**Taking Offence**
It had been a long day. Margaret Whitmore leaned against the kitchen counter, her voice sugar-coated but carrying weight. “So, love, have you thought it over? That Rover I saw yesterday—cream leather seats, absolutely pristine. Only thirty grand, you know.”
Emily sighed and shut her laptop. “Mum… We’ve been through this. There’s the mortgage, Lily’s been ill every other week—where d’you expect me to find thirty grand? Find something more modest.”
Shrieks of laughter spilled from the bedroom. Daniel was wrestling with Lily, trying to coax socks onto her wriggling feet. It was nearly eight—Emily had to leave for work in ten minutes. Of all times, her mother had chosen now to revive the car debate.
“Just take out a loan,” Margaret said breezily, plucking a biscuit from the tin. “You’re both young, good jobs, solid salaries. It’s not like I’m asking for funeral money—this is practical.”
Emily spun round, fingers tightening.
“And pay with what, Mum? Thin air? Are you even listening? We’ve already got the mortgage!”
Margaret sniffed, crossing her arms. “Right. Daniel’s parents have a car, but I’m left out in the cold, as usual.”
That did it.
“Daniel’s parents have a car because they saved for it—sold the old one, scrimped and scraped. Didn’t demand it handed to them. You passed your test last month, and already you want a bleeding Rover?”
“And why d’you think I only passed now?” Margaret shot back, voice rising. “Because I raised you, poured every penny into you—saved for your first home! And now, when I finally have a chance, you shut me down!”
Emily glanced at Daniel. He was busy helping Lily into her coat, jaw tight. He never interfered—just hoped they’d sort it themselves. But his pinched mouth said it all: he’d had enough.
“Mum, you told me yourself you were afraid to drive. Look, we’re not monsters. But we don’t have bottomless pockets,” Emily said, exhaustion seeping in. “We already help—bills, medicine, presents. It never ends.”
Margaret clutched her chest dramatically, as if suddenly recalling her high blood pressure.
“Oh, I see how it is. So now you’ll throw every quid back in my face?”
Emily exhaled sharply, her throat dry, palms damp. This wasn’t their first row about the car, but today was worse. Sleepless nights, Lily’s constant colds, unpaid bills—all of it boiled over.
Then Margaret delivered the final blow:
“What if I mind Lily when she’s poorly? You wouldn’t need sick days—earn more. Then we could manage the loan.”
Emily froze.
“Wait. So you’ll look after your granddaughter… for a car? When before, your ‘health wouldn’t allow it’? A Rover’s cured you, has it?”
“Don’t twist it,” Margaret muttered. “I’m offering a compromise.”
“A compromise means both sides bend. You’re just haggling.”
Margaret turned on her heel and stormed out.
“Fine. Have it your way. Don’t come crying when you need me again.”
Emily didn’t follow. She sank by the window, eyes shut, swallowing the lump in her throat.
Daniel’s hand settled on her shoulder. “You did right,” he murmured. “Shame it came to this.”
A brittle quiet filled the flat. Even Lily stopped fussing, staring at the door.
“Did Granny leave forever? Aren’t we seeing her?”
Emily didn’t know. Anger, weariness, old childhood hurts simmered inside. They’d helped Margaret endlessly—because that’s what family did. Now she’d withhold being a grandmother… over a car.
Two months passed. Life settled, superficially. Lily went to nursery, Emily worked, Daniel took extra shifts. No one mentioned Margaret, yet her presence lingered—in the stuffed toys she’d brought Lily, the knitted socks, the recipe for their Sunday roast.
And Lily missed her. At first, quiet and confused. Then came the questions.
“Mum, did Granny go away?”
“No, she’s just… busy.”
“She always called when I was poorly. Now she doesn’t. Did she forget me?”
Emily forced smiles, mumbled about repairs, broken phones. But her voice lacked conviction, and Lily’s worry grew.
Then, one evening, as Lily doodled on her tablet and Emily scrubbed pans, the girl piped up: “Can I call Granny?”
