Walton Merritt

The Country Cottage Predicament The Daughter Gets Back Whats Hers Lucy, darling, you must see, things

Unwanted Grandson: When a Mother-in-Law Only Has Room in Her Heart (and Her Schedule) for Her Favourite Grandchild — And the Family Finally Says “Enough”

A Grandson Is Not Needed Mum thinks Emily is delicate, my wife finally forced out. She says Emily needs

La vida

060

Came Home Early: Six Months Pregnant, Laden With Heavy Bags, and Instead of a Warm Welcome, My Husband Sent Me to the Shops—All Because He Wanted the House to Be Spotless for My Arrival

So, imagine this: I get home a few days early, thinking it’ll be a lovely surprise for Tom.

La vida

018

Don’t Bother Unpacking Your Suitcase – You’re Moving Out Tonight: The Story of How Leona Found Out the Truth About Her Wife’s “Trip to Mum’s” on New Year’s Eve, Dressed as Father Christmas at a Stranger’s House

Dont bother unpacking your suitcase youre leaving. Whats happened? commanded Alice, as she marched into

La vida

014

Even the Good Ones Get Left Behind

Good people get left too Looking in the mirror, I saw a beautiful woman of thirty-five, though my eyes

La vida

The Long-Awaited Granddaughter Natalie Michaels couldn’t stop ringing her son, who had set off on yet another long journey. Still no answer. “Oh, what a mess you’ve made, son!” she sighed anxiously, dialing the familiar number once more. But no matter how much she called, she knew he’d stay out of reach until the ship docked at the nearest port—which might not be for quite some time. And to think, now of all times! Natalie had been unable to sleep for two nights running—oh, the trouble her son had caused! * * * The story, truthfully, had begun years earlier, back when Michael hadn’t even considered a career at sea. He was already a grown man, but nothing ever seemed to work out with women—he was so impossibly picky in Natalie’s eyes! One after another, relationships with perfectly lovely, respectable girls collapsed, and Natalie’s heart ached to see it all fall apart. “You’re impossible to please!” she would lecture her son. “Always finding fault! What woman could ever meet all your standards?” “I don’t understand your complaints, Mum. You want a daughter-in-law, but don’t care what kind of person she turns out to be?” “Of course I care! I just want someone who truly loves you, who’s decent and kind!” Michael always fell silent, and somehow that silence infuriated Natalie. How dare her own son—her boy, who had once sobbed on her lap—not only grow up but act as though he understood life better than she? Which one of them was the grown-up after all? “What was wrong with Sophie, then?” she’d snap. “I’ve already told you.” “Well, suit yourself…” Sophie wasn’t the best example, but Natalie was in no mood to lose any argument about her son. “If you say she was dishonest with you—but I still don’t understand…” “Mum! I really don’t think we need to discuss this. Sophie simply wasn’t the person I wanted to spend my life with.” “And Kate?” “Not Kate either,” Michael calmly replied. “Or Jenny? She was such a sweet girl, so homey and thoughtful. Always offered to help out—surely a sign she’d make a good wife?” “Yes, you’re right, Mum. She was very sweet. But it turned out she never really loved me.” “And you didn’t love her?” “I suppose not.” “What about Darina, then?” “Mum!” “Well, what ‘Mum’? No one’s ever good enough for you! You’re acting like a proper womaniser, instead of settling down, starting a family, having children!” “Let’s stop this useless conversation!” Michael would finally explode, storming out. “He’s just like his father, with all that stubbornness and fussing,” Natalie would think in irritation. Time passed, girls came and went, but Natalie still clung to the cherished hope that she’d one day see her son happily married and sit her first grandchild on her knee. Then Michael changed tack altogether—he bumped into an old mate, who invited him to work at sea. Michael accepted at once, though Natalie had tried hard to talk him out of it. “Come on, Mum! It’s a brilliant opportunity! Do you know how much they pay these days? We’d never have to worry again!” “I don’t care about the money if you’re always somewhere far away and I never see you! I wish you’d start a family instead!” “You have to earn money for a family, especially when the children come. Once that happens, I’ll put my days at sea behind me. I may as well take the work now, while I’m still young enough, then build the rest later!” Michael really did earn well. After his first trip, he refurbished the whole flat. After the second, he set up a bank account for Natalie and handed her the card. “So you’ll want for nothing, Mum!” “I’m not wanting for anything—except a grandchild! I’m getting old!” “Nonsense! You’ve years off the pension yet!” Michael laughed. Natalie hardly touched the money. She earned her own small wage at the local pharmacy, and it was enough for her modest needs. “Let it sit on the card—Michael never checks it, anyway. When he finally does, he’ll be surprised to see how thrifty his mother is!” she thought. And that’s how they lived. Back from journeys, Michael seemed to cram in as much life as possible—catching up with mates, going out late, and seeing girls Natalie never got to meet. She eventually challenged him about not introducing any new girlfriends. Michael’s reply was short and rather cutting: “It’s better this way, Mum! Then you won’t