One Simple Request
Long ago, I learned that Granny had moved from a neighbour, Mrs. Kent. Every year on her birthday, I would visit, bringing a cake and a bag of fresh plumsshe adored them. I stopped at the entrance, fumbling for my ringing phone, when Mrs. Kent, from the ground floor, called out to me:
Lucy, is that you? Your Grannys moved, you know!
Strictly speaking, she wasnt my grandmother, but the grandmother of my former husband. We met at university, at a time when Tom was still living with his Granny. When he took me to meet her, I was so nervous, knowing shed be judging me. Toms parents had passed away when he was just five, so Granny raised him alone. But my worries were unnecessaryshe welcomed me as if I were her own granddaughter.
Tom and I married in our fifth year at university, and Granny gave us an unbelievable wedding presenta one-bedroom flat. It was on the outskirts, on the top floor, and had no balcony, but it was ours. Shed saved money her whole life, not wanting to interfere in the young couples affairs.
I had never had anything truly my own. My stepfather always watched to make sure I didnt take more than his children, scolded if I drank too much water, or used too much electricity. At seventeen, I took a job waitressing and rented a tiny room that was little more than a cupboard. I didnt qualify for a dormitory; my registration was local. To me, that one-bedroom flat was a palace.
But I didnt live there long. A year after we married, I came home early from my shifthoping to make breakfast for Tomand found a blonde woman in our bed. She puffed smoke up at the ceiling, and I could hear the shower running. She wasnt embarrassed at all, merely covered herself with the throw Granny had given us for Christmas.
That was the end of the five-year relationship. I didnt raise a fuss; Tom and I divorced quietly. Naturally, the flat stayed with him; I never insisted otherwise, though the blonde, who accompanied Tom at every stage of the divorce, hissed loudly: Get a written statement from hershell get pregnant by a cabbie and go after your home!
Where did Granny move to? I asked, ending the call.
To your old flat! Tom and his wife are expecting; they swapped with her.
Concern grew in meGranny had trouble walking after her hip fracture, and that flat was on the top floor with no lift. How would Granny manage? The day before I stumbled on the blonde, Tom and I had agreed to move in with Granny to care for her. Now, Granny would be alone in a place where she knew no one? Here, the whole building cared for her; someone was always around to help.
The news about the baby hurt, too. Tom had never wanted children with me; he said he needed time for himself.
Thank you, Mrs. Kent.
I had to walk to the bus stop and travel forty minutes, hanging onto a battered rail and trying not to let the cake get shaken.
Returning to the flat where, for a year, I had felt the happiest in the world was hard. I followed my old route, noticing small changesa new shop sign, a fenced-off plot… In the courtyard, a brand new playground had been added, and a six-year-old boy sat beside a puddle, dipping his bare feet.
Im at the beach! he called out brightly.
I smiled, and handed him a chocolate bar from my pocket.
Enjoy, Robinson!
Granny, of course, acted as if it had all been her idea.
Tom will visit, get my groceries if I need, take me to the doctor, she explained.
When did he last come? I asked.
Just yesterday.
But I knew Granny was fibbing; the bin under the sink was overfilled and bread was rock-hard.
Let me pop to the shop, I need to get cheese anyway I offered, though the cheese was just a pretext.
Granny protested, but I insisted. When I left, I purposely forgot my umbrella, so that Id have a reason to come back soon and another excuse to run errands. Granny resisted at first, saying not to worryTom visits herbut one autumn I caught a cold and stayed away for a week, fearing to infect her. She rang me herself, gently asking when Id visit.
Visiting so often was a challenge, so I solved it differently: I made a deal with the playground boy. For fifty pounds a week, he took out the rubbish daily, and I arranged grocery deliveries, even buying Granny a smartphone and teaching her to use the app. Tom always said Granny wouldnt manage, but she did. I visited weekly, sometimes more, sometimes less. Granny seemed to forget Tom had ever been my husband, boasting about his new child and cooing over videos he sent to her on her new phone.
Have you met the great-grandchild? I asked.
Oh, heavens, hes far too little!
She was right; only for the first birthday did the child visit. Granny asked me to withdraw a hundred pounds from her account for a present. So I kept track of all Toms visitshis birthday, the childs birthday, Christmas, and once in April, probably his wifes birthday. On every special day, Granny took a hefty sum from her card for a gift.
She tried to press money on me, too, but I always refused.
Ill be terribly upset with you, I told her.
One day Granny said:
All right. But then promise me youll grant me just one request. I wont bother you with money anymore.
