“You’re not needed anymore,” the children said before driving away.
“Mum, why do you do this every time? We agreed!” Emily huffed as she unpacked the groceries shed brought for her mother.
“Darling, I just wanted to help. Thought you and Paul might like it if I knitted little Sophie a jumper for winter,” Margaret said from her seat by the window, knitting needles clicking between her fingers.
“Sophies fourteen, Mum. She wouldnt be caught dead in a granny-knit jumper, for heavens sake! She has her own style. Kids these days wear completely different things.”
Margaret sighed, setting aside the half-finished pink jumper. Something tightened painfully in her chest. Was her gift really that awful? Shed picked a modern pattern, soft yarneverything!
“What about tea next weekend? Ill bake an apple pie. Sophies favourite.”
Emily paused mid-motion by the fridge before slamming it shut harder than necessary.
“Mum, we dont have time for tea. Sophies got exams, Pauls swamped with work, and Im run off my feet at the office. We talked about this last time.”
“Right, of course,” Margaret said, smoothing a crease in her housecoat. “I just thought, maybe Sunday”
“No,” Emily cut in. “Sunday were at the cottage. Olivia and James are throwing a birthday do for Alex. Forgotten?”
“Alex is turning sixteen already?” Margaret smiled, wistful. “They grow up so fast. Are you taking me along?”
Emily frowned as if the question had blindsided her.
“Mum, its just the kids and their friends. Youd be bored stiff. And the drives a nightmare.”
“I wont mind,” Margaret said quickly. “I could bake a cake. Remember how Alex loved my honey cake?”
“Theyve ordered one from a posh bakery. Some fancy thing with edible photos.”
Margaret nodded and picked up her knitting again, hiding her disappointment. The children had grown, the grandchildren too. They had their own lives nowlives with less and less room for her.
Emily checked her watch and grabbed her bag.
“Got to dash. Groceries are put away. Dont cook the riceit spikes your blood pressure. And dont forget your pills.”
“Thank you, love,” Margaret hugged her at the door. Emily stiffened, as if her mothers touch was unwelcome, and slipped free.
“Bye, Mum. Ill ring next week.”
The door clicked shut. Margaret stood in the hallway, listening to her daughters footsteps fade. Then, slowly, she wandered back inside. The flat, once full of childrens laughter, now felt too quiet.
She opened the sideboard and pulled out the family album. There was little Simon and Emily in the sandbox. Holidays at the seasideback when her husband was alive and theyd all saved up for a trip to Brighton. School photos, graduations, weddings and tiny grandchildren cradled in her arms. When Sophie was born, Margaret had quit work early to help. Emily and Paul had been so grateful. Shed looked after Alex too, though not as muchOlivia preferred to manage alone.
The doorbell yanked her from memories. It was Doris from downstairs.
“Margaret, can you believe it? The hot waters off again! No warning! Fancy a cuppa? Cant even wash my dishes.”
“Of course, come in,” Margaret brightened. “I nearly baked a pie, but goodness knows whod eat it now.”
“Emily popped by?” Doris asked, toeing off her shoes. “Saw her car outside.”
“Just dropped off shopping. Always in a rush, these days.”
“Thats what they all say,” Doris waved a hand. “My Daves always too busyuntil hes shipping the grandkids off to Cornwall for summer. Then suddenly hes got time to drive me there and back! You should invite yourself over. Better than moping here.”
“I tried,” Margaret sighed, setting out teacups. “Theyve always got plans.”
“Dont ask, just say: Im coming Saturday to see my granddaughter. Full stop. They wont refuse their own mother!”
Margaret stayed quiet. Doris didnt know that last time shed dropped by unannounced, Emily had been so cross she didnt ring for a week. Said theyd had Pauls colleagues over, and there she wasuninvited, with her pies.
Doris poured the tea, eyeing the biscuit tin.
“Im off to my sisters in York for New Years. Warmer there, good company. Whats here? Just me and the telly when the clock strikes midnight.”
