The Rules of Summer
When the train screeched to a halt at the low platform, Margaret Button was already standing right at the edge, clutching a canvas tote to her chest. Inside, apples rolled back and forth, a small jar of raspberry jam, and a Tupperware box with pasties. None of it, truthfully, was necessarythe grandchildren arrived well-fed from London, with rucksacks and shopping bags bursting with snacks, but her hands wouldnt rest unless theyd prepared something.
The carriages thudded; the doors flung open, and three forms tumbled out: tall, bony Daniel, his younger sister Grace, and a backpack that seemed to have its own agenda.
Gran! Grace spotted her first and waved so hard her bangles rattled.
Margaret felt something warm welling up in her throat. She gently set her bag on the ground, avoiding a tumble, and spread her arms.
Oh, look at how you She wanted to say how youve grown, but bit back the words. They knew, of course.
Daniel strode up more slowly, slinging one arm around her, clutching his bag with the other.
Hey, Gran, he said.
He was nearly a head taller than she was now, with bristled chin and narrow wrists, wires from earbuds curling out from under his T-shirt. Margaret caught herself looking for the little boy who used to sprint through their garden in wellies, but instead found shadows cast by the grown-up.
Granddads waiting, just down there, she said. Come on, or the meatballsll go cold.
Let me just take a photo, piped Grace, phone already in hand, snapping the platform, the train, and Margaret herself. For my stories.
The word stories zipped past Margarets ear like a sparrow. Shed asked her daughter about it last winter, got an answer, but it had fluttered away again. The main thing was her granddaughter was smiling.
They descended the concrete steps. By the battered old Land Rover, Stanley Button waited. He rose to meet them, gave Daniels shoulder a clap, hugged Grace, nodded at his wife. He was always more reserved, but Margaret knew he was no less pleased than she.
School holidays? he asked, with a twitch of a smile.
Holiday, Daniel echoed, lobbing his bag into the boot.
On the drive home, the children were quiet. The countryside slipped past the windowsscattered cottages, vegetable plots, here and there a sheep. Grace flicked and scrolled through her phone; Daniel laughed at one point, eyes glued to the screen, and Margaret found herself watching their fingers, always brushing those black rectangles.
Never mind, she whispered inwardly. So long as it feels like home here. They can do whatever it is they do nowadays.
The house greeted them with the smell of sizzling meatballs and dill. On the porch, the old wooden table was set, a vinyl cloth patterned with lemons stretched over its creases. On the stove, the frying pan hissed; in the oven, a cabbage pie was finishing up.
Whoa, feast! Daniel said, peeking into the kitchen.
Its not a feastits just dinner, Margaret replied automatically, then caught herself. Well, in you go, wash your hands. The basins just there.
Grace was back on her phone already. As Margaret laid out salad, bread, the pasties and meatballs, she glimpsed her granddaughter photographing everythingthe plates, the window, the tabby cat Tilly, arching cautiously from beneath a chair.
We dont keep phones at the table, Margaret mentioned, as though absent-mindedly, once everyone sat down.
Daniel blinked up. What do you mean?
Exactly what was said, Stanley chimed in, not looking up from his plate. Eat firstthen scroll as much as you like.
Grace hesitated, flipped her phone over, face-down beside her plate. Just wanted to snap
You did already, pet, Margaret said gently. Now, lets eatand you can post afterwards.
The word post sounded strange on her tongue, uncertain. She didnt know what the latest term was; she hoped it would suffice.
Daniel, frowning slightly, put his phone at the end of the table, as if asked to remove a space helmet in an alien land.
Hereeverythings on schedule, Margaret continued carefully, pouring squash. Lunch at one, tea at seven. In the morning, up no later than nine. After thatrun wild, as you like.
Nine oclock? Daniel moaned. What if Im up watching something?
Nights for sleeping, Stanley replied, still without looking up.
A thin string of tension paused between them. Margaret hurried, Were not a boarding school, not really. Its just, if you sleep the day away, youll miss everything. Weve got the river, the woods, the bikes
I want the river, Grace broke in quickly. And to ride the bike. And do a photo shoot in the orchard.
The phrase photo shoot sounded more natural now.
Perfect, Margaret nodded. But first, we help a bit. Potatoes to weed, strawberries to water. This isnt a hotel.
Gran, were on holiday Daniel kicked off, but Stanley looked up sharply.
