Granny for an Hour
Mr. Peters, Im terribly sorry, but could I possibly leave early today? My daughters come down ill.
Mary gently placed the prepared documents and the next days meeting list on her managers desk. She still had an hour left in her workday, but the nursery had rung twice already, and she decided to risk it. Shed only recently landed this job at the construction firm, a sheer stroke of luck given her lack of experience as a secretary and her far-from-glamorous presentation, as specified in the advert. Shed shaken her head at her own reflection before the interview.
Well, thats definitely not about me, shed sighed.
Her cardigan, much loved and carefully kept, had weathered the years well, but the skirther mothers handiwork from a carefully chosen length of fabricwas showing its age.
Itll be as good as the ones in the shops, her mum had insisted.
Mum, its hand-sewn! Thats even better, of course, Mary had lied gently, knowing her mother needed to hear those words.
There was just no spare money for new clothes. Mary remembered a timewhen her father was alive, shopping for outfits wasnt a problem. But after he died, everything changed. Her mothers nurse salary didnt stretch far. They managed, just about, until Granny took ill. Relations with her mother-in-law were, to put it kindly, strained.
Lydia, youve got no sense of family, Granny would say. Not surprising given your background. Well, youre one of us now, so youll just have to get used to family responsibility.
Back then, Mary was too young to understand Grannys words, but as she grew up, she realised it only worked one way: Lydia was to pour most of her earnings into Grannys care, while Granny surveyed her realm from the sofa and offered little but criticism in return.
Why do you put up with it, Mum? Why dont you say something back? Mary had often asked, bewildered by her mothers silence in the face of yet another lecture. Lydia rarely dragged Mary along for visits, but sometimes there was no escape.
Because I know shes wrong, darling. And because shes a lonely, ill woman. Besides you and me, shes got nobody. She fell out with her sister, and her nephews want nothing to do with her. And I promised your father I wouldnt leave her. You dont break promises, Lydia would say, folding freshly ironed linen with deliberate calm.
Mary wanted to storm in and tell Granny everything that was on her mind, but Lydia would always hush her gently, looking at her daughter with a mixture of exasperation and love.
Dont, Mary. I dont take it personally. Let her talk. What matters is that I know Im doing right by her.
She wouldnt exactly be destitute, Mary would mutter. Grown up now, she knew well enough that Granny was far from poortwo flats, one rented out, a good pension, and a tidy sum left from Granddad. Enough for comfort.
Why does she take your money, then? She hardly needs it, Mary would grumble, jotting figures in the familys battered budget notebook.
Enough, Mary, Lydia would snap, flinging a tea towel onto the table, only to soften, Dont make yourself like that like Never mind. Just dont carry that in your heart. Everything she owns is hers. It was never ours, it probably wont ever be.
Mary only understood what her mother had meant years later, after Granny died. Lydia found the envelope with the will and farewell letter in the bedside drawer, her hands trembling as she pushed the thin sheets away.
Thats it. Were done here, Mary. My duty is complete.
Mary didnt pry. Later, she discovered that Granny left everything to her nephews. Lydia never repeated the contents of the note, but once, pressed by Marys questions, she let slip, She left it to them because theyre blood. Its nothing for you to worry about. Best let that dirt stay behind.
She doubted I was really her granddaughter? Mary asked once, unable to help herself.
No. She said you took after me too much, not enough of your dad in you, Lydia sighed.
Is that true, Mum?
Mary, youre the image of your fatherin spirit, especially. He was the best man I ever knew. Take only the good from this family, and leave the rest behind. You dont need it.
Mary accepted, even if she couldnt entirely understand. It mattered to Lydia.
Life marched on. Mary finished school, went to universitywearing that same homemade skirt, which became a kind of lucky charm. She wore it to exams and lectures, and later at work in the maths department, where she met the man who would become her daughters absent father. It was in that skirt she went to her job interview at the construction firmwhat else did she have, after all? Jeans were out of the question.
Shed heard giggles in HR, remembered her mums advice, and straightened her spine.
Miss, do you really have no experience? And with a small child? Where have you worked before?
I lectured at university.
So why the sudden change?
I wanted to try something new, Mary said, knees trembling with nerves, convinced shed be turned down.
But they gave her a chancea probationary post as secretary. She never heard what was said after she left.
Why her, Mrs. Jenkins?
He likes bright women, thats why, came the answer. And anyway, underneath, shes got potential. Shell outshine you if she gets a makeover.
Mary and her boss got on quickly. One day, as she studied the coffee machine manual, Mr. Peters laughed, First time Ive seen anyone not just bash all the buttons at once. Well get on fine.
The work was manageable, and though Mr. Peters ran a tight ship, he soon saw how sharp and reliable Mary was. She could track anyone down, arrange meetings to suit everyone, and tactfully cancel them when needed. Schedules ran like clockwork. The only issue was that she sometimes needed to leave early for her daughter.
