Grandchildren youll only see on holidays, the daughterinlaw declares at the first family dinner.
Margaret, stop oversalting! Youll ruin it! the neighbour Zoe shouts as she watches Margaret reach for the salt shaker over the pot of borscht for the third time.
Come on, Zoe, Im sure its not enough yet, Margaret says.
Youre not feeling anything today! Youre all nervous! Let me try, Zoe replies.
Margaret steps away from the stove, wipes her hands on her apron, and watches Zoe taste the soup. Zoe is rightMargarets hands tremble, her thoughts jumble, everything feels out of control. How can she not be nervous on a day this important?
Her son Andrew is finally bringing his wife home to meet his mother. Theyd married quietly a month ago at the registry office, no ceremony, no guests. Margaret had been hurt then; she missed the chance to be at the wedding. Andrew explained that Laura, his wife, wanted a lowkey affair, no fuss.
Listen, Margaret, Zoe says, tasting the borscht, its fine. Actually, its delicious. Now go change, fix your hair. Guests will be here soon.
Zoe, what if she doesnt like me? What if I make a bad impression? Margaret frets.
Youll be a wonderful motherinlaw! You dont interfere, you live on your own. Whats the issue? Zoe reassures.
Margaret nods and retreats to her bedroom. Zoe stays in the kitchen finishing the salads. Its a relief that the neighbour helps; Margaret could not manage alone.
In the bedroom Margaret stands before the mirror. Sixtytwo, silvergray hair, laugh lines around her eyesjust an ordinary older woman. Andrew arrived late in life, at thirtyfive, after a long wait. Her husband died ten years ago, and shes lived alone in a modest twobed flat on the outskirts of Manchester.
Andrew grew up well. He graduated from university, became a software developer, earned a decent salary, rented a flat in the city centre, and visited his mother once a week, bringing groceries, fixing things, and sending money.
Then he met Laura. He talks about her with admiration. Shes beautiful, intelligent, a solicitor. Margaret asks to see a photo; Andrew shows one on his phone. Shes tall, slim, darkhaired, with bold makeup, but her eyes seem cold.
Margaret slips into her best dressa dark navy dress with a crisp white collardoes her hair, applies a touch of lipstick, and gives herself a quick appraisal: it looks respectable.
A knock rings at six oclock sharp. Margaret wipes her sweaty palms on the dress and opens the door.
Andrew stands there with Laura. Laura looks even more striking than in the photo, clad in a pricey coat, high heels, immaculate nails.
Hi, Mum, Andrew says, hugging his mother. This is Laura.
Hello, Laura offers a hand. The handshake is cool and formal.
Welcome, welcome! Come in! Margaret hurries to help with the coat, offers slippers. Laura scans the flat, eyeing the worn furniture, the faded carpet, the dull curtains.
What a cosy flat, she remarks with a faint smile.
Thanks, love. Its modest but tidy. Please, have a seat.
In the kitchen Zoe is already setting the table. Seeing the guests, she greets them brightly.
Oh, the newlyweds! Hello! Im Zoe, the neighbour.
Laura nods politely.
They all sit. Margaret ladles out the borscht, offers salads. Andrew eats heartily, praising the soup.
Mum, its as tasty as ever! Ive missed your borscht, he says.
Enjoy, dear, Margaret replies.
Laura picks at the salad with her fork, taking tiny bites.
Are you watching your figure? Zoe asks. Its important at your age.
I just avoid fatty, fried foods, Laura answers. Im trying to stay healthy.
Margaret feels a stingdoes that mean her cooking is too rich? Shes always made food like this; Andrew loved it.
Mum, hows Aunt Vera? Is she getting better? Andrew changes the subject.
Shes improving. I visited her last week and brought some treats, Margaret says.
A brief, awkward silence follows. Laura puts down her fork and looks at Margaret.
Margaret, Andrew mentioned youre retired. What do you keep busy with?