Holiday, yeah. Not a health resort.
Daniel sighed and bit his tongue. Grace nudged his trainer under the table; he smirked, a shared secret.
After lunch, the children vanished to unpack. Margaret peeked in half an hour later. Grace had her shirts draped over the chair, makeup bag and chargers neatly arranged, bottles lined on the windowsill. Daniel sprawled on the duvet, phone in hand, finger swiping.
I put on fresh bedding, she said. If you need anythinglet me know.
All good, Gran, he replied, eyes glued to the screen.
That all good stung, sharp and flat. But she only nodded.
Well barbecue tonight, she said. But after youve had a rest, come out in the garden. Just an hour or two.
Right, said Daniel, barely looking up.
She stepped out, paused in the shadowed corridor. Laughter drifted from Graces room; she was showing someone her things on video. Margaret suddenly felt old. Not creaky-boned old, but separated, like her grandchildren moved in a hidden layer of life shed never quite reach.
Never mind, she told herself. Well muddle through. Just dont press too hard.
That evening, golden light falling low, they all stood amongst the vegetable beds. The earth was warm, dry grass shifting underfoot. Stanley pointed out seedlings and weeds.
Pull this, leave that, he instructed Grace.
What if I mess up? She knelt, wincing.
Nothing fatal, Margaret cut in. This isnt the Ministry of Agriculturewell survive.
Daniel lingered near the fence, hands on a hoe, eyeing the house. In his room, a blue glow flashed faintlythe monitor left on.
Not going to lose your phone, are you? Stanley asked.
Left it upstairs, Daniel grunted.
For some reason, that pleased Margaret more than shed admit.
The first days floated past in a fragile balance. In the morning, Margaret rapped doors, the children groaning and turning over, but always up by half-past nine. They had breakfast together, helped around the house, then peeled off: Grace did photo shoots with Tilly and the strawberries, posting somewhere invisible; Daniel read, listened to music, or biked to the woods.
Little rules kept it running. Phones away at meals. Quiet at night. Only once, on the third night, did Margaret wake to hushed laughter behind the wall. Half past midnight.
Should I let it go, or check? she wondered, lying awake.
The laughter tinkled again, then a familiar ping of a voice message. She sighed, donned her dressing gown, knocked gently.
Dan, not sleeping?
Laughter cut off, hush.
Yeahone sec, came a whisper.
He opened the door, squinting in the halls light. Red-eyed, hair at odd angles, phone clutched in paw.
Why awake, love? Margaret kept her voice light.
I was watching a film.
At this hour?
We all agreed to start it together, me and my mateswe chat as we watch
She pictured other teenagers, scattered across town in dark rooms, tapping furiously about the same film.
Tell you what, she said, not cross. Watchings fine by me, but if you arent asleep at night, youre a goner in the morningand you wont come help in the garden! Can we agreemidnights curfew. After that: bed.
He pulled a face.
But they
Theyre in the city, youre with us. Our turf, our rules. Im not saying nine oclock bedtime.
He hesitated, scratching his head.
Alright, he relented. Till midnight.
And close the door, keep the light down, she added softly.
Retreating to bed, she wondered if she was too soft. Should she be tougher, as she had been with her own daughter? But times were different. Something stopped her.
Small battles cropped up in odd corners. On one roasting morning, Margaret asked Daniel to help Stanley shift planks to the shed.
Just a sec, he said, eyes glued to his phone.
Ten minutes later, he was still on the porch; the planks, untouched.
Dan, Granddads started without you, she said, voice hardening.
Ill just finish this message, then go, he muttered.
Whats all this about? The world wont end if you stop messaging for five minutes!
He looked up, affronted.
Its important, he snapped. Were in a tournament.
What sort of tournament?
In a game. Team thing. If I leave, they lose.
She wanted to lecture himreal life matters more than games!but saw his shoulders tense, lips pressed tight.
How long left?
Twenty minutes.
Right. Twenty minutes, then you help. Deal?
He nodded, sank back into his phone. Twenty minutes later, as she stepped outside, he was already lacing his trainers.
Im going, Im going, he muttered, not waiting for her cue.
It was these little agreements that gave Margaret a measure of hope, a sense that they had sway stilluntil, of course, some days nothing worked.
It was mid-July when everything unravelled. They planned for the market: plants and groceries to fetch, and Stanley had said he needed help with the bagsnot to leave the car too long.