get attached and worry when I don’t marry them. I’m not planning to settle down with any of them, anyway.” Natalie felt wounded, especially since Michael called her “too trusting.” He’d said it outright: “You think too well of people, Mum! You really are too trusting. In truth, you hardly knew any of my girlfriends. They just tried to seem nice around you, but they weren’t what they seemed.” That unpleasant rebuke never left Natalie’s mind—it stung that her son had pointed out a flaw in her character and painted it in such a negative light. Trusting meant naïve. He’d called his own mother foolish! But then she saw him one evening with a young woman, and Natalie’s longing to set her son’s life straight flared anew. She shamelessly approached—Michael, a grown man, actually blushed! But a mother is a mother, and introductions were made. Natalie liked Melanie the moment they met. She was tall, slim, curly-haired, with a pleasant face and nice manners. Seeing such a pretty girl next to her son, Natalie instantly forgot all past grievances. “Maybe he really was just unlucky all this time! Maybe it’s best he let those others go, so he could meet such a beauty!” she thought. Her son’s romance with Melanie lasted his whole leave. On her insistence, Melanie came over several times. Natalie was delighted—the girl was clever, entertaining, charming. But when Michael prepared for his next voyage, Melanie disappeared. “We’re not seeing each other anymore, Mum. And you shouldn’t try to get in touch,” her son informed her and left. Natalie racked her brain for what might have happened, but there was no way to find out. * * * A year rolled by. Michael visited home between trips, but stonewalled any questions about Melanie. “Well, what was wrong with this one, then? What on earth could be the issue with her?” Natalie eventually snapped. “Mum, it doesn’t concern you. If I broke up with her, I had my reasons. Please stop interfering in my life!” Natalie almost cried. “But I only worry for you, Michael!” “Please don’t!” he barked. “And I told you, don’t talk to Melanie! And stop nagging me!” Michael went back to sea, and Natalie, heart aching, returned to her routine. Then one day, at work in the pharmacy, Natalie was surprised when a woman came in for baby food—it was Melanie! She looked shy, eyes downcast as she adjusted a little girl’s hat in the pushchair. “Melanie! I’m so glad to see you! Michael never explained anything. He just left, told me not to ask about you!” Natalie blurted out. “Is that so?” Melanie answered quietly. “Well, so be it.” Natalie felt anxious. “Tell me, love—what happened between you? I know my son; he can be difficult. Did he hurt you?” “It doesn’t matter… I bear him no grudge. But we have to go, we still need to get to the shops.” “Come and visit me, please! Or stop by here when I’m on shift. We could have a proper chat!” Melanie did come again, buying more baby food. Gradually, Natalie got her to open up: Melanie was pregnant when Michael left. When she told him, he’d been cold. He didn’t want the baby, said he had no time and wasn’t looking for anything lasting. Then he vanished. “Off to sea, probably,” Melanie shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. We’re not here to impose on anyone! We’re fine on our own.” Natalie nearly knelt beside the pushchair, gazing at the baby. “Does that mean—she’s my granddaughter?” “So it seems,” Melanie answered quietly. “Her name is Annie.” “Annie…” *** Natalie couldn’t find peace. She managed to learn that Melanie was struggling—she was from out of town, renting a flat, but raising a child without stable work was hard. Melanie was thinking about going back to her parents. The mere thought that her granddaughter could move away, out of reach, made Natalie’s heart ache. “Come live with me, Melanie. Bring Annie! She’s my granddaughter! I’ll help, you’ll find steady work, and Michael sends more money than I could ever spend. Annie will have everything!” “What will Michael say?” “Who cares? He got you into this! He left you both, never told me anything. The least I can do is try to make things right! And when he gets home, I’ll have words with him—I promise!” So, that’s how they began living together. Natalie spoiled her granddaughter and spent as much time with her as possible, cutting down her hours at work. Melanie found a job, leaving Annie with Natalie, and would return late, exhausted. “Been on my feet all day. So many difficult customers!” “Never mind! Go get some rest—I’ll bathe Annie and put her to bed.” Michael’s next leave was approaching. Natalie kept imagining their confrontation, how she’d meet her son with Annie and force him to apologise to Melanie. But Melanie grew increasingly nervous. “Michael will come home and throw us both out! I wish I’d never moved in—I need to start looking for a new place.” “Nonsense! He’s not throwing anyone out! I’ll have plenty to say when he’s back! I’ll take care of it!” Melanie protested that she was better off relying on herself, not on Natalie’s kindness. She feared Michael would accuse her of only wanting money. But Natalie refused to listen, insisting they stay. “I’ve got an idea,” she said one night. “Let’s get this flat put in Annie’s name! That way, no one can question anything. Michael might never marry, but our Annie should have a home. Michael’s name isn’t even on her birth certificate,” she added, glancing at Melanie, who hung her head. “Sorry,” Melanie