**Diary Entry**
The door didnt open right away. Margaret had just caught her breath, though the sweat still trickled down her forehead in sticky rivulets. A surprised gasp came from inside, then the click of the lock, and there she stoodher daughter, Emily.
Mum?! Good heavens How on earth did you carry all these bags? And why? Why didnt you call?
Tall, tanned, her face frozen in unpleasant shockthis was how her own daughter greeted her after more than a year apart. When had Emily last visited them, her ageing parents? Never had the time. So Margaret, spurred by quiet worry, had made the long journey herself.
I managed, love, she replied to one of the questions, shifting the weight of her bags. Couldnt come empty-handed, could I?
She dragged the luggage over the threshold with jerky movements. Emily made no move to helpmaybe too stunned, maybe just unwilling. Finally, she bent to grab one of the bags, yanking it aside just enough to let Margaret pass.
Blimey, did you stuff a whole pig in here?
Her voice was smooth as polished stone, devoid of joy, only annoyance and bewilderment. She didnt hug her mother, just stared helplessly at the other bagan outdated, bulging suitcase on wheels, sitting like a relic from another time on the polished hardwood floor.
Margaret took a small step forward. Her fingers, still trembling from the effort, fumbled with the clasp of her coat.
Sorry, Em Brought a few things. Jam for little Ben, the chutney you likeall from our garden, your dad and I grew it. Her voice wavered, guilty and breathless from exertion.
Emily sighed, the sound deep with weary anticipation of trouble. Her gaze flicked from the suitcase to her motherthe rumpled dress, the scarf askew, the tiny beads of sweat on her lip.
Without waiting for an invitation, Margaret perched on the nearest leather ottoman, sitting stiffly, hands folded in her lap like a woman from another era. The journey had drained her. Twenty-eight hours on the train, then wrestling that ungainly suitcase through the Tube turnstiles.
But how could she have come empty-handed? Never. Especially not now, after a year without seeing her.
Changed your number, did you? Margaret exhaled, glancing around. Called four days straightno answer. Your dad was in a state by the second day, and by the third, my nerves were shot. Heart in my boots, thinking something awful had happened. She waved a hand, dismissing the memory. Then, on the fourth daystill nothing. So I thought, right, best get a ticket. Took three days to sort it, and still no word from you. We were beside ourselves. Then this slog to London What happened to your phone? You cant do that to your parents, love. Were in our seventiesremember? And now Ive dragged myself here with all this.
Emily looked away. A faint blush crept over her usually composed face. She touched her sleek ponytail, smoothing an invisible strand.
Everythings fine, Mum. Just changed providers, got a new numberslipped my mind to tell you. The words tumbled out, half-swallowed.
Bens number didnt work either.
Changed his too. We switched together.
Sitting on that stiff little ottoman, Margaret couldnt help but admire her daughter. Emily Their youngest, the one theyd prayed for after two boisterous boys. Theyd poured every bit of love into her.
Her thoughts drifted to the boys. The eldest, Thomas, was overseas now, in America. Left years ago for work. Rarely calledjust holidays. He had children there, faces Margaret only knew from phone screens. Sometimes she imagined their voices, their laughter, but her mind refused to paint them clearly. Too far away.
Mum? Youve gone quietyou all right? Emilys voice was sharp, pulling her back.
Just thinking, love. Still catching my breath. Margaret forced a smile. Hows Ben? Keeping out of trouble?
Emilys face softened.
Shot up like a weed. Football coach says hes brilliant. Only She trailed off, pretending to adjust a vase.
Sometimes he still asks when were visiting you and Dad in the countryside. Especially when hes poorly or upset. Says your place smells like apples and pies, and here it stinks of traffic.
Margaret closed her eyes. She remembered every night Ben, whisked away to the city, had cried down the phone, begging to come home. He didnt cry anymore. She remembered her husband, William, smoking silently on the porch, brushing away rare tears. Theyd given that boy every ounce of their simple lovethen hed been taken like a borrowed thing. And thered been no explaining it to him.
He needs to be with his mother, Margaret had insisted back then, more to herself than William. Its right.
On the train, watching the blur of forests, shed tried to picture Ben. How had he grown? If he took after his fatherbroad, sturdyhed be tall now. William had begged, Take loads of photos, loveIll be lonely here. Hed wanted to come too, but a fever had laid him low a week before her trip. Only yesterday had he risen, pale but stubborn.
You sure youll manage alone? I cant sit here not knowing, my hearts in shreds, shed fretted, packing jars of jam.
Ill manage, William had wheezed, pulling the blanket tighter. Go. Just see if Emilys really all right. Got a feeling, this distance isnt for no reason.
Up you get, Mumlets get you fed! Emily led her further inside, her voice warming slightly. Got some soup and ready-made pies from the deli. OhBens home! The key turned in the lock.
The door swung open, and there stood a tousled ten-year-old, a sports bag slung over his shoulder. Spotting his grandmother, he froze, eyes widethen kicked off his trainers and launched himself at her.
Gran! You came!
Margaret crushed him against her, his small body warm with autumn wind and boyish energy. Tears streamed unchecked down her face.
Oi, Gran, youll squeeze me to bits! He laughed but didnt let go, grinning up at her.
Look how tall you are! she choked, holding him at arms length to take him in. She smoothed his wild hair, her rough palm brushing his sun-kissed cheek. Proper little man now. I knitted you a jumpergreen, with reindeer Her voice faltered. Probably too small now. Got it wrong again.
Sall right, Granjust add more wool! He hugged her again. Missed you.
Now, Margaret sat at a glossy table, picking at a single pie. The soupthin, barely therehad vanished without filling her. She eyed the plate with five neat little pies, bought from a supermarket, not made at home. Emily had no time to cook.
Mum, want another? Emily asked politely, already stacking plates.
No, love, Im full, she lied, her stomach pinching. Not hungry after the journey.
She studied the kitchengleaming appliances, stylish fittings, fresh paint. Bens room had a computer, a guitar, fancy sports gear. Emily wore an expensive loungewear set, gold studs in her ears. No hardship here. But it smelled of something elsedifferent rules, a different life.
*Full to the brim but starving*, she thought wryly. *At home, the table groaned even when money was tight. Here maybe this is how city folk live? Half-full?*
Ben, wolfing his food, suddenly looked up.
Gran, whyd you only eat one? Theyre proper good! Mum, give her anothershes been travelling! His voice was earnest, worried.
Emily paused, plates in hand. A faint crease appeared on her smooth forehead.
Ben, dont tell adults what to do. Gran said shes full.
But she He fell silent under her stare.
Margaret intervened, ruffling his hair. Its all right, poppet. Truly not hungry. Ta anyway.
But inside, her heart clenched. His honesty had laid bare the invisible wall shed felt from the start. Everything here was polished, correctbut measured. Not just the food. The love too.
Mum, you must be knackered. Ill make up the sofa in the lounge, Emily said, lifting the suitcase of gifts. Well sort your things tomorrow.
Margaret nodded, following obediently, thinking shed sneak a slice of her homemade bread and a bit of bacon from the suitcase tomorroweat it by the window, watching the sleepless city, so foreign and unsatisfying. Tonight, Emily had waved off her provisions, saying they dont eat that heavy stuff.
The empty flats silence pressed on her
