**She Was There First**
Margaret Elizabeth woke at five in the morning, as usual. Forty years of factory shifts had left their mark, even though she’d been retired for three years now. Quietly, so as not to wake Harold James, she slipped into the kitchen and put the kettle on. Outside, it was still dark, but she knew dawn wasn’t far off.
Today was special. Today was the first of September, and her granddaughter Emily was starting Year One. Margaret was more nervous than the little girl herself. All week, she’d fussed over the school uniform, checked the rucksack, and counted the exercise books. Harold just shook his head and told her she was going round the bend.
“What’s all this fuss about?” he grumbled. “Our David managed just fine on his own back in the day.”
“I want to be there first,” Margaret replied. “First to meet her at the school gates, first to congratulate her.”
Harold didn’t understand his wife’s need to be there. To him, grandparents just got in the way. But Margaret remembered how, thirty years ago, she’d missed David’s first day—working double shifts, barely home before midnight. It was her own mother who’d taken him to the assembly while Margaret stood by the factory gates, crying into her hands.
“Don’t fret,” her neighbour Doris had told her back then. “Your boy’ll grow up, have children of his own, and you’ll make up for it then.”
Now was her chance.
The school uniforms were hung, the pencils sharpened, and the lunchbox packed with sandwiches and an apple. Margaret couldn’t shake the jittery feeling in her stomach. She barely slept a wink the night before, too busy imagining Emily in her little blazer and plaid skirt. Harold snuffled beside her, oblivious.
At seven, Margaret was already in the shower. She put on her best dress—the cornflower-blue one with white polka dots, reserved for special occasions—and dabbed on a bit of lipstick. In the mirror, a well-dressed woman with anxious eyes stared back.
“Blimey, you’re dressed like it’s a garden party,” Harold muttered, half-asleep.
“I want to look nice for Emily,” she said.
“You always do,” he mumbled into his pillow.
By half seven, David called.
“Mum, we’re setting off now. Emily’s nervous—hardly slept a wink.”
“Neither did I,” Margaret admitted. “I’m heading to the school now. I’ll wait for her.”
“Mum, the assembly doesn’t start till nine.”
“I know. But I want to be first.”
David sighed. He was used to his mother’s quirks by now. After Emily was born, Margaret had seemed ten years younger—taking her to the park, baking biscuits, spoiling her rotten. David and his wife Sarah could only watch in amazement.
“Alright, Mum. Just don’t catch a chill—it’s nippy out.”
Margaret grabbed the flowers she’d bought—three bouquets, just in case—and tucked a little bag of sweets into her handbag for Emily. The walk to the school took fifteen minutes, but she took her time, savouring the crisp morning air and the anticipation.
When she reached the gates, her heart sank. Another woman was already there, clutching a bouquet. Margaret recognised her—Agnes from down the road.
“Here for the assembly?” Margaret asked.
“My grandson’s starting today,” Agnes nodded. “You?”
“My granddaughter. Emily.”
They stood together, chatting about school, children, and how quickly time flew. Agnes had been a nurse at the local surgery before retiring.
“You know,” Agnes confided, “I always dreamed of seeing my grandson off to school. My daughter married late—I thought I’d never live to see the day.”
“Funny, isn’t it?” Margaret said. “I missed my boy’s first day—working all hours. Now I’m making up for it.”
More grandparents arrived, all smartly dressed, all clutching flowers. Each had their own reason for being there.
Then came Dorothy from the next street over, raising her granddaughter alone after her daughter passed in a car crash. The little girl, Sophie, was shy—Dorothy worried school would be hard for her.
“How’s Sophie holding up?” Margaret asked.
“Nervous. Says the other kids might laugh at her dress. But it’s lovely—I made it myself.”
“Kids are kinder than we think,” Agnes reassured her. “She’ll find her feet.”
An older man, Victor, joined them, holding a towering bunch of gladioli. His granddaughter, Grace, was adopted—a bright girl, already reading, but terribly shy.
“First days are tough,” Margaret said, smiling. “But children adapt fast.”
By half eight, parents and little ones began arriving. Margaret spotted David, Sarah, and Emily in her smart blazer and tartan skirt, her new rucksack bouncing as she walked.
“Nana!” Emily dashed toward her.
“My darling!” Margaret hugged her tight. “Nervous?”
“A bit. Why’d you come so early?”
“Wanted to be the first to see you, didn’t I?”
Emily clung to her hand. She’d always been closer to Margaret than to her parents—bookish evenings, baking days, secret sweets when no one was looking. David and Sarah worked long hours, but Margaret was always there.
“Thanks for coming, Mum,” David said. “She was so wound up this morning.”
Sarah nodded gratefully. Between bank shifts, she barely had time to breathe, let alone fuss over school runs.
“Nana, look at my bag!” Emily swung it around proudly.
“It’s smashing! What’ve you got in there?”
“Pencils, books, and biscuits!”
Margaret slipped the sweets into her hand. “A little bravery boost.”
Sarah frowned. “Mum, don’t spoil her—”
“Let it slide today,” David cut in. “It’s a big day.”
The schoolyard filled. Teachers scurried about, checking lists, while older students lined up for performances. Margaret spotted the new teacher—Miss Eleanor, fresh out of university, looking just as nervous as the children.
Assembly began. Speeches, songs, then the ringing of the first bell. Emily didn’t cry—just kept glancing back at Margaret, as if checking she was still there.
When the children filed inside, David urged Margaret to go home.
“We’ll fetch her later, tell you all about it.”
But Margaret lingered with the other grandparents, all too jittery to leave.
“Feels like we’re the ones starting school,” Dorothy chuckled.
“Aye,” Agnes agreed. “My hands won’t stop shaking.”
Victor lit a cigarette by the fence. “First time Grace has been without us. Hope she’s alright.”
Margaret nodded. “She’ll be fine.”
At midday, the doors burst open. Children spilled out, hunting for familiar faces. Emily spotted Margaret instantly and sprinted over.
“Nana! You waited!”
“Course I did. How was it?”
“Brilliant! Miss Eleanor’s nice, and I sat next to Sophie. We did counting and drawing lines.”
Margaret exhaled. The first day was a success.
“Nana, will you meet me tomorrow too?”
“If you’d like.”
“Please. I feel braver when you’re here.”
They walked home, Emily chattering non-stop about her new friends, the classroom, the shiny new books. Margaret listened, warmth spreading through her. This was what she’d missed with David—the chance to be there for the little moments.
At home, Harold had laid out a cake, Sarah had baked scones, and David brought lemonade. They toasted Emily’s first day, the little girl re-enacting every moment with gusto.
“Nana was there first!” she announced proudly.
David grinned. “She always is.”
Later, over tea, Harold gave her a knowing look.
“Happy?”
“Very. Emily asked me to fetch her tomorrow too.”
“And you’ll go?”
“Of course. Till she doesn’t need me anymore.”
Harold shook his head but smiled. “Soft-hearted, you are. But it’s good. Children need someone steady.”
Margaret sighed. “I missed so much with David…”
“You’re making up for it now.”
That night, as she lay in bed, Margaret felt at peace. Tomorrow, she’d be there again—first at the gate, waiting.
Because some things couldn’t be rushed. And some moments were worth every second of the wait.
