Mum, I get it, but could you have warned me earlier? Ive already booked a slot with a stylist; they found me a window! Because of you Im letting them down. You cant be a grandmother only when it suits you. Either youre a grandma all the time, or youre not one at all.
Blythe, I cant just upand leave, drop everything and go back now. Id never make it in time Margaret tried to explain.
And what am I supposed to do? Ive paid a deposit for a haircut. They wont refund it if I dont show up!
Blythes complaints sounded as if Margaret had chained her to a radiator and barred her from the salon. In truth, from Margarets point of view, the mess was Blythes own making. She had become accustomed to everyone swooping in at the snap of her fingers. Blythe truly believed the world should bend to her, being a young mother of two.
Find someone else, or cancel the appointment, Margaret said, still trying to keep the peace. Im powerless here.
Right Blythes mind raced, feverish. Ill try to move it to tomorrow or the day after. Will you have time to get back?
Margaret hesitated. She wanted to say yes, but something held her back the last shreds of pride that still lingered deep inside.
No, Blythe. Ill be back on Tuesday, five days from now.
Five days? Its only an hour and a halfs drive!
Yes, but Ive promised my girls. I cant abandon them.
And you could abandon your grandchildren, I suppose Blythe snapped. My daughters could eat a barbecue without you, thank you very much. She softened a little. Its a matter of priorities, isnt it? Some old ladies are more important than family. You know, Mum, if were not needed, you wont see us again. Sorry for the bother, goodbye.
The sound of a distant horn made Margarets heart skip. She knew her daughters tone was harsh, but Blythe was her only child and Margaret feared losing her. So much so that she was ready to quit the seaside resort and race back to town just to avoid a fight.
It had been Margaret who raised Blythe alone. When Blythe was eight, her father disappeared, and Margaret tried to fill the void with gifts, attention, and endless love. That overindulgence would later ruin Blythe.
Margaret sensed something was wrong when Blythe moved in with a boyfriend. What had once been teenage whims now belonged to an adult, and that adult could not get along with anyone.
James, Blythes husband, was quiet, calm and utterly conflictaverse. He worked in an appliance repair centre in Leeds and earned a decent wage. Blythe, on the other hand, was unemployed. When she became pregnant the money ran thin and arguments erupted.
Hes gone off the rails! Blythe complained, pulling clothes from a suitcase. He told me he wont be home at night. He found a security guard job, right? Off to some ladys house, no doubt.
Blythe He isnt like that. You wanted him to earn more, didnt you? Thats why hes trying to make ends meet Margaret tried to soothe.
I did, but I meant a daytime sidejob! A decent man should be at home at night, next to his wife, Blythe huffed. Theres time for a sidegig after work, on weekends. I cant live with a man who roams around after dark.
These spats became routine. The next day James would arrive with a plush toy or a bouquet; Blythe would yell at him for spending the familys money on trinkets, then forgive him and settle back down. A week or two later the pattern repeated.
One evening Margaret, fed up with being the third wheel in their triangle, simply wouldnt let Blythe in when she turned up with a suitcase. The fallout was inevitable.
Brilliant, so you dont give a toss about me. Not caring that your own daughter might have to sleep on the street, right? Blythe shouted from the doorway.
The neighbours heard the argument, and fear for her child gnawed at Margaret. Yet after that, Blythe never left James again.
When the first grandchild arrived, new problems sprang up. Blythe became more demanding, blaming hormones and postnatal blues. She often left the baby with a grandmother, not asking for help but demanding it as if it were a right.
Mum, look after him for a day or Ill lose it. I cant stand the crying any longer, Blythe snapped. I need a manicure, at least.
Back then Blythe would still accept a no with a sigh, grumble, but call the next day as if nothing had happened, never threatening to cut off the grandchildren.
Much of the tension traced back to the motherinlaw. When Margaret couldnt watch the child, Blythe turned to Dorothy, Jamess mother. Their relationship was, to put it mildly, strained.
Shes driving me mad. All she does is tell James, Dont forget you have a home, Blythe mocked in a shrill voice. She hints that she expects him back, that shell be waiting under his coat.
