Summer Rules
When the train screeched to a halt at the tiny platform of Willowbrook, Margaret Baker was already standing at the very edge, clutching a canvas shopping bag to her chest. Apples rolled inside, along with a small jar of homemade strawberry jam and a plastic tub of sausage rolls. None of it was necessaryafter all, the children would arrive well-fed, from London, backpacks and carrier bags in towbut her hands always itched to make something for them, regardless.
The carriage jolted, the doors hissed open, and all three spilled out at once: lanky, long-limbed Henry, his younger sister Daisy, and a backpack that seemed to have a will of its own.
Gran! Daisy spotted her first and waved, bracelets jangling brightly.
Margaret felt something warm and brimming rising in her throat. She set the canvas bag carefully on the platform and opened her arms.
My, just look at you She caught herself, biting back the usual how youve grown. They knew already.
Henry came over slower, gave her a half-hug with one arm, the other clutching his backpack.
Hi, gran.
He was nearly a head taller than her now; a trace of stubble on his chin, skinny wrists, headphones peeking from under the sleeve of his t-shirt. Margaret found herself searching for the same little boy who used to dash across their old allotment in muddy wellies, but her gaze was met with strange, grown-up newness.
Grandad’s waiting down at the car, she said. Lets go before my meatballs go cold.
Just one photo, Daisy had already pulled her phone out, snapped a picture of the platform, the carriage, and then Margaret herself. For my Story.
The word Story fleeted past Margaret’s ear like a bird. She was sure shed asked her daughter about it last winter, but by now, the explanation had faded away. All that mattered was that her granddaughter was smiling.
They walked down the concrete steps. At the bottom, by the old Vauxhall estate, Arthur Baker waited, his cap pulled low. He greeted Henry with a clap on the shoulder, gave Daisy a gruff hug and nodded at his wife. He was more reserved, but Margaret knew his happiness was no less than hers.
Well, thenschool holidays? he asked.
Yep. Holidays, Henry replied with a dramatic stretch, flinging his rucksack in the boot.
On the drive home, the children fell into hush. The window rolled by with cottage gardens, hedgerows, glimpses of sheep. Daisy flicked through something on her phone, Henry snickered at whatever he was watching, and all the while, Margaret caught herself observing their handstheir fingers constantly gracing those glossy black rectangles.
Never mind, she thought. So long as things in the house run as we do. Let them… do whats usual now.
The cottage greeted them with the smell of sizzling meatballs and fresh dill. Out on the porch, the old wooden table was covered with a lemon-print oilcloth. A pan crackled on the hob, a cabbage pie baked in the oven.
What a spread! Henry called, peeking into the kitchen.
Its not a spread. Just lunch, Margaret replied automaticallyand then checked herself. Come in, wash your hands. In the basin there.
Daisy already had her phone out again. As Margaret set salad, bread, and meatballs on the table, she glimpsed her granddaughter taking pictures: of the plates, the window, the cat Tilly peeking from beneath a chair.
No phones at the table, now, Margaret said, as if in passing when everyone sat down.
Henry looked up. What?
Exactly like your gran says, Arthur interjected. Eat firstthen you can have a go.
Daisy hesitated, then laid her phone face down by the plate.
I only wanted a picture
You got one already, Margaret said gently. Lets eat now, then you can… post away.
She dubbed post away uncertainly. She didnt know the proper word, but let it pass.
Henry, after a pause, did the same, reluctantly shifting his phone away, as though hed been asked to remove a helmet inside a spaceship.
Heres how we run things, Margaret said, pouring squash. Lunch at one, tea at seven. Up by ninethen you can do what you like.
Not up past nine… Henry trailed. What if Ive watched a film late?
At night, you sleep, Arthur said without looking up from his plate.
Margaret felt a thread of tension stretch between them. She rushed in:
Were not a barracks, of course. But if you sleep till midday, youll miss the whole day, wont see the best of the lot. Weve got the river, the woods, bicycles.
I want to go to the river, Daisy piped in. And for a ride. And a photo session in the orchard!
The word photo session sounded far less mysterious now.
Thats grand, Margaret nodded. Just help out a bit first. Theres potatoes to weed, strawberries to water. Cant have you lording about.
Oh gran, we’re on holiday Henry began, but Arthur fixed him with a look.
