The Further Away, the Dearer the Heart… “You know what, my dearest grandson! If I’m such a burden, there’s only one choice left. I won’t go live with my daughters anymore, nor will I traipse about from friend to friend. And I certainly don’t need you matchmaking me for some old gentleman—imagine, marrying me off in my golden years! —Gran, it’s what I’ve been telling you for ages! Mum says the same—just move into the retirement home. All you have to do is sign the house over to me, and you’ll get a cozy room, Mum will sort it out. There’ll be people to chat with, neighbours close by, and you won’t be in my way anymore. —I’m not leaving my house for anyone, Sasha. If I’m in your way, there’s the door and seven roads—take your pick. You’re young, clever, find a flat and live as you please. If you won’t study, go get a job. Parade a different girl home every day if you want. I’m a woman of nearly 65; I need peace and quiet. I’ve wandered enough these past couple of years. Time to come home. It just isn’t right, my boy—when you drive me out of my own house and live off my pension with your girlfriends. My pension isn’t endless. So you’ve one week. If you can’t find a place, go to your friends or that girlfriend—her name I keep forgetting—but I want you out of my home by tonight. First you try to foist a husband on me, then pack me off to a care home—ridiculous!” Her indignant grandson tried to argue, but Lydia Pavlovna was done listening. She walked silently to her room and closed the door, her head pounding. She ought to take a pill, but it would mean braving the kitchen and a run-in with her grandson, which she’d rather avoid. Glancing around her small room, Lida spotted a bottle of sparkling water—just enough for a sip. *** Lida never thought she’d stand up for herself with such resolve. Years of biting her tongue had caught up with her. For two long years, she’d endured in silence, running to one daughter or the other whenever summoned—and just as quickly heading home at their first hint of overstaying her welcome. Now, her twenty-year-old grandson was master of her own home—different ‘true loves’ trailing behind him every week as if Gran’s mere presence and sniffles behind the wall were ruining his romantic atmosphere. —Gran, why not go stay with someone, let us have the house to ourselves—Dasha, Masha, Sveta, Ira (circle as appropriate, they change often) would appreciate it! So Lydia Pavlovna stayed with her cousin, her old workmate, her friend’s wife – initially welcomed, but eventually she realised her visits were a strain. *** When there was nowhere left to go, her eldest daughter had a baby. City life, a mortgage, a school-age child—the family needed Gran more than ever. At first, everyone was happy: dinners hot, house tidy, children cared for. But after a few months, her son-in-law—barely a decade younger than Lydia—grew snippy. “Lydia, don’t buy those sausages—they’re poison! If you’re at home all day, can’t you make proper meals—homemade burgers, a proper roast…?” “Lydia, why are you spending so much on groceries and toiletries? You need to economise!” “Lydia! Do I look like a cow, gnawing on vegetables? We need more meat, but do keep an eye on the budget.” “You’re home anyway—can’t you help the eldest with her studies? Why are we paying for tutors with a perfectly good grandmother in residence?” Even her eldest granddaughter, just a bold nine-year-old, found fault—Gran’s clothes were embarrassing, she made her study, ‘Gran, why are you even here? Off to your country house, go play boss there!’ Lida endured it all. Her meagre pension bought meat for her son-in-law, pocket money for the embarrassed granddaughter, and even topped up the grandson’s bills—just to keep the house running. Complaining was pointless; her daughter worshipped her husband, never a word against him. When the youngest granddaughter started nursery, Lydia’s job was done. Her son-in-law said it plainly: “Thank you, Lydia, but we don’t need you now, time to go home.” Lydia’s heart sang with relief—finally she’d have her own space again. But her grandson had moved back in, with a girlfriend in tow. The place was a dump; bills unpaid, even the electric at risk. With no other option, Lydia took out a personal loan, settled the debts, scrubbed the house clean. Still, her grandson complained—no privacy with Gran coughing behind thin walls. And then, providence: her youngest daughter needed help with a newborn. Off she went again—only to realise after three months that she was, once again, surplus to requirements. Lydia fled before she could be asked to leave, returning to yet another frown from her grandson. Lydia might have carried on like this forever had it not been for one incident after returning home… House clean (she always paid her own way), debts gone, but again: “Gran, I’m going to Karen’s today—it’s her birthday, I’ll be back late. Lock up after yourselves, I’ll use the back door so I don’t disturb you.” “Why not stay the night then? Give us a break!” “Where would you two get tired of me in seven days?” “You won’t stay?” “No, I’ll come home.” The party was joyful—first the café, then just the close friends at Karen’s place, reminiscing about youth, steering clear of complaints. Lida was just about to head home when Karen’s phone rang—it was Lida’s daughter, Nastya. “Is everything all right? Why didn’t she call me?” Karen answered quietly: “She just asked to keep you here for the night. Sasha rang his mum—wants you to give them space. She called me—said if you won’t go to a care home, perhaps we can find you an old gent with a flat, so Sasha can get married without Gran breathing down his neck.” Lida poured out everything—to Karen and later, to her grandson and daughter: all the years of juggling, of being unwelcome in her own home. Sasha left, vowing never to return or help. At last, Lida was alone—and relished it: after a lifetime of accommodating everyone else, she could finally breathe. Her daughters called, hoping for babysitting—she said, “Bring the children to me. The air is better here, and in my own home I’m the boss. No more running around for everyone else.” Lida says: the further away, the dearer they become. And I think she’s right.

