The neighbour means more to me than you do, Mum said, then hung up.
Emily stood in the kitchen of her London flat, clutching the phone as if it had turned into a serpent. She had just called her mother in Bristol, eager to share the news of her promotion, the joy swelling in her chest. And thenthis.
Whats wrong? asked her husband, James, stepping into the kitchen. You look pale.
Mum said her neighbour means more to her than I do, Emily slowly set the phone down. Just like that. Out of nowhere.
Did you argue about something?
No! I was telling her about the promotion, and sheshe said, Emily, youre off in your own world, but Margaret next door helps me every dayfetches my shopping, picks up my prescriptions. Shes more family to me than you are now.
James frowned, sitting opposite her.
Listen, maybe shes not well? Her mind might be
Her minds fine! Emily snapped. She meant it. She wanted it to hurt. And you know what started it? I asked her to come stay with us this summer, maybe rent a cottage in the Cotswolds. And she said, Why would I need a cottage when I have Margaret here? We tend the garden together.
Emily fell silent, then laughedbitter, hollow.
And I sent her money every week. Fifty quid. Just in case, I said. Thought it might help.
Stop sending it, James said firmly. If the neighbours closer, let the neighbour help.
James, dont say that! Shes my mother.
Your mother, who just belittled you? Emily, wake up! No decent parent speaks to their child like that.
Emily moved to the window. Children played in the courtyard below, their laughter drifting up, distant and alien now.
Margaret really was a good neighbour. Lived next door, a widow, her kids somewhere up in Scotland, visiting once a year. Emily remembered her from childhoodAuntie Margaret, stern, always scolding if they made noise in the hallway. And now she was more family than her own daughter.
The phone rang. Emily glanced at the screenMum.
Dont answer, James said.
What if somethings wrong?
If somethings wrong, let family next door deal with it.
Emily picked up anyway.
Hello?
Emily, why did you hang up? We were talking.
You hung up, Mum. After what you said about Margaret.
Oh, that Irritation crept into her voice. Well, its true. Margarets here, day in, day out, while youre off in London. When my blood pressure spiked, who called the ambulance? Margaret. Where were you?
Mum, I was at work! I didnt know! You didnt call!
Why bother? You wouldnt have come anyway. Too busy with your important job, your serious life.
The words were old wounds, cracked open anew.
Mum, do you want me to come tomorrow? Ill take the day off.
Dont bother! I dont need you. Margarets taking me to the doctor. Youd just be glued to your phone or making up excuses.
Emily flinched.
Fine. Whatever you say.
Oh, and Her voice turned brisk. Dont send any more money. Margaret says its wrong, children buying their conscience. Ill manage.
Silence. Rustling, then her mothers voice, mufflednot to her:
Margaret, love, whats this medicine you brought? For my stomach? Thank you, dear
Im hanging up now, Emily whispered to the empty line, thumb pressing end call.
James pulled her close.
She doesnt know what shes saying. Maybe its her mind
She knows. Emily stepped back. Im just not hers anymore. When I was at uni, she said, What do you need a degree for? Marry, have children. When I got the jobCareer woman, forgot her family.
Emily, you called her every week!
And every time, I heard how I failed. Rarely visit. Wrong gifts. Not enough time with the grandkids. Now theres Margaret.
Emily sank into a chair, rubbing her face.
The worst part? I wanted her to move in. Not just the Cotswoldshere, with us. Give her the spare room, make it nice. Thought itd be good. And shea neighbours closer.
The twins, ten-year-old Oliver and Sophie, burst in, schoolbags thumping, voices loud with playground gossip.
Mum, when are we visiting Gran? Sophie asked. You promised for half-term.
Emily hesitated.
I dont know, love. Maybe not.
Why? Oliver frowned. What about the presents?
Theyd made a scrapbook for her, filled with drawings, Sophie stitching a handkerchief in textiles class. All waiting in a pretty box for the trip to Bristol.
Well send them later, Emily murmured.
Mum, are you sick? Sophie peered up. Your eyes are red.
Just tired.
James ushered them out, murmuring something about Gran feeling poorly, Mum being upset, going another time.
That night, after the kids slept, Emily sat in the lounge, flipping through old photos. Her, tiny, with Mum at Grandads allotmentMum young, laughing, arms around her. Baking together, eight-year-old Emily dusted in flour. School graduation, Mum beaming beside her gold-medal daughter.
When had it changed? After Dad died? Or sooner?
Five years gone, and Mum had folded inwardsresentful, perpetually dissatisfied. Emily had thought grief would fade. It hadnt.
Penny for them? James sat beside her.
Thinking Im a terrible daughter.
Rubbish. You call, you send money, you visit when you can. What more is there?
Being there. Always. Like Margaret.
And your job? The kids? Us?
Emily shrugged.
Doesnt matter to her. Only that Im far away.
The phone rang again. Not Mum this timeunknown number.
Hello?
Emily? Its Margaret. Your mothers neighbour. You need to come.
Whats wrong?
After your call, she started cryingwont stop. Keeps saying, I hurt my girl, I hurt my girl. Tea, comforts, nothing helps. She thinks youll never speak to her again.
Emilys throat tightened.
Is sheis she ill? Her mind
No, no! Doris is sharp as a tack. Just heartbroken. Says she spoke in anger, didnt mean it. Loves you dearly, always has.
The bitterness in Emilys chest softened.
Tell her Ill come tomorrow. With the children.
Thank you. I was about to call a doctor.
After Margaret hung up, Emily sat holding the phone.
Going? James asked.
Yes. The kids can give her their presents. Maybe she just doesnt know how to say she misses me.
And if she brings up Margaret again?
She wont. Margarets kind, but shes not family. I am. No matter what Mum says.
Morning brought resolve. Emily took the day off, bundled the twins into the car, drove to Bristol. In the backseat, Oliver and Sophie chirped about Grans reaction to their gifts. Emily watched the motorway blur past, thinking how often words betrayed the heart.
Mum met them at the door, eyes red, cheeks damp. Seeing Emily, she pulled her into a fierce hug.
Forgive me, love. Silly old woman. Didnt mean it, didnt
Its alright, Mum. Im here. We all are.
Margaret, hovering in her own doorway, smiled faintly and slipped inside. Neighbours were well and goodbut family, after all, was family.