Dan, youre off with Granddad tomorrow, Margaret said at tea. Ill be here with Grace, making jam.
I cant, he replied at once.
Why ever not?
Im meant to be in town with friends. Theres a festivalmusic, food stalls He glanced at Grace for support, but she just shrugged. I told you.
She didnt recall. Maybe he hadshed forgotten. Thered been so much chatter lately.
What town? Stanleys brow furrowed.
Our local one. We get the train, just by the station.
He clearly did not like the word just.
You know that route?
Therell be loads of us! And Im sixteen, you know.
That sixteen sounded like an incantation against all doubts.
We promised your dad you wouldnt be wandering off alone, Stanley said gruffly.
Im not alone. Ive got mates!
Thats just as bad.
Margaret felt the tension humming close, like the kitchen air thickening. Grace finished her pasta and quietly edged her plate away.
Maybe Margaret started, maybe if you two swapyou and Grace go with Granddad, and Ill do the jam.
The markets only tomorrow, Stanley shot back. And I need a hand. Not hauling it all by myself.
Ill help, Grace chimed in unexpectedly.
Youre with your Gran, he responded automatically.
Ill cope, Margaret said. Jam can wait. Let Grace go with you.
Stanley stared at her. Surprise, gratitude, and something stubborn swirled in his gaze.
And Dans free as a bird then? he said with a tilt of his head.
I just Daniel started.
Do you understand this isnt the city? Stanleys voice sharpened. Were responsible for you here.
Someones always responsible! Daniel burst out. Cant I make my own choice, just once?
Silence stretched like cloth torn in two. Margaret felt something folding tight inside her. She wanted to say she understoodremembering her own urge to break out, oncebut instead she heard her voice, dry and foreign:
While youre under our roof, you follow our rules.
He shoved his chair back sharply.
Fine then, he spat. Im not going anywhere.
He stomped off; a thud broke overheadeither the bag on the floor, or himself hitting the bed.
Evening was tense. Grace attempted light conversation about some influencer, but her laughter sounded hollow. Stanley peered at his plate, silent. Margaret scrubbed dishes, words echoing: our rules, banging about in her head like a spoon in a glass.
Night came, too still. The house usually creaked, the odd mouse in the loft, a distant car passing. Now, absolute quiet. She listened. No light under Daniels door.
Maybe hell finally get some sleep, she thought, rolling over.
By morning, at a quarter to nine, Grace was already at the kitchen table, yawning. Stanley sipped tea, rustling the newspaper.
Wheres Daniel? Margaret asked.
Asleep, probably, Grace suggested.
Margaret climbed the stairs, rapped on Daniels door.
Dan, up you get.
No answer. She opened the door. The bed was made, in Daniels haphazard way, but empty. Hoodie slung over a chair. Charger on the desk. Phone missing.
A hole opened in her chest.
Hes not there, she said, heading back down.
Not there? Stanley rose sharply.
Beds cold. Took his phone.
Maybe hes just stepped out, Grace said hopefully.
They checked the garden. No sign by the shed, nor in the veg patch. The bike stood untouched.
The 8:40 train Stanley muttered, glancing towards the lane.
Margaret felt ice in her hands.
Maybe hes just found friends in the village
What friends? He doesnt know anyone here.
Grace impulsively whipped out her own phone.
Ill text him.
Her fingers beat at the glass. A moment. She frowned.
Hes not reading. Only one tick.
One tick meant nothing to Margaret, but from Graces face, she knew it was bad.
What now? she asked Stanley quietly.
He hesitated.
Ill go to the station, he said. See if hes spotted.
Wait, he might
He left without a word, Stanley cut her off. Thats not nothing.
He dressed, pocketed the keys.
You stay here, he told her. If he comes back. Grace, message the second he replies or calls.
Once the car disappeared, Margaret stayed planted on the porch, clutching a tea towel. Images wheeled in her mind: Daniel lost on the platform, getting on the wrong train, someone shoving him, dropping his phone, wandering She shook herself.
Steady now. He isnt a child. He isnt a fool.
An hour crept by. Then another. Grace checked her phone again and again. Nothing.
Its silent, she said helplessly. Not even online.
Stanley returned by eleven, face drawn.
No ones seen him, he said dully. I went up to the ticket office. Nothing
He trailed off. Margaret understoodthe search yielded nothing.
Maybe hes gone to that festival, she said quietly.