The further you go, the more you realise where you belong…

You know what, my dear grandson, Margaret said, her voice trembling but firm. If Im so much in everyones way, theres only one way out of this. Im not travelling to my daughters anymore, nor am I about to start wandering between friends, hoping to be someones guest. And I certainly have no desire to find myself a companion, heavens above. Imagine that! At my age, you want to marry me off?

Gran, thats exactly what Ive been trying to tell you for ages! Mum says it too. Move into a residential home, the veterans home round the corner. All it takes is you signing the house over to me. Youll get your own room, mum will see to it, youll have neighbours to chat with, and you wont be bothering me.

My dear Alexander, Margaret said, her eyes narrowing in pride and pain, Im not going anywhere. This is my home. If you so desperately want me out of the way, theres the doortake the seven roads, as they say. Youre young, clever enough. Go and find yourself a flat, live as you please. Didnt want to study? Then go work, for all I care. You can bring a different girl home every night, its none of my business. But Im nearly sixty-five, I need peace and quiet now. Ive wandered enough these past few yearsits time to come home. Its not right for you to chase me from my own house just so you and your girlfriends can live off my pension. It isnt bottomless, you know. You have a week to find somewhere else. If you cant, go to your friends or your darling girlfriends. I can never remember her namewhatever. Just be out of my house tonight. Marrying me off, sending me to a home! The cheek of it!

Alexander opened his mouth in protest, but Margaret had already retreated to her bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her. Her head split with pain. She needed a painkiller, but hated the thought of walking past her grandson in the kitchen for a glass of water. Scanning her modest room, she spied a plastic bottle of mineral water by her bedside. Perfectjust enough.

***

Even Margaret was surprised by her own determination. Years of pent-up frustration had finally burst, and now every word was out in the open. For two long years, shed kept silent, running between her daughters at a moments notice, only to be sent home as soon as they subtly hinted they were done with her. And now her twenty-year-old grandson ruled the roost in her own cottage: new girlfriends every week, and Margaret was a nuisancecoughing, breathing audibly behind the wall, spoiling the romance.

Gran, cant you visit someone for a night or two? Then Sophieor is it Emilyor maybe Alicecould stay over. Just for a bit.

She would gospending nights at her cousins, her old neighbour Grace, or an old work friendstrying not to disturb the young couple. The visits were pleasant at first, but when they became weekly chores, she realised even her closest circle began to weary of her presence.

***

At the moment when she could hardly find a friends doorstep to darken, her elder daughter, Annie, gave birth. London life, a crippling mortgage, a school-aged sonthere was no room for extended leave, and Margarets help with the grandchildren was a blessing.

Margaret moved in. For the first weeks, everything was perfecthot dinners, a tidy home, happy grandkids. But soon enough, her son-in-law Paul, only ten years her junior, started griping.

Margaret, pleaseno more of those cheap bangers from the shop! Youll poison us. Why dont you cook proper meals? Stew or a roastsurely it isnt too much trouble?

Margaret, the food shoppings getting out of handcould you be a bit thriftier? We need to make the budget last the month.

And if youre going to economise, dont stretch it so far theres no meat in anything. Im not a cow, I cant live on cabbage and onions the whole week!

It was always something: spending too much, spending too littlenot pulling your weight with the grandkids homework. Why are we paying for tutors with a grandmother under our roof?

And phone callsoh, heaven forbid, Margaret should keep in touch with her own friends or family!

Even her eldest granddaughtera proud little girl of tenhad started judging her. Gran, you dress like its still the 80s! You embarrass me in front of my friends, and anyway, why do you even have to be here? Youve got your own cottage, go back and boss people around there!

Margaret suffered in silencestretching her meagre pension further, slipping her granddaughter paper pounds to ease the disgrace of having a gran close by. Even Alexander, the lazy grandson, got whatever scraps were left, just to keep the power and water on at home.

