James chose a wealthy bride and seemed to forget his own mother.
James, youve forgotten to call me back again! I waited the whole evening!
Margaret Hughes stood in the kitchen, phone clenched in her hand, feeling her voice tremble with hurt. James had promised to ring yesterday, yet the line stayed silent.
Mum, Im sorry, work was a nightmare. I didnt have a minute for a call.
James, at least you could have sent a text! Im fretting!
Mum, Im thirtytwo. Im not a child who has to report every minute of his day!
Margaret fell silent. Shed never heard James speak like that before. He had always been attentive, caringcalling daily, visiting on weekends, helping around the house.
All right, she whispered. Im sorry for bothering you.
Its fine. Listen, I wanted to tell you something. Ill be back on Saturday, but Im not coming alone.
With whom? Margarets eyes narrowed.
With a girl. Id like you to meet her. Her name is Charlotte.
A girl? James, is this serious?
Very, Mum. Very serious. Weve been together six months.
Margaret sank onto a chair. Six months, and hed never mentioned a single word. Hed once shared everything, now he kept secrets.
Why didnt you tell me earlier?
I wanted to be sure it was real. Now Im sure. So expect us Saturday at noon.
Okay, James. Ill be waiting.
When he hung up, Margaret clutched the phone, stunned. A girl at last. She had waited so long for this moment.
Margaret lived alone in a twobedroom flat on the outskirts of Birmingham. Her husband had died fifteen years ago of a heart attack. She raised James singlehanded, working two jobs, skimping on everything so he could have a decent life.
James grew up bright and diligent. He earned a firstclass degree, landed a programmers job at a major firm, and now rented a flat in the city centre. Margaret swelled with pride.
On Saturday she rose early, scrubbing the flat until it gleamed, polishing every pot, washing the curtains. She then went to the market, buying meat, veg, fruit. James adored her mince and mash, and she baked his favourite apple crumble.
By one oclock everything was ready. The table was set with a crisp white cloth, the finest china. Margaret slipped into her best dress, brushed her hair, even applied a touch of red lipstick.
A knock came precisely at two. She wiped her hands on the apron, smoothed her hair, and opened the door.
James stood there in an expensive suit, beside him a tall, slender woman in a fashionable dress and high heels. Her hair was styled impeccably, her makeup flawless.
Mum, hello! James hugged his mother. Meet Charlotte.
Hello, the girl said, her fingers glinting with jeweled rings.
Come in, come in.
They stepped inside. Margaret hustled, offering seats and asking them to remove their shoes. Charlotte glanced around the modest flat, her eyes lingering on the faded wallpaper and threadbare carpet.
What a cosy little flat, Charlotte said with a strained smile.
Thank you, dear. Its modest but tidy.
They sat down. Margaret began serving the food, describing each dish. James ate heartily, praising everything. Charlotte poked at a mince cake, taking tiny bites.
Is it good? Margaret asked.
Its fine, Charlotte replied. I dont usually eat fried food; I watch my figure.
Youre already so slim! Margaret exclaimed.
Its thanks to my trainer, five sessions a week.
Margaret nodded, aware that she could hardly afford her own utilities, let alone a personal trainer.
Charlotte, what do you do? she asked.
I dont work, Charlotte set down her fork. I run a chain of beauty salons. Three branches around the city.
Impressive!
Not entirely on my own, Charlotte tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. My father helped open the first salon; I expanded from there.
And your parents?
My father owns a construction firm, my mother runs a charity.
Margaret sensed she was speaking with someone from a world of money and opportunity, far removed from her pensionsqueezed life.
Mum, how are you? James asked. Is your health alright?
Its fine, just the blood pressure spikes now and then.
Good. By the way, Charlotte and I wanted to tell you something. Were getting married.
Margaret froze, tea cup trembling.
Married? When?
In three months. Weve booked a venue for a hundred and fifty guests.
Onefifty? James, thats an enormous sum!
Dont worry, Mum. Charlottes parents are covering everything. They have connections; theyll handle it all.
Thats generous, Charlotte said. My dad secured the citys top restaurant, with a live band and fireworks.
Margaret looked at her son, barely recognizing the confident man in the costly suit, talking of a lavish wedding.
Can I help at all? she asked.
No, Mum. Weve got it covered.
Could I bake a few pies for the guests?
Charlotte rolled her eyes.
We have professional catering.
Maybe I could help with the invitations?