whispered. “I thought—” “I understand. But if the worst happens, we’ll have a hard time proving she’s his, so tomorrow we’ll get the paperwork started.” “No, Natalie, please! My parents have a flat too…” “Don’t talk me out of it! I’ve made up my mind!” But the solicitor explained the paperwork would have to wait until Michael officially gave up his share of the flat. Natalie was frustrated, but with Michael’s return only days away, she was hopeful. Melanie became even more elusive—often gone, staying late at work. “Where are you disappearing to?” Natalie asked one evening. Melanie hesitated. “Work… My boss says I can’t get my pay advance until a special job is done.” “Why do you need an advance? Is money tight?” Melanie changed clothes in silence. Natalie trailed after her and spotted a packed bag hidden by the bed. “Where are you planning to go? Have you decided to move after all?” “Natalie, I have to leave! Once Michael comes back…” “I won’t let you go! And stop working yourself to exhaustion—I told you where my bank card is, and the code, too! You can use it to get what you need—you don’t have to work all hours. At this rate, Annie will forget what her own mother looks like! If you want Michael to accept you, you’d better learn to run a household.” Melanie said nothing. Michael was due in two days. * * * Early on the morning of Michael’s return, Natalie checked on Melanie and Annie. Melanie was gone, Annie asleep. “Where on earth is she? She’s never left so early for work…” Natalie carried on with her preparations, imagining how Michael would be confronted with Annie, how he’d be made to apologise to Melanie upon her return. At last, the doorbell rang. Michael came in, pausing in surprise to see his mum holding a small child. “Hi, Mum. Whose child is that? What’ve I missed?” “That’s something you ought to know very well!” “I don’t understand—tell me, what’s happened?” “What’s happened? I found my granddaughter, Annie! That’s what’s happened!” Natalie replied firmly. “Excuse me? Do I have siblings I never knew about?” Michael said, bewildered. “Stop playing games! Melanie told me everything. I didn’t raise you to act this way—you should be ashamed!” “Melanie? I don’t understand. First, I told you not to contact her. Second, what’s she got to do with this child?” Incensed, Natalie told Michael everything—with plenty of scolding thrown in. Michael listened, then clutched his head. “Oh, Mum!…” “Go on, call me foolish again! But I—” “Mum, this isn’t my child. Melanie’s lied to you, and you… you’re just so trusting! She’s only interested in money—what did she take?” “Nothing! You’re being—” “Mum! Check your savings! She’s probably run off with them already!” “She’s just at work!” The two argued for ages. At last Michael agreed to wait for Melanie’s “return”—then they’d have it out for good. Night came, but Melanie didn’t show up. The next day brought no sign of her. Natalie tried calling—but the workplace Melanie had named had never employed anyone by that name. When Natalie showed the staff a photo, they still shook their heads. Natalie rushed home and, following her son’s advice, checked—her money and the card were gone. So were Melanie’s clothes—only Annie’s things remained. Only then did Natalie grasp she’d been duped. “How could this be? I can’t believe she’d just abandon Annie and leave!” “Oh, she’s quite capable,” Michael sighed grimly. “My friends warned me she was trouble. Then Fred told me she’d robbed him… But I was seeing her, introduced her to you… Later, she claimed to be pregnant—whose child, who knows? Said it was mine… Yeah, right. Word was, she was always with different blokes.” “Oh, what a fool I am!” Natalie wept. “Why didn’t you tell me?” “I didn’t want you to hear such things. You’re always so kind-hearted…” “What do we do now?” “File a police report! Thank goodness you didn’t sign the flat over. Or you’d be homeless now.” They filed the report—Melanie had vanished without trace. She’d barely taken any money, as Michael froze the bank account as soon as he found out. The card was eventually retrieved at a train station. Meanwhile, since Melanie was missing, the authorities allowed Natalie to look after Annie. She had to quit her job for a time, but Michael made enough for them both. A DNA test confirmed Michael was not Annie’s father. But by then, Natalie couldn’t bear to let the little girl go. After much discussion, mother and son decided to bring Annie up as their own. Melanie was stripped of her parental rights in absentia. Natalie had to resume working, sort out daycare for Annie, and there was a mountain of paperwork to obtain custody. Michael was refused guardianship, but Natalie, with her job and home, was allowed. Eventually, everything settled down. A year later, Michael returned from sea with… a wife. “Mum, meet Sonia. We’ll be living together now.” “And what about—” Natalie gestured at Annie’s nursery, unsure if Michael had told his new wife. But Sonia smiled warmly. “So lovely to meet you, Mrs. Michaels. Michael told me everything, and honestly, I admire what you did! If you’ll let me help raise Annie, I’d be thrilled—” she looked at her husband. “Yes, Mum. I’m finishing my sea contracts. Sonia and I will adopt Annie officially. I’m sure they’ll approve us now.” Natalie beamed through happy tears. “Oh, my goodness—what joy! Come in, both of you! I’ve made a huge meal in anticipation of today! Let’s all get acquainted. I’m so happy!”

