Walton Merritt

On the Edge of This Summer Working in the local library, Dana always found her life dull—there were hardly any visitors these days, with everyone online. She often rearranged books, dusting them off as she went. The only real perk was that she’d read an unimaginable number of books: romance, philosophy, and everything in between. Yet at thirty, she suddenly realised romance had passed her by. A respectable age—surely time to start a family—yet her looks were unremarkable, her job not well paid. It hadn’t even occurred to her to change careers; she was content enough. These days only university students, the occasional schoolchild, and a few pensioners visited the library. Recently, a regional professional competition took place. To Dana’s complete surprise, she won the grand prize: an all-expenses-paid fortnight at a seaside resort. “That’s brilliant. I’ll definitely go,” she cheerfully told her friend and her mum. “On my salary, I could never afford it, so this is happiness dropped in my lap.” Summer was drawing to a close. Dana walked along the deserted beach—the cafe was busier, with most holidaymakers staying inside as the sea was especially rough today. Her third day by the sea, she felt like wandering alone, to think and to dream. Suddenly, she saw someone swept from the pier by a wave—a young man. Without thinking, she rushed to help. Luckily it was close to the shore, and while she wasn’t a brilliant swimmer, she’d always been able to hold her own in water. The waves helped her haul the boy by the collar, then dragged them back, but Dana persevered, finally managing to reach shallow water and get to her feet. She realised, standing there in her soaked dress, that the “young man” was a boy of about fourteen—just tall for his age. “What were you thinking, swimming in this weather?” she asked, but the boy simply thanked her, then staggered away. Dana just shrugged and watched him go. The next morning, sunny and warm, Dana smiled as she looked out at the gently lapping blue sea—the waves seemed almost apologetic for yesterday. After breakfast, she stretched out on the beach, and later wandered to a small funfair in the park. Spotting a pop-up shooting range, she decided to have a go; she’d been good at marksmanship at school and university. First shot missed, second was a bullseye. “Well done! That’s how it’s done, son!” said a man behind her. Turning, Dana saw yesterday’s teenager with his father. The boy looked worried when he recognised her—a secret perhaps best kept. The man, introducing himself as Anthony, was amiable and asked if she’d show them a thing or two. Dana agreed, and soon the three of them were eating ice cream in a seaside café, then riding the Ferris wheel. Dana expected the boy’s mother to turn up, but no one else came; father and son were relaxed, unhurried. Anthony turned out to be great company, easy to talk to, and Dana found herself warming to him more with every passing minute. “Dana, have you been here long?” “No, just started my first week. I’ve another one left.” “Where are you from, if you don’t mind me asking?” To their amusement, they soon realised they all lived in the same city—small world indeed. For the next week, they met every morning on the beach, parted late at night, even went on day trips together. With time, Dana noticed the boy, Jamie, seemed preoccupied, but perhaps she was imagining things. She learned that father and son were staying at the hotel next door to hers. One day, only Jamie turned up at the beach. “Hi—Dad’s come down with a temperature. I told him you’d look out for me, if that’s alright. Didn’t fancy a day stuck in the room!” Dana got Anthony’s number and rang to check in. “Don’t worry and do enjoy yourselves. Jamie promises he’ll listen to you!” Anthony said, trying to sound upbeat. After a swim, Jamie looked up at Dana and said, “You’re a real mate, you know that?” She smiled. “Why do you say that?” “Thanks for not telling Dad about what happened the other day. I really got caught out by that wave.” The conversation drifted—Dana gently enquired about his mum. Jamie hesitated, then decided to trust her and began to tell their family story. Anthony, it turned out, worked away now and again. When he was gone, Jamie stayed with his mum, Marina. They seemed, outwardly, the perfect family, but reality was different. Anthony had been sent to London for a work course—if it went well, he’d get promoted, and money would be better for them all. His wife seemed pleased, if anything, when he left. Two days later, Marina announced she’d invited her colleague, Arthur, and his daughter, Ciara, over for the evening. Jamie was to take Ciara out for ice cream. Ciara was a couple of years older and pretty streetwise. As the days went by, she let slip that her dad “paid her” to distract Jamie so their parents could “entertain themselves” at home. Jamie found it hard to believe, but the truth stared him in the face. Soon after Anthony returned, Jamie overheard his parents arguing. “Yes, I’ve been seeing someone else,” his mum admitted. “Fine,” replied Anthony, “I’ll file for divorce. Jamie stays with me—you seem not to need him.” “Fine by me—I’ll have a new family soon.” Jamie stayed in bed the next morning, listening to his mum pack. “Don’t worry, son,” Anthony tried to explain, but Jamie cut in: “No need, I know everything. I love you, Dad. We’ll be fine.” Anthony smiled, ruffling his hair: “You’ve grown up, son. Stay in touch with your mum, if you like—she’s left me, not you.” Jamie admitted he didn’t feel ready to see her again—not yet. That day, Jamie and Dana visited Anthony with some fruit. He promised to join them at the beach soon. Three days later, Anthony and Jamie had to leave; Dana stayed on a few more days. Summer was ending—on the edge of this summer, they said goodbye. Anthony promised to meet Dana at the airport. Jamie smiled beside him. Dana made no plans, just basked in the sweet texts Anthony sent, telling her how much he missed her already and how eagerly he awaited her return. Soon after, Dana moved in with Anthony and Jamie—perhaps happiest of all was Jamie, for his dad, for Dana, and for himself. On the Edge of This English Summer