You dont need to, James placed a hand on his mothers. Just be there and enjoy yourself.
Margaret nodded, throat tight with hurt, yet she forced a smile.
After lunch Charlotte excused herself to the bathroom. When she returned, her expression was sour.
James, we must go, she said. I have a meeting with a designer in an hour.
Already? We just arrived!
I told you we wouldnt linger.
James cast a guilty glance at his mother.
Sorry, Mum. We really have to leave.
Of course, James. Thank you for coming.
When they left, Margaret sat at the table, staring at the untouched dishes. She had poured her heart into the meal, and they had barely touched it before fleeing.
The phone rang. It was her friend Susan.
Margaret, love, how are you? Did James come?
He did, introduced his fiancée.
Hows she?
Beautiful, rich, from another world.
How did she treat you?
She seemed fine, but she kept looking at our flat with a grimace.
Ah, the rich never understand us simple folk.
I know, but James likes her. He says theyre marrying.
Well, may he be happy.
A week passed without a call from James. Margaret tried, but he was always busy meetings, trips, Charlotte.
Two weeks later James finally called.
Mum, hello. How are you?
Good, James. And you?
Great. Listen, we visited Charlottes parents country house. Its a proper estate.
I can imagine.
They welcomed us warmly. Charlottes mother is wonderful; we click.
Margaret squeezed the handset.
Im happy for you, son.
Yeah, I have to run. Well talk later.
James, wait! Ill make your favourite borscht when youre home.
Cant, Mum. Were picking out rings.
Can I come with you?
A heavy pause.
Mum, this is our private matter. Well manage.
Alright, good luck.
When the call ended, Margaret stared out the window at the grey culdesac, feeling James drift into a life where there was no room for an old mother in a tired dress.
Susan dropped by that evening with scones.
You look thin, Margaret.
Thanks, Susan.
You seem sad. Because of James?
Hes forgotten me. He used to call every day, now weeks pass without a word. He even turned down my offer to pick out his rings.
Hes in love, thats all. Itll pass.
Or maybe it wont? Maybe his new girl is pushing him away from me?
Hes clever, James.
Clever, but no longer my boy.
Susan embraced her.
Hes still your son. Blood isnt water.
I wish I could believe that.
Months slipped by. The wedding loomed, two months away. James sent a formal invitation, goldembossed, bearing his and Charlottes names and the address of the grand restaurant.
Margaret examined the card, wondering what dress she should wear.
What should I wear, Mum?
Whatever you like.
I thought of buying something new, to look presentable.
Do what you want. I dont think it matters.
But Im the mother of the groom!
It wont matter; the guests wont notice.
She lowered her eyes. No one would notice the mother of the groom.
Where will I sit?
Charlottes team is handling the seating. Shell call you.
Charlotte never called. Margaret phoned James repeatedly, but he was always busy with the wedding.
A week before the ceremony, Charlotte finally called.
Margaret Hughes? This is Charlotte.
Hello, dear. How are you?
Im calling about the seating. Youll be at table twelve.
Twelve? Where is that?
In the far corner, for distant relatives and friends of James.
Why not at the head table? Im the grooms mother!
The head table is for James, me, and our parents.
I raised him!
Please, Margaret, the arrangement is set.
She hung up, phone shaking in her hand. She dialed James.
Mum, Im in a meeting, cant talk.
Charlotte said Ill be at table twelve, in the corner, like a stranger!
Does it matter where you sit?
It matters! Im his mother! I should be beside him!
The parents of Charlotte are paying for the whole wedding. They decide.
Then Im what? Nothing?
No drama, please. Everythings already planned.
She put the phone down, sinking onto a chair. Table twelve, in the corner, far from her son.
Susan arrived later, finding Margaret in tears.
Whats happened?
The seating. Its an insult.
How dare they!
They can. And James supports them.
Will you stay off the wedding?
What else can I do? Cry?
Maybe you shouldnt go at all.
I cant. Its my sons wedding.
The wedding day was bright. Margaret rose early, did her hair, wore her oldest but cleanest dress. Susan saw her off, handing her a cab.
The restaurant was opulent: crystal chandeliers, white linens, flowers everywhere. Margaret felt like a grey mouse among swans. She found table twelve, indeed tucked in the far corner, already occupied by a few strangersJamess university friends and a distant aunt of Charlotte.
Who are you? the aunt asked.
Im the grooms mother.
Really? the aunt glanced doubtfully. Usually mothers sit at the main table.
