“You’re not needed anymore,” the children said before leaving.
“Mum, why must you always do this? We agreed!” Emily huffed as she unpacked groceries from the bags she’d brought for her mother.
“Darling, I just wanted to help. I thought you and Robert might like it if I knitted little Sophie a jumper for winter,” Margaret said by the window, her thin fingers fidgeting with the knitting needles.
“Sophies fifteen, Mum. She wont wear a grandmothers jumpercant you see that? She has her own style. Young people wear entirely different clothes now.”
Margaret sighed heavily, setting aside the half-finished pink jumper. Something inside her ached. Was her gift truly so dreadful? Shed chosen a modern pattern, soft yarneverything to please.
“When will you come for tea? Ill bake an apple piejust like Sophie loves.”
Emily paused, then shut the fridge door harder than necessary.
“Mum, we dont have time for tea. Sophies revising for her GCSEs, Roberts swamped with work, and Im at the office from dawn till dusk. We talked about this last time.”
“Yes, of course,” Margaret smoothed a crease in her housecoat. “I only thoughtperhaps Sunday…”
“Dont start,” Emily cut in. “Sunday were at the Lakes with Olivia and James. Its young Williams birthdayhad you forgotten?”
“Williams sixteen already,” Margaret smiled faintly. “How quickly they grow. Will you take me along?”
Emily frowned as if the question startled her.
“Mum, its just the young crowd. Youd be bored. And the drives too much.”
“I wouldnt tire,” Margaret assured her. “I could bake a cakeremember how William adored my apple crumble?”
“Theyve ordered one from the bakery. Modern, with icing and all that.”
Margaret nodded, picking up her needles again to hide her disappointment. Her children had grown. Her grandchildren too. They had their own lives now, and shewell, she seemed to matter less and less.
Emily glanced at her watch. “I must dash. Groceries are put away. Dont cook the riceit spikes your blood pressure. And dont forget your pills tonight.”
“Thank you, darling,” Margaret hugged her daughter goodbye. Emily stiffened, as if the embrace pained her, then slipped free.
“Bye, Mum. Ill ring next week.”
The door clicked shut. Margaret lingered in the hall, listening to her daughters fading footsteps. Then she turned back to the silent flatonce brimming with childrens laughter, now hollow and still.
She opened the sideboard and took out the family album. There was young James and Emily in the garden sandpit. Then the seaside tripher late husband still alive, all of them saving for that holiday in Cornwall. School plays, graduations. Weddings… and tiny grandchildren in her arms. When Sophie was born, Margaret had left work early, though retirement was years away. Emily and Robert had been so relievedsomeone to mind the baby. Shed looked after William too, though less often; Olivia managed well enough.
The doorbell startled her from her thoughts. It was Mrs. Thompson from downstairs.
“Margaret, can you believe it? Theyve cut the hot water again! No warning! Fancy a cuppa? I cant wash a dish.”
“Of course, come in,” Margaret brightened. “I planned to bake a pie, but nowwell, wholl eat it?”
“Emily visited?” Mrs. Thompson slipped off her shoes. “Saw her car outside.”
“Brought groceries,” Margaret nodded, fetching teacups. “Rushed, as always. Says she hasnt a moment to spare.”
“Thats what they all say,” Mrs. Thompson waved a hand. “My Michaels the sametoo busy for his old mum, till he needs something. You ought to invite yourself over. Why sit alone?”
“I tried,” Margaret sighed. “They always have plans.”
“Dont asktell them! Say, Im coming Saturday to see my granddaughter. Full stop. They wont turn you away.”
Margaret stayed silent. Mrs. Thompson didnt know that last time shed dropped by unannounced, Emily had been so cross she hadnt called for a week. Said Robert had work colleagues over, and there Margaret was, barging in with her pies.
Mrs. Thompson poured the tea, nudging the biscuit tin closer. “Ive half a mind to spend New Years with my sister in York. Cozy, good company. Whats here? Just me and the telly when Big Ben chimes.”
“Emily promised Id spend Christmas with them,” Margaret said quickly. “They always hostJamess family joins.”