A holiday, not a spa, he said.
Henry sighed, but didnt argue. Under the table, Daisy nudged his trainer, and he almost grinned.
After lunch, the children scattered to their rooms to unpack. Margaret dropped in half an hour later. Daisy had already hung t-shirts over the back of the chair, set up her make-up and charger, bottles lined up on the sill. Henry sat on the bed, back against the wall, scrolling with his thumb across his phone.
Ive put on fresh bedding, she said. If anythings not right, just say.
All good, gran, Henry answered without looking up.
That all good stung a little, but she only nodded.
Well barbecue this evening. Rest now, then come out to the garden after for an hour or so.
Mmm, Henry replied.
She closed the door and paused in the hall. Faint laughter from Daisys roomshe was on a video call with someone. Margaret suddenly felt oldnot in the way her back protested, but in anotherlike the children lived on an invisible layer she couldnt touch.
Its all right, she thought. Well manage. The main things not to push.
That evening, as the sun slanted low, the three of them stood among the veg patches, sun-warm soil beneath their feet, dry grass rustling. Arthur pointed out the difference between carrots and weeds.
Pull this one, leave that, he instructed Daisy.
What if I get it wrong? Daisy squatted, wrinkling her nose.
Not to worry, Margaret chimed in. Were not the National Trust. Well get by.
Henry lingered near the shed, leaning on a hoe, eyeing the house. From his window glowed the bluish pulse of a left-on monitor.
Not lost your phone? Arthur asked wryly.
Left it upstairs, Henry muttered.
For some reason, this pleased Margaret more than she let on.
The first few days settled into a manageable rhythm. Margaret woke them with a gentle knock, they moaned and rolled over, but by half nine were always in the kitchen. Theyd have breakfast, help out a bit, and then disperse: Daisy photographing Tilly-cat and the strawberries, uploading things to her phone; Henry reading, headphones on, or off with his bike.
The rules hung on the little things. Phones stayed off the table. Silence at night. Only once, on the third night, did Margaret wake to faint laughter behind Henrys door. It was after midnight.
Let it go, or check? she wondered, lying in the dark.
The laughter repeated, followed by the whir of a voice message. She sighed, pulled on a dressing gown, and knocked softly.
Henry, are you awake?
The noise died at once.
Yeah, he whispered.
He opened the door, blinking at the light, eyes red, hair a mess, phone in hand.
Why arent you asleep? she tried to keep her voice calm.
Er… watching a film.
At midnight?
Well, me and the lads all agreed, watch together and chat…
She pictured teenagers across London perched in the dark, texting through a film.
All right, look, she said. I dont mind your films. But if youre up all night, youll be rubbish in the morning. I wont get you in the garden at all. Twelve is your limit. After thatbed.
He grimaced.
But theyll
Theyre in the city. Youre here. Our rules, love. Im not asking for lights out at nine.
He scratched his head, thinking it over.
Fine, he conceded at last. Till twelve.
And shut the door, lovethe light bothers Daisy. And mind the volume.
Returning to bed, Margaret wondered if shed been too soft. She ought to have been stricter, as with her daughter years ago. But times had changed.
Small frictions began to crop up. On a blistering day, when the morning heat warped the air, Margaret asked Henry to help Arthur shift some timber to the shed.
Just a minute, he said, eyes still fixed to his phone.
Ten minutes later, the pile was untouched.
Henry, grandads already started without you, she said, her tone sharpening.
Ill finish this message, then help, he answered, irritation brimming.
What is it you keep writing? The world wont stop without you.
His head snapped up.
Its important. Were in a tournament.
A what?
A tournament. In a game. Team event. If I drop out, we lose.
She wanted to snap that some things mattered more than gamesbut saw the tension in his shoulders, the firm line of his mouth.
How long will you be?
Twenty minutes.
Right. Twenty minutes, then you help. Agreed?
He nodded, glued to his phone. Twenty minutes later, she found him lacing his trainers by the door.
Im going, Im going, he said before she could speak.
These kinds of compromises made her feel they might still steer the summer. Until, one day, it all went wrong.
It was mid-July, and they were planning a morning run to the market for seedlings and groceries. Arthur had said he needed an extra pair of hands. Parking was tricky; bags heavy.
Henry, youre off with grandad in the morning, Margaret reminded him over dinner. Daisy and I will preserve some jam.
