Shadows of Care: The Drama of Emily and Her Family
Emily lay in a hospital bed in a small infirmary in Manchester, her face pale but her eyes glowing with relief. Her friend Sophie bustled into the room, clutching a bag of fruit.
“You scared us half to death, Em!” Sophie exclaimed, plopping onto the bed. “How could you put up with it for so long? What if they hadn’t got you here in time?”
Emily offered a weak smile, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Sorry, Soph. It all happened so fast—I didn’t think it was serious. Honestly, I thought I’d tough it out. Thank goodness it’s over now. How’s Gran? Is James managing with her? She’s been so fussy lately.”
“Everything’s fine, Em, don’t worry,” Sophie reassured her. “Gran’s alive, fed, and looked after. Just grumbling, as usual.”
“Thanks for stepping in with her, Soph,” Emily squeezed her friend’s hand. “I owe you one.”
“Owe me? Don’t be daft!” Sophie laughed, though there was a knowing glint in her eye. “Honestly, I rush over with a bowl of soup, all worried Gran’s starving, and what do I find? Absolute chaos!”
“What chaos?” Emily frowned, not following.
“Do you have any idea how panicked we all were?” Sophie pressed, her voice trembling. “What were you thinking, Em? Suffering in silence and nearly landing yourself in real trouble!”
Emily, still shaky from surgery, lay tucked under the thin hospital blanket, mustering a faint smile.
“Sorry, Soph. It crept up on me. I thought it’d pass. Honestly, I nearly waved goodbye to this world. But it’s done now—I’ll be home soon. Gran’s there, and James is on his own with her. She’s been so demanding.”
“Don’t fret, love—it’s all sorted at home,” Sophie said gently. “Gran’s fine: fed, scrubbed, moaning—business as usual.”
“Soph, you’re an angel!” Emily shot her a grateful look. “No idea how we’d manage without you.”
“Oh, stop it!” Sophie waved a hand, smirking. “Credit where it’s due—your James is a proper saint! Always knew he was a keeper, but this? Respect. I dash over with my soup, ready for a disaster, and what do I walk into?”
“What?” Emily’s heart skipped.
“This!” Sophie’s eyes widened dramatically. “The whole flat smells of beef stew! Gran’s lying there, clean as a whistle, fed, and grinning like the Queen herself! I barely had time to put the soup down before James shooed me off—’No need, Soph, all under control.’”
“Wait—him?” Emily gasped.
“Him, Em! I nearly dropped my Tupperware! I asked, ‘How on earth did you get her changed? She won’t let anyone but you near her!’ And he just shrugs—’Gran and I reached an understanding.’ I peek in, and there she is—spotless, even smiling! Crying over you, of course. I calmed her down, told her you’re fine.”
Emily shut her eyes, cheeks burning with shame. Fancy leaving James to deal with Gran—and him stepping up without a single complaint! He hadn’t breathed a word when he called earlier. She’d asked, “Did Sophie stop by? She promised to help.” He’d just murmured, “She did. All fine, don’t worry.” Even Gran, when Emily spoke to her, kept quiet—just wept and asked after her health.
Emily had lived with Gran in their creaky Manchester flat since she was ten. First with her parents, of course, till they decided their marriage was a mistake. Dad vanished abroad after the divorce, remarried, sent money on time but forgot a daughter needed more than cheques. Mum moved on fast—new husband, two sons, and Emily somehow faded into the background.
When the dust settled, there was no room for her in their new lives. Mum and stepdad moved to Leeds, and Emily stayed with Gran, who’d said bluntly:
“Like it or not, it’s you and me now. Rule one: we help each other—no one else is queueing up. Your parents have scarpered, and we’ve nowhere else to go.”
Emily hadn’t minded. Gran was stern but fair, only bickered for principle, always using her full name: “Emily Grace, this isn’t how things are done!”
Mum remembered her when the boys were older. Started calling, urging, “Come to Leeds, Em—better opportunities here!” Emily, finishing school, nearly bolted—till Gran stopped her:
“Go on then, off you hop! Just think—why now? Free babysitter, maybe? Finish your exams first. Then decide.”
Emily stayed. Mum hung up in a huff. By the time exams were over, the invite had expired: “Too late, Em. Should’ve come when needed. Stay put with Gran.”
So she did. University, a job, then James. No shotgun wedding—just certainty he was her person. Parents showed for the registry office, momentarily united, even proud.
They’d lived together barely a year, renting a flat to spare Gran’s nerves (though she’d griped, “You’re no bother!”). Then Gran had a stroke—refused carers (“Strangers wiping me? I’d rather die!”)—so they moved back in. Gran turned prickly, snapping, especially during baths: “Look at me—granddaughter cleaning my mess!” James got it worse. Once, offering lunch help, she’d shrieked, “Men don’t belong in my washing! Out, before I fetch my stick!”
Emily’s stomach pains started two days pre-hospital. Pills helped—until they didn’t. Colleagues nagged, “A&E, now!” but she’d shrugged, “It’s fine.” An hour later, an ambulance. Appendicitis.
Sophie rang James immediately: “Your wife’s in hospital—how’d you miss this?!” He’d rushed over, only to be sent home: “All done, she’s sleeping.” Back at Gran’s, he’d stood firm:
“Margaret Mary, listen. Emily’s had surgery—appendix. She’s fine, but needs rest. We messed up, not pushing her to see a doctor. Now, no fuss—I’m your carer till she’s back. Refuse, and it’s Sophie evenings only, or strangers. Take your pick.”
Gran wept silently. Her granddaughter’s husband, tending to her! But James was firm:
“Nothing to gawk at. My grandad was poorly—whole family pitched in. No shame in needing help.”
When Sophie arrived with soup, James had already fed, dressed, and tidied. By Emily’s discharge, Gran had thawed, even smiling at her return:
“You picked a good one, Em. If he’ll put up with me, he’ll stick by you through anything. Even childbirth—that man won’t flinch.”