“Well, fingers crossed,” Mrs. Thompson said, though doubt laced her voice. “Theyre all talk, these children. Till its time to act.”
After her neighbour left, Margaret baked the pie anyway. Small, just four slices. One for herself, two wrapped for the elderly couple next door who sometimes chatted by the lift. The fourth she saved for tomorrow.
That evening, James called.
“Mum, hellohow are you?” His voice was cheerful yet distant.
“Fine, dear. Emily came by with groceries. Hows Olivia? William?”
“All good. Listen, Mumabout the cottage…”
Margaret tensed. The cottage, left by her husband, was still in her name. A modest place with an old but sturdy house. Once, theyd spent every summer there as a family. Then the children grew, her husband passed, and she went less oftentoo much upkeep alone.
“Yes?” she said cautiously.
“Well, heres the thing. Olivia and I have a chance to build a proper houseout near the Cotswolds. But we need the deposit. We thoughtmaybe sell the cottage? You hardly go anyway.”
Margaret clutched the phone, silent. She hadnt expected this. The cottage was the last remnant of her life with George. The veranda hed built, the apple trees hed plantedall still there.
“James, butits your fathers memory. I thoughtperhaps the grandchildren”
“Mum,” impatience crept into his tone. “Which grandchildren? William wont set foot therejust wants his Xbox. And the place is falling apart. Best sell now while its worth something. Well give you a share, of course.”
“Ill think on it,” she whispered.
“Mum, theres nothing to think about. Its a solid offer. Buyers are ready. Ill fetch you tomorrow at ten to sign the papers, yes?”
The next day, James arrived as promisedunusually attentive, even helping her with her coat. En route to the estate agents, he chatted about their grand new house, the spacious guest room.
“You could visit weekends, Mum. Gorgeous area, fresh air. Not like that old place by the motorway.”
Margaret nodded along. Deep down, she knew no one would ferry her out every weekend. That guest room would stay empty. But she wouldnt contradict himhe was so set on this.
At the office, she signed the forms. A young man in a suit droned about taxes and timelines, but she barely listened. The cottages veranda filled her mindher and George sipping tea at sunset.
“Brilliant,” James beamed afterward. “Funds clear by Friday. Your cut goes straight to your account.”
“Lovely, dear,” she forced a smile. “Are you in a rush? Fancy tea at mine? I baked yesterday.”
James checked his watch. “Cant, Mum. Meeting in twenty. Rain check?”
He dropped her at the flats with a wave. Slowly, she climbed the stairs. Mrs. Jenkins from across the hall peered out.
“Margaret, that pie you shareddivine! Might I have the recipe? My lot are visiting this weekend.”
Margaret smiled. At least someone appreciated her cooking.
Days later, Emily called, flustered.
“Mum, why arent you answering? I tried the landline!”
“I was at the shops, love.”
“Oh. Right. ListenRoberts been offered a post in Edinburgh. Three years minimum. Double his salary, company flat. Were taking it.”
Margaret sank onto a chair, legs weak.
“Edinburgh? But thats miles”
“Only an hour by plane! Well fly back for holidays.”
“What of Sophie? Her school, her friends”
“Its a top grammar schooljust what she needs for uni. Its perfect timing.”
“When do you leave?” Margaret fought to keep her voice steady.
“Fortnight. Sorting visas, packing. No time at all! But well pop round before we go.”
Two weeks vanished like smoke. Margaret waited, hoping theyd visit as promised. Each morning she woke thinking, Today Ill see Sophie, bake her favourite pie. But the phone stayed silent.
On their last day, the doorbell rang. Emily and Robert stood thereSophie waited in the car, headache, Emily said. They stayed half an hour, gulped tea, refused piewatching their weight.
“Mum, we got you a simple mobile,” Emily produced a box. “Easy to use. Well call. And here” she handed a slip. “Numbers of my mates hereVicky and Sarah. If anything happens, ring them.”
“Wont James?”
“James is out in the sticks now, you know that. But dont fretthe girls are reliable.”
At the door, Emily hugged her tighter than usual, whispering:
“Just stay well, alright? For our peace of mind.”
That evening, James rang.