I cant go, he shot back immediately.
And whys that?
Weve planned to meet in town. Theres some festivalmusic, food carts He glanced at Daisy for backup, but she shrugged. I mentioned it!
She couldnt recall. Perhaps he had, but it had gone past her in the whirl of things.
Which town? Arthur frowned.
The main one. Fifteen minutes on the train, just by the station.
Arthur didnt like just by.
You know the route?
Everyones going. Honestly, Im sixteen.
That sixteen was meant to end all arguments.
Your dad and I agreed you’d not wander off alone, Arthur said.
Im not alonefriendsll be there.
Even worse.
Margaret felt the room grow denser, the air tight with stiffness. Daisy finished her last forkful of pasta and quietly pushed her plate away.
Perhaps, Margaret tried, you could pop over to the market this evening? Tomorrow he goes out?
Markets not till tomorrow, Arthur cut in. And I need help. I cant do it solo.
Ill help, Daisy volunteered.
Youll be with Margaret, Arthur said without looking up.
Ill cope, Margaret said. The jam can wait. Daisy can go with you.
Arthur looked at her. There was a complexity in his eyessurprise, gratitude, something stubborn.
And himhe’s free as a lark? Arthur gestured at Henry.
I just Henry began.
He cut him off. You understand youre not in London? Things are different out here. Were responsible for you.
Someones always responsible for me! Henry snapped. Cant I decide for myself for once?
Silence thickened, pulsing and awkward. Margarets own words sounded harsh as they left her lips.
So long as youre here, Henry, you stick to our rules.
He scraped his chair back.
Fine, then. Im not going.
He left the kitchen with a bang. Upstairs, they heard a loud thumpeither his bag hitting the floor or himself slumping on the bed.
The rest of the evening was tight and uncomfortable. Daisy tried to keep things light, chattering about online personalities. Arthur brooded over his food. Margaret washed up, haunted by her own voice. Our rules rang in her ears like a fork tapping a glass.
That night, she woke to a strange, heavy quiet. Usually the old house sighedthe boards creaked, a mouse rustled, distant cars hummed. Now, nothing. No slice of light under Henrys door.
At least hell sleep, she thought, turning to the wall.
In the morning, at just before nine, Margaret entered the kitchen. Daisy was already there, yawning. Arthur sipped his tea over a newspaper.
Wheres Henry? she asked.
Still asleep, I guess, Daisy replied.
Margaret went upstairs and knocked.
Henry, up you get.
No answer. She opened the door. The bed had been poorly madehis technique when in a rushbut it was empty. Hoodie on the chair, charger on the table, phone gone.
A pit opened inside her.
Hes not here, she called down.
What do you mean? Arthur stood.
Beds empty. Took his phone.
He might be outside, Daisy suggested.
They checked the garden, the shed, the veg patch. His bike was still there.
The 8:40 train, Arthur murmured, eyes on the lane.
Margaret felt her palms turn cold.
He might just be with someone nearby…
Whom? He doesnt know anyone here.
Daisy pulled out her phone.
Ill message him.
Her fingers flew over the screen. After a minute, she looked up.
Hes not seen it. Only one tick.
One tick meant nothing to Margaret, but Daisys face made it clear it wasnt good.
What do we do? Margaret asked Arthur softly.
He paused, thinking.
Ill drive to the station. See if anyone saw him.
Best not, she managed, uncertain. He might just turn up…
He’s left without a word, Arthur cut her off. Thats not nothing.
He dressed swiftly, grabbed the keys.
You stay herehe might come back. Daisy, if he messages or rings, you tell us.
As the car rolled down the lane, Margaret remained on the porch, cloth in hand. Her mind filled with awful images. Henry waiting on the platform, boarding the train, losing his phone, anythingShe shook herself.
Steady. Hes not a child. Not an idiot.
An hour passed, then another. Daisy checked her phone, shaking her head.
Nothing. Hes not even online.
At eleven, Arthur returned looking worn thin.
No one saw him, he muttered. I checked at the station, too. Nothing.
Maybe he simply went to that festival, Margaret whispered. Into town.
With no cash, nothing? Arthur bristled.
Hes got his card, Daisy piped up. And Apple Pay.
They exchanged a look. Their money was in their purses; for their grandchildren, it floated somewhere in the digital ether.