The Long-Awaited Granddaughter Margaret Chapman was relentlessly ringing her son’s phone, though

La vida

022

As Long as There’s Life, It’s Never Too Late: A Heartfelt Story of Family, Second Chances, and Finding Happiness at Any Age

As long as one has breath, it is never too late. A Recollection Well then, Mum, just as we agreedIll

La vida

011

This Is Not Your Home Alena gazed with sadness at the house in which she’d grown up since childhood. At eighteen, she was already disillusioned with life. Why had fate been so cruel to her? Her grandmother had died, she’d failed to get into university because the girl at the next desk had copied from her and whispered something to the examiner, who then accused Alena of cheating and expelled her. There was nothing she could do to prove herself innocent. It later turned out the girl was the daughter of a local bigwig—who can argue with that? Now, after so many misfortunes, her mother had turned up with two biological brothers and a new husband. Where had they been all these years? Alena was raised by her grandmother—the mother was only with her until about age four and left no fond memories. While her father worked, the mother would disappear to enjoy herself. Even when married, she still chased “a worthy man” and never hid it, not even after Alena’s father suddenly died. Widowed, Tamara mourned for only a short while. She packed her things, left her four-year-old daughter on her mother’s doorstep, and after selling the flat inherited from her late husband, vanished. Grandma Raya tried, in vain, to appeal to her conscience. Tamara only showed up on occasion, but never cared for Alena. One time when Alena was twelve, Tamara arrived with her then seven-year-old son, Svyatoslav, and demanded her mother transfer the house to her. — No, Toma! You’re not getting anything! — her mother refused flatly. — You’ll die soon enough, and it’ll be mine anyway! — Tamara retorted coldly, glaring at her daughter before gathering Svyatoslav and leaving. — Why do you always argue when she visits? — young Alena asked her grandmother. — Because your mother’s selfish! I didn’t raise her right—should’ve spanked her more! — Raïsa Petrovna replied angrily. Grandma fell ill suddenly—she’d never complained about her health before. One day after school, Alena found her ever-busy grandmother pale and sitting quietly on the balcony—something she’d never seen before. — Is something wrong? — Alena asked, worried. — I don’t feel well… Call an ambulance, Alenushka… — her granny calmly replied. Then came the hospital, IV drips… death. Raïsa Petrovna’s final days were spent in intensive care, no visitors allowed. Half-mad with worry, Alena called her mother. At first, her mother wouldn’t come. Only after Alena mentioned grandma was in intensive care did she agree—arriving just in time for the funeral. Three days later, she shoved a will in Alena’s face: — This house now belongs to me and my sons! Oleg will be here soon—I know you don’t get along with him, so it’s best you stay at Auntie Galina’s for a while, alright? Not a trace of grief in her mother’s voice—Tamara seemed almost pleased Raïsa was gone, since that meant she was now the heir! Crushed by grief, Alena couldn’t resist her mother—especially since the will was clear. She stayed for a time at Auntie Galina’s, her father’s sister, but the house was always full of noisy, tipsy guests and some even took a disturbing interest in Alena herself. When she confided in her boyfriend, Pasha, his response was both surprising and heartening: — No way I’m letting old drunks ogle you or lay hands on you! — he said firmly, then added, — I’ll speak to Dad. We’ve a flat on the edge of the city. I earned the right to live there when I got into university—now it’s his turn to keep his word. — But I don’t see what this has to do with me, — Alena faltered. — How not? We’ll live there together! — Will your parents really allow it? — They have no choice. So—today’s the day: will you marry me and live with me in our own place? Alena nearly cried with happiness. When her mother heard about the wedding, she almost gnashed her teeth: — So you’re getting married now? Quick off the mark, aren’t you! Couldn’t get into university, so you found another angle! Don’t expect any money from me, and the house is mine! Such words hurt Alena deeply. Pasha could barely make sense of her sobs as he brought her home to his parents, who set about comforting her. — Oh, my poor girl! What kind of woman is this? — Pasha’s mum exclaimed. — What I want to know, — pondered Andrei Semyonovich, Pasha’s father, — is why your mother’s so determined to keep the house if there’s a will, and always uses it against you? — I don’t know, — sniffed Alena. — She fought with Grandma over the house all the time. First she wanted her to sell up and hand her the cash, then insisted on getting it signed over. Grandma always refused—said if she did, we’d end up on the street. — Odd. Have you been to a solicitor since your grandma passed? — No, why? — To establish your