Just the usual house chores, regular visits to the GPmy blood pressure spikeschatting with neighbours, the occasional theatre night if I can afford it, Margaret replies.
And you dont plan to look after grandchildren? Laura asks.
Margaret flinches. Grandchildren! Shed dreamed of them.
Yes, of course! Id love to! she exclaims.
Laura smiles. Because Im pregnant. Four months along.
Margaret gasps. Zoe beams. Andrew looks embarrassed.
Andrey! My love, why didnt you tell us sooner? he says.
I wanted Laura to break the news herself, Andrew explains.
Congratulations! Thats wonderful, Margaret gushes, hugging both her son and his wife. Laura accepts the embrace coolly, without a word.
They continue dinner. Margaret is on cloud nine, thrilled at the prospect of a grandchildany grandchild.
Ill help you! Ill come over, look after the baby, cook for you! You both work, itll be hard without help, she says eagerly.
Laura sips water, then looks at her motherinlaw.
Margaret, weve been discussing a few rules.
What rules? Laura asks.
Ive read a lot of modern parenting literature. Andrew and I have decided to raise the child according to a specific system.
Thats fine, I suppose, Margaret nods. I wont interfere. Youre young, you know best.
Exactly. So wed ask you not to get involved in the upbringingno oldfashioned advice, no meddling.
Margaret feels a chill.
I wasnt going to meddle. I just wanted to help.
Help can take many forms, Laura says, wiping her lips with a napkin. Well accept any financial support, but the parenting is our business.
Andrew interjects, Laura, can we be a bit softer? Mum just wants the best for us.
Laura looks sternly at him. Remember what we agreed?
Andrew swallows. Yes, but
No buts. Its settled.
Zoe watches silently, her fists clenched. Margaret feels a lump rise in her throat.
Laura, I understand you have your views, but Im a grandmother! How can I not be involved in my grandchilds life? Margaret pleads.
Youll see the child only on holidaysbirthdays, New Year. That should be enough, Laura replies coldly.
Margarets face turns pale. Only a few times a year?
Thats unreasonable! she protests.
Its practical, Laura snaps. I dont want you spoiling the child with rich food, overdressing, scary stories. Ill protect him from that.
Every grandmother says that, then does her own thing, Margaret retorts.
Andrew lowers his head, looking guilty. Margaret turns to him, pleading.
Andrew, tell her Ill be a good grandma!
Mum, he says, eyes downcast, weve thought a lot and decided this is best for everyone.
Margaret cant believe her ears. The son she raised, nurtured, now sides with his wife.
Youre serious? she whispers.
Dont be upset, Mum. Were not banning visits completely, just not every day, Andrew says.
So not every day, Margaret repeats. What about help? You both workwho looks after the child?
Well hire a nanny, Laura says. We have the money.
The nanny isnt family! Im family! Margaret snaps.
Thats why we prefer a professional. We can fire her if needed, while relatives tend to overstep, Laura explains.
Zoe cant hold back any longer. Excuse me, but how can you speak like that? Margaret is a wonderful woman whos been longing for grandchildren!
Laura turns to Zoe. This is a family matter. Please stay out of it.
Youre interfering, Zoe retorts. Im leaving.
Zoe grabs her bag and storms out. The room falls into a heavy silence. Margaret sits, hands clenched on her lap, tears welling but not falling.
Ive waited my whole life for grandchildren, she says softly. I dreamed of pushing a pram, reading bedtime stories, baking pies.
Laura sighs. I understand your feelings, but I need a calm environment for the baby. No extra people.
So Im extra? Margaret asks.
Youre a grandmother, but from a distance, Laura says.
Margaret stands abruptly. Leave.
What? Laura asks, surprised.
I said leave. Now, Margaret insists.
Andrew jumps up. Mum, what are you doing?
I dont want to see you or your wife. Get out of my house.
Andrew, stop! he pleads.
Get out! I said it! Margaret shouts.