“Emily promised Id visit them for Christmas,” Margaret said quickly. “They always host, with Jamess family.”
“Right,” Doris said, scepticism creeping into her voice. “Well, fingers crossed. Talks cheap, isnt it?”
After Doris left, Margaret baked the apple pie anyway. Small, just four slices. She ate one, gave two to the chatty neighbours downstairs, saved the last for tomorrow.
That evening, Simon rang.
“Mum, hi. Hows things?” His voice was cheerful but distant.
“Fine, love. Emily came by with groceries. Hows Olivia? Alex?”
“All good. Listen, about the cottage”
Margaret tensed. The cottage, left by her husband, was in her name. A modest place with an old but sturdy house. Theyd all spent summers there once. Then the kids grew up, her husband passed, and she went lesstoo much upkeep alone.
“Remember how we talked about selling?” Simon pressed. “Well, weve got a chance to build a bigger placeproper countryside. Need the deposit, though. Thought we could sell the cottage. You never go anyway.”
Margaret gripped the phone. She hadnt expected this. The cottage was the last piece of their life with George. The porch hed built, the apple trees hed planted
“Simon, but its its memories of your dad. And I thought maybe the grandkids”
“Mum,” impatience edged his voice. “Alex wont set foot there. All he cares about is gaming. And that place is falling apart. Best sell now while its worth something. Well give you a cut, obviously.”
“Ill think about it,” she whispered.
“Mum, theres nothing to think about. Its a solid offer. Need you to sign tomorrow. Ill pick you up at ten.”
The next day, Simon arrived, oddly attentiveeven helped her with her coat. On the way to the estate agents, he gushed about the new house, the guest room.
“You can visit weekends, Mum. Fresh air, lovely views. Beats that old place by the motorway.”
Margaret nodded along. Deep down, she knew no one would ferry her out every weekend. The guest room would stay empty. But she didnt argue. He seemed so set on this.
At the office, she signed the papers. A man in a suit droned about taxes, but she barely listened. All she saw was the cottage porch, where she and George had watched sunsets with their tea.
“Sorted,” Simon said brightly afterward. “Moneyll come through soon. Your share goes straight to your account.”
“Lovely, dear,” she forced a smile. “Not in a rush, are you? Fancy popping in for tea? Made a pie yesterday.”
He checked his watch.
“Cant, Mum. Meeting in twenty. Rain check?”
He dropped her at the building, waved, and drove off. Margaret trudged upstairs. Mrs. Wilkins from across the hall peered out.
“Margaret, that pie was divine! Mind sharing the recipe? My lot are visiting this weekend.”
Margaret smiled. At least someone appreciated her baking.
Days later, Emily called, breathless.
“Mum, why arent you answering? I tried the landline!”
“I was at the shops, love.”
“Oh. Right. ListenPauls been offered a contract in Manchester! Three years minimum, double salary, company flat. Were saying yes.”
Margaret sank onto a chair, legs weak.
“Manchester? But thats so far”
“Only two hours by train! Well visit for holidays.”
“What about Sophie? Her school, her friends”
“Its an amazing opportunity for her. Fancy academy there, sciences focusshe wants to study medicine. Its perfect.”
“When do you leave?” Margaret fought to keep her voice steady.
“Two weeks. Paperworks chaos, packings madness. No time at all! But well stop by before we go.”
Two weeks vanished. Margaret waited for the promised visit, waking each morning thinking, Today Ill see Sophie. Today Ill bake her pie. But the phone stayed silent.
The day before their departure, the doorbell rang. Just Emily and Paul. Sophie waited in the carheadache, she said. They stayed half an hour, gulped tea, refused pie”watching carbs.”
“Mum, we got you a basic mobile,” Emily handed her a box. “Easy to use. Well call. Ohand here.” She passed a slip of paper. “Numbers of my mates hereLucy and Sarah. If anything happens, ring them.”
“Wont Simon”
“Simons got that countryside place now. Cant dash over. But dont fretthe girls are solid.”
