28April
Ive only just begun to settle into retired life. Sixty years behind me, thirtyfive spent as an accountant in the factory, and now I can finally sip my tea at a leisurely pace, leaf through a novel and have no rush to be anywhere. The first few months were a gentle lull: I rose when I felt like it, lingered over breakfast, watched the BBCs daytime programmes and shopped at the local Tesco when the queues were short. After forty years of work, that felt like a slice of heaven.
Saturday morning, Emily rang. Her voice trembled a little.
Mum, we need to have a serious talk, she said.
Whats wrong, love? Is Lucy all right? I asked, worry creeping in.
Its about us, she replied, Ill be home soon and tell you everything. Dont worry!
Her reassurance only tightened my own knot. When children say dont worry, theres always something that needs worrying about.
An hour later I found Emily in the kitchen, hand resting on her rounded belly. She was thirtytwo, expecting again, and still hadnt married Owen, the man shed been living with for four years. Their daughter Lucy was growing fast, but a marriage certificate seemed irrelevant to them.
Mum, weve got a problem with the flat, Emily began, twisting the handle of her coffee mug. Our landlord is raising the rent. Were just scraping by as it is, and now she wants an extra £200 a month.
I nodded, feeling the weight of their struggle. Owen hops from one odd job to another today a warehouse hand, tomorrow a courier, the day after that a night security guard. Emily is on maternity leave, and another leave is looming.
We thought about moving somewhere cheaper, she continued, but no one wants to take a baby with them.
What are you planning to do? I asked, already sensing a snag.
Thats why Im here, she said, tugging at the edge of her sweater. Could we stay with you for a while? Just until we save enough for a mortgage, maybe.
I stared at my twobedroom council flat. It was already cramped, and now a whole family with a newborn and another on the way would have to fit in.
Emily, how will we all fit? There are only two small rooms, I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
Well manage, she replied, eyes bright with a mixture of desperation and hope. Were paying £130 a month in rent now thats over £1,500 a year. If we saved that instead, we could put a downpayment on a house.
I pictured Owen wandering around the flat, shouting into his phone, Lucys endless cries, the toys strewn across the carpet, cartoons blaring at full volume, and Emilys constant need for attention.
Where will Lucy sleep? I asked, searching for a sensible compromise.
In the big room well set up a cot. You can take the smaller room; youll have the sofa and the TV. It wont be luxurious, but itll do, she suggested.
My dear, Ive just retired. After forty years of work Im exhausted and crave peace, I confessed, feeling my shoulders slump.
Emily sighed, as if Id said something absurd. Mum, why do you need peace at sixty? Youre still fit. Grandmothers your age are still looking after grandchildren.
Her words cut deeper than she probably intended, as if implying I was selfish compared to other grandmothers.
And you have that country cottage, dont you? The nice old house your parents kept tidy. You could stay there. Fresh air, a garden for tomatoes the doctors always say its good for older folk to be outdoors.
The cottage? I echoed, my mind racing. Its thirty miles from town, the bus runs only mornings and evenings. But its cold in winter, youll need a woodburning stove and to fetch logs.
You grew up in the countryside, Mum. Granddad and Grandma lived there all their lives. In summer its lovely you can pick berries, go mushroomhunting in the woods, she replied, almost as if selling me a holiday package.
What about doctors, the pharmacy, the grocery shop? I pressed.
You wont need to go to the doctor every day. Maybe once a month for a checkup. Stock up on groceries and freeze them. The freezers big enough, she answered. And you can keep in touch with friends on the phone, or they can visit the cottage for a barbecue.
My heart pounded. Was she really asking me to become a hermit in a remote cottage just so they could free up my flat?
How long would you stay with me? she asked.
At least a year, maybe a year and a half, I said, feeling the dread settle in.
What does Owen think? I inquired.
Hes all for it, she said, brightening. He says the cottage would be far better than the city no hustle, no stress.
The TV, the books, maybe even a satellite dish for extra channels, she added, as if that would sweeten the deal.
I imagined Owen, generous in his thoughts, lounging on my favourite sofa, even offering to install a satellite dish. It sounded almost kind, but the reality felt like an invasion.
Think about it, Mum, Emily urged. What else are you going to do in two rooms? Its just a few extra people, and well save money, get on our feet.
And when would you move? she asked.
Tomorrow, if you want. We dont have many things. The owner is looking for new tenants and will ask us to leave by the end of the month, she said, eyes glinting with urgency.