Shall we ring his dad? Margaret suggested.
Ring him, Arthur agreed. Hell find out anyway.
The conversation was rough. Her son was silent at first, then swore, then asked why they hadnt noticed. Margaret listened to him, inside feeling a heavy wave of exhaustion. After, she just sat on the stool, face in hands.
Gran, Daisy whispered, he hasnt disappeared. Hes just a bit upset. Honestly.
He walked out, as if we were enemies, Margaret replied, dull and hurt.
The day passed in a painful drag. They tried to busy themselves: Daisy helped with the jam, Arthur pottered in the shed, but every chore felt heavy. Daisys phone stayed silent.
By evening, with the setting sun gilding the tops of the apple trees, a shuffle sounded on the porch. Margaret, sitting with a cup of tea, flinched. The garden gate creaked. Henry appeared in the gap.
He wore the same t-shirt; his jeans dusted, rucksack slung wearily. His face was tired, but whole.
Hi, he said quietly.
Margaret stood. For a second she wanted to run and hug him, but something held her back. She only asked:
Where were you?
In town, he muttered, head down. At the festival.
On your own?
With some mates. Well… mostly alone. Theyre from the next village. I met them there.
Arthur came out, hands wiping on a rag.
Do you realise he began, but his voice gave out.
I texted, Henry said quickly. My signal dropped out. Then my battery died. I forgot my charger.
Daisy stood beside him now, clutching her phone.
I tried to message you, toojust one tick the whole time.
I didnt mean to, Henry said, looking back and forth. I just… I thought if I asked, youd say no. But wed agreed. And
He faltered.
And you reckoned better not to ask, Arthur finished for him.
Silence. But it was tinged more with tiredness now, less with anger.
Come in, then, Margaret said at last. Eat something first.
Obediently, he sat at the kitchen table. She placed a bowl of soup in front of himthen bread, a glass of squash. He ate ravenously, as if hed skipped lunch.
Its pricey, you know, he mumbled. Those food vans of yours.
Their food vans. She let it pass.
When hed finished, they returned to the porch. The air had grown cool, the sun was almost gone.
Lets make this clear, Arthur said, sitting on the bench. You want your freedomwe get it. But youre our responsibility. While youre here, we cant pretend we dont care where you are.
Henry glowered in silence.
If you want to go out, Arthur continued, tell us beforehand. Not the night beforegive us a day. We sit, sort it out, work out the bus times, wholl meet you, how youll get home. If we agree, you go. If not, you dont. But sneaking offno.
And what if you just say no? Henry muttered.
Then you get cross, but you stay, Margaret cut in. And we grumble too, but you come to the market with us.
He looked at her, face caught between resentment and weariness.
I didnt mean to worry you, he said softly. I just… wanted to make my own call.
Making your own calls is grand, love, she said. But being responsible also means thinking about those who worry.
She surprised herself. It sounded not like a lecture, but simple truth.
He breathed out.
All right. I get it.
One more thing, Arthur added. If your batterys dying, find somewhere to charge it. Café, station, anywhere. Tell us first, even if you think well have a go.
Okay, Henry agreed.
They sat together in silence. A dog barked beyond the fence. Tilly gave a lazy meow from the fading garden.
How was the festival? Daisy blurted.
Alright. Music was rubbish, but the food was great.
Show us the pics?
Phone died.
She spread her hands. No evidence, no content.
He grinneda faint, but real one.
From that day, something shifted, the rules softening, becoming more forgiving. That night, Margaret and Arthur sat down and wrote a list, rules they thought mattered: up by ten, help around the house at least two hours, keep us posted if you go out, no phones at the table. The list went up on the fridge.
Looks like a summer camp schedule, Henry grumbled.
Family camp, Margaret retorted.
Daisy offered her own terms.
Youre not to ring every five minutes if I go to the river, she decreed, and dont come in my room unless you knock.
We dont anyway, Margaret protested.
Write it down too, Henry said. For fairness.
They added two more lines. Arthur grumbled but signed.
Gradually, joint activities emerged. One afternoon, Daisy pulled out an old board game, a relic from a Christmas past.
Lets play tonight.
I was ace when I was little, Henry said, taking the bait.