At the Edge of This Summer Working in a modest public library among cobbled Oxford streets, Diana often

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You Just Can’t Get Through to Him: How Anna Lost Herself Trying to Build a Family with a Step-Son Who Refused to Accept Her—And a Husband Who Wouldn’t Stand by Her

You simply cant get through to him. I wont do it! And dont order me around! Youre nothing to me!

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Just Give Me a Reason: How Anastasia Quietly Fell Out of Love, Planned to Leave Her Husband, and Found Unexpected Hope When He Finally Changed

Monday Have a good day, Ben murmured as he leaned in and brushed my cheek with his lips. I nodded automatically.

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I Think the Love Is Gone: Anna’s Journey from Young Romance in London’s Hyde Park to Fifteen Years of Marriage, Disillusionment, and Finding Herself After Divorce

I think the love has gone Youre the prettiest girl in this department, he said then, handing her a bunch

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I Think the Love Is Gone: Anna’s Journey from Young Romance in London’s Hyde Park to Fifteen Years of Marriage, Disillusionment, and Finding Herself After Divorce

I think the love has gone Youre the prettiest girl in this department, he said then, handing her a bunch

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He’s Already 35 and Still Has No Wife or Children: A Mother’s Regret and the Challenges of Raising an Independent Son in Modern England Last week, I was visiting my mother-in-law’s house with my son. An old family friend was there too. She spent the entire day doting on my son. “It’s such a shame that I have no grandchildren,” she sighed sadly. My mother-in-law’s friend had her son in her mid-30s. She adored this long-awaited child and gave him everything he wanted. Her husband passed away when their boy was very young, so she raised him alone—working two jobs to provide for him. When her son turned 35, she decided to ask when she might expect grandchildren. He calmly replied, “Never.” The son blamed his upbringing, saying his mother’s loving, devoted care had made him, well, childlike and dependent. “I’m used to a simple life. No woman would want to be a second mother to me,” he said. He added that, honestly, he’s content with how things are and won’t change for anyone else. “I don’t need anyone but you,” he told his mum. “I failed to teach him the most important thing: how to be a man,” the mother admitted. Do you agree that motherly love can sometimes protect a child so much that it prevents them from developing independence and their own identity? I look forward to hearing your thoughts in the comments below.