With what money? Stanley bit back.
Hes got his cardon his phone! Grace interjected.
They exchanged glances. For them, money was leather and coin; for the young, numbers floating in the ether.
Shall I phone his dad? Margaret asked.
Do, Stanley nodded. Itll come out anyway.
The call was painful. Her son silent, then angry, then demanding to know why they hadnt kept an eye out. Margaret felt the tiredness rise, gripping her ribs. After, she sat on a stool, hid her face in her hands.
Gran, Grace whispered, hes not missing. Hesreallyjust upset is all.
Upset and gone, Margaret murmured. Like were the enemies.
The day dragged like wet wool. They tried to keep busy: Grace made jam, Stanley tinkered with tools, but nothing really held the mind. Graces phone remained mute.
By evening, as daylight hung lemon-pale over the apple trees, a scuffling noise came from the porch. Margaret jolted, teacup sloshing. A gate creaked. Daniel appeared in the gap.
He was in the same T-shirt, jeans scruffy, rucksack slung over one shoulder. His face was tired. But he was intact.
Hey, he said quietly.
Margaret stood. For a moment, she wanted to rush and embrace him, but something held her back. All she managed was,
Where have you been?
In town, he replied, eyes lowered. To the festival.
Alone?
With some friends. Wellsort of alone. Theyre from the next village. I messaged them.
Stanley appeared, drying his hands.
Do you know what you put us through he began, but his voice cracked.
I tried to text, Daniel said quickly. I lost reception. Then my phone died. I forgot the charger.
Grace stood by his shoulder, phone still in her hand.
I texted you too, she said. One tick.
It wasnt on purpose, Daniel looked at them, one by one. I just I knew you wouldnt let me, if I asked. But Id already said Id meet them, and
He trailed off.
So you decided not to ask at all, Stanley finished quietly.
Silence stretched between them. Now, though, it was a tired silence.
Come inside, Margaret said at last. Have something to eat.
Daniel slipped quietly into the kitchen, slumped at the table. Margaret ladled out soup, sliced some bread, poured squash. His eating was hungry, desperate.
Its all expensive, he mumbled. Thoseyourfood stalls
The word your sounded odd, but she let it lie.
Afterwards, they returned to the porch as the last sunlight bled from the eaves, coolness settling in.
Heres how it is, Stanley said, settling onto the bench. You want freedomwe get it. But its on us if something goes wrong. We cant ignore it, not here.
Daniel stared stubbornly at the grass.
If you want to go off somewhere, Stanley went on, tell us ahead. Not the night before, but a full day. We talkfigure out how to get you home, whos going, what time. If we say yes, fine, enjoy. If not, you stay home. No disappearing, alright?
And if you say no? Daniel muttered.
Then youre grumpybut you stay, Margaret butted in. And were grumpy, but take you to the shops.
He looked at her then. His eyes carried wounded pride, weariness, a hint of uncertainty.
I didnt want to make you worry, he said softly. I just wanted to decide for myself.
Decidings good, Margaret said. But responsibilitys not just about leaving the house. Its also what you do to people who care.
Her words surprised heralmost plain, not a lecture.
He sighed.
Alright. Understood.
One more, Stanley added. If your phone dies, you find somewhere to top up. Café, station, doesnt matter. First chance you have, text or ring us. Even if were cross.
Daniel nodded. They sat in companionable silence, a dog barking on the lane, Tilly cat mewing from the bean rows.
How was the festival? Grace asked suddenly.
Alright, he admitted. Music wasnt great, but the food wasnt bad.
Pictures?
Phone died.
Oh, great, Grace rolled her eyes. No proof, no content.
He managed a brief smile.
From then on, things shifted. The rules hung about, but turned gentle, flexible. That night, Margaret and Stanley wrote their own listup before ten, help for two hours a day, always let them know if going out, no phones at the table. They stuck it up with a magnet on the fridge.
Like camp, Daniel grumbled.
Family camp, Margaret replied.
Grace suggested rules in return.
You cant call me every five minutes if Im at the river, she said. You dont come straight into my room, either.
We dont, Margaret said, maybe a little taken aback.
Write it down, too, Daniel cut in. Fairs fair.
Two more lines were added. Stanley grumbled but signed.
Gradually, they found things to do together. One evening, Grace unearthed an old board game, a relic from their parents childhoods.
Lets play tonight, she suggested.
