from Catherine. Emily sent a short message: theyd arrived safely. Life began to settle, but something in it had changed. The very air in the flat felt fresher, as though the residue of old grievances had been aired at last.
A week later, tending her roses at the cottage as John dug over the beds, Margaret heard him say, leaning on his spade:
“You know, Catherine rang yesterday.”
Margaret braced herself.
“And wanted?”
“Asked for money. Said her prescriptions have all gone up.”
“And you did?”
“I didnt. Said our budget was already setrepairs on the house, maybe a new winter coat for you I refused.”
Margaret laughed outright.
“A new coat? You big dreamer. But I like how you think.”
“She hung up,” John smiled, a carefree smile free at last from old guilt. “And you knowthe sky didnt fall in.”
“It didnt,” Margaret agreed. “It just got a little taller. And a whole lot bluer.”
That failed attempt at “dropping off the grandchildren for safekeeping” became a turning point in their lives. Margaret learned that dignity wasnt about shouting matches or rows, but the quiet power to say “no” when your boundary is crossed. John, for his part, discovered that respecting his wife mattered more than appeasing an ex whod become a stranger.
Naturally, the grandsons still came by. But now it was arranged properly, scheduled in advance, and Catherine never crossed their threshold again. John collected the boys, took them to the park and the zoo, then brought them home. It turned out, that suited everyone better. The children had a cheerful grandad, not a worn-out old man torn between the whims of two women. Margaret, at last, got what she deserveda tranquil life and a husband who had truly chosen her.
Sometimes, in the evenings at the cottage, watching the sun go down, Margaret would remember that day she picked up her bag and left for the theatre. It was the best performance of her life, though she couldnt recall the plays name. The real drama played out in the hallway, with a happy ending all round.