Mary, I understand, but its becoming routine. I cant do without my secretary, Mr. Peters groaned, rubbing his temples.
Headache? Shall I fetch you a tablet?
No, itll pass. Of course, go. A childs a child. But you might need to look for helpa nanny, perhaps?
I cant afford one yet. Ive no family leftmy mothers gone. Its just us.
Thats a shame. Well, I hope you find a way.
Mary nodded and left, feeling defeated. Her daughter Emma waited at home, unwell, and the loneliness gnawed at her. Why was everything so wrong? Why always alone?
She didnt need to hunt for the answerher mum had given it to her years before. Not everyone youll meet is good. Sometimes you can count really good people on one hand in a lifetime. But those meetings are precious. Dont miss them.
And if there arent any?
There will be, Mary. Youre a mathematicianwork out the odds of never meeting a single good soul? Exactly! Most folk just think of themselves, and that isnt evil, its life. But there are proper wrong unsvery few. I hope you get lucky and meet mostly the better sort.
Mary regretted not listening when she met Emmas father. David was brilliant, ambitiouseverything Mary wasnt. But he had different priorities. She wanted family and maths, he wanted career and adventure. When offered a job abroad soon after proposing, he accepted without hesitation, ignoring the fact she was pregnant.
I cant wait, David. The babys coming
David stopped, pale, Does it have to be now? Cant we postpone?
Theres no postponing this. But dont worryIll manage. Goodbye.
She never saw him again.
Emma was born a month after Lydia died of a heart attack at work. Surrounded by doctors, but with nothing anyone could do. Mary didnt allow herself to cry: Later, Mum. When Emmas here.
But later never came. Emma was born fragile and sickly; Mary ran on autopilotwash, clean, cook, walk, feed, repeat. She left the university, unable to face the whisperings.
Sorry, Mum, Im too thin-skinned. I cant stand it. But you told me to keep going, so Im trying
As soon as Emma was old enough, Mary sent her to nursery. That first year was brutalEmma was always ill. Mary gave up on proper jobs and worked evenings cleaning a beauty salon down the road, clinging to the hope her time would come.
Those old memories tumbled about as she hurried to collect Emma, stopping at the chemist on the way home.
Alright, Jane, she greeted her neighbour as they met by the front door.
Hello! Again? Jane glanced at Emma, clinging to her mother.
Yes. Theyll sack me soon. Thats twice this month. I thought we were over itsix months without a cold!
Six months? Childs play! Mine was well for a year, then every month for ages. Why not hire a nanny? Arent you earning better now?
Not enough, Mary sighed, helping Emma with her shoes.
Nannies cost as much as you earn. And its hard without a gran
True. Well, see you, Jane, she managed before shutting the door, a lump rising in her throat.
Oh, Mum, how I miss you
Emma, dozing on the sofa, brought her back to earth. Mary gave her a hot drink and sat in silence, plotting next steps.
A soft knock startled her. Emma was asleep, and Mary scrolled job sites quietly in the kitchen. Whos knocking at this hour?
There, in the hall, stood Mrs. Wilmot from the next buildingan elderly lady Mary only knew to nod at.
Evening, Mary.
Evening, Mrs. Wilmot, Mary replied, confused. Can I help you?
Shall I come in, or are we having this chat out on the doorstep?
Oh, sorry! Please, come in.
Mrs. Wilmot shuffled inside, untied her boots, and nodded toward the kitchen. Lets sit. Dont want to wake the child. Sleeps the best cure.
Still bewildered, Mary offered her tea.
Looking for a gran-for-hire, are you? Mrs. Wilmot said, with a knowing look and that same gentle patience Marys mother once had.
A what?
A gran for an hour. Someone who can mind the child when shes poorly or if youve work.
Exactly, though I havent a clue where to find one.
You dont have to. Im offering. Will you take me?
Mary hesitated. It was a timely proposal, but she barely knew Mrs. Wilmot.
How did you know I was looking?
Oh, Jane told me, Mrs. Wilmot grinned. If you need to ask, ask away! If youd rather, Ill tell you about me and you can decide.
Pouring tea and sliding a biscuit tin over, Mary nodded. Go on.
Mrs. Wilmots story was simple: Born and bred in London, parents both factory workers. Worked at the plant herself, married, raised two sons. Husband died before fifty. Sons moved away with their familiesshe saw her grandchildren rarely, as their other grannies were more needed. Shed not had the chance to dote on any little ones; she watched them in the playground, heart aching. Jane suggested the gran-for-hire idea.
I wont charge much. You think it over properly tonightlet me know tomorrow.
Mary nodded. After Mrs. Wilmot left, she stood in her tiny hallway, lost in thought.
What do you say, Mum? Is this a sign? Mary checked in on Emma a dozen times that night, too anxious to sleep, weighing trust against fear. By morning, her mind was made up.
