She arrived first.
Margaret Wilson woke at five in the morning, as always. The habit of forty years at the factory hadn’t faded, even though she’d been retired for three years. Quietly, so as not to wake her husband Alfred, she slipped into the kitchen and put the kettle on. Outside, the world 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 primary school. Margaret fussed more than the little girl herself. All week, she’d rearranged the school uniform in the closet, checked the satchel, counted the exercise books. Alfred just shook his head and told her she was losing her marbles.
“What’s all the fuss about?” he grumbled. “Our Peter managed fine on his own when he started school.”
“I want to be the first,” Margaret replied. “The first to meet her at the gates, the first to congratulate her.”
Alfred didn’t understand his wife’s insistence. He thought grandparents only got in the way. But Margaret remembered how, thirty years ago, she’d missed her son Peter’s first day at school. Back then, she’d worked double shifts, barely making it home before nightfall. It had been her mother, Peter’s gran, who’d taken him. Margaret had stood by the factory gates and cried with frustration.
“Don’t cry,” her neighbour Dorothy had told her then. “Your boy will grow up, have children of his own, and you’ll make it up to them.”
Now was her chance.
The tea had steeped strong and fragrant. Margaret poured it into her favourite rose-patterned cup and sat at the table. On the windowsill stood three bouquets—one she’d bought at the market yesterday, another picked from the garden, and the third brought home by Alfred last night. He’d been sheepish about it, muttering that it was silly, but he’d brought them anyway.
“Three bunches is too much,” she’d told him.
“What if there’s more than one teacher?” Alfred had shrugged. “You never know.”
By seven, Margaret was under the shower. She put on her best dress, the one with the blue polka dots, saved for special occasions. She combed her hair, dabbed on lipstick. The mirror showed a smartly dressed woman with anxious eyes.
“You off on a date?” Alfred teased, blinking awake.
“I want to look nice for Emily,” she said.
“You always do,” he mumbled into his pillow.
At half seven, Peter called.
“Mum, we’re setting off now. Emily’s nervous—hardly slept a wink.”
“I haven’t slept at all,” Margaret confessed. “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.”
Peter sighed. He was used to his mother’s quirks. Since Emily’s birth, Margaret had seemed to shed ten years. She doted on the girl, taking her to the park, the swings, spoiling her with toys. Peter and his wife Laura could only marvel at it.
“Alright, Mum. Just don’t catch cold—it’s brisk out.”
Margaret gathered the bouquets, tucked sweets for Emily into her handbag, and set off. The school was a fifteen-minute walk, but she took her time, savouring the morning and the thought of the meeting ahead.
By the school gates, she spotted another woman with flowers. Margaret’s heart sank—she wouldn’t be first after all. Then she recognised Barbara Harris from down the street.
“You here for the assembly too?” Margaret asked.
“My grandson’s starting today,” Barbara nodded. “And you?”
“My granddaughter. Emily.”
They stood together, chatting about children, school, how quickly time flew. Barbara had been a nurse at the local surgery, recently retired.
“You know,” she admitted, “I always dreamed of seeing my grandson off to school. My daughter’s my only one, married late. I thought I’d never have grandchildren.”
“Funny, I’m the opposite,” Margaret said. “I couldn’t take my son on his first day—too busy working. Now I’m making up for it.”
Gradually, more grandparents arrived, all dressed smartly, clutching flowers, nerves written on their faces. Margaret studied them, wondering at each of their stories.
Then came Pamela Watson from the next street over. She’d raised her granddaughter alone since her daughter’s accident. Little Sophie was shy, and Pamela worried about how she’d cope.
“How’s Sophie?” Margaret asked.
“Worried. Says the other kids will laugh at her dress. But it’s lovely—I made it myself.” Pamela looked crestfallen.
“Children are kinder than we think,” Barbara reassured her. “She just needs to feel sure of herself.”
