“Don’t Count on My Pension”
“Mum, not this again!” Emily slammed her palm on the kitchen table. “We agreed you’d help with the loan!”
“We agreed to nothing,” Margaret replied calmly, stirring her tea. “You decided that for me.”
“What do you mean? You said you’d think about it!”
“I did. And I won’t.”
A heavy silence settled over the room. Emily stared, wide-eyed, as if she couldn’t believe what she’d heard. Her husband, James, shifted awkwardly by the fridge, clearly uncomfortable.
“Mum, we’re struggling,” Emily pleaded, softening her tone. “James lost his job, I’m on maternity leave with little Sophie. The bank won’t wait forever.”
“And whose fault is that?” Margaret set her cup down. “I warned you about taking out that loan for the car.”
“What car? That old wreck?” Emily snapped. “We could barely get by without it!”
“You could’ve taken the bus. I did for forty years—managed just fine.”
“Mum!” Emily shot up from her chair, pacing. “You seriously expect us to drag a baby around on buses?”
“Why not? I raised you alone, worked myself to the bone, never begged for help.”
James cleared his throat, finally stepping in.
“Margaret, we’re not asking for charity. We’ll pay you back as soon as I find work.”
“And when will that be?” she asked with quiet firmness. “A month? Six? The bank won’t wait.”
“I’ll find something. I’ve got qualifications, experience.”
“I’m sure you will. But not soon enough. Then what—I live on air?”
Emily whirled around.
“You’ve got a decent pension! £1,200 a month! We’re just asking for help with the £800 payment—you’d still have £400 left!”
“For what?” Margaret pulled out a notepad. “Let’s see. Council tax—£300. Meds—£150, sometimes more. Food—£250 at least. That’s £700. What about clothes? Repairs? Or if I need a private doctor?”
“You don’t buy clothes every month!”
“Shoes? Underwear? What if the washing machine breaks?”
“We’d help then,” James offered.
Margaret gave him a wry smile.
“You’re a good man, James, but you’ll have nothing to spare. That’s why you’re here now.”
A cry sounded from the nursery. Emily shot her mother a glare and hurried out. James stayed, shifting uneasily.
“Margaret, I get it’s awkward… but we’re desperate. The bank calls daily, threatens repossession.”
“Good,” she said flatly. “You bought what you couldn’t afford.”
“But we’re family. Shouldn’t family help each other?”
“I’ve helped. Thirty-five years raising Emily, putting her through uni, giving her the flat when she married. Thought it was my turn to rest.”
James hung his head. Emily returned, rocking the baby.
“Mum, don’t you care about your granddaughter?” she whispered. “What if we lose everything?”
“You won’t. They’ll take the car, not your home.”
“How will we commute without it?”
“Like millions do. Tube. Bus.”
Emily sank into a chair, clutching Sophie.
“Mum, since when are you so hard-hearted? You always helped before.”
“Because I worked then. Now I’ve got my pension, and I’ll keep it.”
“But you’re not broke! You’ve got savings!”
Margaret’s eyes narrowed.
“How d’you know that?”
Emily flushed. “I—I saw your passbook.”
“*Saw* it? It’s in a locked drawer.”
“Does it matter? Point is, you *can* help!”
“It’s my safety net. For when I’m ill, or worse.”
“*We’re* in worse now!”
“No—you’re in debt because you live beyond your means. My ‘worse’ is yet to come. Who’ll care for me then? Buy my meds?”
“We will,” Emily vowed.
“With what? My own pension?”
“It’s temporary!”
James tried again. “We could sign a contract, make it official.”
Margaret waved him off. “Paper won’t feed me when your promises run out.”
Sophie fussed. Emily stood, bouncing her.
“Fine, we messed up. But we’re young—don’t you help family?”
“I will,” Margaret said.
Emily brightened. “So you’ll transfer the £800?”
“No. I’ll give advice: Ask James’s parents. Or sell the car, buy a cheaper one outright.”
“That’s not help—that’s cruel!”
“It’s sense. The money stays with me.”
“Why?” Emily’s voice broke.
Margaret gazed out at the falling snow.
“Because I’ve given enough. Worked double shifts so you’d want for nothing. Paid your tuition, your flat. A mother’s duty ends at eighteen—not with funding your mistakes.”
“So that’s it? You’ll hoard it all for yourself?”
“For dignity. To call a cab when my knees give out. To buy Sophie birthday gifts.”
“We’re not stopping that! We just need a bit!”
“A bit leads to more. Another loan, another crisis—back to Mum’s purse.”
James bristled. “We’re not strangers. We’re your blood.”
“Exactly. Money ruins families. You’ll see me as a wallet; I’ll resent you. What’s left then?”
Emily scoffed. “You sound like a bank clerk now! You used to be kind.”
“Kind, not daft. The more you rely on handouts, the less you’ll try.”
“That’s not true!”
“Isn’t it? If I refused, what then? You’d borrow? Find work?”
“James *is* looking—sending CVs daily!”
“For his *field*. Has he tried delivery driving? Labour?”
James reddened. “I’ve got a degree—”
“So? My dad swept streets post-war—no shame in honest work. Or is pride pricier than rent?”
Emily stormed out, baby in arms.
“Fine. We’re on our own.”
“Best way,” Margaret called after her.
“Then don’t ask *us* when you’re old!”
“I won’t. I’ve got my savings.”
“And if they run out?”
“Care home. Paid upfront.”
Emily froze. “You’re serious?”
“Deadly. Strangers won’t resent me like family would.”
“You’d *abandon* us?”
“I’m saving us all the bitterness. Lines drawn now spare regret later.”
That night, the phone rang. Emily’s voice was small.
“Mum… I’m sorry. You were right.”
“About what?”
“We took the easy way. James has an interview tomorrow—not his field, but it’s work.”
“Good.”
“We’ll sell the car. Buy a banger, no loan.”
“Clever girl.”
“Mum… would you *really* go to a home?”
Margaret smiled.
“Who knows, love? Life’s uncertain. But choice matters—for both of us.”
Alone, she picked up her knitting. The weight in her chest eased. Independence was worth the cost.
Her passbook sat snug in her dressing gown—enough to bail them out twice over. But she knew: start now, and she’d never stop.
Old age should mean peace, not palms upturned.