rights as an heir. — But Mum’s the heir. I’m only a granddaughter. And Mum had the will—I saw it. — It’s a bit more complicated. After the weekend we’ll go to the solicitor together. For now, just rest. In that time her mother tried to get her to sign some documents, but Pasha intervened. — She won’t be signing anything! — And who are you? She can decide for herself! — Tamara snapped irritably. — I’m her fiancé and I think this could harm her, so for now nothing gets signed. Tamara exploded in insults, but went away empty-handed—deepening Andrei Semyonovich’s suspicions. A few days later, as promised, Andrei Semyonovich took Alena to the solicitor. — Listen carefully to what he says, and check every document before you sign. But the solicitor was honest. He took Alena’s statement, and soon they heard that an inheritance case had been opened in Alena’s name. It turned out that Raïsa Petrovna had a savings account for Alena’s education—Alena knew nothing about it. — And what about the property? — asked Andrei Semyonovich. — The property was gifted to Alena some years ago—there are no other documents. — Gifted? — Alena asked, surprised. — Your grandmother arranged a deed of gift for you here a few years ago. You recently turned eighteen and are now fully entitled to the house. — But what about the will? — That was made seven years earlier and later cancelled. Your mother likely doesn’t know. You are legal owner of the house. Andrei Semyonovich’s suspicions were confirmed. — What do I do now? — Alena asked uncertainly. — You tell your mother the house is yours and she must leave. — She’ll never do it! She’s already packed my things to throw them out! — Then you have the police handle it! Upon hearing this, Tamara flew into a rage: — How dare you, you little wretch! Trying to throw your own mother out! You get out! Who put you up to this, your fiancé and his old man? I’ve a document proving I own this house—my mother’s will! — Exactly! So clear off or I’ll break your legs for daring to set foot here, — Oleg threatened. Andrei Semyonovich and Alena stood firm. — You realize you can be charged with threats and hooliganism, — Andrei Semyonovich pointed out coolly. — Who are you to order me around? The house is for sale and buyers will be here soon! But instead of buyers, the police arrived. After hearing both sides, they ordered Tamara and her family to vacate the property or face prosecution. Furious, Tamara, her husband, and sons had no choice but to leave. Alena finally regained her home—with Pasha moving in for safety’s sake. He was right to worry: Tamara and Oleg continued to harass Alena for a while. After discovering Raïsa Petrovna’s bank account, Tamara claimed a share—which legally belonged to her. But she never got the house, for all her efforts. Only after consulting every lawyer she could find did she finally admit defeat and left for good. Alena never spoke to her again. Alena and Pasha married. The following summer she entered university to study her dream subject, and by her third year had their first child. She was grateful to her husband and his family for supporting her through the toughest days, and lived happily ever after. By Odetta — — The Mystery The house was old but well kept—not empty long enough to be abandoned or ruined. “Thank goodness for that!” thought Masha. “At my age, I haven’t got a man around and likely never will. And I’m certainly not one of those formidable Russian women who can hammer in nails, rein in a runaway horse, or storm a burning building single-handed!” She climbed the porch, took the large key from her bag, and unlocked the hefty padlock. *** For reasons she couldn’t fathom, Masha had inherited this house from Granny Lyuba—a distant relative and not one she’d even known well. Strange, but who could guess what goes on in the minds of people that old? By Masha’s estimate, Granny Lyuba was about a hundred. Masha was either her great-niece or just a distant cousin—hard to keep track in such families. She’d visited Granny Lyuba as a teenager; even then the old lady preferred to live alone and never imposed on relatives or asked for help. Then, out of the blue, she died. When Masha got the call that an old woman in the village of Zagadka had died, she barely remembered Granny Lyuba—and certainly never expected to inherit her house and twelve acres of land. — A present for your future pension, — joked her husband, Michael. — Hah, my pension is as far away as the moon — protested Masha. — I’m only fifty-four, and by the time I scrape to sixty, they’ll probably raise the age again. So, it’s just a gift—and I can’t imagine why, when I had no idea Granny Lyuba was even still alive. I thought she was gone long ago! Oh well—I’m not in a position to look a gift horse in the mouth. — Or we can just sell it! — Michael rubbed his hands. *** Good thing they didn’t. A couple months after inheriting, Masha got a far less pleasant surprise: she discovered Michael was having an affair. Yes, really. Grey hair, midlife crisis, and a stone in the heart…

