Catherine’s gone now Her sons drove up from London to the village for the wake. “At least they’ve finally showed up,” whispered the neighbours. “Laid their mother to rest, at least.” When the gathering ended, the sons and their families began sorting themselves out, preparing to head back home. Suddenly, Aunt Lydia, Catherines younger sister, walked in.
“Aunt Lydia, we ought to be off,” the eldest son said, glancing at his watch. “We need to lock the house up. Best you get going, too.”
“Get going? Where on earth to?” Lydia looked taken aback. “This is my home! Im not going anywhere.” Everyone turned to stare at Lydia, confused.
Rita and James wed last year and moved in with Jamess mother. The wedding itself was modestjust vows at the registry, a cuppa in the church hall, and family. The savings, theyd agreed, would be better spent elsewhere rather than paying rent.
Before that, theyd each had their own arrangementsJames living with his mum in the old semi-detached, Rita renting a box room in a hostel near the university. Shed not lived at home for years; her mother had always been a drinker A father? She barely remembers a time she had one.
Jamess mum decided to give the newlyweds the house to themselves for a bit. She took annual leave and went to her sister Catherines cottage in a small Cotswolds village. She always relaxed therea peaceful spot. Catherine lived alone since her husband had passed, only seeing her two sons on rare occasions, and even the calls were infrequent.
Youd think theyd at least check in, see if their mum was alright. But they always had something else going on. Catherine was hurt, of course. Was a quick call too much to ask from your own children? But shed never ask for help. She managed herself or asked a neighbour, and occasionally her nephew James and his wife, or Lydia, would come down.
James could turn his hand to most things. In the past, hed visit often with Lydia, but since marriage, it was less frequent. Hed probably forget his aunt too, just as her sons seemed to. They’d scarcely brought their wives roundCatherine had only met them once, at their weddings. No grandchildren, even. “Its not the right time,” theyd said.
“Lydia, youre here! My little sister!” Catherine beamed when Lydia arrived. Theyd always been close, growing up together in the village before Lydia ran off to London and got married. Both lost their husbands the same year, and neither had remarried since.
“You can play lady of the house for a while. Ive only got a weeks holiday left. Why didnt James come? They ought to bring his new wife down to meet her aunt. Perhaps theyre off on a seaside honeymoon?”
“No, theyre saving money. The wedding was modest, just a registry and tea. Ritas family isnt really in the picture. Her mums usually out drinking. Rita left home years ago, poor girl. Shes lovely.”
“Why not bring them here?”
“Theyre young, let them get used to each other. I thought Id give them some space, honestly. Id begun to think hed never marry. Thirty, and still single! Thank goodness its done now. Let them be.”
“Well, theyve gotten on fine without you already. Why should a honeymoon be spent in a city flat? Tell him to bring his wife over. Theres plenty of room in this old place, and the trip back isnt far if they tire of it.”
A day later, James and Rita came. Aunt Lydia was delighted. She couldn’t get her own boys to visit.
“Im so glad youre here. I cant get my sons to come, no matter how often I ask. They always have something else on,” Catherine said sadly.
Rita found life in the country charming, bringing back fond memories of her childhood at her grans. Gran passed when she was fifteen; since then, Rita had worked and put herself through college.
Catherine busied herself with housework. Lydia relaxed and did the cooking for everyone. James fixed the fence by the old shed and tied down the roof on the barn. Rita spent hours in the little veg patch.
“Oh leave it, Rita. Ill deal with it on my holiday. You two deserve a rest!”
“I dont mind, really. I helped my gran with hers and always loved working in the garden.”
The week flew by. The guests packed up and left, and Catherine settled into the quiet again. She started to feel lonely, even called her oldest son one night.
“Everything alright, Mum?”
“Yes, I just fancied a chat. Maybe you could come and visit?”
“Sorry Mum, Im flat out just now. Try your brotherhe hasnt gone off to Cornwall yet.”
She rang her younger son. Same answerhe was off for a week at the seaside, no time to drop by the cottage. Well, what could she do? At least James had promised to visit.
The years ticked by. James and Rita saved enough to buy their own flat in Oxford. They never forgot about Aunt Catherine, visiting often and helping with odd jobs. Sometimes their children spent summers in the village, keeping both Catherine and Lydia, now both pensioners, busy.
Catherine never got her own grandchildren. Her youngest had a stepson from his wifes earlier marriage. The eldest was always too busy with work, and then, when they thought of it, it was too late. Theyd visit every few years, and expected Catherine to be grateful just for remembering her at all!
Thank goodness for James, Rita, and Lydia.
Life went on until Catherines health began to fail. The treatment helped, but she needed more money for further procedures. She called her younger son, explaining everything.
“Mum, youve never spent time at a health spaa bit late to start now, isnt it? Homes the best place. You always said so.”
It was James and Rita who paid for Catherine to go to the convalescent home. They sent Lydia too, to keep her company, and the sisters enjoyed their time together.
Catherine passed away four years later. Her sons returned to the village for her funeral.
“At least they made it this once,” whispered the neighbours. “Saw their mother off, at least.”
As everyone prepared to head back to their city lives, Lydia, with Jamess family in tow, remained in the house.
“Aunt Lydia, were heading off. We should lock up the house now, so best you follow on,” started the eldest son.
“Head off? Why?” Lydia asked, amazed. “This is home for us. Were not going anywhere.”
Everyone stared.
“This was Mums house,” the younger brother said. “So its ours now, and well be selling. If you want something as a keepsake, like a vase or a tea set, help yourself. Well be clearing the lot before long.”
“You take something to remember your mother by. The house? Catherine gave it to me when she came back from the home, when she fell ill. She wasnt alone, you know.”
“Butshe gave it to you? Were her sons!”
“Oh, now you remember? Lydia said, her voice hardening. Where were you all those years? Never came when she needed you. Not even once. Sons, you say!”
The sons left without another word. They didnt even try to defend themselves. There was nothing left, no letters, no phone calls.
Lydia moved into her sisters old cottage, let her flat in town, and helped Jamess family. They visited their mum and were there for her. A good, close-knit familyonly Catherine was missing.
Yet she was never far. She lived on with them, forever, in their memory.