Laura gathers her things. As you wish. Lets go, Andrew.
Andrew looks torn but follows. The door closes, and Margaret collapses onto a chair, sobbing openly, the sound raw and painful.
Zoe returns half an hour later, finding Margaret surrounded by untouched dishes.
Gale, what happened? Zoe asks, bewildered.
How could he agree to this? Margaret whispers.
I dont know. Maybe his wife convinced him, Zoe says gently.
But shes his wife, his childs mother. How can she push a grandmother out? Margaret cries.
Zoe embraces her. It happens, Gale. Some daughtersinlaw see mothersinlaw as rivals.
But I did nothing wrong. I hadnt even met her before today! Margaret sobs.
Zoe sighs. Youre right, but she still thinks youll interfere.
The days drag on. Andrew stops calling; Margarets pride keeps her from reaching out. She drifts through the flat like a ghost, eating little, sleeping little, thinking only of the grandchild shell see only on holidays.
Zoe visits daily, urging her to eat, to talk. Margaret barely hears.
A former school friend, Nina, calls. Gale, I heard youre expecting a soninlaw, right?
Yeah, Margaret replies. And the daughterinlaw is not great.
Nina laughs. What a bitch! Sorry, thats the only way to put it.
What should I do? Margaret asks.
Dont fight. Pretend you dont care. Those women crave you begging, crawling on your knees. Stay silent, no calls, no visits. Let them think you dont give a toss.
But I do care! Margaret protests.
Just wait. Itll wear them down, Nina advises.
A month passes. Margaret keeps her distance, avoids contact. She still goes to the GP, the shop, Zoes house, but inside her feels empty.
One evening, the doorbell rings. Andrew stands there, looking weary.
Hi, Mum, he says softly.
Hello, Margaret replies.
Can I come in?
Come in.
They sit at the kitchen table. Andrew looks exhausted, older than before.
Im sorry, he says. Laura was harsh. I shouldnt have let it happen.
You let it happen, Margaret counters.
I know. Im ashamed.
Margaret watches him, waiting.
I understand youre hurt, but Laura really believes this is best for the baby, Andrew admits.
What do you think? she asks.
Andrew looks down. I love you, Mum, but I also love Laura. I have to support her.
Even if shes wrong? Margaret asks.
Yes, even then, he says.
Margaret nods, realizing her son has chosen his wife.
Fine, Andrew. Live as you wish. I wont interfere, she says.
Dont say that, Mum. Were not cutting off visits completely, Andrew says, trying to soften.
Only on holidays, right? I remember, Margaret repeats.
…yes, Andrew mutters.
Go now, Margaret says. I have nothing else to say.
Andrew hesitates, then leaves. Margaret sits alone once more.
Two months later, winter arrives. Margaret decorates her flat for New Year, hoping Andrew might invite her. He doesnt.
On New Years Eve, Margaret and Zoe share a modest celebration, watching TV and sipping sparkling water. Heres to a better year, Zoe says.
Yes, lets hope, Margaret replies, though she doubts it.
In February, Laura gives birth to a boy, Max. Andrew sends a photo. The infants dark hair and bright eyes melt Margarets heart, and she cries.
A week later Andrew calls. Mum, Id like you to visit on Sunday, meet Max.
Okay, she replies, already gathering giftsbaby clothes, toys, a soft blanket.
Andrew arrives in his car, drives silently. Margaret worries Laura will bar her again.
Laura greets them calmly, smiling. Hello, Margaret, she says.
Hi, dear, Margaret replies. The flat is spacious, modern, with a highend finish. In the nursery sits a crib with Max asleep.
May I hold him? Margaret whispers.
Better not, Laura says. Hes sleeping. Waking him would be hard.
Margaret steps back, heart aching but accepting.
They sit in the living room, drink tea. Laura talks about the birth, the first days. Margaret listens eagerly, absorbing every detail.
Are you breastfeeding? she asks.