“Mum, how are you? Not ill?”
“Fine, dear. Emily came by. Hows Olivia? William?”
“All good. ListenOlivia thinks its best you dont visit yet. The house is chaos. Once were settled, yes?”
“Of course,” she said.
Silent days stretched on. Emily called weeklyshort chats. James rarely phonedtoo busy renovating. The grandchildren were always occupiedexams, football, friends.
Margaret tried to fill the void. She joined the library, attended the local poetry circle. Made friendsother lonely pensioners like herself.
One evening, returning from a reading, her phone buzzed. Emily.
“Mum, hi. How are you?”
“Lovely, dear. Just read my poem tonighteveryone praised it.”
“Wonderful,” Emily sounded distracted. “ListenRoberts been offered a transfer. Canada. Imagine? Huge opportunity. Sophie could study at a proper Western uni.”
Margaret froze, ice in her veins.
“Canada? Thatsso far.”
“Yes, but the prospects! Were nearly decided. If it works, well move in three months.”
“What about me?” she whispered.
“What do you mean?”
“Ill be alone. James barely calls. Now you”
“Mum, dont start! Youre a grown woman. We cant turn this down just because youll miss us.”
“I know,” she swallowed. “Onlymight I come too?”
Silence. Then:
“Mum, thats impossible. Visas, spacewed rent a tiny flat. And the languagehow would you manage?”
“I could learn”
“Youre sixty-eight,” Emily sighed. “Be realistic. Your pension, your flat, your friendstheyre here. There, youd be lost.”
“Perhaps youre right,” Margaret said.
A week later, James rang, brisk.
“Mum, Emily and I discussed… With her in Canada, and me herewe think you should consider assisted living. Lovely places nowmeals, nurses, activities.”
“Assisted living?” Her voice shook.
“Dont panicits not like the old days. Upscale retirement homes. People your age, book clubs, outings. You wouldnt be lonely.”
“And my flat?”
“Wed rent it outincome covers the home, the rest to you.”
Margaret shut her eyes. So that was it. Theyd ship her off to free the flat.
“James, I wont go. This is my home.”
“Mum, be reasonable. Youd be cared for! Here, youre alonewhat if you fall?”
“I manage perfectly.”
“Youre being selfish,” his voice hardened. “We worry!”
“No. You want my flat.”
“What?” He sounded stunned. “Thatshow dare you? We call, Emily writes from Canada, we send money. What more do you want?”
“My family,” she said. “Not cheques.”
“Mum, weve our own lives. You cant guilt us into orbiting you forever. Its the way of the world nowfamilies scatter.”
“Im not asking for orbits. Just to matter.”
“Christ, not this again. Ive work. Well talk later.” He hung up.
On moving day, James came alonejust thirty minutes. A box of chocolates, a peck on the cheek. Spoke like a stranger ticking a duty.
“Youll be alright, Mum?”
“Of course,” she forced a smile. “Wheres Olivia? William?”
“Packing. No time.”
At the door, she realised she might not see him for years. A lump rose in her throat.
“James,” she called. “Sondo you not need me anymore?”
He turned, hesitated. Then, not meeting her eyes:
“Dont be daft, Mum. Its justlife moves on. You understand.”
“I do,” she nodded. “I do, my dear.”
After he left, she stood in the empty hall, then returned to her silent sitting room. Only the clock tickedGeorges old mechanical one. Hed loved its soul, hed said.
She picked up the phone, dialled Mrs. Thompson.
“Dorothyremember you mentioned New Years in York? Might I join you?”
Her neighbour sounded surprised but pleased. “Margaret! Of course! My sister will adore you. Changed your mind about the children?”
“Yes,” Margaret felt lighter. “Decided to look after myself. Theyve their own lives.”
“Quite right!” Dorothy cheered. “Youre still youngwhy mope? Theyll come crawling once the grands need babysitting, mark my words.”
“Perhaps,” Margaret smiled. “But Im done waiting. I deserve my own life too, dont I?”
She hung up and went to the window. The first snowflakes fell outside. A new winter was beginningand perhaps, a new chapter. Without her children, but not, she hoped, entirely without joy.
