“You didn’t even say thank you,” Eleanor murmured, eyes glistening.
“Mum, please, not again!” snapped Edward, thumb still scrolling his phone screen. “I told you, I’m busy!”
“Busy? Ha!” Eleanor slapped her damp cloth onto the kitchen counter. “Nearly forty years old and still acting the schoolboy! Edward, I’m asking you, please visit Nana. She called yesterday, feeling poorly!”
“Mum, I’ve got an important meeting in an hour!” Edward finally looked up, irritation sharp in his gaze. “I’ll go later. Tonight or tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow, the day after…” Eleanor sank onto a chair opposite him, sighing heavily. “Your grandmother is eighty-three, Edward. You always find a reason.”
“Don’t give me that old tune!” Edward shoved his phone into his jacket pocket, standing up. “I work, understand? Earn the money! Unlike some who just nag!”
Eleanor flinched but stayed quiet. She was used to this. Edward had grown harsh, especially about family duties.
“Fine,” she whispered. “I’ll go myself. But the car’s in the garage. Two hours each way on the bus…”
“So?” Edward pulled on his jacket. “Get the bus then! Or call a taxi!”
“Taxis are dear, son. My pension barely stretches, you know that.”
“I know, I know!” Edward was already at the door. “Look, Mum, we’ll talk later. I really need to dash!”
The door slammed. Alone in the kitchen still smelling of the stew she’d cooked for him – untouched – Eleanor watched him climb into his sleek new car from the window. He bragged about it constantly. Yet driving his own grandmother was too much trouble.
She dug into her worn handbag, counted the notes. A taxi *was* too much. The bus it was. Grabbing a bag of shortbread and a jar of marmalade for her mother-in-law, she wrapped in a scarf against the chill air and stepped outside. The bus stop was fifteen minutes’ walk. She shuffled slowly, pausing for breath. Her heart fluttered these days, but doctors cost money she wouldn’t spend.
She waited half an hour at the stop. The bus was packed; Eleanor squeezed on. The long journey involved changes. Young people sat buried in phones and earbuds. No one offered their seat.
Finally, she reached the Cotswold village where Edward’s grandmother lived. A small, old cottage stood at the edge, surrounded by an overgrown garden. Eleanor pushed open the gate, walked the path to the door.
“Nana!” she called, knocking. “It’s Eleanor, Margaret!”
The door opened slowly. Margaret Evans, her late husband’s mother, leaned heavily on a walking stick. The frail woman had visibly shrunk since the last visit.
“Eleanor, love!” Margaret beamed, eyes crinkling. “Oh, how lovely! Come in, come in!”
“How are you, Nana?” Eleanor hugged the thin shoulders, kissing a papery cheek. “You’ve lost weight.”
“Oh, never mind me…” Margaret led her into the tidy sitting room. “No appetite. Barely sleep. Odd aches…”
“Have you seen the GP?”
“I did. They say it’s age. Eighty-three, after all.” Margaret gestured to the worn sofa. “Tea, dear?”
“Perfect.” Eleanor unpacked the treats. “Brought you some stew, bit of ham, biscuits.”
“Oh, thank you, my dear!” Margaret smiled warmly. “Where’s Edward? Feels ages since I saw him.”
Eleanor hesitated, pouring tea. “He’s awfully busy, Nana. His work.”
“Ah,” Margaret nodded slowly. “Man’s got to work. Only… only I miss him something fierce. He’s my only grandson.”
“I know, Nana. He misses you too, just… no time.”
“No, Eleanor,” Margaret shook her head gently. “He doesn’t. If he missed me, he’d find the time. Like you did.”
Eleanor had no answer. She’d thought it herself. Edward could visit if he truly cared. But sitting in this quiet cottage didn’t interest him.
“Tell me how you’re managing,” Eleanor asked instead.
“What’s to tell? Up at dawn, breakfast, potter. Vera from next door pops in sometimes. But mostly, just me. Telly’s on, but all such dreadful news…”
“And your health?”
“Not good, dear. Really not. Heart pains, stabbing in my chest. Dizzy spells. Yesterday, I fell right there in the kitchen. Grabbed the table just in time.”
“Nana!” Eleanor gasped. “Why didn’t you call? The emergency services?”
“Oh, what’s the point? They come, poke about, say it’s age. Pills cost a small fortune, pension won’t cover it.”
“Don’t fret about money. We’ll manage the pills.”
“Edward will help?” Margaret’s voice held a frail hope.
“Of course he will,” Eleanor lied quickly. She knew persuading Edward would be yet another fight.
They sat together until evening. Margaret talked of neighbours, her worries, missing her son. Eleanor listened, nodding, making a simple supper.
“Eleanor?” Margaret asked as dusk fell. “Could you… could you stay the night? It’s frightening alone…”
“Of course, Nana. I’ll stay.”
Next morning, Eleanor took her to the local clinic. The young doctor looked exhausted. His examination was swift. He prescribed pills. “Take exactly as instructed. Ring emergency services if she worsens,” he advised.
“Doctor, is she… very poorly?” Eleanor whispered.
“At her age? Any condition is concerning,” he replied matter-of-factly. “Fragile heart, fluctuating blood pressure. Needs regular monitoring.”
Margaret clung to Eleanor’s arm on the way back. “Thank you, my dear,” she murmured. “You’re like a daughter to me. Better.”
“Don’t be silly, Nana. We’re family.”
“Family…” Margaret repeated sadly. “Edward doesn’t count me as family, does he?”
“Don’t think that. He just doesn’t grasp…”
“Forty is too old not to grasp,” Margaret paused, catching her breath. “He understands, Eleanor. He just… doesn’t care enough.”
That evening, Eleanor returned home to find Edward at the kitchen table, wearing a sheepish expression.
“Mum,” he began as she hung her coat. “I’ve been thinking…”
“And?” Eleanor asked wearily.
“Maybe visit Nana? Once a month?”
“Once a month?” Eleanor stared at him. “How generous.”
“Mum, don’t be like that. I’m making an effort.”
“Effort…” Eleanor sank onto a chair. “Edward, remember when you were ten? High fever? Near forty degrees?”
“Vaguely. What?”
“Who nursed you? Who stayed awake nights, changing compresses, forcing medicine?”
“You. And Nana.” The admission was grudging.
“Exactly. Now *she’s* ill. What do we owe her?”
“To help,” Edward mumbled.
“Yes. Help. Not when it fits *your* diary. When *she* needs it.” Eleanor leaned closer. “Edward, she won’t be here forever. When she’s gone, you’ll carry how you treated her.”
“Mum, I know, but—”
“No ‘but’!” Eleanor stood abruptly. “We’re going to see her tomorrow. Together. No argument!”
“Alright,” Edward conceded heavily. “We’ll go.”
Margaret couldn’t believe her eyes the next morning.
“Edward!” Her tears spilled over. “Edward, my boy
His polished shoes clicked on the marble floor of his Canary Wharf office the next morning, his fingers already typing brisk emails while the memory of Gran’s frail hand clutching his coat sleeve faded like a half-forgotten dream uttered in the grey London rain.
