“You’ve brought suitcases!”
“Have you lost your mind? Where do you expect me to put all your things?!” Shirley yelled into the phone, waving her free hand frantically. “I’ve got a one-bedroom flat, you hear me? One! And there’s four of you!”
“Mum, don’t shout like that!” came her daughter’s voice through the line. “There’s only three of us—Jack stayed in Manchester for his exams. Me, Liam, and little Sophie are just coming for a week, till we find a place to rent.”
“A *week*?!” Shirley nearly dropped the phone. “Emily, love, have you *seen* my flat? There’s barely room for Whiskers the cat, let alone a child! Where’s she supposed to sleep? On my sofa?”
“Mum, we’ll manage. We can sleep on the floor—Sophie’s tiny, she won’t take up much space.”
Shirley glanced around her cramped flat. The fold-out bed she slept on, the worn armchair passed down from her late mother-in-law, the tiny kitchen with its temperamental fridge. The only bit of cheer was the pots of geraniums on the windowsill.
“Emily, why not a hotel? I’m on a pension, I’ve barely got two pennies to rub together—”
“Mum, don’t be daft! We barely scraped together train fare!” Emily cut in. “We’re already on the train—we’ll be there tomorrow. Just clear a bit of space, yeah?”
The line went dead.
Shirley sank into her chair, staring at the phone. Emily and her family were moving from Manchester to London, chasing better opportunities. Her son-in-law Liam swore he’d land a decent job. Until then, they’d be crammed into *her* shoebox flat on the outskirts of town.
Whiskers, her tabby with a white chest, wound around her ankles, purring.
“Right then, Whiskers,” Shirley sighed, stroking him. “Get ready for company. We’ll be packed in like sardines.”
She stood, surveying the flat critically. The wardrobe took up half the room, shelves stacked with decades of trinkets—framed photos, dog-eared books, little figurines Emily had gifted her.
“Best make space,” she muttered.
Her neighbour, Mrs. Wilkins from downstairs, caught her hauling out boxes. “Shirley, love, spring cleaning at this hour?”
“Emily’s coming with the family,” Shirley said curtly. “To stay a bit.”
“Oh, how lovely! Just visiting?” Mrs. Wilkins was a gossip.
“Not visiting. Moving. Till they find a place.”
Mrs. Wilkins tutted. “Bit tight, isn’t it? Young people these days—no thought for their elders.”
“Got to crack on, Mrs. Wilkins,” Shirley cut her off.
That evening, she sat at the kitchen table, sipping tea. Emily—her only child—had married Liam after her divorce, had little Sophie. Shirley had only met her granddaughter twice—train fares were steep, her pension threadbare.
Liam had worked at a factory till layoffs started. Emily tutored when she could. Rents were too high, so they’d pinned their hopes on London.
Whiskers jumped onto her lap, curling up.
“How’re we gonna manage, eh?” Shirley whispered. “And how’ll we feed everyone? My pension barely covers *us*.”
Dawn brought a knock at the door. On the step stood Emily, hauling a suitcase, Liam behind with two duffels, and between them—little Sophie, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
“Mum!” Emily flung her arms around Shirley. “Missed you!”
“Emily, love,” Shirley hugged her, feeling her daughter’s thin frame. “Come in, don’t stand there.”
Liam extended a hand. “Thanks for having us, Shirley.”
“Course, Liam. Family, innit?”
Sophie peeked out from behind Liam, studying her grandma.
“Sophie, don’t be shy,” Emily coaxed. “Remember Grandma Shirley from the photos?”
Shirley crouched. “Hello, sunflower. My, you’re pretty as your mum was.”
The girl smiled slightly but clung to Liam.
“You lot must be starving,” Shirley said. “I’ll whip up breakfast.”
They shuffled inside. She saw the glance Emily and Liam exchanged. The flat *was* small.
“Mum, where do we put our things?” Emily asked carefully.
“I cleared the wardrobe,” Shirley said briskly. “Suitcases can go under the bed.”
“The bed?” Liam eyed the fold-out. “Where’s *Sophie* meant to sleep?”
“She’ll fit in the armchair. Barely takes space.”
Whiskers sauntered in, assessing the newcomers.
“Kitty!” Sophie reached for him.
“Sophie, don’t—” Emily started.
“He’s gentle,” Shirley said. “Whiskers, meet Sophie.”
The cat sniffed Sophie’s hand, then permitted a pat.
“Mum, does he use a litter tray?” Emily asked. “Sophie’s got allergies.”
“Of course he does. He’s *civilised*,” Shirley said tightly.
Breakfast was awkward. Shirley laid out all she had—sliced ham, bread, jam. Strong tea.
“Mum, any milk?” Emily asked. “Sophie won’t eat without it.”
“Ran out. I’ll pop to Tesco.”
“I’ll go,” Liam offered. “Where’s the nearest?”
“Round the corner—opens at eight.”
“Mum, do you have Wi-Fi?” Emily pulled out her phone.
“Wi-Fi? What for?”
“To *connect*, Mum.”
“I’ve no need for that.”
Emily sighed, exchanging a look with Liam.
Days blurred. Liam job-hunted; Emily took evening cleaning gigs. Sophie watched cartoons or thundered about the flat.
“Keep it down, love,” Shirley begged. “Neighbours’ll complain.”
Go to Grandma, Emily would say. And Shirley read to her, played with her, fed her—while Emily and Liam worked.
One night, eavesdropping, Shirley heard:
“Liam, are we being cruel?” Emily whispered.
“How? She *agreed*.”
“But she’s exhausted. And it’s *her home*.”
“Just till we save for rent.”
Shirley’s heart ached. They weren’t staying out of necessity—but *convenience*.
Morning brought clarity when Sophie piped up at breakfast:
“Grandma, why d’you sleep in the chair? It’s not comfy!”
Shirley’s eyes stung. Even the child saw it.
Later, Mrs. Thompson from next door knocked.
“Shirley, this can’t go on,” she said bluntly. “Your daughter’s taking advantage. You’re bending over backwards while they play house.”
Shirley wavered. But when Sophie fell ill, and Emily still left for work, something snapped.
That night, she called them to the kitchen.
“I love you,” she said quietly. “But I can’t do this. I’m *tired*. I want my home back. Not as your free babysitter. Not as your landlord. *Just me.*”
Emily cried. Liam looked ashamed.
“We’ll find a place,” he vowed.
A week later, they rented a shabby room in a shared house. Shirley helped them move, even gave them a saucepan.
Sophie hugged her goodbye. “Miss you, Grandma. Whiskers, look after her.”
Alone again, Shirley sat by the window, watching autumn leaves swirl. For the first time in months, she felt—not relief, not guilt, but *peace*.
She was home.
