Hey love, its me, just got a minute and thought Id tell you whats been happening. So, picture this: the front door of Mums old terraced house in the Cotswolds finally swings open after a long, slow struggle. Anne Spencer barely had a chance to catch her breath before a cold bead of sweat rolls down her forehead and drenches her brow. From the hallway you first hear a startled shout, then the click of the lock, and only then does her daughter step over the threshold.
Mum? Oh my God How on earth did you lug all those bags? Why didnt you give me a headsup? Victoria, tall and sunkissed, stands there with an expression thats a mix of surprise and a little disbelief. She hasnt seen Anne in over a year shed been away visiting the grandparents in Devon, and now, spurred by a worrying gut feeling, Anne decided it was time for a long trip.
I brought them just like that, Vic, I always do not emptyhanded, you know, Anne replies, a little hoarse from the climb. She drags two massive suitcases across the doorstep in one go. Victoria doesnt even try to help; perhaps shes still in shock, or maybe she just hasnt figured out where to put herself.
She leans down, pulls the first bag away from the door so they can actually get inside, and mutters, Good grief, did you stuff a pig in that thing? Her voice is smooth as polished stone, but theres no joy in it only confusion and a pinch of irritation. She doesnt hug Mum, just glances helplessly at the second piece of luggage an old-fashioned, overstuffed wheeled trunk that looks like a relic from another era sitting on the polished parquet.
Anne takes a tentative step forward, her fingers trembling as they fidget with the buckle on her coat strap. Sorry, Vic I grabbed a few things. Some jam for our Ben, a jar of chutney you know how you love it. All homegrown, the lot, grown with Dad. Her voice wavers with exhaustion, a guilty undertone threading through each word.
Victoria sighs, the sound heavy with tired anticipation. She darts her eyes from the trunk to Annes rumpled dress, the crooked scarf, the little beads of sweat on her upper lip. Without waiting for an invitation, Anne drops onto the nearest white leather ottoman, sitting up straight in that proper oldfashioned way, hands clasped tightly on her knees. The journey had drained her: a 28hour train ride followed by a crammed rushhour on the underground where that clunky trunk kept getting stuck at the turnstiles.
But how could she come emptyhanded? Not a chance. Especially after a year of no visits.
Did you change your number? Anne asks, scanning the room. Ive tried calling for four days nothing. Dads blood pressure spiked on day two, and by day three I was a nervous wreck. My heart felt like it was about to jump out of my chest. She waves a hand, trying to shake off the stress. When I still couldnt get through on day four, I thought Id just book a ticket. I bought it after three days, but you never answered, and weve all been on edge. Whats up with your phone? You cant just ignore your old parents. Were both in our seventies now, love, and Im lugging these bags for you.
Victoria looks away, a faint blush spreading across her usually confident face. She tugs at the perfectly styled ponytail, smooths an imaginary strand and says, All good, Mum. I just changed the number, got caught up, forgot to tell you. She rushes the words, swallowing the last syllable.
And Uncle Ben wasnt answering either.
Changed his too. Were on a new network now.
Anne watches her daughter, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Victoria the youngest, most longawaited, the one they all petted after two rambunctious boys has finally grown up, and they poured their hearts into her.
Her thoughts drift to the sons. The eldest, James, is off in the States, somewhere out west, working on a tech startup. He calls only on big holidays. Hes got a family there, grandchildren Anne only knows from the photos on his phone. Sometimes she imagines their voices, their laughter, but the distance feels endless.
You okay, Mum? You look a bit quiet, Victorias voice snaps her back, tinged with worry.
No, love, just thinking. Getting my bearings after a long road, Anne replies with a faint grin. Hows little Ben doing? All peaceful at home?
Hes at football practice now, should be back any minute. Can you fetch me a glass of water?
Victoria shuffles to the kitchen, the house humming with modern appliances and sleek furniture a far cry from the cosy cottage Anne left behind. She pauses a moment, letting the memory of her middle brother, Edward, in Birmingham slip through. Their relationship with his wife, Nell, has always been a bit frosty; Nells sharp tongue never quite clicked with Annes gentle ways. Still, Anne knits for the grandkids, bakes their favourite cabbage pies, brings over pickles always trying to fit in, never quite landing.
Her mind then lands on the life she gave to her own daughter, Lily, nine years ago. Lily married Ian, a hardworking fellow from the nearby town. Everything seemed fine until baby Ben was born and the family dynamics shifted. Lily moved back to London for work, leaving a oneyearold son with them while she chased a career. Anne remembers the night Lily whispered she felt suffocated in the village, that she needed to breathe city air.
Whats Ben like now? Grown up? Anne asks, sipping water, her heart tightening with that familiar ache.
Hes huge now, Mum. The coach always praises him. Only he still asks when well go to Grandmas and Grandpas in the country. He says it smells like apples and pies there, while this place reeks of traffic.
Anne closes her eyes, remembering every night Ben would call, crying for home, his voice cracking over the line. She also recalls her late husband, Nicholas, silently smoking on the porch, trying not to let a single tear slip. Theyd given Ben all the love they could, only to watch him pulled away like a borrowed item.
He should be with his mum, shed argued back then, more to herself than anyone else.
On the train, watching the countryside blur past, Anne tried to picture Bens grownup face. If his dad Ian was tall and sturdy, Ben must have inherited those broad shoulders. Nicholas would have loved snapping endless photos, begging, More, love, Im bored here alone. Hed probably have rushed to the city only to fall ill a week before Anne left, showing up pale but stubborn.
