**Diary Entry**
It all started over breakfast. Mum walked in with that tone—the one that pretends to be lighthearted but presses like a fingertip on a bruise.
“Have you thought about it, love? Saw a gorgeous white Peugeot yesterday. Leather seats, like new. Only £18,000.”
I sighed and shut my laptop. “Mum, we’ve talked about this. The mortgage, Lily’s nursery fees—where am I supposed to pull eighteen grand from?”
From the bedroom came the usual chaos. Tom was wrestling Lily into her socks while she squirmed. Eight twenty already. I had ten minutes before leaving for work. Typical—this car nonsense resurfacing now.
“Just take out a loan,” Mum said breezily, reaching for a biscuit. “You’ve got steady jobs. It’s not like I’m asking for funeral money—it’s practical.”
I turned sharply. “With what wages, Mum? Thin air? Listen to yourself—we’ve already got a mortgage!”
She huffed, arms crossed. “Right. Tom’s parents have a car, but I’m stuck at the back of the queue, as usual.”
That did it. “Tom’s parents saved up. Sold their old one, didn’t beg for help. You just got your licence and already want a brand-new Peugeot?”
“And why do you think I got it so late?” she snapped. “Because I raised you! Every penny went on you. Now I finally have a chance, and you shut me down.”
I glanced at Tom. He was tying Lily’s shoes, tired and tense. Never interfering. But the tight line of his mouth said enough—he was sick of it too.
“Mum, you told me you were scared to drive. We’re not monsters, but we don’t have a platinum card.” My voice cracked. “We help you—bills, medicine, even your damn presents. And this is how you repay us?”
She clutched her chest theatrically. “Oh, so now I’m gonna hear about every pound?”
I exhaled hard, throat dry. Not the first row about the car, but the ugliest yet. Lack of sleep, Lily’s constant colds, work piling up—all of it churned inside me.
Then Mum dropped the bomb.
“What if I look after Lily when she’s ill? You won’t need sick days—could earn more. Then we’d manage the loan.”
I froze. “Wait. You’ll babysit… but only for a car? Your ‘bad health’ magically fixed by a Peugeot?”
“Don’t twist it,” she muttered. “I’m compromising.”
“Compromise means both sides bend. You’re bartering.”
She spun towards the door. “Fine. Have it your way. Don’t call when you need me again.”
I didn’t chase her. Just sat by the window, eyes shut, swallowing the hurt.
Tom squeezed my shoulder. “You were right. Still… shame it came to this.”
Silence settled. Even Lily went quiet, staring at the door.
“Did Gran leave forever? Aren’t we seeing her again?”
I didn’t know. My chest burned with fury and old childhood wounds. We’d helped her endlessly—no strings. And now she’d withhold being a grandmother unless we bought her a car?
Two months passed. Life ticked on. Lily went to nursery, I worked, Tom took extra shifts. No one spoke of Mum, but her absence lingered—in the toys she’d brought Lily, the knit socks, the mince pie recipe only she made right.
And Lily missed her. First quietly, then with questions.
“Mum, is Gran away?”
“No, just… busy.”
“She always called when I coughed. Now she doesn’t. Did she forget me?”
I fumbled excuses—broken phone, redecorating—but my voice wavered. Lily’s worry grew.
Then one evening, as I washed up, Lily froze in the doorway.
“Can I call Gran?”
I sighed but nodded. Maybe this time…
The phone rang out. Again. And again. After the fourth try, Lily burst into tears—not a tantrum, but the quiet sob of a child who doesn’t understand why they’re unloved.
I pulled her close, cursing myself. “Sweetheart, Gran might’ve just missed it—”
“She’s not asleep,” Lily whispered. “She doesn’t love me anymore. Because we didn’t buy the car. Gran’s cross…”
The words cut deep. How dare she drag a five-year-old into this? Punish a child over a Peugeot?
Later, sipping cheap wine, my neighbour Emma hovered. “You look wrecked.”
“Mum stuff. Lily tried calling her. Not even a pick-up.”
Emma sighed. She’d had her own mother dramas. “Elderly folk cling to grudges. Feels like the world owes them.” She paused. “But think—she’s lonely. No husband, no mates. You and Lily were her life. Now it’s just telly and spite. Maybe you reach out?”
“I can’t. Not after this. Lily tried first—what did she get?”
“You don’t have to. But… she won’t bend. Too proud.”
I stewed in anger and pity, but pride kept me stubborn.
Another month. A crisp Saturday. Lily dragged me to the empty playground. As she clambered the climbing frame, I slumped on a bench, brain replaying Lily’s whispers: “Gran doesn’t love us?”
Then—clicking heels. A sharp voice.
“No, I don’t want your mobile deals. I’ve got a proper phone, none of this internet nonsense.”
My chest tightened. Mum marched past, that worn fur-trimmed jacket she wore everywhere. Lips pursed, face sour. Then she slowed. Spotted Lily.
Lily spun, gaped, then shot towards her like a rocket. “Gran!”
Mum froze, then sagged as Lily clung to her waist.
I forced myself over, pulse hammering.
“Hi, Mum.”
“Hello.” She kept hold of Lily, unsmiling. “She’s taller. Hair’s longer.”
“Kids grow. Unlike some grudges.”
Mum sighed. “Thought you were angry.”
“I am. But your granddaughter isn’t. Why ignore her?”
She stiffened. “Didn’t want to intrude. Since I’m not wanted—”
“Mum.” I bit back harsher words. “We’re not cash machines. We’re family. Be part of it—no conditions.”
A nod. The frown eased. “Missed her. You. Even Tom.”
I smirked. “Same here. Even if we were too stubborn to say.”
We stood in silence, wind tangling our hair. Lily darted back to the playframe, still glancing over—checking Gran wouldn’t vanish.
Weeks later, the Peugeot wasn’t mentioned. Mum came round to play, to listen to Lily’s rambles about Peppa Pig. One evening, as I cooked, they floured the kitchen making dumplings, Mum grumbling about “dough like Play-Doh” but grinning.
Tom leaned in the doorway. “Well, well. Peace in our time. You arrive on foot, Margaret, or splurged on that Peugeot?”
She didn’t look up. “Mention that car again, and you’re kneading dough with your belly.”
We all laughed. No one had forgotten. But the car didn’t matter anymore.
We were moving forward. Together.
**Lesson:** Pride poisons love. Sometimes, the hardest step isn’t holding your ground—it’s being the first to reach across the gap.
