Dear Diary,
I woke up to the sound of Emilys voice, sharp and wounded, as she hurled accusations at me from the kitchen table. You sleep on your savings while Im scraping by in holes! Youre my mother and grandmother! Can you ever actually help? she snapped, her words tinged with longheld resentment.
The absurdity of the moment was that we were sitting at my modest guestroom table, the very one Id hastily set with ham and cheese sandwiches, thick slices of cheddar, smoked salmon, and fresh rolls from the baker on the corner. A bowl of grapes, pomegranate seeds and mandarins sat nearby; no exotic fruit salad, but enough to make a decent impression for a guest.
Our little grandson, little Liam, was perched on the sofa in his brandnew onesie the same one Id bought just days before. Emilys husband, Daniel, was thumbing through cartoons, oblivious.
Emily, dont ruin the mood, I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. Im the one who dresses the boy, drives him to his earlylearning classes, buys his medicines. He lives entirely on me. And you think thats not enough?
She shot back, Its your grandson, after all. Who else would care? Daniel and I are already stretched thinloans, mortgage, council tax, nursery fees. After all that, theres barely enough left for bread and pasta. She paused, anger flaring. What does that have to do with me? Did I force you to take out those loans? Did I push you into selling the flat? You told me not to interfere, so I stayed out of it. Now you expect me to owe you something else?
Her eyes narrowed. Mum, you see how we survive! I cant even do my own nails because Im out of polish. My boots are falling apart; a single puddle drenches my feet and I end up sick. Daniel has only one decent shirt left. Were not living, were just getting by. And now you want to raise me as if it were easy! You sit there eating salmon for breakfast every day while we scramble!
I listened, my lips pressed together, feeling a sting of guilt. Perhaps I had been too indulgent, loving him a little too fiercely. Yet love isnt mended with money; its faced with consequences.
Emily, have I not given you enough in life? I asked, my tone edged with frustration. You had everything. You wanted a touchscreen phone when everyone else still used button phoneswe got it. You begged for a mink coatwe bought it. I provided you with a home. Youre no longer a child; you must learn to fend for yourself.
She huffed, turning away, the same way she had when we refused to buy her a toy because there was no room left.
I recalled her as a little girl racing around the flat in a new sporty tracksuit encrusted with sequins, a brandnew computer humming in her room, a boxed camera tucked away in the wardrobea New Years gift. Her ambitions shifted faster than the pounds exchange rate: photographer, hairdresser, actress. I kept opening my purse, enrolling her in extra lessons, trying to keep up.
Let the girl enjoy her childhood, my husband Paul would joke, laughing. He was a respected officer in the Army, one of the betteroff men in town. Our combined income meant we never had to deny ourselves. I also worked, more for the pleasure of being active and useful than for necessity.
One day Emily watched a YouTube video about felting wool and declared, I want to try making felt! I took her to a craft shop, handed her a basket, and within half an hour it was brimming with yarn and needles. Other parents might have given just a couple of skeins and the cheapest needles, but I believed wholeheartedly that nurturing her talents was sacred. We could afford it, so why not?
Emily clung to each new hobby with enthusiasm, only to abandon it weeks later for something else. It unnerved me, yet I told myself she was merely testing herself. Meanwhile, she grew accustomed to receiving anything she wanted at a moments notice.
Then Paul passed away, leaving me alone, though financially secure. The interest from his savings was enough to live comfortably, but I kept working until health issues forced me to stop.
Emily, meanwhile, had funded my education in Manchester, bought a onebedroom flat in a new development, and renovated it beautifully. I felt I had ticked every box on the good mother checklist. I gave her everything she needed to start, I thought. Ill support her while she studies, then shell manage on her own. That conviction held firmuntil things went awry.
Emily was just beginning her second year when she announced she had a boyfriend. Daniel, too, owned an iPhone, though not the latest model, and was practically penniless, his family equally modest. He wore a smug grin and seemed wholly unprepared for adult responsibilities.
Emily, finish your studies first, I urged after she introduced Daniel. If you want to live together, go aheadbut dont rush. Get a qualification, stand on your own feet, then think about settling down.
She replied, scowling, Mum, stay out of it. This is my life. And I kept my distance, as she wished.
Life, however, unfolded far from her expectations. At first everything seemed pleasant. They lived in Emilys flat; I paid the council tax and gave them pocket money for food and clothes. Their days were spent bingewatching series and strolling until dawn.
Daniel soon quit university, declaring he saw no point in continuing. I enrolled because my parents wanted me to, he said. Now it feels like a waste of time. I wont follow a career path.
Emily then abandoned her own studies. Mum, Im pregnant, she told me over the phone one afternoon. Daniel and I have decided. Ill take a break, maybe do a short course, and then see what happens. I sighed, covering my face with my hand, before managing a strained, Alright, if youre sure. She asked, Will you help us? I replied, Ill help the grandson. Youre both adults now; you have more than I did at your age. Manage yourselves. My heart tightened, but I held my composure.
A heavy silence followed. Hmm everything’s clear with you, I muttered, and Emily hung up.
Tensions rose. She complained about a broken fridge, a wornout jacket, low iron levelswell, finally something that hit a nerve. I only reacted to the last, reminding her that the babys health was paramount during pregnancy and nursing.
Grandson shouldnt suffer because were foolish, I muttered, hauling groceries.
Then Emily dropped another bombshell. Weve decided to sell the flat and buy a twobedroom. Emily think about it. The baby will still be with you, I warned. No, Mum. We want a wedding, a honeymoon, something proper. I clenched my teeth, but stayed out of her way.
Money vanished like sand through fingerswedding venue, photographer, the latest iPhones, laptops, a holiday to Spain, a deposit for a mortgage. They fell into loans, and the mortgage payments spiraled out of control. Soon Emily was begging for money to make it through the month.
Grandson Liam received everything: formula, baby food, nappies. For the past six months hed been living with me. Daniel found work as a camera operator and took on courier jobs. I considered remote work myself, asking Emily, Will you bring little Leo over for a while? I agreed to let him stay, but only as far as I could manage. The child had everything; the adults, only my adviceadvice they were unlikely to heed.
Emily stared out the window, then turned to me, voice trembling. If you dont help, Ill take Leo away and youll never see him again. I laughed weakly, a flicker of dread behind the smile. Alright, lets see how quickly youll be out of a job and what youll survive on. Do you at least have money for nursery fees, dear?
She glowered, breathing hard, unable to argue. In a few days shed be back at my door, hand outstretched, another bill looming.
You had everything. Im not to blame for the mess youve made, I said, coldly. And you think you can pull Leo and me down with you? No. Youre adults nowmanage your own mess. Emily left her sandwiches untouched, grabbed her coat, and walked out. I didnt stop her.
When the door shut, I slipped into the living room. Liam slept on the sofa, clutching his plush owl. I turned off the television so he wouldnt wake. For his sake I could move mountains, I thought, but for them both let life be the teacher.
