My mother, Margaret Turner, shuffled back from the supermarket, struggling up the stairs to the flat on the fourth floor. The bags were heavy, but I never let her skimp on groceries. Shes got a decent pension and has spent her whole life buying quality food.
The flat was quiet and cool. Margaret set the bags on the kitchen table and began unpacking: a loaf of bread, a bottle of milk, a block of cheddar, a dozen eggs, fresh veg and fruit, and a tin of smoked salmon. She bought the salmon out of habithow could I deny my only son his favourite treat? The thing is, my son hadnt visited for two years, not even for my birthday.
Ah, Jamie, she sighed, maybe youll pop round next weekend?
She picked up the phone and dialled a familiar number. After a long ring, a robotic voice announced the line was temporarily unavailable. She let out another sigh and left the handset on the windowsill.
Must be busy. Ill try again this evening.
But Jamie didnt answer later either. Margaret switched on the telly to kill the lonely night. A new drama flickered across the screen, and her thoughts drifted back to her son.
Jamie had always been Margarets pride. She raised him alone after her husband walked out when Jamie was just seven. He grew up sharp and determined, left school with a gold medal, then earned a place at a prestigious university to study economics.
After graduating, Jamie landed a job at a major firm. Margaret swelled with pride at his success. He used to visit often, chat about work and make plans for the future.
Then everything changed. Jamie met Claire, a beautiful girl from an affluent family. Six months later they were married and moved to a new city. At first he called his mum every week and visited once a month. Gradually the calls grew sparse, the visits rarer. The last time he was home was Christmas last year.
Margaret switched off the TV and went to the kitchen. She brewed a cup of tea and fetched her favourite biscuits, feeling uneasy inside. She knew Jamie had his own life, job, family, but how she longed to hear his voice and see his face!
The next morning the phone rang. Margaret rushed to answer, hoping for Jamie, but it was her neighbour, Dorothy Harris.
Morning, Margaret. Fancy a cuppa? Ive baked a cake.
Thanks, Dorothy, but Im not feeling well. Maybe another time.
Dorothy promised to call if anything was needed. Margaret hung up, not in the mood to talk to anyone. She decided to send Jamie a message. Carefully typing on the smartphone hed given her for her sixtieth birthday, she wrote: Jamie, how are you? Called you earlier, no answer. Could you drop by? I miss you. She hit send and waited.
A few hours later the reply came: Sorry, Mum, swamped with work. Ill try to visit next month.
The month passed and Jamie still didnt come. Margaret convinced herself not to pester him. He has his own life, she thought. Hes probably really busy.
One day scrolling through her social feed, Margaret saw a picture of Jamie standing in front of a handsome house with Claire and their golden retriever, Baxter. The caption read: Our new home! Dreams come true! Her heart clenched. Hed bought a house and never told her! She learned about his milestones only from strangers online.
She dialled Jamie again. This time he answered almost at once.
Hey, Mum! How are you? his voice was bright.
Jamie, I saw the photos. Congratulations on the house! Why didnt you mention it?
Oh, Mum, I completely forgot. Work and the move have been chaotic. Sorry.
I understand. When can you come over to show me the new place? Ive missed you.
I dont know, Mum. Too many things Maybe you could visit us? See how weve settled.
Mme? Margaret stammered. Its so far I dont even know how to get there.
Then lets arrange it later. Ive got to run, Mum. Well catch up soon! He hung up before she could answer. Margaret sat staring at the dead screen, then rose and went back to the kitchen.
Maybe Ill bake a cake, she thought, Jamie will come home hungry, I can feed him. She quickly chastised herself: You silly old woman, he lives in another city.
Days dragged on. She shopped, watched TV, occasionally visited Dorothy for tea, but the loneliness never left. She stopped calling Jamie for fear of bothering him.
New Years approached, and she decided to treat herself. She bought a tiny fir, a few new decorations, and all the food for a festive dinner, hoping Jamie might ring or even turn up.
