The door didnt open right away. Margaret Dawson had just enough time to catch her breath, though the sweat still trickled in thin, unpleasant streams down her forehead and onto her nose. From behind the door came a startled gasp, then the click of the lock, and finally, there she washer daughter.
“Mum?! Bloody hell How did you even carry all these bags? And why? Why didnt you tell me you were coming?”
Tall, tanned, with an expression of irritated surprisethis was how her own daughter, Emily, greeted her, a woman Margaret hadnt seen in over a year. When did Emily ever find time to visit them, the old folks? Never too busy for herself, was she? So Margaret, driven by gnawing worry, had braved the long journey herself.
“Managed just fine, love,” Margaret answered one of the questions, shifting one of the heavy bags. “Couldnt come empty-handed, could I?”
She dragged both bags inside with sharp, jerky movements. Emily made no move to helpperhaps too stunned, or perhaps she simply didnt care. But then she bent down, grabbed the handle of one, and pulled it aside just enough to clear the doorway.
“Christ, did you stuff a whole pig in here?”
Her voice was smooth as polished stone, devoid of warmth, only bewildered irritation. She didnt hug her mother, just stared helplessly at the second bagan old-fashioned, swollen suitcase on wheels, standing in the middle of the polished hardwood floor like a relic from another time.
Margaret took a small step forward. Her fingers, trembling from exhaustion, fumbled with the buckle of her raincoat.
“Sorry, love Brought a few things. Jam for little Ben, your favourite chutney. All from our garden, Dad and I grew it” Her voice faltered, breathless from the effort, and laced with guilt.
Emily sigheda deep, endless sound, heavy with the promise of inconvenience. She looked from the suitcase to her motherthe crumpled dress, the scarf askew, the tiny beads of sweat on her upper lip.
Without waiting for an invitation, Margaret sank onto the nearest white leather pouf. She sat rigidly, back straight, hands folded in her lap like a woman from another era. The journey had drained her. Twenty-eight hours on the train, then wrestling with that stubborn suitcase through the Underground, where it kept jamming in the ticket barriers.
But how could she have come without it? She never visited empty-handed. Never. Especially not now, after over a year without seeing her.
“Did you change your number?” Margaret exhaled, glancing around. “Ive been calling for four daysjust goes to voicemail. Dads blood pressure spiked on the second day, by the third I was beside myself, heart in my boots imagining the worst” She waved a hand, brushing away the memory. “Then, when I still couldnt reach you, I thoughtright, better get a ticket. Booked for three days later, still no word. Then I dragged myself all the way to London What happened to your phone? You cant do this to your parents, love. Were in our seventies, remember? And Ive come all this way with all this.”
Emily looked away. A faint flush crept over her usually composed face. She adjusted her perfectly sleek ponytail, smoothing an invisible strand.
“Everythings fine, Mum. Just got a new number, forgot to tell you” The words tumbled out, rushed and half-swallowed.
“And Bens dads number didnt work either.”
“Changed his too. We switched providers.”
Sitting on the stiff, uncomfortable pouf, Margaret couldnt help but marvel at her daughter. Emily Their youngest, their miracle after two rowdy boys. Theyd poured their hearts into her.
Her thoughts drifted, as they often did, to her sons. The eldest, James, was across the ocean in America. Had been for years. Rarely called, only on holidays. He had children theregrandchildren Margaret knew only through phone screens. Sometimes she tried to imagine their voices, their laughter, but her mind stubbornly refused to conjure them clearly. Too far away.
“Mum? Youve gone quiet. Feeling alright?” Emilys voice, sharp with concern, yanked her back.
“Fine, love. Just tired from the trip.” Margaret forced a smile. “Hows Ben? Everything peaceful here?”
“Hes at football, should be back any minute. Why dont you freshen up?”
“In a bit. Fetch me some water, would you?”
With measured steps, Emily headed to the kitchen, leaving Margaret another moment to drift into memory. Her middle son, Thomas, lived up north in Manchester, but they hardly saw him. His wife, Sophie, had been cold from the start. Sharp-tongued, always with a cutting remark. Margaret had triedknitted jumpers for the grandkids, baked their favourite pies, brought homemade preserves. But it was never right. The jumpers werent fashionable enough, the pies too rustic. She never argued, never fought back. Swallowed every slight, smiled, prayed that Thomas was happy, that his marriage was strong.
But Emilyshe was the one who truly worried her. Nine years ago, theyd married her off to Daniel, a hardworking lad from the next town over. A good match. But after Ben was born, something shifted. She came home with the baby, left him with Margaret and Robert before bolting for Londonwork, studies, freedom. Said she was suffocating in the countryside.
“Hows our Ben, then?” Margaret asked softly, sipping the water. “Hes grown, hasnt he?” Her heart ached with the familiar pang.
Emilys face softened.
“Shot up, Mum. Proper little man now. Football coach says hes brilliant. Only”
She trailed off, turning to fiddle with a vase on the console.
“Only sometimes he still asks when were going to visit you and Granddad in the village. Especially if hes upset or poorly. Says your house smells like apples and pies, and here” She waved a hand. “Just exhaust fumes.”
Margaret closed her eyes. She remembered every night Ben, back in the city with his mother, cried down the phone, begging to come home. He didnt cry anymore. She remembered Robert, smoking on the porch in silence, swiping at his eyes when he thought she wasnt looking. Theyd poured all their love into that boy, and then he was just taken. Like an old coat no longer needed.
“He should be with his mother,” Margaret had told Robert back then, more to convince herself. “Its only right.”
On the train, watching the blur of passing fields, shed tried to picture Ben. What did he look like now? If he took after Danieltall, broad-shoulderedhed be sprouting up fast. Robert had begged her, “Take loads of photos, love. Ill miss him.” Hed wanted to come too, but a fever had laid him low a week before her trip. Hed only just gotten up yesterday, pale but stubborn.
“Youll manage on your own?” shed fretted, packing jars of jam.
“Course I will,” Robert had wheezed, pulling the blanket up. “Just go. But listensomethings not right with our Emily. I can feel it.”
“Come on, Mum, up you get!” Emily guided her further inside, voice warmer now. “Ive got some soup and pies from the deli. Ohheres Ben!”
The door swung open, and in bounded a tousled ten-year-old with a sports bag slung over his shoulder. Spotting his grandmother, he froze, eyes wide, before kicking off his trainers and launching himself at her.
“Gran! Youre here!”
Margaret crushed him to her, his warmth, the scent of autumn and boyish sweat filling her lungs. Tears spilled freelyshe didnt try to stop them.
“Blimey, Gran, youll squeeze me to bits!” He laughed but didnt let go, beaming up at her with a grin so wide it hurt.
“Look at youso tall now!” she sniffed, holding him at arms length to study him. She smoothed his wild hair, ran a rough thumb over his sun-kissed cheek. “Proper little man. I knitted you a jumper, green with reindeer” Her voice wavered. “Probably too small now. Always getting it wrong.”
“Dont worry, Gran, you can add to it!” He hugged her again. “Missed you loads.”
Now, sitting at the glossy dining table, Margaret picked at a single pie. The soupthin, barely therehad vanished without filling her. She eyed the plate where five flaky, shop-bought pies sat untouched. Emily hadnt cooked. No time.
“Mum, want another?” Emily asked politely, already stacking plates.
“No, love, Im fine,” she lied, stomach growling. “Not hungry after the trip.”
She glanced around the kitchengleaming appliances, stylish fittings, fresh paint. Bens room had a computer, a guitar, flashy sports gear. Emily wore designer