This is not your home Eleanor gazed with quiet sorrow at the house where shed grown up. At eighteen

La vida

The Convenient Grannies Irene woke to the sound of laughter. Not a quiet chuckle or a polite giggle, but a thunderous, uninhibited guffaw that filled the hospital ward and grated on her nerves—she’d always detested such noise. The culprit was her bedmate, phone pressed to her ear, gesticulating wildly as if her distant companion could see. “Linda, you’re unbelievable! No, really—he said *that*? In front of everyone?” Irene checked the clock. A quarter to seven in the morning. Fifteen precious minutes before the nurses bustled in and the day properly began. Fifteen minutes she’d hoped to spend in peace, gathering her thoughts before surgery. She’d met her roommate the previous evening—Susan, petite and round-faced, cropped grey hair untouched by dye and clothed in a bright, polka-dotted pyjama set that looked more suited to a sleepover than a hospital stay. Polite, brief greetings, before each retreated into their own anxious thoughts. Irene had been grateful for the silence. But now? It was like a circus. “Excuse me,” Irene said, softly but firmly. “Would you mind keeping it down a little?” Susan glanced at her, eyes bright, and flashed an apologetic grin. “Sorry! I’m Susan Turner. Did you sleep all right? I never can, not before an op. End up ringing everyone I know.” “Irene Williams. And if you’re up, that doesn’t mean everyone else wants to be.” Susan shrugged and winked. “But you’re already awake! All right, all right, I’ll whisper. Promise.” She did not whisper. Before breakfast, she’d managed two more calls, each louder than the last. Irene turned to the wall, blanket over her head, but it made little difference. At breakfast—which neither managed to eat, nerves twisting stomachs—Susan apologised. “My daughter phoned—she’s worried sick, bless her. I try to calm her down.” Irene said nothing. Her own son hadn’t called, but she hadn’t expected it. He’d said he’d be in early meetings; she’d brought him up to value work above all else. Susan was taken to surgery first, pacing down the corridor, waving and chatting at the nurses until they too burst into laughter. Irene hoped, in vain, that her new acquaintance might be shifted to another ward after surgery. Irene’s own operation went as expected—difficult. She woke in pain, nauseous, the nurse reassuring her all had gone well. Irene bore it with the stoicism she’d practised for years. When she was wheeled back to the ward that evening, Susan was already there, grey-faced, eyes closed, an IV in her arm, and—at last—silent. “How are you?” Irene asked, despite herself. Susan’s lips tilted in a tired smile. “Alive, for now. And you?” “Same.” For a while, neither spoke. Night crept in beyond the smeared hospital windows, and the quiet was broken only by the clink of IV stands and distant hospital sounds. “Sorry about this morning,” Susan murmured suddenly. “When I’m anxious, I just… can’t stop talking. I know it’s annoying, but—” “It’s fine,” Irene said, though it wasn’t, but she was too exhausted for anything else. Neither slept much. Both hurt. Susan no longer made calls, but Irene could hear her shuffling, stifling sobs into her pillow. Morning brought the doctor, a brief inspection, praise for their progress. Susan was instantly on the phone again: “Lynn, I’m fine! Told you so. Has Kieran’s fever gone down? Already better? See, nothing to worry about.” Irene half-listened. *Her own phone was silent—a couple of texts from her son, sent last night when she’d been in recovery. “Mum, how are you?”; “Message me when you can.” She replied: “All fine :)”, adding a smiley because Will always said her messages seemed cold without one. His reply came three hours later: “Great! Hugs.” “Do your lot ever visit?” Susan asked over a cup of tea that lunchtime. “My son works. He lives a long way off. And I’m not a child.” Susan nodded. “Mine says the same: ‘Mum, you’re a grown-up, you’ll be fine.’ No point in visiting if there’s nothing wrong, right?” There was something in Susan’s voice that made Irene look up. The smile was in place, but her eyes were weary. “How many grandchildren do you have?” “Three. Kieran’s eight, Maddy and Leo are three and four.” She rummaged for her phone. “Want to see some photos?” For the next twenty minutes they flicked through images: children at the beach, blowing candles, playing in puddles. Susan was in every picture, hugging, pulling faces, clearly adored. Her daughter was absent. “She likes to take the photos,” Susan explained. “Doesn’t like being in them.” “Do you look after them a lot?” “I practically live there. My daughter and son-in-law work, so I do… well, everything. School runs, homework, cooking.” Irene nodded. She’d been the same for years after her grandson was born—every day at first, then less often, now just once a month, if schedules allowed. “And you?” “One grandson. Nine. Good boy, does well at school.” “Do you see