On December 31st she spent the morning preparing salads, roast chicken, and an apple crumbleJamies favourites. When the table was set, she dressed in her best dress, did her hair, and applied a touch of makeup, convinced the phone would ring at midnight. The clock ticked toward twelve, she sat at the table, eyes glued to the handset. The chimes of Big Ben struck twelve, the Prime Ministers New Year address aired, but the phone stayed silent.
She kept the line open until three in the morning, still hoping. Exhausted, she finally lay down. At dawn she found a brief text from Jamie: Happy New Year, Mum. Wishing you health and happiness. Just one line, no question about her day, no mention of how he celebrated.
Margaret stared at the untouched chicken and cold salads. Had she become a stranger to him? How could this have happened?
A week later she visited her longtime friend, Susan, a nurse at the local health centre.
Margaret, youve lost weight! Whats going on? Susan exclaimed as they met in the clinic corridor.
Nothing special, just getting older, Margaret smiled.
Hows Jamie? Havent seen him in ages.
Hes fine. Bought a house in the suburbs, works a lot.
Does he visit?
Rarely. Hes very busy.
Susan looked at her thoughtfully.
Youre living alone, Margaret. Thats not good. Why not move in with Jamie?
He never invites me, Margaret whispered. And where would I go with my ailments? Id just be a burden.
Dont be foolish. Youre his mother, not a burden! Susan urged. Come over to my place for a cuppa, I finish my shift in an hour.
That evening, over tea at Susans kitchen, Margaret finally opened up about how painful the silence from her son was.
I understand he has his own life, but isnt a monthly call reasonable? At least a proper conversation, not those curt messages?
Have you ever told him how you feel? Susan asked.
No. I dont want to seem demanding.
Youre his motheryou have a right to his attention. If he doesnt see that, you need to remind him.
What do I do?
Call him and say you need a serious talk. Tell him youre lonely, that you miss him. Let him know how you feel.
Margaret considered it. Maybe Susan was right. Maybe she needed to be more assertive.
Back home, she dialled Jamie. He didnt pick up, so she left a voicemail: Son, please call when you can. I need to talk. He returned the next day.
Mum, whats wrong? Are you okay?
Yes, Jamie, just wanted to hear your voice.
Im at work. Can we talk this evening?
Sure, call whenever youre free.
Evening came and Jamie didnt call. He didnt call the next day either. Margaret decided not to badger him.
In early spring Margaret felt unwellher heart thumped, her blood pressure spiked. She called an ambulance. Doctors gave her a injection and suggested a hospital stay, but she refused. Who would look after the flat? Who would water the plants? What if Jamie suddenly decided to visit and found the place empty?
Dorothy, learning of Margarets condition, began dropping by daily with fresh bread, soup, or meatballs.
Margaret, maybe you should call Jamie? Let him know youre ill, Dorothy suggested one afternoon.
No, Dorothy, hes already got enough on his plate. I dont want to trouble him.
But hes your son! He should know his mother is sick!
Ill tell him when Im better. I dont want a sudden rush then when Im already recovering.
Dorothy shook her head, convinced Jamie wouldnt come without a nudge. Weeks slipped by; Margarets health fluctuated. Jamie called occasionally, always brief, always polite.
One evening a knock sounded at the door. Margaret, barely able to rise from the sofa, wondered who it could beDorothy usually called first.
She opened the door to a young woman with a large bag.
Excuse me, are you Margaret Turner? the stranger asked.
Yes, and who are you?
My names Laura. I work for the councils social services. Your neighbour mentioned you might need help.
Margaret was taken aback. She hadnt asked for assistance, but Laura was already inside, spreading paperwork on the table.
Youll need to sign a care agreement. Ill visit three times a week, help with shopping, check your blood pressure. Its all free, dont worry.
I didnt ask for this
Your neighbour is very concerned. She says you live alone, fall often, and struggle with daily chores.
Margaret tried to protest, but felt faint and sank into a chair. She remembered Dorothys worries; she had indeed nearly slipped when reaching for a jar on the top shelf.
Alright, she whispered. Thank you.