Will you manage on your own? I cant just sit here, my hearts aching, shed whispered, packing the jam jars. Bens voice, now a confident teenage drawl, replied, Ill be fine, Mum. Well sort it out. Nicholas, adjusting the blanket, muttered, Just make sure everythings alright for Vic.
Suddenly, Victoria burst into the living room, her voice warming up. Mum, Ive got soup and noodles, some meatballs proper comfort food. She flung the kitchen door open, and in stepped a tenyearold boy, Ben, with a sporty bag slung over his shoulder. He froze for a heartbeat, eyes wide, then tossed his trainers aside and sprinted straight to Anne, wrapping his arms around her like a gust of wind.
Gran! Youre here! he squealed, tears already spilling. Anne hugged him tight, feeling his youthful energy and the crisp autumn air of his scent mix together. Youve grown so much! she laughed, trying to smooth his messy hair, feeling a pang of uncertainty about the tiny green sweater shed knitted for him maybe it was a size too small.
Dont worry, Ill get it right next time, Ben grinned, giving her another tight squeeze.
Anne settled at the glossy kitchen table, poking at a single meatball with a fork. The broth was thin, almost invisible, and the meatballs barely filled her stomach. She stared at the plate, noticing five more tiny patties beside it all bought from the supermarket, no time to cook anything else.
Mum, do you want another? Victoria asked politely, already standing to clear the dishes.
No, love, Im fine. No appetite after the road, Anne replied, a lie tasting bitter on her tongue. She glanced around sleek appliances, designer furniture, Bens room decked out with a gaming PC, a guitar, a mini gym. Victoria wore a pricey housecoat, gold hoops glinting in the light. Nothing here smelled of homecooked broth; it smelled of polished surfaces and city hustle.
She thought to herself, halfsmiling, Were stuffed in the countryside, even if the banks tight. Here it feels halfhearted, like everythings on a diet. Ben, still at the table, looked up. Gran, why didnt you eat more? Theyre good! He sounded earnest, a little upset.
Dont teach adults, love, Victoria said, a faint crease forming on her forehead. Grandma says shes full.
Anne placed a gentle hand on Bens head. All good, dear. Im truly full, thank you.
Inside, a quiet ache settled. Bens blunt honesty exposed a wall Anned felt from the moment shed arrived everything looked perfect, tidy, but also a bit sterile, even the relationships.
Mum, you look tired. Lets get you onto the sofa, Victoria suggested, hauling the suitcase with the remaining provisions. Tomorrow well sort out your things.
Anne nodded, thinking that tomorrow shed sneak a slice of homemade scone and a bite of the cottagemade bacon from her bag, eat it by the window while watching the city lights, a little rebellion against the nofat, nohomecooking rule Victoria set.
The flat fell silent, the emptiness pressing on her ears. The next two days Anne was left to herself, like an unwanted trinket on a shelf. Victoria would dash off in the mornings shouting, Lunch in the fridge, heat it up! Ben would disappear into school, football practice, or friends, chasing the last warm days of autumn.
A tension hung between Mum and daughter, thick and unspoken. Anne tried to keep busy polishing the gleaming stove, rearranging Bens stuff but she felt like an extra in this pristine space.
On day three, Victoria came home from work and said, Mum, Ill sort out your ticket. Its peak season, you know, trains fill up fast.
Anne startled, eyes wide. What season? Were not in the south now. I just got here, Vic Her voice trembled. Maybe youre right, love.
She handed over the documents, heart heavy. Shed promised Nicholas shed be back in a week and a half, thinking shed spend time with Ben, make him some stew and pies, give Victoria a break. Instead, she was stuck with supermarket fare, feeling like a burden.
Victoria, ticket in hand, brightened. Mum, youll get a cosy cabin near the loo youll love it! she chirped. Youve already had a proper stay, what more do you need? In two days youre back home!
Maybe youre right Anne whispered.
The thought of just two more days kept Victorias spirits up. That evening, Anne paused outside Bens halfopen bedroom door, hearing Victorias tired voice to her son, Can you turn the TV down? Im trying not to lose my hearing. Bens voice floated back, Whens Uncle Victor coming back? He promised to help with the robot.
Soon, love. As soon as Gran leaves, well get him. The words felt like a distant echo.
Annes breath caught, tears hot and bitter flooding her cheeks, she leaned against the cool wall to steady herself. She slipped into Bens room, the empty wheeled suitcase by the bed, and found Victoria standing there, eyes wide. Mum? Where are you going?
Anne couldnt find the words. She felt useless, a hindrance in her own familys life. She fled the city, heading for the train station, the clamor of crowds and the winds howl in her ears. She never managed to explain why she ran it was too painful to admit shed become a nuisance, that some Uncle Victor seemed more important than she was.
She spent the night at the station, wrapped in a warm shawl that smelled faintly of home. She swapped her ticket for a later one, a fivehour morning service. Shed take any seat, even a cheap berth, just to get away.
The train rattled along, and she wept quietly, not wanting anyone in the carriage to hear. Memories of youth, children, the years of giving everything swirled. Suddenly, at a tiny rural stop the next morning, a familiar figure appeared Nicholas, now frail but smiling.
Ana, love! Ive missed you. Look at you, still dragging that suitcase, he joked, helping her with the thin bag.
For the first time in days, Anne managed a genuine smile through her tears. Someone still cared, still needed her, even if it was just a quiet moment on a platform.