much of him?” “Some Sundays. They’re busy.” Irene tried to sound understanding. Susan turned towards the window. “Yes. Busy.” Evening fell, and Susan suddenly said, “I don’t want to go home.” Irene looked up. Susan sat huddled, knees to her chest, eyes fixed on the floor. “Honestly, I don’t. I’ve thought and thought, and I just… don’t want to.” “Why not?” “What for? I’ll go home and it’ll be Kieran’s homework, Maddy with a runny nose, Leo with torn trousers. My daughter’ll be at work until midnight, son-in-law away on business. There I am: washing, cooking, cleaning, babysitting. And they don’t even…” She trailed off. “Not a thank you. Because that’s what grannies do, isn’t it?” Irene said nothing. Her throat was tight. “Sorry,” Susan dabbed at her eyes. “Just feeling a bit useless, I suppose.” “Don’t apologise.” Irene’s reply was almost a whisper. “I… I retired five years ago. Thought I’d finally have time for myself. Wanted to go to the theatre, art galleries, even signed up for a French class. Only lasted two weeks.” “What happened?” “My daughter-in-law went on maternity leave. She asked for help. I thought, well, I’m a grandmother—it’s no trouble. I couldn’t say no.” “And?” “Three years, every single day. Then the nursery, so every other day. Then school, only once a week. Now… now they barely need me. They’ve got a nanny. I just sit at home and wait – in case they remember me.” Susan nodded. “My daughter was going to visit in November. I cleaned the house top to bottom, baked a dozen pies. But she rang—‘Sorry, Mum, Kieran’s got football.’ She didn’t come. Gave the pies to my neighbour.” They sat in silence. It rained outside. “You know what’s silly?” Susan said, voice tight. “It’s not even the visits. It’s that I keep hoping. That I’ll get a call—just a ‘miss you, Mum’, without an ask.” Irene’s eyes stung. “I do as well. Every time the phone rings, I tell myself, maybe this is just for a chat. But it’s always for something.” “And we help,” Susan smiled wryly. “Because we’re mums.” The next days blurred into bandage-changes, brisk nurse visits, slow corridor walks. One day, Susan confessed, “I always thought I had a happy family—a devoted daughter, lovely grandchildren. That they couldn’t manage without me. But this week I realised… they’re managing fine. Maybe it’s just convenient having a free nanny called ‘Nan’.” Irene propped herself up. “You know what I realised? It’s my fault. I taught my son his plans matter more than mine. That Mum will always wait, always help, always give up anything.” Susan nodded. “Me too. My daughter calls, I drop everything.” “We’ve taught them we aren’t people,” Irene said slowly, “that we have no life of our own.” “And now what?” “I don’t know.” A week passed. Irene’s son arrived unexpectedly—tall, brisk, bearing a bag of fruit and efficient cheer. “Hi, Mum! How’re you feeling?” After twenty minutes—news updates, money offer—he was gone. Susan was silent throughout, then said softly, “That was your son? Handsome. But cold as ice.” Irene couldn’t reply. Her throat ached. “You know,” said Susan, even softer, “maybe we have to stop expecting love from them. Let go. They’ve grown up, they have their lives. We need to find ours.” “Easier said than done.” “But what else is there? Sit and wait for calls that never come?” “What did you say to your daughter?” “Told her the doctor wants me to rest two weeks. No babysitting. She was cross at first, but I said—‘Lynn, you’re grown up, you’ll figure it out.’ She sulked… but I felt lighter, somehow.” “I’m scared,” Irene admitted. “If I say no, they’ll be cross. What if they stop calling at all?” Susan raised an eyebrow. “Do they call often now?” Silence answered for her. “They can only get better.” Both women were discharged the next day. They exchanged numbers, hugged awkwardly—still careful of stitches. “Thank you,” Irene said. “For… everything.” “Thank *you*. I haven’t spoken to anyone like this in thirty years.” Returning home, Irene unpacked, checked her phone—three texts: “Home yet?”, “Call when you’re in,” “Don’t forget your pills.” She replied: “Home. All fine.” Then, almost shyly, pulled an old folder from the cupboard—French course brochure, theatre list. She stared at them, heart thumping. The phone rang. Susan. “Hi. Sorry to ring so soon. Just… felt like talking.” “I’m glad you did. Really.” “Fancy meeting up? A walk, maybe, or coffee—when we’re properly back on our feet.” Irene glanced from the French class leaflets to her phone—and for the first time in years, she smiled. “Let’s. But not in two weeks’ time. Saturday. I’m sick of sitting about.” “Saturday? That’s soon!” “I’ve spent thirty years looking after everyone else. Time I did something for myself.” “Deal. Saturday.” They hung up. Irene opened her laptop and shakily signed up for the French class. The rain tapped on her window—behind it, the sky was lightening. And Irene allowed herself to think—just maybe—her life was only just beginning. **The Convenient Grandmas**