Mrs. Wilmot, Id like to accept. If youre still willing?
So began their working relationshipthough Mrs. Wilmot insisted, Were colleagues, Mary. You work, I work. Its good for both of uspeace of mind for you, and a little pension top-up for me.
Mary watched closely at first, unable to relax as Mrs. Wilmot bustled about after Emma, but soon she was reassured. Emma adored her from day one.
Not feeling well, love? Mrs. Wilmot would say, hand to Emmas brow. Lets have some raspberry tea and a story. Thatll cure you, you see if I dont!
But weve no raspberry, Mary fretted.
I brought somewhen would you have the time, with all else youre doing?
Soon, Emma was reading books and playing draughtsat five! Mrs. Wilmot took her to chess club and swimming lessons twice a week.
On my own, I could never. Not the time, nor the energy! Mary confided to Jane. Mrs. Wilmots a treasure.
You wait till my Sophies a bit olderIll steal Mrs. Wilmot off you! Jane laughed.
Time rolled on. Emma grew, started school. Mrs. Wilmots help was needed less, but by then, they were family.
One afternoon, Mr. Peters called Mary into his office.
Mary, youre bright and capableyou could go further here. Ever think of retraining? Youre a mathematician?
Yes.
Well, the firm will sponsor your studies. I want to make the best use of your talent.
Promotion followed, more money, and at last life got easier. Emma thrived. Mary could finally breathe.
Well done, Mary! About time, Mrs. Wilmot beamed.
Theyd long since stopped thinking of each other as employer and employee. So, when Mrs. Wilmot suddenly disappeared, Mary panicked.
Jane, where can she be? Didnt say a word, didnt warn me. This isnt right!
Have you called the hospitals?
Everywherenothing. The police wouldnt take a report. Im not family.
What about her sons?
Said they dont know. Cant come.
What kind of sons are those?
I dont know, Jane. Well have to keep looking.
Mary began touring local hospitals herself. Each time: Are you family? No? Then why are you here?
After nearly a week, she found Mrs. Wilmot. Shed been hit by a carno documents, memory loss when she woke up.
If only youd said she was here! Id have come sooner! Will she recover?
Perhaps. Give it time. Are you?
Her daughter, Mary replied coolly. And can we move her to a different ward, please?
Soon, Mrs. Wilmot was installed in a quieter room. Mary took her hand.
How do you feel?
Who are you?
Mary. Dont worry, well remember everything in time. For now, rest.
Mary rang Mrs. Wilmots sonsno response.
Thats fine, Mary muttered, Mum always said people only look after themselves.
A week later, Mrs. Wilmot was discharged. Mary brought her home.
Emma, Mrs. Wilmot cant remember us, so call her Grannie Wilmot, and make sure she always feels safe. The doctor said she might get her memory back if shes relaxed.
Is she going to live with us now, Mum?
Yes.
Emma nodded seriously. Thats right.
Now it was Emmas turn to look after Mrs. Wilmotshe made her lunch, then sat beside her to do homework.
Ill finish quickly, and then we can play draughts, okay?
Mrs. Wilmot grinned. She called Emma her granddaughter, Mary her daughter, and Mary saw no need to correct her. What did it matter, as long as they were together?
Six months later, Mrs. Wilmots son, Alexander, showed up.
Mary, rushing home with Emmas birthday cake, found herself stopped just outside her building by a tall, careworn man.
Are you Mary?
Yes.
Im AlexanderMrs. Wilmots son.
Oh. Would you like to see your mum? You should have come long ago.
He shuffled, awkward. Dont judge me too harshly. I dont want anything from you or her. If it werent for you, she might not even be alive. Thank you.
I hope you mean it, but let me be clear. You can see her, but you wont be taking her away. If you meant to, you should have come sooner.
He hung his head. May I at least visit her?
Shes your mother. Of course you can. But dont upset her.
When they entered, Emma flung open the flat door, eyes wide at the cake.
Look at this, Mum! Is this Mr. Alexander?
Say hello. Please, keep it downremember what the doctor said.
Sorry, Grannie cant be excited.
Exactly. Take the cake to the kitchen, Ill follow.
Mrs. Wilmot didnt recognise her son, and he scarcely recognised herno longer strong and busy, but a fragile old lady propped with pillows. As he left, he asked quietly, Will she ever remember us?
I cant say. The doctors dont know. But shes peaceful hereplease, let that be enough.
He nodded and left. Mary watched him go, not expecting to see him again. She shrugged, closing the door.
Emma, put the kettle onlets celebrate!
Mum, can Grannie have cake?
The biggest piece! She has to sweeten herself upher own words, remember?
Emma giggled. Exactly!
Mary locked the door and headed for the kitchen, the clink of cups and Emmas laughter making the little flat suddenly feel full of home.
