“It’s all mine, and you don’t belong here,” declared the daughter, demanding the room be cleared.
“Mum, you forgot to turn off the gas again!” shouted Emily, bursting into the kitchen and sharply twisting the stove knob. “How many times do I have to tell you? You’ll burn the house down!”
Margaret Wilson flinched, pulling her gaze away from the window where shed been watching sparrows on the ledge.
“Dont shout at me, Emily. I just got distracted… The water was boiling for tea.”
“Distracted!” Emily scoffed. “At your age, getting distracted is dangerous. The neighbours have been complaining about the smell of gas in the hallway.”
Emily wasnt wrong. Margaret really had grown forgetful, especially since burying her husband a year ago. It was as though, when David passed, he took with him her ability to keep track of the little things. The big things she remembered perfectlywhen Emily was born, how David had proposed, her daughters first steps. But yesterday, or the day before? It all blurred together.
“Ill make the tea,” Margaret said placatingly. “Want some pastries? I baked them this morningwith cabbage, just how you like.”
Emily sat at the table, drumming her fingers impatiently against the plastic tablecloth.
“Mum, we need to talk. Seriously.”
Something in her daughters tone set Margaret on edge. Slowly, she set the teacups down and sliced the pastries.
“Go on, then. I’m listening.”
“You cant live alone anymore. Its not safefor you or the neighbours. The gas, the electricity… What if you fall? Whod find you?”
“Emily, what are you on about? Im perfectly fine. Yes, I forget things now and then, but everyone does.”
Emily shook her head, pulling papers from her handbag.
“Ive already sorted it. Ive enrolled you in a lovely care home. Theyll look after youmeals on time, medication, company your own age. You wont be lonely.”
Margaret felt the blood drain from her face. The pastry turned to sawdust in her throat.
“A care home? Emily, what nonsense is this?”
“Its not a nursing home, if thats what youre thinking. A private residence, very respectable. Ive already paid the first months fee.”
“Without asking me?” Margarets voice trembled. “Emily, this is *my* house! My whole life is here!”
“Mum, be realistic. Youre alone in a three-bedroom flat. The bills are sky-high, the buildings falling apart, and Im the one footing it all.”
Margaret opened her mouth to argue, but Emily held up a hand.
“And besidesJames wants to move to London. Weve decided to marry. This flat would suit uscentral, good layout. Id rather not sell it. Its the family home, after all.”
“*James?*” Margaret frowned. “Youve only known him six months!”
“Mum, Im forty-two. I know what I want. James is a serious manhe runs his own business. He doesnt mind if I leave my job, finally focus on myself.”
“And where does that leave *me*?”
“The care home, obviously! Youll be happy there, trust me. Ive read the reviewsyoga classes, painting, choir. New friends, a fresh start.”
Margaret stood, pacing the kitchen. Forty years of breakfasts at this table. Forty years staring through this window. Emily had taken her first steps in the next room, done her homework at this table. Every morning, David would sit here rustling his newspaper, tutting at the headlines.
“So thats it? Youve decided without even asking me?”
“Whats to ask?” Emily shrugged. “Youd have said no. So I took charge.”
“Took charge…” Margaret echoed. “Emily, Im your mother, not some burden to shuffle off.”
“No one said youre a burden! But we have to be practical. Ive spent thirty years putting you and Dad first. Now its *my* turn.”
The words stung. Margaret remembered scrimping for Emilys education, sewing her prom dress, babysitting little Sophie while Emily worked late.
*Sophie…* Where was she in all this?
“And Sophie? Does she agree to shoving her gran in a home?”
Emily looked away.
“Sophies grownshes got her own life. Shes at uni in Manchester, barely visits. No point upsetting her.”
“You havent even *told* her?”
“I will. Once youre settled.”
Margaret sank back into her chair. Her legs had turned to lead.
“And if I refuse?”
“Mum, you dont *have* a choice. Ive paid the fees. James moves in next week. Pack what you needwell sort the rest later.”
“*My* things? Emily, every spoon here is mine! The china set was our wedding gift, this tablecloth I embroidered myself! And my plantswholl tend to them?”
“You can have plants at the home. As for the china…” Emily sighed. “Mum, theyve got their own crockery. Why drag old things along?”
*Old things.* Their family treasures, reduced to clutter.
Margaret walked to the sideboard, pulling out a photoher and David cradling newborn Emily. So young, so hopeful.
“Remember how your dad built that swing in the garden? Youd spend hours on itI was terrified youd fall.”
“Mum, dont. This isnt helping.”
“And when you had pneumonia at school? I didnt leave your bedside for two weeks. Dad took time off to relieve me.”
“*Mum*, please”
“Or when that first boyfriendwhat was his name? Mark?dumped you. You cried for a month. I stayed up every night telling you youd find better.”
Emily stood abruptly.
“*Enough!* Im not to blame for how life turned out! Or that you cant cope alone! But I wont sacrifice my life for your old age!”
“My… old age?” Margaret whispered. “Im not even seventy, Emily. Im not some helpless invalid.”
“You forget the *gas*! Lose your keys! Mrs. Jenkins saw you in the garden yesterday wearing *one slipper*!”
Margaret recalled ittaking the bins out, not noticing one slipper had slipped off. But was that really
“Emily, I understand you want your own life. But must it be like this? Ill stay in my room, quiet as a mouse. James wont even know Im there.”
“You dont *get* it. James needs space. Silence. And youyou blast the telly because youre deaf, rattle pans at dawn. Well have guests, parties. Its awkward having a mother hovering nearby.”
“Ill be out more, take walks”
“*No.* Its settled.”
Margaret slumped in her chair. For the first time in years, she felt utterly powerless. After Davids death, she thought the worst was over. She was wrong.
“What if I refuse? Stay put?”
Emily pulled another document from her bag.
“I could petition the court. Have you declared unfit. The neighbours have written about your forgetfulness. Even the constablehe came about the gas leak.”
“You… youve seen doctors already?”
“A psychiatrist. He said with my testimony, the courts would likely side with me. Especially as your only child, concerned for your welfare.”
Margaret said nothing. This couldnt be her Emilyher baby, whose tiny hands shed held crossing roads, whose tears shed kissed away after nightmares.
“When?”
“Monday. A cars coming. Well pack your things this weekend.”
“Todays Friday…”
“Yes. Youve time to prepare.”
Emily stood, adjusting her handbag.
“Dont be dramatic, Mum. Its not the end. Youll make friends, take up hobbies. Ill visitSundays, probably.”
“Sundays…” Margaret echoed emptily.
“Honestly, it might be for the best. Since Dad died, youve shut yourself away. There, youll have a social life.”
“I go to the doctors, the shops”
“Lets not argue. Its done.”
Emily turned to leave but paused at the door.
“Ohand dont ring Sophie to guilt her. Shes got exams soon. No need to distract her.”
The door clicked shut. Alone in the kitchen, Margaret cleared the table, washed the cups. Every movement felt slow, as though moving through syrup. Emilys words looped in her mind: *unfit, old things, its done.*
That night, she pulled out the photo albums. Emily at nurserybig-eyed and solemn. The three of them at the seasideDavid tossing a squealing toddler into the air. Emily