When the boy turned four, Dorothy moved to Birmingham. By then Blythe already had two children and was terrified. Without the grandmothers she could not cope.
The solution was obvious to her: dump all the burden onto her own mother and stop allowing any no to slip through.
Margaret adored her grandchildren, truly. But she also had a life of her own. She hadnt retired yet and loved evenings with her friends. One was a lonely widow; the others didnt fancy the men theyd met after their first marriages.
For Blythe there was no such thing as anyone elses problems, desires, or plans.
Mum, could you mind looking after Max and Sam? Ill bring them over in an hour, she would say, without a please or if its convenient. It was a statement, not a request.
Margaret worked from home, which sometimes helped, but not always. When she couldnt carve out the time, Blythe turned to blackmail.
Of course, your life is more important than family, she would huff. We wont bother you again.
Then she would go silent. No calls, no texts. Margaret knew Blythe was in the wrong, yet she trembled with anxiety, fearing the loss of family contact. She would often be the first to reach out, taking sick leave, canceling evenings with friends, even returning theatre tickets just to keep the peace.
That was the patternuntil now.
A few days ago Margaret arrived at a lakeside holiday park with two friends. Shed finally gotten a week off and wanted to unwind. She didnt tell Blythe; she was afraid of her reaction and hoped no crisis would arise that week.
She was wrong. Blythe urgently needed help for a hair appointment and, of course, could not discuss her plans with Margaret. Blythe expected her mother to drop everything and rush over. Margaret, however, simply didnt have the hours, not to mention the extra travel cost. She had already settled into relaxation. Why should she become a trained terrier, leaping at every command?
Margaret felt the sting, tried to distract herself, to return to her holiday, but the effort was futile.
Why so sour? asked Marina, one of the friends, threading kebabs onto a spit. Whats happened?
Margaret spilled the whole story: the call, the ultimatum, the looming silence, perhaps something worse.
My own family isnt a gift either, but at least they keep it modest, added Elena, the other friend. Honestly, Id have given them the full ignore.
And whats the point? Theyll stop talking to me. Who benefits? Marina scoffed. Who will help Blythe if not you? Her motherinlaw is far away, the little ones are a constant hassle. Shell crawl back like a frightened cat, and then shell finally realize its not just about you.
They talked for half an hour. Margaret decided the friends were right. The motherinlaw had moved away, there was no contact with Jamess side of the family, and a nanny was beyond their budget. All that remained was a tireless mother tired of ultimatums.
The next two weeks were a nervous waiting game. Margaret checked her phone obsessively, but Blythe stayed silent. Despair settled in, and Margaret prepared to make the first move when, one morning, the phone finally rang.
Mum, hi. Sams got a cold, could you look after him? Id take a day off, but were swamped and wont get the leave. Can you manage? Blythe said as if it were nothing.
It was a new kind of request. Usually Blythe never cared about Margarets schedule.
Margaret could have taken a day off, dropped everything, but she thought: if I fall ill and need that day, will anyone be there for me? Probably not.
Blythe, Im really sorry, but Im buried under work too You know Id love to help, love, but if youd given me a headsup even yesterday she paused, waiting for an explosion that never came.
Who knew Sams temperature would spike? Blythe replied, a hint of irritation. Mum, could you at least cover the weekend? Please. Ill try to sort things at work and shuffle the load.
Blythe wasnt demanding silk; she was finally calm enough to suggest a compromise. Margaret saw a small step forward and decided to meet it.
I can do the weekend; I have no plans yet.
Great, Ill keep that in mind. Thank you.
The conversation wasnt perfect, but for once mother and daughter negotiated without threats or martyrdom.
Since then Blythe has started asking if its convenient for Margaret to watch the grandchildren and actually thanks her for the help. Sometimes she still pushes, but now its with affection rather than blackmail. Margaret still moves her own plans aside for the kids, but if she feels the pressure mounting, she simply says no. After all, assistance should be offered voluntarily, not forced, and the one asking should be the one who truly needs it.
