“I won’t live with some stranger’s nan,” said the grandson, looking his mother straight in the eye.
“Mum, you tell him yourself! I’m tired of explaining!” Helen nervously fidgeted with the edge of the tablecloth, avoiding her son’s gaze.
“What’s there to explain?” Daniel set his mug of tea down and sat across from his mother. “I’ve made myself clearI’m moving out next week. Signed the lease, paid the deposit.”
“Love, but what about us here” Helen began, but Daniel cut her off with a sharp wave.
“Mum, I’m twenty-seven! Don’t you think it’s time I lived on my own?”
From the next room came a muffled cough, followed by the sound of something falling and muttered grumbling.
“See?” Helen sighed. “She’s dropped something again. I’d better check.”
“Don’t.” Daniel placed a hand on his mother’s shoulder. “Let her sort it out herself. You’re not her carer.”
“Danny, she’s elderly…”
“Mum, enough!” His voice hardened. “She’s nothing to you. Absolutely nothing! Just Dad’s mum, who never had a kind word for you in her life.”
Helen winced as if struck. It was trueMargaret had never accepted her. Twenty-eight years ago, when she and David married, his mother had been cold, distant, whispering to neighbours that her son could’ve done better, that Helen came from the wrong sort, that she had a nasty temper. And after Daniel was born? Margaret declared she’d raise the boy herself because his mother was inexperienced and dim.
“Remember what she called you?” Daniel pressed, seeing he’d hit a nerve. “‘That Helen of yours.’ Not even by namejust ‘that one.’ And after Dad died…”
“Stop,” Helen whispered. “Dont bring that up.”
But her son wouldnt let it go. Three years had passed since Davids funeral, but the memories still stung. Margaret had outright claimed the house belonged to her sonso now it was hers. That Helen and “her Danny” ought to find somewhere else. That shed suffered enough from these outsiders.
“And who picked her up when she had that stroke?” Daniel continued. “Who called the ambulance? Who stayed at the hospital?”
“That’s enough,” Helen stood, clearing the dishes.
“It’s not! You see what shes doing! Banging things at night, dropping pans so you cant sleep. Blasting the telly. Those snide remarks about the food being rubbish, the wrong medicine…”
“Helen! Helen, come here!” Margarets voice rang out.
Helen moved automatically toward the door, but Daniel grabbed her wrist.
“Where dyou think youre going? If she wants something, she can get up herself.”
“Daniel, shes ill”
“Ill? Shes fitter than both of us! Just used to bossing people. Dad waited on her hand and foot, and now youre doing it.”
“Helen!” The shout was sharper now. “Are you deaf?”
Helen pulled free and went. Margaret lay in bed, blankets tucked to her chin, a newspaper strewn on the floor.
“Pick that up,” she nodded at it. “I want to read.”
“Margaret, have you got your glasses?”
“Course I have. Think Im blind?” The old woman groped for them on the nightstand. “And bring tea. Properly hot, not that lukewarm muck you gave me yesterday.”
Silently, Helen retrieved the paper and went to boil the kettle. Daniel sat at the table, grim.
“Again? Jumping when she snaps her fingers?”
“Dont start,” Helen said wearily.
“Mum, listen.” Daniel pulled his chair closer. “Im moving. And youre coming with me.”
Helen froze, kettle in hand.
“What?”
“Simple. Its a two-bed flatplenty of space. Youll have a normal life, no more rows or complaints.”
“And her?”
“She can manage however she likes. You reap what you sow.”
“Danny, I cant… Shell be all alone.”
“Good. Maybe then shell understand what lifes like without you.”
Helen set the kettle down, gripping the counter. Guilt and relief tangled in her chest.
“Mum, remember what she said after Dads funeral?” Daniels voice softened. “You can start packingthis house is mine now. Remember?”
Helen nodded. That moment was burned into her memory. Theyd returned from the cemetery, changed out of black, sat with teawhen Margaret, silent all day, suddenly announced everything would change. That Helen and Daniel didnt belong. That they should find their own place.
“And who said you wouldnt leave?” Daniel continued. “Who promised to care for her no matter what?”
“I did,” Helen admitted. “But it was different then. Shed just buried her son…”
“Mum, its been three years! Three years of you cooking, cleaning, taking her to hospital. And what thanks dyou get? None. Just moaningsoups too salty, laundrys not done right, wrong pills. Last week she told Mrs. Thompson next door shes living with strangers who cant wait for her to die so theyll get the house.”
“Helen! Wheres my tea?” Margaret called.
“Coming!” Helen answered, but Daniel blocked her path.
“No, youre not. Sit down.”
“Daniel”
“Mum, sit. We need to talk.”
Reluctantly, Helen obeyed. Daniel took her hands.
“Mum, I wont live with some strangers nan,” he said, holding her gaze. “And neither should you. Youre fifty-twoyouve got years ahead. Why waste them on someone who doesnt appreciate you?”
“Shes not a stranger. Shes your grandmother.”
“Grandmother?” Daniel laughed bitterly. “She never liked me. Remember her telling everyone I took after youbad temper and all? When I got into uni, she said it was a waste of money, that Id amount to nothing.”
Helen stayed quiet. She remembered every slight, how it hurt to hear her son belittled. But David had brushed it offhis mother was difficult, hed say, but fair deep down.
“Helen!” Margarets voice turned shrill. “Have you dropped dead out there?”
Daniel stood abruptly and marched to her room. Helen heard him say:
“Nan, Mums busy. If you want tea, make it yourself.”
“How dare you speak to me like that? Fetch your mother!”
“I wont. And just so you knowwere leaving in a week.”
“Leaving? Where?”