At the door, Emily hugged her tighter than usual, whispering,
“Just dont get ill, okay? Its one less worry.”
That night, Simon rang.
“Mum, were moving into the new place tomorrow. Chaos, honestly. Olivia says no guests for a bit. Dont take it personally, yeah? Well have you soon.”
“Of course, love. I understand.”
The quiet days stretched. Emily called weekly, chats clipped. Simon barely rang”too busy renovating.” The grandkids were always occupiedexams, football, friends.
Margaret filled the gaps as best she could. Joined the library, started attending the local poetry club. Met other lonely pensioners like herself.
One evening, returning from a reading, her phone buzzed. Emily.
“Mum, hi. How are you?”
“Lovely, dear. Just back from the poetry club. Read one of minethey adored it!”
“Brilliant,” Emily said absently. “Listen Pauls been offered a transfer. Canada. Can you imagine? Huge opportunity. Sophie could go to a top uni there.”
Margaret went cold.
“Canada? But thats”
“Mum? You there?”
“Yes. Canadas very far.”
“It is, but the opportunities! Were saying yes. Should move in three months.”
“And me?” Margaret whispered.
“What about you?”
“Ill be alone. Simons always busy. Now youll be”
“Mum, dont start,” Emily sighed. “Youre a grown woman. We cant turn this down because youll miss us.”
“I know. But could I come?”
Silence. Then
“Mum, dont be daft. Visa issues, housingwell rent a shoebox! And you dont speak French.”
“I could learn”
“Youre sixty-seven. Be realistic. Youve got your pension, your flat, your friends. There, youll be lost.”
Margaret swallowed tears.
“Yes. Youre right.”
“Good. Nothings final yet. Well keep you posted.”
A week later, Simon rang, businesslike.
“Mum, weve talked With Emily leaving, and us in the countryside Maybe you should consider assisted living? Lovely places these days. Meals, care, activities. No loneliness.”
“Assisted living?”
“Dont panicits not like the old days. Upscale retirement community. Your sort of people. Wed pay from renting out your flat.”
Margarets hands shook.
“You want me out. To free up the flat.”
“Mum, dont be dramatic! Its for your good. Wholl look after you here?”
“I look after myself fine.”
“Youre being stubborn. Were trying to help!”
“No, Simon. Youre helping yourselves to my home.”
“What? Thats outrageous! We worry nonstopEmily calls from Canada, I send money. What more do you want?”
“I want my family. Not cheques.”
“Oh, here we go. Grown adults cant drop everything for their mother. Times have changed.”
“Im not asking for everything. Just to matter.”
“Fine. Another melodrama. Ive got work. Talk later.” He hung up.
On moving day, Simon came alone, just thirty minutes. Brought chocolates, kissed her cheek like a stranger.
“You managing, Mum?”
“Perfectly. Wheres Olivia? Alex?”
“Packing. No time.”
As he left, she realised she might not see him for years. Maybe ever.
“Simon,” she called. “Son do you need me at all anymore?”
He turned in the doorway, hesitated.
“Mum, dont be silly. Weve all got lives. You understand.”
“I do,” she nodded. “I understand.”
He left. She stood there, staring at the empty hall. Then, slowly, walked back inside. The flat was silent. Just the ticking of Georges old clockhed loved mechanical ones, said they had souls.
She picked up the phone, dialled Doris.
“Doris, remember your New Years trip to York? Can I join?”
Doris sounded surprised but pleased.
“Margaret! Of course! Sisll be chuffed. Changed your mind about the kids?”
“Yes,” Margaret felt something lift in her chest. “Decided to take care of myself. Theyve got their own lives.”
“Good on you!” Doris cheered. “Youre not old yetwhy mope? Yorks gorgeous. Theyll come crawling back when the grandkids miss you.”
“Maybe,” Margaret smiled. “But Im done waiting. I deserve a life too, dont I?”
She hung up and went to the window. Outside, the first snow fell. A new winter was startingand perhaps, a new life. Without her children, but not necessarily alone.