Complaining to her daughter was pointless. Annies marriage was hard-won; she would never defy her husband, not after pulling him away from his first wife and giving him two children in her forties.

Sometimes, when Paul was out, Annie would whisper, Just bear with it, Mum. Its for my own good, thats all. And that was that.

When Annies youngest started nursery, Margaret was no longer needed. Paul came right out with itThank you for your help, Margaret. But were fine now, you should return home.

Margaret returned with unexpected relief: finally, her own space. She could go to bed whenever she liked, wake when she pleasedexcept, back in her own cottage, Alexander had filled it, with his girlfriend in tow.

The place was a mess, bills left unpaid, the threat of electricity being cut off was hanging over them. Margaret did what she couldtook out a small loan, paid off the debts, and put the cottage back in order. But still, her presence was unwelcomeher quiet breathing through the wall a constant complaint.

Then came the call from her younger daughter, needing help with a new baby. Off went Margaret, feeling like a lodger in her own life once more. Three months, and it was clear againshed outstayed her welcome. She left before being asked to go, back to her cottage, back to Alexanders protests.

She might have endured this endless cycle longer if not for one incident soon after her return.

Shed just finished scrubbing the house clean again and felt the familiar tension riseher presence was too much for Alexander.

***

Alex, Im off to Graces for her birthday. Ill be home latedont wait up. Lock the front, Ill come in through the back so I wont wake you lot.

Why not just stay overnight, Gran? Youll be banging around at all hours again. Stay there a night or two, we could do with a break.

How can you be tired of me after just a week?

A weeks a long time, Gran. Wont you stay over?

No, Im coming home.

The party was livelyfirst an old-fashioned tea in the local café, then back to Graces for stories and nostalgia. No one wanted to talk about problems. Margaret was about to leave when Grace got a call. She glanced at Margaret, stepped onto the porch, and came back a few minutes later. That was your daughter, Annie.

Is everything all right? Why didnt she call me? Is something wrong? Margaret grabbed her phone, but Grace stopped her.

Dont call, love. Everythings fine. She just asked if you could stay the night.

But why? I already told Alex Id be home!

Alex rang his mumsaid he needs some time alone with his girlfriend, and youre in the way. So Annie asked me to keep you here. Let the young people have a bit of peace, and I get the latest on whats new at your place.

Nothings new, honestly.

You know, Margaret, when things are really all right, children dont ring up their parents friends, asking them to keep their mum overnight. Annie called last week as well, asking if I knew any old chaps looking for a roommatepreferably with a house. Said Alex wants to get married but that youre always underfoot, breathing down their necks. She reckoned if you shacked up with a companion, shed have her tidy solution to the problem, since you wont go into a home.

Everything tumbled outhow shed tried to help both daughters, how shed always been in the way, even when shed done everything asked, how Alexander refused to lift a finger, always the odd one out.

Im not even the mistress of my own house, Margaret whispered. When Alex finished school, Annie took him in. But her husband turned cold straight awaymade sure Alex knew he wasnt wanted. So he came back to me. Hes never worked, never finished college. When he was at school, Annie sent money, but when he turned eighteen, that dried up. Now hes stuck to me like a limp.

Margaret didnt stay the night at Graces; she went home. And this time, she let it all out to Alexander.

He complained to Annie, said his gran had lost her mind, was throwing him out, but Annie only got the same answer Margaret gave Alexander.

And so, Alexander left. Before he slammed the door behind him, he warned Margaret not to count on himshed not see his face again in that house.

And Margaret? She found her solitude was a blessing. Finally, she could breathe without guilt, after a lifetime of accommodating others.

Raising the girls alone after her husbands death, always putting up with complaintsfirst rebellious daughters, then a sour son-in-law, then a lazy grandson with no ambition. Shed tried to do her best, but in the end, shed only raised people whod learnt how to take.

It isnt right, being turned out of your own home at your age. What kind of life is it, when you dont even belong in your own house?

Alex came back after a time, full of remorse, asking for forgiveness. Margaret had long since forgiven him, but she wasnt about to invite him to move back in. Visit as often as you like, Alexmy doors always open, she said. But I need peace now. Youre young, your minds on girls and nights on the town. I need to rest.

Her daughters, too, kept asking for help with the children. Margaret wouldnt gotheyd have to bring the grandchildren to her. Theres fresh air here, she told them, and I can keep my own rules. Here, I am in charge. Here, I belong.

And Margaret says, the further you go, the more you realise where you belong. And I think shes absolutely right.