“New flat. Me and Mum.”
Silence. Then Margarets disbelieving:
“And me?”
“Youll stay here. Alone. Like you always wanted.”
“Daniel!” Helen called, but he was already back, satisfied.
“Done,” he rubbed his hands. “Let her chew on that.”
“Whyd you do that? You shouldve talked to me first”
“Mum, whats to discuss? Weve gone over it a hundred times. Youve said yourself youre exhausted, cant take her nonsense anymore.”
It was true. Helen had complained, especially after Margaret called her a freeloader in front of neighbours.
“But shes old, poorly…”
“Mum, shes seventy-five, not a hundred! No sicker than anyone her age. She just knows how to play it up.”
Sniffling came from the other room. Helen moved to rise, but Daniel shook his head.
“Dont. Its an act. Waterworks now, guilt-trip next.”
“Danny, what if shes really upset?”
“Really?” He scoffed. “Remember her at Dads funeral? Start packing. Where were her tears then? Where was her pity for us?”
Helen remembered. Margaret had been dry-eyed, firm, almost triumphant.
“And after?” Daniel pressed. “Her stroke. Who saved her? Who called 999, hauled her to hospital, ran for prescriptions?”
“Me,” Helen whispered.
“Right. And what thanks? None. Back to youre useless, your cookings rubbish.”
The sniffling stopped. Silence.
“See?” Daniel nodded toward the room. “No audience, no performance.”
Helen poured water, drank slowly. Her thoughts churned. Daniel was right. Margaret had never loved or valued her. Criticised, humiliated her, tried to throw them out after Davids death.
But leaving an old woman alone… Wasnt that cruel?
“Mum, I know its hard,” Daniel said, reading her face. “Youre kind. You care. But think of yourself. Dont you want to live too?”
Helen nodded. She did. Desperately. Without walking on eggshells, without daily blame. To wake up not bracing for the next scolding.
“Remember how it was before?” Daniel asked. “When Dad was alive? We had fun, went to the theatre. Whens the last time you did anything for yourself?”
Helen thought. Three yearsjust work, Margaret, errands. Her mate Cathy had asked her to the cinema twice, but shed refusedcouldnt leave Margaret alone long.
“Mum, lets just try,” Daniel urged. “Move out, give it a month. If she truly cant cope, well figure it out.”
“What if something happens?”
“Shes got a phone. Neighbours. We could hire a carerif shell pay for one.”
A creak. Margaret shuffled into the doorway, leaning on the frame.
“So,” she said, “youre dumping me?”
“Nan, no ones dumping you,” Daniel said evenly. “Were just moving out.”
“And Im supposed to manage alone? Sick, old as I am?”
“Youre not as sick as you pretend,” Daniel didnt flinch. “Besides, you told us to leave three years ago. Remember?”
Margaret blinked, caught off guard.
“Thatthat was different…”
“How?” Daniel stepped closer. “Same house, same people. Whats changed?”
“Im frail now! I need help!”
“Maybe you shouldve thought of that earlier.” Daniels voice turned steel. “Maybe you shouldnt have mistreated the person whos looked after you three years.”
Margaret turned to Helen.
“Helen, you wont abandon me? You know I need you…”
Helen said nothing, torn between pity and years of hurt.
“Mum,” Daniel said quietly, “tell her the truth. Tell her youre tired of the digs. That it kills you to hear you dont belong here.”
“I never said that!” Margaret protested.
“No? What did you tell Mrs. Thompson? That you live with strangers waiting for you to die?”
Margaret faltered.
“II didnt mean”
“What did you mean?” Daniel pressed. “Mums been family thirty years. Put up with everything. And you still treat her like some outsider.”
Helen walked to the window, heart heavy.
“Margaret,” she said, back turned, “do you remember what you said three years ago?”
“Helen, I was grieving”
“You said, You can packthis house is mine now. Remember?”
Silence.
“You said youd had enough of outsiders. Remember that too?”
Margaret sank onto a chair, suddenly frail.
“But Im ill… I need help…”
“You do,” Helen agreed. “But why should it come from people you called strangers?”
Margaret plucked at her dressing gown.
“Helen,” she said weakly, “you know how things are meant to be…”
“Meant by whom?” Daniel cut in. “You? And whats meant for us? A lifetime of put-downs?”
Margaret looked up, eyes suddenly wet.
“Danny, youre my grandson…”
“Who you never liked. Who you said would never amount to anything.”
“I didnt think youd remember…”
“We remember. All of it.”
Something in Helen snappeda tension held too long.
“You know what, Margaret?” She turned, voice steady. “We are leaving. Next week.”
Margaret jerked.
“Helen”
“Not Helen. Mrs. Dawson. And yes, were going. Youll have the house. Just like you wanted.”
“But how will I”
“How were we supposed to manage?” Helen sat across from her. “When you threw us out three years ago? Wed have coped, wouldnt we?”
Margaret bowed her head.
“I was… grieving…”
“So were we,” Helen said. “Burying my husband, Dannys dad. But we didnt turn you out.”
The silence stretched. Daniel by the window, Helen at the table, Margaret shrunk in her chair.
“Perhaps… we could reconsider…” Margaret mumbled at last.
“Reconsider what?” Daniel asked.
“I mightve… been wrong… Too harsh…”
Helen shook her head.
“Its too late, Margaret. Weve decided.”
And she had. Right then, at that table, looking at her mother-in-laws hunched shoulders. She deserved a lifepeace, a home without walking on eggshells, a son who could bring friends over without shame. Mornings without dread.
“Mum,” Daniel squeezed her shoulder, “Im proud of you.”
Helen nodded. And for the first time in months, she smiledreally smiled.
