A Grand Remedy: How a Grandson Rekindled His Nan’s Spark
Emily and Peter drove to the countryside with their son, William, to visit Emily’s mum and leave the lad with his nan for the holidays. On the way, they stocked up on treats—sausages, her favourite Victoria sponge, all the bits she loved. But Margaret Ann barely mustered a smile when they arrived. At the table, just tea—no spread. Though the fridge was packed, she hardly touched a thing. She looked worn out, shuffling straight to the sofa.
Outside, the last of the winter snow dripped under a rare bit of sun. Spring. Emily stood by the window, squinting at the light. “Lovely,” she thought, remembering her dad, gone two years now. He’d always greeted spring like an old friend: “Made it through another winter!” His cheer, his jokes, his hugs… Mum had been sharp but lively, scowling one moment, chuckling the next. They’d adored each other, truly. Now Margaret seemed faded, lost without him.
Her sister, Lucy, rang, voice shaky:
“Emily, Mum’s proper poorly. Says she’s tired of living. Nothing brings her joy anymore—just wants to be with Dad…”
“We’ll come this weekend, promise,” Emily said. But her chest tightened. Maybe they should bring Mum home? She’s not coping alone…
Not that home was a breeze. Their eldest, Charlotte, was all fire and defiance, clashing with Peter, declaring she’d bolt the minute she turned 18—sick of “being nagged.” And young William? Glued to his phone like it paid rent.
“Let’s visit your mum, and take William with us. He could use a screen break,” Peter suggested.
William rolled his eyes. “And do *what* there?!”
“Chill out!” Charlotte snapped. “And give *us* a break…”
That weekend, arms laden with groceries, they set off. Margaret met them, still listless. Peter winked at Emily—”Putting it on.” But she *did* look peaky, refusing food, sipping only tea. When Emily asked if William could stay, Margaret waved a hand. “If you must.”
William, sulking, stayed. Nan retreated to her room and… cried. Then she remembered meeting her Thomas—how awkward he’d been, shuffling in, introduced by her nosy aunt. All of it in spring. Just like now. But he wasn’t here.
A yelp startled her. William! He’d pinched his finger, standing there, cross and pitiful.
“Why so grumpy, love? Hungry?” she asked gently.
“Their food’s rubbish. Makes me ill,” he huffed. “Wish you’d make your proper custard. The thick, sweet one, with butter…”
Her heart pinched. Thomas had loved that custard. Always asked for it when down. And so, groaning, she hauled herself up.
“Only if you eat with me. Gets lonely,” William added.
And just like that, they cobbled together a rhythm. Emily rang daily. At first, Nan was curt. Then came the gripes:
“Wouldn’t know a doormat if it bit him! Claims his tummy aches. Fixed that, though—no sweets, no ‘aches.’ Suddenly wipes his feet. Sharp as a tack!”
Peter laughed. “There you go! Someone to moan at—life’s back on track!”
A week later, they fetched William. But he refused to leave! Nan blinked back tears.
“Spitting image of Thomas… Stubborn, sweet, and sly as a fox!”
“Don’t cry, Nan. I’ll visit soon,” William said solemnly.
“I’ll hold you to that, love. Garden needs tending, gate’s wonky, and you *promised* to help!”
“Will do, Nan. Promise.”
Margaret smiled through the tears.
“And you’d best give him his phone back—he’s to ring me!” she ordered.
“Genius, that,” Emily chuckled at home.
“Fought fire with fire. Our William could jolt a statue to life. Even got your mum off that sofa—and she was halfway to the pearly gates!”
Now she’s got a reason again. William’s the spit of Grandad. And Nan? Knows how to mould ’em—look what she did with *my* wife!” Peter added.
They laughed. Life, it seemed, was stitching itself back together.
