We love you, son, but please stop turning up unannounced,
Arthur and Margaret Whitaker had lived all their lives in a cosy cottage that was as weatherworn as they were. Moving? Not a chance.
Each evening they recollected the good bitsthere had been plenty. Their children were grown, with families of their own. Their daughter, Rose, lived in the neighbouring village of Brambleton and visited often, and the grandchildren kept the house from going completely quiet. Their son, however, had packed his life away five years ago, vanished into a job in London, and spent most holidays overseas. Then, out of the blue, Alexander Bennett rang to say he was finally coming round.
The news sent the Whitakers into a flurry. Arthur hopped on his vintage Raleigh and headed for the shop, while Margaret plotted a hearty stew to make her beloved son feel welcome. They started counting the days until Alexanders arrival. Hed recently remarriedhis first wife was a freespirit who liked camping, so theyd split. No children yet; he was building a fresh start.
Alexander rolled in his Toyota at dusk, tucked into a quick supper and then crashed straight into bed. Arthur and Margaret slipped in quietly to have a look at their boy, because after the long drive he was too weary to chat.
Arthur beamed, Our lad will get a proper nights sleep, and tomorrow he can help us split firewood, clear the horsestable muck, fetch a fir and decorate the househavent had a Christmas tree since the early nineties.
Margaret added, And we still need to mend the pantry floor before it gives way.
Arthur went to bed, but Margaret kept fussing over the covers and his pillow.
At dawn Arthur stoked the woodburner so the cottage would be warm when Alexander awoke. Margaret was already whipping up a Victoria sponge. By midday Alexander stretched, claiming hed never slept so soundly. After breakfast he flicked on the telly and plopped down for a film.
Can you give my dad a hand with the wood? Margaret asked.
Love, Im only here for a few days. Let Dad handle the sauna, Alexander replied.
The old pair hauled water from the well for the sauna in silence. After lunch Arthur said, The stable needs clearing. Youre fit, go on, get it done!
What? I came to relax, not to work a shift at the farm, Alexander retorted.
Later, after the sauna, he opened a bottle of gin hed brought and started moaning about lifehis sleek flat, the pricey sofa, his pedigree Labrador, the women hed dated, and how his job had lost its sparkle.
Margaret, eyes watery, begged him not to drive, snatching the car keys. Alexander, irritated, slammed the TV volume to the max. Eventually the couple drifted off, but the racket kept them awake. When Arthur finally found Alexander snoring, he switched the telly off and settled down himself.
The next morning Alexander took a brisk walk in the woods, shivered, then hurried home for a mug of tea and the cosy heat of the sittingroom sofa. He remembered nothing of the previous day, while Margaret suffered a throbbing headache.
The Whitakers packed a bag of homemade biscuits, jam and a bottle of custardtopped plum compote for Alexanders wife. He accepted gratefully.
Your haul is massive! Shell love itshes never tasted such good preserves. Im sorry I forgot a NewYears present, but Ill bring one next time, he said.
Margaret dabbed at a tear and said, Dont come back if you cant help out, son. We love you, we worry, but you could just as well stay at home and watch your own fancy TV.
Realising hed hurt his parents, Alexander gave a brief wave, got back into his car and drove back to the bustling London streets, where the familiar chaos awaited.