Laura proved to be a pleasant, efficient helper, handling chores with kindness. Over time Margaret grew accustomed to her visits and even looked forward to them.
One afternoon, while sharing tea, Laura asked, Do you have any children?
My son, James, Margaret replied. He lives in another city.
Does he visit?
Rarely. Hes very busy with his business and family.
Does he know youre ill?
No. I dont want to bother him.
Lauras eyes softened. My own grandmother lived alone, her daughter worked far away and visited rarely. My grandma regretted not being there in her last days. Perhaps you should call James, tell him how you feel?
The thought lingered. Margaret had always hidden her condition. Every time James phoned, she said she was fine, not wanting to distract him.
Youre right, Laura. Ill call him tonight.
After Laura left, Margaret stared at the phone, gathering her courage. What would she say? How to explain her silence?
She finally dialled. James answered after a pause.
Hi, Mum. Why so late?
Mum I I wanted to talk, her voice trembled.
Whats wrong? James sounded concerned.
Im ill, dear. My heart
Why didnt you say anything? his tone now edged with reproach. You should have told me!
I didnt want to add to your worries. Your life is busy enough
Are you in hospital?
No, at home. A social worker helps me.
A social worker? Oh, Mum, Ill be there tomorrow!
No, James, I can manage. I just wanted you to know.
Ill come, he said firmly. Im leaving tomorrow morning.
Margaret hung up, heart pounding. Would he arrive and decide to take her in, making her a burden? She didnt want that.
The next morning she rose early, tidied the flat as best she could, cooked a simple lunch, hoping to welcome him properly.
James arrived midafternoon, laden with bags. He embraced her, and tears welled in her eyes.
James, Im so glad youre here!
He surveyed her frail appearance, the pallor, the loss of sparkle. Mum, why didnt you tell me you were unwell? Why hide it?
I didnt want to trouble you. You have your life, work, family
Mum, youre my family! Im sorryIve been selfish, thinking only of my career. And youve been alone, ill
She stroked his hand. Its fine, love. The important thing is youre here now.
They talked long into the evening. James described his new home, his plans, his hopes. Margaret listened, grateful simply to be near him.
Later Laura appeared, surprised to see a man in the flat but quickly recognized him.
Hello, you must be James. Im Laura, the care worker.
Thank you, James said. I had no idea Mums health was that bad.
Laura glanced at Margaret. She kept it from you.
James turned to his mother. Mum, Im taking you to live with us.
What? No, I cant leave my flat, my friends
Alice will be delighted. Weve wanted you to move in for ages, but I thought youd never want to give up your home.
Mum, youll never be a burden. Youre my mother, and I want to look after you just as you always looked after me.
If I refuse?
Then Ill move my work here, but I wont let you stay alone.
Tears streamed down Margarets cheeks. She never imagined hed sacrifice so much.
Alright, she whispered. Ill go with you.
James hugged her tightly. Thank you, Mum. I promise youll be well with us.
The following days were a whirlwind. James helped pack, sorted the flats paperwork, said heartfelt goodbyes to neighbours, especially Dorothy.
Thank you, Dorothy. If it werent for you, Id still be stuck here alone, Margaret said, embracing her friend.
Dorothy smiled. Dont mention it, dear. Now youll be with a good son.
A week later James drove Margaret to his new house in the suburbs of Manchester. He opened the door to a bright, airy bedroom.
This is yours, Mum, he said, gesturing around. Alice, his wife, welcomed her warmly, showed her the garden, explained the daily routine. Margaret felt genuinely welcome.
That evening, the three of them sat on the veranda. James turned to his mother.
Mum, Im sorry. I was selfish, only thinking about my job. I forgot I had a mother whod always been there for me.
Its all right, love. Were together now, and thats what matters.
James pledged never to repeat his neglect. Margaret looked at her son, daughterinlaw, and their homenow also hersand for the first time in a long while felt happiness. She knew things would be alright. Her son had returned, albeit not in the way shed imagined, but that was enough.