Arthur grumbled about jobs in the shed but joined them anyway. He remembered the rules best of all. They laughed, argued, snuck extra pieces to each other. Phones gathered dust in the corner.
In the kitchen, routines shifted too. Tired of the eternal whats for tea, Margaret announced,
Youre both cooking Saturday. Ill help if you need ingredients, but dinners yours.
We? Henry and Daisy chorused.
Yes, you. I dont mind, even if its only cheese toasties, as long as its edible.
They took the challenge seriously, Daisy finding some trendy recipe online, Henry arguing how to prep the veg. The kitchen steamed with onions and spices, the washing up piled high, but there was a festival air, light and happy.
Hope youre not insulted if we form a queue for the bathroom later, Arthur grunted, but polished off every bite.
The garden, too, found a truce. Rather than nag the children over weeding, Margaret offered personal patches.
This rows yours, she told Daisy, pointing to the strawberries. And this ones for Henrythe carrots. Water or not, its up to you. Just dont complain later if nothing grows.
A real science experiment, Henry said.
Control and variable, Daisy agreed.
Daisy checked daily on her strawberries, photographing them, no doubt posting my garden. Henry watered his carrots once or twice, then forgot. At harvest, Daisys basket was brimming. Henrys held a handful of pathetic roots.
Well? Margaret asked. Learned anything?
Yeah, Henry said, all seriousness. Im not cut out for carrots.
They all laughed. This time, the tension was gone.
By summers end, the house had found its own gentle pace. Mornings for breakfast together, the day for separate activities, evenings at the same table again. Henry sometimes stayed up with his phone, but at midnight, the light was out and Margaret, passing his door, heard only soft breathing. Daisy would go to the river with a friend from the next cottage but always messaged her whereabouts and when shed be back.
They still arguedabout music, salt in the stew, or whether to wash up straight away or in the morningbut it no longer felt like a war. More like the shuffle of people learning to live together.
On their last evening, Margaret baked an apple tart. The sweet scent filled the cottage, the porch caught a gentle breeze. Packed bags lined the hall, their belongings folded and ready.
Lets take a selfie, Daisy said as the tart was cut.
Again with your Arthur began, but stopped.
Just for us, Daisy assured him. No posting.
They went out to the garden. The sun dipped low behind the orchard, topping the apple trees in gold. Daisy propped her phone on an overturned bucket, set a timer, and rushed to join them.
Gran in the middle, grandad on the right, Henry on the left.
They stood, a bit awkward, side by side. Margaret felt Henrys elbow graze hers. Arthur edged closer. Daisy looped an arm around their waists.
Smile, she said.
The phone clicked, then again.
Done! Daisy checked the photo and beamed. Brilliant.
Show us, Margaret said.
On the little screen, they looked a bit ridiculous: her in her apron, Arthur in his old shirt, Henrys hair wild, Daisy in her bright tee. Yet together, clustered against the sunset, it felt just right.
Can I print this? Margaret asked.
Of course! Daisy nodded. Ill send it.
How am I meant to print it from my phone? Margaret said, stumped.
Ill help, Henry cut in. Come to us, well sort it. Or Ill bring a copy in autumn.
She nodded. For the first time in weeks, she felt truly peaceful. Not because everything was perfect, not because they understood each other completely. No. They would surely argue many more times. But somewhere, between their rules and their freedoms, a path had formedone that let them walk to and fro.
Late that night, after the children had gone to bed, Margaret stepped onto the porch. The sky glittered with pinprick stars over the rooftops. Inside, the house was hushed. She curled onto the step, knees to her chest.
Arthur joined her, sitting alongside.
Theyll be off tomorrow, he said quietly.
They will, she replied.
They sat in silence.
You know, it all worked out, didnt it? he said softly.
It did, she said. Weve all learned something, I think.
Maybe we learned more off them, Arthur chuckled.
She smiled. In Henrys window, it was dark, Daisys too. Somewhere, Henrys phone sat charging on the bedside table, regaining strength for tomorrow.
Margaret rose, locked the door, and paused by the fridge. The rules list was still there, a little curled at the corners, biro pen beside it. She traced the signatures with a finger, and it occurred to her next summer theyd probably write a new setadding a few, striking out others. But the most important things would stay.
She switched off the light and headed to bed, as the house filled quietly with all the summer had brought, leaving space for whatever would come next.
