” So whats the use of me?”
” Are you really expecting a child?” Eleanor asked, setting aside the halfread novel with a puzzled tilt of her head.
James nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the floor. His fingers fidgeted at the hem of his Tshirt, a nervous habit that had followed him since boyhood.
” But you said youd first get a mortgage on a flat before thinking about babies,” Eleanor pressed, studying the faint lines on her sons face, trying to read the mood. “You always said you needed to get on your feet first.”
James shrugged, spreading his arms as if apologising for an unforeseen twist. He answered in a weary tone,
” It just turned out like this. Honestly, we didnt see it coming.”
A sigh escaped Eleanor, heavy with disappointment. The young couple were barely scraping by, living in a cramped studio that felt more like a shoebox than a home. Lydia, Jamess partner, worked an irregular schedule, and his salary was modest at best. “Children?” he muttered, the word tasting like a distant echo.
” Mum,” James moved closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, “you rent that onebedroom flat you inherited from Grandma. Could we move in there for a while?” He spoke quickly, as if fearing his mother would interrupt.
” I know I said I wouldnt move in there!” Eleanor snapped, but softened. “We need a safety net now, not another bill to pay every month. If we have a little cushion when the baby arrives, it might help.”
A tight knot formed in Eleanors chest. That flat was her only extra income after retirement, the rent from the inherited room covering repairs to her own house, medicines, a train ticket to see her sister. It was the one thread that held her modest world together.
Seeing his mothers hesitation, James hurried on,
” I understand this is a big decision, Mum. Your life will change. But were in a desperate spot. Lydia wont be able to work much longer.”
” Fine,” she finally said, wrestling with conflicting thoughts. “But make it clear: I wont rewrite the lease. Its my property.”
James flinched, raising his hands in a protective gesture.
” Oh, Mom, were not trying to take anything from you! Thank you so much!” He hugged her tightly and slipped away, fearing she might change her mind midstep. Eleanor remained seated in the armchair, the weight of the night pressing down, demanding a plan that would hurt no one.
A week later she spoke to the current tenants. Their faces fell, but the lease was up and they had nowhere else to go. Within a month they vacated, leaving a faint, stale odour and scuffed wallpaper by the hallway.
Lydia and James slipped into the flat silently, without fanfare. Eleanor helped with the move, bringing jars of homemade preserves, fresh curtains, and a few trinkets to make the space feel cozier. Lydia offered no thanks, muttering something incomprehensible before disappearing into the bathroom.
From her kitchen window Eleanor could see the neighbours flat across the courtyard. James would occasionally dash overfor salt, for a quick chat. Yet Lydia never set foot in Eleanors flat during the seven months they lived there, not even for a cup of tea, as if keeping a careful distance from her motherinlaw.
Then, as if the dream shifted its tide, the news arrived: a grandson was borna stout little boy, nearly four pounds, his cheeks puffed like tiny clouds. Eleanor, bursting with unrestrained joy, visited the new parents with swaddles, tiny booties, and handknit socks.
She took in Lydias tired eyes, shadows darkening under them, her hands trembling from sleeplessness.
” Need a hand? I can watch the baby while you rest.”
Lydia clutched the infant tighter, cutting her off sharply,
” No. Well manage.”
Eleanor did not press further; help forced upon someone never stays.
Two months later, strangers appeared in the flats windowsan elderly couple, their faces familiar in a way she could not place. Eleanor peered closer and recognised them as Lydias parents.
“Probably just visiting,” she thought, turning away from the pane.
Three days after that, James returned home looking gaunt, dark circles under his eyes, his face drawn thin. Eleanor poured him tea and set a plate of biscuits down.
” Hows the little one? Smiling yet?”
” Hes growing,” James said, a smile forced onto his lips. “Hes changing so fast, you know? Hes already babbling.”
” I see Lydias parents have arrived?” she asked casually.
James gave a reluctant nod,
” Yes, theyre staying to help with the baby.”
” But you only have one bedroom!” Eleanor exclaimed. “Where are they all sleeping?”
James looked away, his voice low,
” Were making do with temporary inconvenience. Their help makes things easier for Lydia.”
Though the scene unsettled Eleanor, she did not press. James was an adult; he could sort his own affairs.
When she visited the grandson, Lydias parents watched her from a distance, eyes narrowed as if she had offended them. Eleanor played with the infant, oblivious to their cold stares.
One afternoon she discovered a folded cot in the hallway. Inside the lone bedroom lay Lydias family belongingssuitcases, cardboard boxes, shopping bags. The truth settled like dust: the elderly couple had taken the bedroom, while the young couple settled for the kitchen.
Weeks passed, and the grandparents lingered, refusing to leave, a fact that began to gnaw at Eleanor. James grew paler, constantly rubbing his neck and back. On a Friday he slumped onto the sofa in her living room, his body collapsing as if the weight of the whole house had finally pressed him down. That was the last straw.
Eleanor marched straight to Lydias flat. The door opened to reveal Lydias mother, lips pressed into a thin line, displeasure evident at the unexpected visitor.
Without hesitation, Eleanor blurted from the threshold,
” How long is this going to continue? How many more nights will you all spend here? Why must my son suffer?”
Lydias mother raised an eyebrow,
” What does it matter to you? This is our daughters home! What right do you have to make demands?”
From the kitchen, a sleepy Lydia emerged, cradling the baby, her gaze flitting between motherinlaw and daughterinlaw.
” Whats happening?”
Lydias mother seized the infant and began rocking him demonstratively.
” Were not here for nothing! Were helping with the child, but youre of no use!”
Eleanors voice rang firm,
” This flat is mine! I wont let you live here, nor let my son sleep on a folding cot! Get out!”
A shout rose from Lydias father, who appeared in the doorway,
” How dare you! This is all your fault! If youd offered your twobedroom flat, wed all have space!”
Eleanors temper flared,
” Youre silent, but youll fight this elsewhere! Remember who paid for the wedding, who gave the flat. What more do you expect from me?”
At that moment James stepped into the doorway, frozen, bewildered by the chaos.
” Your mother is insulting my parents!” Lydia snapped, pointing at Eleanor. “Shes forcing them out!”
” Either her parents leave, or you all go!” Eleanor retorted, voice cracking like glass. “This is my property, and I wont tolerate this arrogance!”
A heavy silence fell, broken only by the infants faint whimper, as if sensing the tension. Then voices rose, tears fell, and angry glances were hurled. Lydias mother tried to soothe her daughter, while Lydias father shouted at James, waving his arms. Eleanor turned and slammed the door shut, the sound reverberating like a toll.
For two days Eleanor could find no peace. She avoided calls, stayed away, though her heart throbbed with worry for her son and grandson. What if they truly left? Where would they go? Yet she forced herself to ignore the sorrow.
On the third day she noticed movement in the flats windows. The grandparents had disappeared, their belongings packed away. The young couple moved their things back into the bedroom, and the cot was shifted onto a tiny balcony.
That evening James arrived, looking markedly better. The dark circles had faded, his eyes clearer, his posture steadier. He sat beside Eleanor, exhaling a breath of relief.
” Theyve gone. Lydias still angry, but she wont talk to me.”
Eleanor asked gently,
” And you? Are you still upset with me?”
” I finally got some sleep,” James replied, a genuine smile breaking across his face. “Sleeping on a folding cot in the kitchen wasnt ideal, especially when the two of us snored in sync.”
Eleanor embraced her son. Perhaps she had seemed harsh, but she had protected him. Let Lydia stay angry as long as she liked; the grandson would now grow up in a proper home, under a roof that was truly theirs.