What is it?
Ill tell you later.
Whenever that may be, I agreed.
When Pavvy came into my life, Granny was the first to know. I barely spoke to my mothershed taken to drinking with my stepfather and only scolded me, calling me a failure.
Let a bloke with a flat go! How dim can you be? Youll spend your life squeezed in cupboard rooms!
Pavvy didnt have a flat, but promised to work for one. He was five years younger, and I turned him down many times before finally agreeing. He was kind, cheerful, and his family welcomed me instantly. They lived in a house outside the city, and apart from Pavvy, there were five brothers.
I couldnt manage a seventh, Pavvys mother told me with a sad smile. Ill wait for a granddaughter, then. What about youchildren, or are you a career woman?
I want children, I confessed.
Good, then Im looking forward to a granddaughter. Pavvys our most sensible; the others are still rascals!
We married quietly, with no celebration, and spent our savings on a trip. I fretted over Granny being alone, but there was nothing to do.
It turned out my worries were justified. No one really knew how it happenedperhaps she felt unwell and went for help, or maybe tried to take the rubbish out herself She was found on the stairs, already cold.
I knew I couldn’t grieve too hardI had just taken a test and was overjoyed, planning to tell Granny the news. But how could I not cry? If only I hadnt left, nothing would have happened! I didnt even make it to her funeral; Tom never told me, though he knew we were close. Still, I couldnt bring myself to call him and argue.
A few days later, Tom’s wife rang.
Think youre clever? Well challenge it in court, prove she wasnt in her right mind when she wrote that!
I had no idea what she was shouting about. She raged, called me names, and only at the end did I realise they meant some flat.
The next day, the notary called me, asking me to come and read Grannys will. Granny had left a letter for me, too.
I read that letter, eyes brimming with tears. So many kind wordsher thanks felt undeserved, for I hadnt done it for gratitude, but because I truly loved her as family. There was no one else for me to love. Here is that request I mentioned: accept this flat as my gift. I have nothing else to thank you with.
I assumed Granny meant the flat she lived in, but the notary clarified: she meant the two-bedroom flat where Tom and his wife lived. The one-bedroom was in Toms nameGranny had gifted it to him.
I asked for time to think, and discussed it with Pavvy. I didnt want a flatcalls and threats would drive me mad; I didnt want to lose my own child over it. But ignoring Grannys wish felt wrong. We debated for ages and reached a shared decision.
Tom and his wife were called to the notary, following advice. The notary told me I was naive, but didnt dispute my plan.
Toms wife flew at me, and would have hit me if Pavvy hadnt stood by; she poured out venom, threatened.
Enough! Tom snapped suddenly. She earned it, caring for Granny the last three years.
For a moment, I lost my wordsId prepared a speech for Tom.
There’s nothing to discuss. Well move our things and vacate the flat, he said, refusing to look at me.
Then I set out my plan: I didnt want to break up their home, the one-bedroom on the outskirts would do. Everything had been discussed with the notary; we only needed Toms agreement.
For the first time, Tom lifted his eyes. He looked ashamed.
His wife quieted instantly, demanding coffee and biscuitsshe was tired, should have been told upfront and not troubled.
My daughter was born soon after. I named her Sophie, after Granny. And oh, how delighted Pavvys mother was! More granddaughters would come, but Sophie would always be the most cherished.
© Hello, SadnessYears passed, and Sophie learned to toddle across our two bright rooms, scattering her wooden blocks in sunlit patches. I hung Grannys knitted throw over the back of our sofasometimes, when the windows rattled with autumn wind, Sophie would curl beneath it and Id tell her stories about a woman who loved plums and gave away everything, except her one simple request.
On Sophies fifth birthday, I baked a cake topped with sugared plums and we carried it to the playground near the old flat. The boy with sand-stained feet was taller now, but still greeted us with a wave. Pavvy, grinning, pushed Sophie on the swing, and I watched how laughter echoed around the courtyard, as if Grannys spirit was mingling with all of us, trailing after each memory we made.
Sometimes Tom would pass by, hands in his pockets, and nod. We spoke little, but the bitterness faded like dust swept from the corners. Life, I learned, was the sum of small kindnesses: left umbrellas, forgotten promises, and one simple requestanswered with love.
As the sun dipped and Sophies hands grew sticky with cake, I felt Grannys warmth beside me, a lifetimes worth of care folded gently into today. I was no longer the lonely girl in a cupboard room; I was home.
