The neighbour means more to me than you do, Mum said before hanging up.
Emily stood in the kitchen of her London flat, clutching her phone as if it had turned into something venomous. She had just called her mother in Manchester, eager to share the news of her promotion at work. Instead, she was met with those cold words.
Whats wrong? asked her husband, James, stepping into the room. Youve gone pale.
Mum said Mrs. Thompson means more to her than I do, Emily murmured, slowly placing the phone on the table. Just like that.
Did you two argue about something?
No! I was telling her about the promotion, and she cut inEmily, youre always wrapped up in your own life, while Margaret from next door helps me every day. She picks up my prescriptions, does my shopping. Shes more like family than you are.
James frowned, sitting across from her.
Maybe shes not well. Could she be confused?
Shes perfectly sharp, Emily snapped. She meant every word. You know what started it? I invited her to stay with us this summerrented a cottage in the Cotswoldsand she said, Why would I need your cottage when Margarets here? We tend the garden together.
Emily fell silent, then let out a bitter laugh.
And Ive been sending her two hundred pounds every month. Just in case, I said. Thought itd make things easier for her.
Stop sending it, James said firmly. If her neighbours family now, let the neighbour help.
James! Shes still my mother.
A mother who just belittled you? Emily, wake up. No decent parent would say that to their child.
Emily walked to the window. Children played in the courtyard below, their laughter drifting up, but it felt distant, almost foreign.
Margaret Thompson was a good neighboura widow whose own children lived up in Scotland, visiting once a year. Emily remembered her from childhood, strict and quick to scold if kids made noise in the hallway. Now, she was suddenly more like family than her own daughter.
The phone rang again. Mums name flashed on the screen.
Dont answer, James said.
What if its an emergency?
If it were, shed call her real family next door.
Emily picked up anyway.
Yes?
Emily, why did you hang up on me?
You hung up on me. After what you said about Margaret.
Oh, that Irritation crept into Mums voice. Well, its the truth. Margarets here every day. Where are you? Up in London. When my blood pressure spiked last month, who called the ambulance? Margaret. Where were you?
Mum, I was at work! You never told me!
Why bother? You wouldnt have come anyway. Too busy with your important job.
Emilys throat tightened. Old wounds, long buried, resurfaced in her mothers tone.
Do you want me to come tomorrow? Ill take time off.
Dont bother! Margarets taking me to the doctor. Youd just be glued to your phone or inventing some excuse.
Emily flinched.
Fine. If thats what you want.
Oh, and dont send me any more money, Mum added briskly. Margaret says its wrongchildren buying their guilt. Ill manage.
Silence. Then rustling, followed by Mums voicenot to Emily, but to Margaret:
Margaret, love, what are these tablets for? My stomach? Bless you
Im hanging up now, Emily whispered, pressing end call.
James wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
She doesnt know what shes saying. Maybe its her age?
She knows. Emily pulled away. Im just not family anymore. When I was at uni, she said, Why bother with a degree? Marry, have children. When I got my job? Career woman, forgot her family.
Emily, you call her every week!
And every time, I hear how Ive failed. Dont visit enough, dont give the right gifts, dont spend enough time with the grandkids. Now theres Margaret.
Emily slumped onto a chair, rubbing her temples.
The worst part? I was going to ask her to move in with us. Not just the cottagehere, permanently. Give her the spare room, make it nice. I thought itd be good. And she
The twins, ten-year-old Oliver and Sophie, burst in, backpacks thumping, voices overlapping about school.
Mum, when are we seeing Grandma? Sophie asked. You promised during half-term.
Emily hesitated.
I dont know, sweetheart. Maybe not this time.
Why? Oliver frowned. What about the presents we made?
Over the summer, theyd crafted a scrapbook of drawings, and Sophie had stitched a handkerchief in sewing class. All sat in a ribbon-tied box, waiting for the trip to Manchester.
Well give them another time, Emily said softly.
Mum, are you sick? Sophie stepped closer, studying her face. Your eyes are red.
Just tired.
James ushered the kids away, murmuring about Grandma not feeling well.
That night, Emily leafed through old photo albumsher as a child, Mum grinning beside her on a seaside holiday. Baking biscuits, flour everywhere. Graduation day, Mum beaming with pride.
When had things changed? After Dads passing five years ago? Or earlier?
James sat beside her.
Youre not a bad daughter. You call, you visit when you canwhat more could she want?
Me. Living next door. Like Margaret.
The phone rang againan unknown number.
Hello?
Emily? Its Margaret Thompson. Your mothers not herself. After your call, she wont stop crying. Keeps saying, I hurt my girl. Ive tried tea, talkingshes beside herself. Worried youll never speak to her again.
Emilys chest ached.
Is she unwell?
No, no. Shes just heartbroken. Loves you dearly, doesnt know how to say it.
The bitterness inside her softened.
Tell her Ill come tomorrow. With the children.
In the morning, they boarded the train. The twins chattered about Grandmas reaction to their gifts, while Emily watched the countryside blur past, realising some words are just poor translations of love.
Mum answered the door, eyes swollen, arms trembling. She pulled Emily into a fierce hug.
Forgive me, love. I didnt mean itIm a foolish old woman.
Its alright, Mum. Emily stroked her silver hair. Im here.
Margaret, lingering in her doorway, smiled and slipped inside. Some bonds run deeper than proximity.