Emily sighed but nodded. Maybe, just maybe, Margaret would answer.
The phone rang and rang. Voicemail. Lily redialled. And again. After the fourth try, she burst into tears—not a tantrum, but the quiet, bewildered crying of a child who doesn’t understand why they’re unloved.
Emily pulled her close, instantly regretting the idea.
“Sweetheart, maybe she’s asleep.”
“No,” Lily hiccuped. “She doesn’t love me anymore. ‘Cause we didn’t buy the car. Granny’s cross…”
The words knifed through Emily. She held Lily tighter, murmuring empty reassurances. But inside, she boiled. Be angry at her, at Daniel, fine—but punish a five-year-old? Over a car? That was low.
Later, with Lily asleep and cheap wine in hand, Emily unloaded to her neighbour, Claire, who often dropped by to check she wasn’t “drowning in drudgery.”
“You look like you’ve lost a tenner and found a penny,” Claire said, slicing apples.
“Mum again. Lily tried calling. She didn’t even pick up.”
Claire sighed—her own mother was difficult.
“Elderly folk don’t always grow wise. Sometimes they just grow bitter. Feel owed.”
Emily said nothing.
“But think—she’s lonely,” Claire added. “No husband, no friends. You were her world. Then Lily. Now it’s just her, the telly, and feeling ‘betrayed.’ Maybe reach out?”
“I get it. But I can’t forgive. Not yet. Not after dragging Lily into it. She reached out first—and got nothing.”
“You don’t have to. Just… don’t wait for her to cave. Pride’s her middle name.”
After Claire left, little changed—except inside Emily, where anger warred with pity. Still, she wouldn’t grovel.
Another month. A chilly Saturday. Lily begged for the playground. Emily relented—her day off, a rare breather. The yard was nearly empty—just teens by the swings and an old man with a paper.
Lily dashed to the slide while Emily sat, squinting in the sun. Silence would’ve been bliss, but her mind replayed Lily’s voice: *Does Granny love us? Why can’t we see her? What if she’s ill?*
Then—sharp heels on pavement, a familiar clipped tone:
“No, I don’t want your mobile deal. I’ve a brick phone, no internet.”
Emily’s heart clenched.
Margaret marched past the flats in her prized sheepskin jacket—the one she wore everywhere. Lips pursed, face stern. Then she slowed. Spotted Lily.
Lily, halfway up the climbing frame, turned. Froze. Then leapt down and sprinted, breathless with joy.
“Granny!”
Margaret hesitated, eyes wide. But when Lily flung her arms round her waist, she caved, tucking her phone away to hug her back.
Emily stood, pulse hammering.
“Hello, Mum.”
“Hello,” Margaret said, still holding Lily but unsmiling. “She’s taller. Hair’s longer.”
“Yes. Unlike some grudges.”
Margaret sighed, eyes on Lily but words for Emily.
“I thought you’d still be cross.”
“I am. But your granddaughter isn’t. Why didn’t you call her?” Emily kept her tone light for Lily’s sake.
“Didn’t want to intrude. If you didn’t need me…”
“Mum,” Emily said patiently. “We’re not cutting you off. But we’re people, not cash machines. Be part of this family—without strings.”
Margaret nodded, her frown easing.
“I missed her. You. Even Daniel.”
“I know,” Emily smirked. “We missed you too. Took a while to admit it.”
They stood in silence, wind tugging their hair. Lily clung a moment longer, then darted back to play, casting glances—checking Granny wouldn’t vanish again.
Weeks later, Margaret stopped mentioning the car. She came round to play, to listen to Lily chatter about cartoons. One evening, as Emily cooked and Lily “helped” Margaret make pastry (flour up to their elbows, dough like clay), Daniel leaned in the doorway.
“Well, well. Peace, love, and understanding. You come by Rover or Shanks’s pony, Margaret?”
She didn’t look up. “Mention that car again, and you’ll knead the**”With a floury finger, Margaret flicked dough at him, and for the first time in months, the kitchen felt like home again.”**