I poured another cup of tea, hands trembling. The look in Emilys eyes was pleading: Will you say no, Mum? Will you turn away your own daughter in her hour of need?
What if you and Owen split up? You arent married, after all, I asked, trying to probe the fragility of their situation.
It doesnt matter whether were officially married. We have a child together, weve lived together for four years. A marriage wont change anything, she replied firmly. And if we did split, the flat is still mine.
I knew Owens work was fickle, changing every few months. Hed been with me for four years, never a permanent fixture. Yet Emily seemed ready to sacrifice everything for him.
Mum, I just wanted a bit of peace for myself after retirement, I whispered, feeling my resolve waver.
And what does peace for yourself even mean? she snapped. Its a noble cause to support your children and grandchildren!
She was playing on my maternal instincts with practiced skill. My resistance softened.
What if I say no? If I cant take you in? I asked, fearing the answer.
Emily fell silent, then sighed heavily, placing her hands on her belly. I dont know, Mum. It would hurt me deeply. It would feel like youve turned your back on your own child when she needs you most.
Her words sounded like a veiled threat, a promise of lasting resentment, a rupture that would keep us apart from the grandchildren forever.
I imagined her telling everyone, Can you believe my mother refused to help her own daughter! The thought made my chest tighten.
Then where will we go? she wept. Two kids, no money. Owen says maybe we could move in with his mother, but she only has a onebedroom flat and she isnt particularly fond of us.
I knew Owens mother a stern, nononsense woman. Emily wouldnt stay long there.
Please, Mum, just a year. Well be careful, we wont disturb you. You can spend weekends at the cottage, escape the citys hustle, Emily pleaded.
Will I have to travel there often? I asked.
Whenever you like. Maybe youll come into town for groceries on weekends, see friends. During the week, the cottage will be quiet perfect for an older lady, she said.
Alright, I finally said, feeling the weight of a promise settle on my shoulders. But only for a year. Exactly a year, no more. And you must keep saving, keep looking for your own home.
Emily threw her arms around me, tears streaming. Thank you, Mum, youre the best! Well be good guests, I promise.
And Ill only go to the cottage when I want to, I added, setting my condition.
Of course, Mum. Your flat, your rules. Well be guests, she agreed.
A week later we moved in. Owen methodically arranged his belongings in the wardrobe. Lucy roamed the rooms, exploring the new territory. Emily directed where everything should go.
I stood amid the chaos, packing my suitcase for the cottage, feeling like an exile from my own home.
The first months were a nightmare. Owen got used to the flat quickly blasting the telly, shouting into his phone at all hours, filling the fridge with energy drinks and protein shakes. Emily demanded constant attention, complaining about the temperature, the music, anything that didnt suit her mood. Lucy cried at night, her toys littered the floor, cartoons played from dawn till dusk.
I drove into town once a week for groceries and medicine, each visit a fresh shock at the state of my oncetidy flat. Piles of unwashed dishes towered in the kitchen, baby clothes and Owens socks hung in the bathroom, the sofa was speckled with juice and cookie crumbs.
Emily, perhaps we could tidy up a bit? I suggested gently.
When? Im already swamped with the baby! Owen works all day, he needs his evenings to rest, she snapped.
I can help while Im still in town, I offered.
No, thanks, Mum. Well manage. Once the baby arrives well clean everything, she promised, but that once never came. I ended up washing dishes, vacuuming, dusting, only for the mess to return before my next visit.
At the cottage, I felt like a true outcast. Thirty miles from the nearest town, the closest shop three miles away, the bus only twice a day. Neighbours would pop in.
Gally, why are you staying there a whole year? You still have a flat in town, theyd ask.
Its temporary my daughter and her family are staying with me while they save for a house, Id explain.
Oh, I see. Young people do need a hand, theyd respond.
Winter on the cottage was harsh. The wood for the stove ran out quickly, water had to be heated on the stove, and I felt isolated on the edge of the world.
Six months later Emily gave birth to a little boy, Dennis. I hoped this would finally push them to find a proper home. But when I visited the city to see the newborn, Emily declared, Mum, with two kids well never find a decent place. Maybe well stay another year?
I realised then that the promise of one year had become two, then three. The cottage was no longer a holiday retreat; it had become my prison.
The authorities eventually had to evict Emily and her family, and curses and threats were flung my way. Yet I held firm to the oneyear agreement Id made. Was I harsh? Was I right? I guess only time will tell.
Margaret.