He was already thirty-five, and still had neither wife nor children. It was only a week ago that I found

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A Parent’s Heart: A Story Thank You for Your Support, Likes, Kindness, Feedback on My Stories, Subscriptions, and a Huge Thanks from Me and My Five Lovely Cats for All Your Generous Donations. Please Share Your Favourite Stories on Social Media—It’s Always a Joy for the Author! “Why are you looking so glum this morning? Not even a smile. Come on, let’s have breakfast.” Her husband walked into the kitchen with a sleepy stretch—finally, a Sunday morning. The bacon and eggs were sizzling on the hob, while his wife poured tea. She plonked more than half the eggs onto his plate and handed him some bread— “Eat up, go on!” “What did I do wrong, Natasha?” Arkady asked gently. “We both did wrong, raising the kids like we did,” Natasha replied, sitting down beside him but barely touching her own food. “Our daughter and son are grown now. We gave up so much as we raised them—those times were tough. We always supported them, but who supports us, even with just a kind word? They’ve always got problems, always bored or short of money. Both Sveta and Dima, always moaning.” “What makes you say that?” Arkady had just finished his eggs, happily buttering fresh bread and spooning on some jam. “It’s different for you—they come to me with it all, you know, their mum. Dima wanted to go bowling with his family yesterday and wanted an advance until payday. I got cross and didn’t give it to him. Oh, he was so put out. And Sveta called just before—her singing career’s going nowhere, so she’s in a mood too. She loves singing—great, sing for your soul, but you’ve got to work as well! She wants to make a living out of it, but it’s not happening. Not everyone can do that, and it’s time she realised. She needs a proper job! Even as children they were close, now they barely speak to each other!” Natasha pushed away her now-cold eggs and sipped her tea. “Don’t get so upset, love, it’ll work out. We were young once, remember?” Arkady tried to comfort her, but she only grew more agitated. “Oh, Arkasha, you remember! We lived within our means and found joy in the little things! When Dima was born—it was pure happiness. My friend gave me a pram and cot, my sister handed down vests, nappies, onesies from her eldest—hand-me-downs but good as new because kids grow so fast. We were happy! And when we bought our little Fiat, we felt on top of the world. Built a little shed next to the house, it made us feel rich! But for our lot, if they haven’t been abroad, life’s not worth living—what is that? We never taught them that!” “These are different times, Natasha, there are so many temptations. They’re young. Wait—they’ll understand one day.” “Let’s hope it’s not too late by then. Chasing riches and life’s flying by. I look at myself in the mirror and wonder, is that really me—a grandmother now? And you, you’re a granddad…” They were interrupted by the phone—it was their son, Dima. “Well, here we go again,” Natasha said, picking up the phone. As she listened, her eyes grew wide and she jumped up. “Arkady, get dressed quick—Dima’s in hospital! His neighbour from the ward called.” “What happened?” Arkady was on his feet, rapidly pulling on his clothes. “I’m not sure exactly. He cut his hand with an angle grinder—blade shattered and sliced it. They’re trying to save the hand. Hopefully everything will be all right. Oh, please let it be all right! Come on, let’s go.” They threw on their coats—a bit older now but far from old, two deeply worried parents—and set off, thoughts of everything else forgotten, hurrying to the hospital to see their son… On the way, Svetlana called: “Mum, can I pop round at lunchtime?” “Of course, love, we’ll probably be back by then,” Natasha called, breathless, racing to the bus stop after Arkady. At the hospital, they were quickly reassured—Dima’s hand had been saved, though they couldn’t see him just yet. “I’m not leaving until I see him,” Natasha said firmly, parking herself in the waiting area, with Arkady by her side. Suddenly Svetlana burst into the hospital, dashing over to them. “Mum, why do you look so worried? It’s fine now. Dima was doing a repair job yesterday—something wouldn’t come off, so he was cutting bolts, slipped and sliced his hand. He’s conscious, stitches done, fingers moving. Mum, don’t look so grim, he’ll be okay!” “How do you know?” Natasha managed. “We’re always in touch, Mum—me, Dima, and his wife Lena too. We help each other out, what’s the problem?” “But—we thought you barely spoke to each other, you never told us…” Arkady explained. “Dad, you two are so strong, so sorted, like nothing ever fazes you. We don’t want to worry you unnecessarily,” Sveta smiled. “Honestly, you both look so young! We just want you to enjoy life for yourselves now.” “Well that’s a twist—I thought you didn’t care about us anymore,” Natasha smiled back. “Oh Mum, your generation, you’re all so resilient. We try to be like you, we really do, Dad. We’re just not always as good at it, but we try, you know?” Finally, the nurse let them see Dima for a minute. Natasha nearly broke down, but Dima was calm. “Mum, it’s all over now, honestly, don’t worry. Dad, remember when you got stung in the garage and nearly died in hospital? Life happens! When I’m out, come over for New Year’s, we haven’t all got together in ages. Sveta wants to introduce everyone to her boyfriend too—she hasn’t told you yet?” Natasha and Arkady walked home, deciding to enjoy the fresh air. Not Old—But Not Young Either: Parents on the Road Ah, a parent’s heart—it always aches for their children. You look at other people’s children and wish yours could be better, live more rightly, listen to you more. But our children have their own path, whatever it may be… And they’re good kids—after all, they’re ours.