I played it all the time as a kid, Daniel said, eyes brightening.
Stanley grumbled about the garage, but took his seat anyway. He still knew the rules best. They cheered, accused each other of cheating, slipped each other counters. Nobody bothered with phones.
Cooking became a team activity. One day, tired of the endless cry of whats for dinner? Margaret announced,
You two can cook Saturday. Ill just show you where things are.
Us? Daniel and Grace barked together.
You. Pasta or fish fingersI really dont mind. As long as its edible.
They set to the task with unexpected intensity. Grace rustled up a recipe for something trendy on her phone; Daniel chopped veg, arguing over the method. The kitchen smelled of onion and spice, mountains of washing up stacked, but the air was light, festive.
Just dont mind if we end up queueing for the loo after, Stanley muttered, but finished every last bite.
The garden found a compromise, too. Instead of nagging daily, Margaret proposed private patches.
This rows yours, she told Grace, pointing to the strawberry bed. And this she waved at a line of carrotsis for Daniel. Do what you will: water, weedor dont. But in the end, dont complain if nothing grows.
Experiment, Daniel declared.
Control and test groups, Grace added.
In the end, Grace checked on her strawberries nightly, photographing and posting my garden. Daniel watered his carrots once or twice, then forgot. At harvest, Graces bowl brimmed; Daniels, a paltry handful.
So, Margaret asked, any conclusions?
Carrots arent for me, Daniel deadpanned.
They all laughed. This time, the laughter came easily.
By summers end, the house ticked to its own rhythm. Mornings were shared, days diffused; evenings saw them together at the table. Daniel would sometimes stay up late, but by midnight switched his light off without reminderMargaret, passing his door, heard only the hush of sleep. Grace ventured with a friend to the river, always texting where she was, when shed return.
Occasional squabbles arose: over music, salt, whether washing up could wait till morningbut these were not epic battles. More the slow fitting together of people under one roof.
On the last night, Margaret baked an apple tart. The air hummed with sweetness, the porch drew in a cool breeze. Bags lined the bench, ready to go.
Can we get a picture? Grace asked, as the tart was sliced.
Must we, with your Stanley started, but trailed off.
Just for us, she insisted. We dont have to share it anywhere.
They went out into the garden. The sun slanted behind the roofs, catching the tops of the apple trees. Grace set the phone on an upturned bucket, switched on the timer, ran to join them.
Gran in the middle, she directed. Granddad to the right, Daniel to the left.
They lined upawkward, shoulders brushing. Margaret felt Daniels arm just touch her elbow; Stanley shuffled closer on the other side. Grace looped an arm round their waists.
Smile! she called.
The shutter snapped. Then again.
Thats it, Grace called, checking the screen, a satisfied grin on her face.
Lets see, Margaret asked.
On the tiny screen, they looked jumbled and wonkyher with apron still on, Stanley in his weathered check shirt, Daniels hair all wild, Grace in her neon teebut there was something binding them together.
Can I have that picture printed? Margaret asked.
Of course, Grace nodded. Ill send it to you.
But how do I print it if its just on your phone? Margaret wondered aloud.
Ill help, Daniel said. Come stay with usyoull see. Or Ill bring it down in the autumn.
She nodded, a calmness settling in. Not because everything was understood between themthere would be plenty more arguments yetbut because somewhere, between rules and freedom, theyd found a little pathway to walk back and forth on.
Late that night, when the house slept, Margaret stepped onto the porch. The sky glimmered, faint stars hanging over slanted rooves. The house was quiet and close about her. She sat on the step, drawing her knees to her chest.
Stanley joined her, lowering himself beside her with a sigh.
Theyll be off in the morning, he said.
They will, she echoed.
A gentle hush.
Not too bad, in the end, he mused.
No, she agreed softly. And maybewe all learnt a little.
Who taught who, I wonder, he chuckled.
She smiled. In Daniels window, darkness. In Graces, the same. Somewhere beside Daniels bed, she imagined, the phone charging in silence, growing strong for tomorrow.
Margaret went in, bolted the door, and as she passed the fridge glanced at the rule sheet. Its corners curled, the pen lying beside it. She ran her finger over the scrawled signatures, and thought, quite suddenly, that next summer, the sheet might be rewritten. Tweaked, changedand the real things wouldnt change.
She switched off the kitchen light and went upstairs, feeling the house breathe quietly, storing up the summer and making room for whatever might come next.