Convenient Grandmothers Margaret White awoke to laughter. Not a muted giggle, not a polite chuckle, but

La vida

“While We’re Selling the Flat, Why Don’t You Stay in a Care Home for a Bit,” Suggested Her Daughter Lydia Married Late in Life—She’d Nearly Given Up on Love by Forty, but Along Came Edward, a Divorced Man with Three Grown Children and No Home of His Own. After a Few Months of Renting, Lydia Had No Choice but to Move Her Husband into Her Sixty-Year-Old Mother Mary’s Council Flat. From the Start, Edward Complained About the ‘Old Person Smell’, and Soon Lydia Was Insisting Her Mum Give Up Her Bedroom for the Newlyweds. When Edward Grew Even Less Tolerant, He Urged Lydia to Send Her Mother Away—After All, the Flat Would Be Theirs Someday. Bowing to Pressure, Lydia Told Her Mum, “While We’re Selling the Flat, Why Don’t You Stay in a Care Home for a Bit—Just for Now, and Then We’ll Bring You Back.” Trusting Her Daughter, Mary Signed Over Her Flat, Only to Be Unceremoniously Packed Off to a Residential Home, Never to Return. Lydia, Consumed by Guilt After Her Mother’s Death and Her Own Betrayal, Ultimately Fled to a Convent to Atone for Her Sins.

6th March Mum, while were sorting the sale of your flat, do stay at the retirement home, my daughter said.