Thats how its arranged, Margaret replied tersely.
James and Charlotte entered to applause, James in a crisp white suit, Charlotte radiant in a designer gown, surrounded by flashing cameras.
Margaret watched her son, proud of his grownup appearance, yet he never looked her way. He was absorbed by guests and his new family.
She tried to approach, waiting for a lull, and handed James a small wrapped box.
Happy wedding, Mum, he took it without opening, placing it on the side.
Thank you, love. Charlotte, you look stunning!
Thanks, Charlotte replied, eyes on the crowd.
Can we take a photo?
Later, Mum, Im busy.
Charlotte placed a hand on Jamess shoulder.
We have guests to greet.
Right, Ill be off then.
Margaret stood alone, the music swelling, feeling invisible. The guests whispered sympathy, but the main table remained out of reach.
When the banquet ended, she slipped out unnoticed, the doors closing behind her. At home, Susan waited with tea.
How was it?
Lovely, rich, but I was a waste of space.
A waste?
He never came near me. Hes embarrassed.
Susan hugged her.
Youre a good mother, Margaret. You raised a wonderful man.
Does he still think of me?
Hell remember someday.
Weeks after the wedding passed without a call. Margaret called, James answered briefly, then hung up. Finally, a month later he called.
Mum, happy birthday.
Thank you, James.
Sorry I missed it earlier; we were on our honeymoon in the Maldives.
The Maldives! How wonderful!
Listen, Mum, weve moved. Charlottes parents gifted us a threebedroom flat in a new development.
Thats amazing! Whats the address?
Ill give it when the renovations finished.
I can help clean!
No, weve hired a cleaning service.
At least tell me the road.
Later. Ive got to run.
He ended the call, leaving Margaret staring at her phone, heart tightening. He never gave her an address.
Months drifted; James called only every fortnight, each conversation brief, about work, nothing personal. Margaret tried to share her life, but James seemed disinterested.
One day she drove to his office in the city centre, found the address from a colleague, and entered the sleek building. At reception, a secretary looked up.
Hello, Im here to see James.
Do you have an appointment?
Im his mother.
The secretary raised an eyebrow.
One moment.
She called someone, returned, and said, James asked me to tell you hes very busy and cant meet.
But Im his mother!
Hes in a meeting. He cant step out.
Margaret stood there with a bag of homemade pies, cheeks burning with shame. The secretary offered to pass a note, but Margaret refused and left, tears slipping in the lift.
Back home, she threw the pies away, lay on her bed, and wondered what shed done wrong. Susan dropped by that night.
I saw James leaving the block. Did he come in?
He was here, wished me happy birthday.
Did you reconcile?
No. I told him the truthIm tired of being humiliated.
How did he react?
He was angry and left.
Do you regret saying it?
No. Ive been silent for too long, letting him drift further away. I needed to speak.
They talked until late, about life, about children, about expectations.
Half a year later James still hadnt called. Margaret took a parttime job looking after an elderly neighbours grandson, earned a modest sum, joined a senior yoga class, made new friends.
One afternoon, as she turned a corner, a woman called out, Margaret Hughes?
It was Charlotte, looking pale, a little gaunt, her hand resting on a swollen belly.
Are you expecting? Margaret asked.
Yes, five months. Charlotte whispered.
Congratulations.
May I speak with you?
They sat in a café, tea steaming.
Weve got problems, Charlotte confessed. James has become distant, comes home late, stays silent. I tried to talk, he brushes me off.
Why tell me?
Because youre his mother. I feel guilty; I think I pushed him away from you.
I dont know what to say.
Ive ruined his bond with his mother.
Margaret listened, feeling both pity and helplessness.
I cant fix it, Charlotte. Its between you and James.
Could you at least call him? Ask him to talk?
I told him once Id wait until he wanted contact. He hasnt.
Hes proud! He wont admit hes hurt!
Hes hurt by the truth.
Charlotte sobbed.
Margaret, for my childs sake
Ill think about it, but I wont force anything.
She left, returning home to stare out the window, contemplating a future grandchild she might never meet.
Three months later Susan informed her that Charlotte had given birth to a boy, named Daniel.
Congratulations, Grandma! Susan hugged her.
Thank you, Margaret smiled through tears. I never saw him.
James didnt call?
No.
Should I call him?
No, Verity. I promised myself not to make the first move.
She kept that promise. James never called again.