No, we use formula. I dont want to affect my figure, Laura answers.
Margaret stays silent, wanting to say that breast milk is best, but remembers she isnt welcome to advise.
Max wakes and cries. Laura brings him to the lounge. Can I hold him? Margaret asks.
Just a minute, Laura says, handing the baby to Margaret.
Margaret cradles Max, feeling his warmth, the scent of baby powder. Tears swell.
What a beautiful little thing, she murmurs.
Laura takes him back quickly. He needs to eat now.
Later, Andrew drives Margaret home.
How was it? he asks. Did you like Max?
Very much, Margaret replies.
I know its hard for you, but Laura has the right to decide how to raise him.
I understand, Margaret says.
And well invite you over sometimes. Not often, but well try, Andrew adds.
Thank you, Margaret says, a sad smile on her face.
Back at her flat, she watches the night through the window, feeling both joy and loss.
Zoe drops by later. Did you see the baby? she asks.
Yes, hes lovely, Margaret answers. Laura shes still distant.
Ah, Gale, Zoe sighs.
They sit in silence a moment. Maybe I should step back, Margaret muses. Stop chasing them?
Probably wise. Keep your dignity, Zoe advises.
But what about the grandchild? Margaret asks.
Hell come to you eventually. Kids know who loves them, Zoe says.
Months pass. Max is eight months old. Margaret sees him three timesbirthday, christening, and a random visit when Andrew cant get a nanny.
Each visit is a trial. Laura controls everything: when Margaret can hold the baby, what she can feed him, even how loudly she may speak.
One day Andrew calls. Mum, the nanny is sick. Can you look after Max tomorrow for three hours?
Margarets heart leaps. Of course, I can!
Andrew hands her a sheet of instructions: feeding times, nap schedule, allowed games. Please follow it exactly, he says. Laura is strict about the routine.
Margaret spends the night restless, imagining three hours alone with Max, free of Lauras watchful eye.
The next morning Andrew drops Max off. Hes bundled in a soft onesie, sucking his pacifier.
Heres the schedule, Andrew says, handing over the paper. No deviations, please.
Okay, Andre, Margaret replies.
Dont forgetno treats, no extra TV, Laura adds over the phone later. We must stick to the plan.
Margaret nods, feeling a knot tighten. She takes Max in her arms. He looks up with big eyes and smiles.
Hello, my sunshine, she coos, pressing him close. Ive waited for this.
They spend three hours togetherfeeding as instructed, playing approved games, reading a short story from the list. Max is calm, content.
When Andrew returns, Margaret is reluctant to give him back.
How did it go? he asks.
Wonderful. Hes such a good boy, she says.
Great. Maybe well ask you again, he replies.
From then on, she occasionally watches Max when the nanny is unavailable, usually every fortnight.
When Max turns one, the family hosts a party. Margaret sits at the far end of the table, away from the birthday boy.
Laura brings her a salad. Would you like some? she asks.
No, thank you, Margaret replies coolly.
After the guests leave, Margaret helps clear the table. Laura washes the dishes.
May I say goodbye to Max? she asks.
Hes asleep, Laura answers.
Just a kiss goodnight?
Laura sighs. Alright, but quietly.
Margaret tiptoes to the nursery, finds Max sleeping, his tiny hands stretched out. She leans over and kisses his forehead.
Sleep well, dear. Grandma loves you, she whispers, tears spilling.
The years roll on. Max is now two, speaking, running, playing. He sees Margaret rarelyonce a month if luck allows. Andrew sometimes visits with his son, but only for short bursts.
One evening Max tugs at Margarets coat. Grandma! he cries.
Hello, sunshine! she says, holding him on her lap. Youve grown so much!
Andrew pulls him away gently. Quiet, Max. You canAs the night deepened, Margaret whispered a hopeful promise to herself that someday, beyond holidays and rules, she would finally hold Max in her arms without any barriers.