An older man joined them with a towering bunch of gladioli. Margaret didn’t know him, but he introduced himself—George Thompson. His granddaughter was adopted, taken in by him and his wife years ago.
“Katie’s a clever one,” he said proudly. “Reads already, counts to a hundred. Just shy, that’s all.”
“She’ll settle in,” Margaret said. “Children adapt quick.”
By half eight, parents and first-years began arriving. Margaret spotted Peter with Laura and Emily. The little girl wore a crisp white blouse, a navy pinafore, her hair tied with ribbons. She clutched a new satchel, bright with cartoon shapes.
“Granny!” Emily shrieked, darting to Margaret.
“My sweetheart!” Margaret hugged her tight. “How are you? Nervous?”
“A bit. Why’d you come so early?”
“I wanted to be first to see you,” Margaret smiled.
Emily clung to her. She’d always been closer to her grandmother than her parents. Margaret doted on her, reading stories, teaching her to bake scones, while Peter and Laura juggled work.
“Mum, thanks for coming,” Peter said. “Emily was fretful, but she’s calmer now.”
Laura nodded gratefully. She worked at a bank, often late, and Margaret had been their rock with Emily.
“Granny, look at my satchel!” Emily beamed.
“Lovely! What’s inside?”
“Exercise books, pens, pencils. And Mummy put biscuits in too.”
Margaret slipped her granddaughter a few sweets from her bag.
“For bravery,” she whispered.
“Mum, don’t spoil her,” Laura began, but Peter stopped her.
“Let her. It’s a big day.”
The schoolyard buzzed with families. First-years huddled with parents while older pupils prepared performances. Teachers flitted about, checking lists.
Margaret noticed a young woman fidgeting—Miss Harper, the new teacher. Fresh out of training, this was her very first class.
“She’s just a girl herself,” Barbara murmured.
“She seems kind,” Margaret said. “We met her at the parents’ evening.”
The assembly began. The headmaster gave a speech; older pupils performed. The first-years stood wide-eyed, clutching their parents’ hands.
Margaret never took her eyes off Emily. The girl held her chin up, no tears, no fuss—just the occasional glance back at her gran, checking she was still there.
When the bell rang, everyone filed inside. Margaret wanted to walk Emily to her classroom, but Peter insisted they’d manage.
“Go home, Mum. We’ll pop by later, tell you all about it.”
But Margaret couldn’t leave. She needed to stay close, just in case. She lingered in the yard with the other grandparents.
“Worried sick, aren’t we?” Pamela said. “Like it’s us starting school.”
“Too right,” Barbara agreed. “My hands won’t stop shaking.”
George paced near the fence, smoking. “Never thought I’d fret so much over a little lass.”
“She’ll be fine,” Margaret said. “Children bounce back quick.”
Half an hour later, the parents emerged. Peter and Laura looked pleased.
“How’s Emily?” Margaret asked at once.
“Brilliant! Sat front row, made friends with a girl named Sophie. Teacher says she’s bright as a button.”
“No tears?”
“Not a one. Beamed when she saw us.”
Margaret exhaled in relief. It had gone well. Her granddaughter had taken her first step.
“Mum, come home,” Peter said. “Laura’s got a cake—we’ll celebrate.”
“No,” Margaret said. “I’ll stay. I want to meet Emily after lessons.”
“Mum, that’s not till noon!”
“I’ll wait.”
Peter and Laura left, but Margaret stayed. So did a handful of other grandparents—none could bear to leave their little ones.
“You know,” Barbara said, “we did alright. Got here first, saw them off, gave them courage.”
“True,” Pamela nodded. “I remember my gran taking me to school. Still warms my heart.”
“I couldn’t take my son,” Margaret said softly. “I ached over it. Now I see how much it matters—being there for these moments.”
At noon, the children spilled back out. Miss Harper sheMargaret held Emily’s hand tightly as they walked home, knowing this was just the first of many school days they’d share together.