A Parents Heart. Diary Entry Thank you for your supportwhether its a like, a nice comment, or a subscriptionit

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My Brother’s Pregnant Wife Demanded We Hand Over Our Flat Since We Don’t Have Kids—But When I Said No, She Made a Shocking Threat and Blamed Me for What Came Next

23rd April Ive been married to Olivia for ten years now. We live in a modest two-bedroom flat in Oxford

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Staying Connected Nadine’s Mornings Always Started the Same Way: Teapot on the Stove, Two Spoons of Tea in a Bulging Old Kettle from When the Kids Were Young, and the Familiar Background Murmur of Radio News, as She Watched the Clock with Yellow Hands and Noticed How the House Phone Underneath, Once Chatty in the Evenings with Friends, Had Gone Quiet—Her Friends Either Ill, Moved Away for Family, or Gone Altogether—While Her Children Now Used Smartphones, Always in Their Hands Even During Visits, Her Own Simple Mobile Left Often Uncharged, Calls Missed, and on Her Seventy-fifth Birthday as Family Gathered, the ‘Happy Birthday Mum’ Hug Was Rushed, Gifts Were Set on the Table, Her Granddaughter Dived for the WiFi, and Her Son and Daughter-in-law Presented a New Smartphone: ‘So We Can Video Call, Share News in the Family Group Chat, Book Your GP Appointments Online—It’s Safer for Us All’—But for Nadine, the Device Was Cold, Mysterious, Lacking That Familiar Green Button, and Set Her Adrift among Talk of Chats and Touch Screens Until, Fearful but Willing, She Let Them Teach Her, Frustrated by Passwords, Accidental Mistakes, and the Sting of Being Called ‘Too Slow’, Yet Slowly, Amid Crashed Attempts and Funny Voice Messages Sent to the Wrong Place, She Managed to Book a Doctor’s Appointment, Drop Proud Updates and Tomato Plant Photos in the Chat, Exchange Jokes and Support, and Realised, While Still Sometimes Putting the Phone Down Out of Habit, That She’d Tapped a New Kind of Lifeline—Invisible but Strong—Bridging Distances, Quietly Proving to Herself That Even in a World of Apps and Emojis, She Had Found Her Own Way to Stay Connected.

In Touch Mornings for Margaret Atwood always began in precisely the same pattern. She’

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Summer Rules: A British Family Holiday with Nan, Granddad, and Grandkids—Balancing Traditions, Freedom, and the Art of Living Together Under One Roof

Summer Rules When the train screeched to a halt at the tiny platform of Willowbrook, Margaret Baker was