When Mum decided to remarry, Emily didn’t mind. She quite liked her mother’s choice—Paul, a calm and steady man who always treated her well. He was tender and caring toward Mum, too. Everything seemed fine, but fifteen-year-old Emily had one condition.
“Mum, I don’t mind you marrying again, especially since Uncle Paul is a decent bloke. You’d be lonely otherwise—I’ll be off to uni eventually. But I’m moving in with Gran.”
“With Gran? To the city? You’re only fifteen—you’re not even of age! How can I leave you unsupervised?” Mum was firmly against it.
“Mum, it’s not unsupervised. Gran raised you alone, didn’t she? She’ll look after me if you’re so worried. And I’ve already called her—she’s thrilled I’m coming.”
“Right, so you’ve all decided behind my back,” Mum said, sounding both hurt and disappointed.
“Mum, trust me, it’s better this way. Even if Uncle Paul’s respectable, he’s still a stranger to me.”
Mum sighed and fell silent, but just then her phone rang. It was Gran—Margaret Anne.
“Hello, love. Have you and Emily sorted things out? I really think she’d be better off with me. You know I adore my granddaughter, and surely I can manage a nearly grown girl?”
“Yes, Mum, I know you adore Emily. But you understand—a mother’s heart…”
“It’ll be fine, don’t fret. I managed with you, didn’t I? Emily and I will be just fine together.”
When the call ended, Emily, already packing her things, grinned.
“Don’t worry, Mum. It’s going to be brilliant!”
Margaret Anne wasn’t some frail old dear but a sharp, sensible woman—a retired maths teacher. And Emily had a stubborn streak herself. They had their little rows and misunderstandings, but Gran was wise. She never let things boil over.
They’d bicker, and by bedtime, Gran would tiptoe into Emily’s room, stroke her curly hair, and tell her stories or silly tales. Emily would smile, drifting off to sleep, her sulks forgotten. Sometimes, though, it was Emily who made peace, realising she’d been unfair and shouldn’t have upset Gran. She’d buy her favourite toffees, they’d share tea, and harmony was restored.
They carried on like this until Emily had to leave the city—her own choice this time. She’d graduated from uni locally, found work, but the pay was dismal. Colleagues mentioned a big firm in the Lake District—great bosses, decent colleagues, and proper wages.
“Gran, don’t be cross. I’m going far, but we’ll always stay in touch.”
“Emily, love,” Gran said, smoothing her curls, “must you really go so far? Can’t you find work here?”
“Gran, I’ve tried. Started on probation, then got stuck as a junior specialist earning peanuts. Three pounds an hour!”
“But you’ve just left uni—no one starts at the top. You need experience. Why chase dreams miles away? There’s no place like home.”
Emily wouldn’t budge. She’d made up her mind. She wanted everything now—exciting work, good money. She packed her bags and left.
At first, luck was on her side. She landed a decent job with a proper salary, even got a dorm room so she didn’t need to rent. When her first pay came, she was thrilled. After work, she dashed to the shops, buying treats—even Gran’s favourite toffees. But sipping tea alone that evening, she felt a crushing loneliness. There was no one to share the sweets with. The toffees stayed untouched in the bowl.
Time passed. She rang Mum and Gran nearly every day—all was well. She saved, dreaming of a car—maybe a loan topped up with her savings. But as they say, man proposes, but God disposes…
One day, Mum called. Gran—Margaret Anne—had passed away.
“What? Mum, what happened?” Emily sobbed.
“Her heart, love. It was weak, but she never let on. I knew, but I never thought it’d happen so fast. She never complained.”
The loss hit Emily like a train. In the taxi home, tears streamed down her face.
“Are you alright? Can I do anything?” the driver asked.
“No, thanks. There’s nothing you can do,” she whispered, knowing she’d cry properly at home but unable to stop now.
“How could this happen?” she agonised. “I missed the funeral—my flight was delayed for hours because of thick fog. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”
Standing outside Gran’s flat—now hers, thanks to a deed signed years ago—Emily hesitated before unlocking the door. The silence inside was deafening.
“I’ll have to sell it,” she thought, sinking into her favourite armchair.
She remembered how Gran would greet her:
“Emily, love, wash your hands. I’ll put the kettle on…”
Those days were gone. The silence pressed in. She covered her ears, then steeled herself. What next? Her eyes fell on a photo—Gran and her, smiling. That was another time.
Then—a faint sound. A squeak. Startled, she nearly bolted, but a ginger face peeked from the slightly ajar wardrobe.
“Who—?” Emily gasped as the cat darted out.
Then she remembered—Gran had mentioned rescuing a stray in May. She’d named her Maisie.
“Maisie!” Emily cried. The cat rubbed against her legs, then headed to the kitchen, glancing back as if inviting her. “Ah, you’re hungry.”
Puzzled, Emily wondered how Maisie had been left alone—until another squeak came. Maisie leapt back into the wardrobe, emerging with two scrawny ginger kittens.
“Blimey,” Emily murmured. “A whole family.”
Maisie settled to feed them.
“Good grief. What am I supposed to do with you lot?”
She knew nothing about kittens. Frantic, she googled the local vet and called for a home visit.
Soon, a knock.
“Hello. You rang about a pet emergency?”
A pleasant bloke, slightly older than her, stood there.
“Yes, come in.” She led him to the kittens. “Here.”
“What’s happened? I’m James, by the way.”
“Er—a birth. The cat’s, I mean.”
“I gathered. But what’s the trouble? Are they ill?”
“I don’t think so. It’s just… Gran died. I missed the funeral, and now this…”
James patiently explained how to care for them, even helped set up a cosy nest. He jotted down a shopping list. Relieved, Emily realised she wouldn’t have to bottle-feed—Maisie had that covered.
James, whether out of professional kindness or a liking for the flustered young woman, made sure to take her number. Next morning, he rang.
“How are the little ones? Mind if I pop round later to check on them?”
“They’re fine. Yes, please do.”
That evening, they strolled in the park. James chatted about animals, and Emily found herself engrossed—she’d never thought she’d care. Soon, they were dating. Before long, she emailed her resignation.
Months passed. Wedding plans took shape. Emily told Mum she’d visit soon with her fiancé. They visited Margaret Anne’s grave, ordered a headstone. After it was placed, Emily laid flowers.
“Sorry, Gran. Maybe I shouldn’t have left. Maybe you’d still be here. But I’m back for good. Don’t be cross. And—I’ve got James now. We’re getting married.” She stroked the photo on the stone, then left.
That night, Emily dreamt of Gran. They stood in a field of daisies. Warmth radiated from Gran’s smile.
“Thank you, love, for Maisie. You’ve a kind heart—I always knew. Don’t fret. I’m not angry. I loved you most in all the world. And James is a good man—I’m sure of it. Be happy. I must go now—you can’t follow.” She vanished.
Emily woke, her heart light. A new day dawned. In a week, she’d marry James.
