**12th June, London**
*”What, am I old now? Useless?”* Mum’s voice trembled with hurt. *”I’ve still got plenty left in me!”*
*”Emily! Emma! How many times must I call you?”* Her voice carried through the flat, piercing even the closed door of the nursery, where Emily was trying to settle three-year-old Oliver.
*”Mum, just five minutes! Ollie’s nearly asleep!”* she whispered, stroking his back.
*”Five minutes? I feel ill! My blood pressure’s up! You promised to bring my tablets!”* That familiar shrillness crept into her tone.
Emily sighed. Oliver, now wide-eyed again, looked up at her anxiously.
*”Mummy, is Granny crying?”*
*”No, sweetheart, she isn’t. Go back to sleep.”* She kissed his forehead, though her chest tightened. Mum wasn’t crying—she was shouting. That was worse.
Margaret Wilson sat at the kitchen table, one hand pressed dramatically to her chest, breathing heavily. Seeing Emily, she shook her head in reproach.
*”Look what you’ve done! My heart’s racing, my head’s spinning—and you’re fussing over the boy! I told you—my medicine first, then the children!”*
*”Mum, it doesn’t work like that. He needs settling. If I stop halfway, he’ll toss and turn all night.”* She fetched the blood pressure pills and poured a glass of water.
*”So I should just suffer, should I?”* Margaret turned away. *”You never used to be like this. You’d come running the second I asked. Now? Now your family matters more than your own mother!”*
Emily handed over the tablets in silence. True, once she had dropped everything at Mum’s requests—back when they were gentle. *”Darling, would you fetch my medicine, please?”* Now they were commands. *”Emily! Bring my pills now!”*
*”Take these and rest. You’ll feel better,”* Emily murmured.
*”Rest? Easy for you to say! Who’ll make dinner? Who’ll get Oliver ready for nursery tomorrow?”* Margaret’s voice grew sharper with each grievance. *”I’m not your maid! I sacrifice my health for you, and this is my thanks?”*
*”No one’s forcing you to cook. I can manage,”* Emily cut in.
*”Oh yes? When? At nine o’clock at night? Oliver will be starving, and James will come home wanting supper. I can’t stand by and watch that!”*
Emily sat opposite her. They’d lived together since Oliver was born—two years now. Back then, Margaret had moved from her little bungalow to help, and at first, it *was* help. She’d doted on Oliver, cooked, cleaned. Emily had felt secure—everything was under control.
But something changed. Offers became obligations. Requests turned to demands.
*”Mum,”* Emily began carefully, *”maybe we should think about a nanny for Oliver. You’re exhausted—”*
*”A nanny? Some stranger with my grandson? Have you lost your mind? Who’d care for him better than me?”*
*”I’m not saying they would. But you—”*
*”But what? I’m too old? Weak?”* Her voice cracked with indignation. *”I could raise ten more like him! I just need a little consideration!”*
Footsteps in the hall—James, home from work. Emily exhaled in relief.
*”Hello, my lovelies!”* he called cheerfully, hanging up his coat. *”All well? Oliver asleep?”*
*”Almost,”* Emily said flatly.
*”Ah, there’s my son-in-law!”* Margaret’s tone sweetened instantly. *”James, you must be hungry. I’ve made stew and roast chicken. Sit down!”*
James glanced between them, sensing tension. *”Thanks, Margaret. Everything alright?”*
*”Oh, nothing,”* she sighed. *”I only asked for my medicine, but my daughter put her son first. Never mind. How was work?”*
Emily set the table silently. This was the pattern: with James, Mum was all warmth. Alone with Emily—a different woman.
Over dinner, Margaret recounted her day—walks with Oliver, cooking, laundry—each word heavy with unspoken *”See how hard I work?”*
*”Mum’s worn out,”* Emily said quietly. *”Maybe a nanny isn’t a bad idea.”*
James nodded thoughtfully. *”Margaret, you do so much. Perhaps it’s time you had a break—enjoyed yourself.”*
*”Enjoyed myself?”* she echoed, the air thickening. *”My purpose is my grandson. What are you suggesting? That I sit alone in my flat watching telly?”*
*”Not alone. Meet friends, see a show, go to the cottage—”*
*”Friends?”* She gave a bitter laugh. *”They’re all ill or minding grandchildren. And the theatre? On a £600 pension? Tickets cost half that!”*
Emily intervened. *”It’s not about money. If you want to see a play, we’ll buy tickets.”*
*”I don’t want your charity!”* Margaret snapped. *”I worked hard for my pension! At my age, my duty is helping my family. Yours is to appreciate it!”*
*”We do,”* Emily said wearily.
*”No, you don’t! If you did, you wouldn’t push me aside for a nanny!”*
James tried to soothe her. *”No one’s pushing you. We worry about your health—”*
*”Of course I’m tired! But I don’t complain! I just want my daughter to care!”*
Emily pushed her plate away. *”Mum, I don’t prioritise others over you. But sometimes your expectations… they’re too much.”*
*”Expectations? I only want you to be a good daughter!”*
*”And what am I now? A bad one?”*
*”You’ve changed,”* Margaret said, tears welling. *”We used to be like friends. Now you’ve got opinions on everything.”*
*”I’m a grown woman with a family. Of course I have opinions.”*
Margaret turned to James triumphantly. *”Hear how she speaks to me? Her mother’s thoughts mean nothing now!”*
He cleared his throat. *”Let’s not argue. We’re family.”*
*”Exactly! Family means support and respect. I sacrifice for you—all I ask is a little care in return!”*
Emily stood. *”I’ll check on Oliver.”*
In the quiet nursery, she watched him sleep, his breath steady. She remembered the early days—Margaret’s help had been a godsend. But now? Every act came with strings, every request a guilt trip.
James’s murmurs drifted from the kitchen—Margaret recounting her struggles as a single mother. Emily returned as she was saying, *”I gave her everything. And now I’m a burden.”*
*”No one said that,”* James replied tiredly.
*”Not in words. But you think it.”* Margaret turned to Emily. *”Are you ashamed? Do your friends gossip that your mother’s a leech?”*
*”This isn’t about them. I just want you happy.”*
*”I’ll be happy when you respect me!”*
Emily hugged her suddenly. *”Mum, stop. You’re the best grandma, the best mother. Let’s find a way that works for everyone.”*
Margaret clung to her. *”I don’t mean to be difficult. I worry. If I don’t keep things together, something will go wrong.”*
*”You taught me independence—to trust my choices. Trust me now. I can care for my family.”*
A slow nod. *”Alright. We’ll try. But if Oliver needs me—”*
*”You’ll be here,”* Emily smiled.
Next morning, over breakfast—Oliver devouring porridge, Margaret sipping tea, Emily packing her bag—she asked, *”Fancy the cinema tonight? Just us?”*
*”Cinema?”* Margaret blinked. *”What about Oliver?”*
*”James can handle bedtime.”*
Margaret smiled unexpectedly. *”Actually… there’s that film I’ve been wanting to see.”*
*”Then it’s settled. Mum… ask me properly? Like you used to?”*
Margaret took her hand. *”Darling, would you take me to the cinema tonight?”*
*”I’d love to.”* Emily kissed her cheek.
Oliver clapped. *”Can I come?”*
*”Next time, love. Tonight’s Granny and Mummy’s girls’ night.”*
Margaret’s cheeks pinked. *”Like old times.”*
Yes. Like when Emily was small, and they’d gone to puppet shows
