Shadows of Old Times: A Drama in Pinevale
“How quickly life has flown by, all these years. And how little we matter to our grown children now,” Elena’s voice trembled, her eyes filling with tears. She didn’t want to hear any more—her heart ached too much.
Elena had raised three children, all long gone from their family home in Pinevale. The eldest, Edward, moved abroad with his family when he was young. Since then, he hadn’t visited even once. Only photographs, the occasional letter, and holiday greetings reminded her of him. Elena kept every card, every picture carefully. On winter evenings, she’d sift through them, rereading her own letters: “Son, your father and I miss you so much. Please come visit, just once—let us meet your wife and grandchildren…” But Edward never had time—too busy with his own life, his own worries.
The middle child, Charlotte, married a military man. They moved often and had just one child. Sometimes Charlotte visited Pinevale, but the trips were rare and short. Elena’s husband, Peter, admired his son-in-law, Anthony, and was happy for Charlotte—her glowing eyes proved she was content. Elena, too, felt at ease; her daughter had found her place.
But the youngest, Eleanor, was alone. After a village wedding, she had a son, but the marriage collapsed. Back then, Elena had advised her, “Go to the city, love. What’s waiting for you here? You’re young, pretty—you’ll make a new life.” Eleanor listened, leaving little Oliver with her mothers before taking sewing courses and quickly finding work in the city. Later, she brought her son to live with her. “He’s better off here,” she’d say. “Good schools, clubs nearby—he won’t be bored.” Oliver clung to his grandmother’s skirt, crying, but who could argue with a mother’s choice?
“Just a week without me,” Elena told her husband. “I can’t stand it anymore—my heart hurts. I need to take a trip.” Peter meant to join her, but by autumn, he wasn’t feeling well. Elena packed bags full of homemade treats from the village. Peter saw her off at the train station before dawn. Three years had passed since their last visit—Oliver must have grown so much.
“Mum, why didn’t you warn me you were coming?” Eleanor greeted her, barely hiding her annoyance. “You could’ve called! I had to take time off work, pick Oliver up from school, rush for groceries. My whole day’s been wrecked since your text!”
“Sorry, love, I wanted to surprise you,” Elena said, hurrying from the bus stop. “You know how spotty the signal is back home…”
“Is something wrong? Did something happen? How old man?”
“Nothing’s wrong, just a bit under the weather—autumn colds. But we’re managing.”
Oliver opened the flat door. Goodness, how tall he’d grown! Broad-shouldered like his grandfather, with the same strong hands.
“Hello, darling!” Elena beamed, hugging him.
“Hi, Gran,” Oliver wriggled free, studying her carefully.
“Why didn’t you come meet me? I barely dragged these bags,” Elena chided, glancing at her daughter.
“We were getting things ready,” Eleanor replied. “Made lunch—you must be starving after the trip.”
Elena sighed—fine, if that’s how it was. Minutes later, she was on the phone with Peter:
“All good, love! They helped, no trouble! Don’t worry, we’re sitting down now. Eleanor’s cooked, smells wonderful. They all send hugs!”
At the table, Eleanor ladled out soup. “One sandwich or two, Mum?”
Elena, ravenous, could’ve eaten four—but seeing her daughter’s expression, she muttered, “Just put them out, I’ll help myself.”
Five small sandwiches sat on the plate. They each took one. Elena reached for a second but stopped—awkwardness crept in. She remembered cooking feasts for her children, especially at holidays, making sure they ate their fill. Now… Maybe money was tight? She could help—she and Peter had savings, and this year’s harvest was good.
She looked around the cozy flat—fresh paint, new furniture, a sleek telly in the lounge. Oliver’s room was small but neat, everything in its place.
“How long are you staying?” Eleanor asked, washing dishes.
“What, can’t wait for me to leave? Just got here!”
“No, but train tickets sell fast. I’ll go to the station tomorrow—best book your return now.”
Elena shrugged—so be it. That evening, she sat with Oliver, flipping through school photos and videos. Her heart swelled—what a clever boy he was. If only Peter could see. She’d ask Oliver to sign a card for him, at least.
Days passed. Each night, the air grew colder. Oliver locked himself in his room to study or dashed to a mate’s house for games. Eleanor worked late or met friends, coming home only to kick off her shoes and sleep. Elena ached for warmth—this wasn’t the reunion she’d imagined.
She called Peter and began packing. Passing Oliver’s room, she overheard Eleanor murmuring:
“Mum, when’s Uncle John coming? He promised to take me to the match.”
“Soon as Gran’s gone, love…”
“And when’s that, then?”
Elena succumbed to a sob, clutching her chest. Then she moved fast—bag stuffed, coat on—already at the door when Eleanor appeared.
“Where’re you off to? Your train’s not till tomorrow!”
“I’ll change the ticket. Oh, love… your father and I taught you better than this. I won’t tell him—he’d only fret. Thanks for the photos, he’d been wanting to see his grandson. Goodbye!”
The train ride passed quietly, her seat decent. Waiting overnight at the station, wrapped in an old scarf, hardly mattered. Staring through the dark window, she thought how swiftly life had slipped by. All the love, the care she and Peter poured into their children—and now they meant so little to them, busy with their own lives.
“Hello, love! How was the trip?” Peter called, meeting her at the station. “Been pacing all day—I’ve missed you so much I’ve lost weight!”
Elena hugged him tight, tears giving way to a frail smile. At least someone still waited. At least someone still needed her.
