Grandchildren youll only see on holidays, the daughterinlaw declared at the first family dinner, eyes sparkling with mischief.
Mrs. Turner, enough with the salt! Youll ruin the stew!
Mrs. Betty Ellis, the neighbour, hovered over the cooker, watching Margaret Turner reach for the salt shaker for the third time as the pot of beef stew simmered.
Come off it, Betty, Margaret sighed. Im sure theres still room for a pinch more.
You cant even tell the difference today, Margaret! Youre trembling like a leaf! Let me have a taste.
Margaret backed away, wiping her hands on her apron. Betty was right her hands were shaking, thoughts were jumbled, everything felt like it might slip through her fingers. How could she not be nervous? Today was a big day.
Her only son, Andrew, was finally bringing his wife home for the first time. Hed married quietly a month ago at the registry office, no bells, no banner, just a quick I do. Margaret had been hurt then; she hadnt even been invited to the ceremony. Andrew had explained that Charlotte, his new wife, preferred a lowkey affair. She doesnt like a lot of fuss, hed said.
Here you go, Margaret, Betty ladled a spoonful of the stew. Its perfect actually, its delicious. Now go change, tidy up a bit. The guests will be here soon.
Oh, Betty, what if she doesnt like me? What if Im not what she expects?
Dont worry! Youre a topnotch motherinlaw. You dont meddle, you dont try to run the house, you just keep to yourself. Whats the fuss about?
Margaret nodded, slipped into the bedroom, and left Betty to finish the salads. It was a blessing that the neighbour offered to help; Margaret knew shed never have managed alone.
In the bedroom, she stood before the mirror. Sixtytwo, silver strands at the temples, laugh lines around the eyes a typical English matriarch. Andrew had been a lateinlife child, born when Margaret was thirtyfive, long after shed given up hope for another baby. Her husband had died ten years earlier, and shed been living alone in a modest twobed flat on the outskirts of Harrogate.
Andrew had grown into a solid young man. Hed graduated from university, landed a job as a software developer, earned a respectable salary, and rented a flat in the city centre. He visited his mother once a week, brought groceries, fixed anything that broke, and always left a few pounds for the bills.
Then he met Charlotte. He spoke of her with such excitement beautiful, sharp, a solicitor. Margaret begged to see a picture; Andrew showed his phone. She was indeed striking: tall, slim, dark hair, bright makeup, though her eyes held a hint of cold.
Margaret pulled on her best dress a deep navy dress with a crisp white collar brushed her hair, applied a dash of lipstick, and gave herself a final critical glance. Not bad, she thought. Decent enough.
The doorbell rang precisely at six. Margaret dabbed the sweat from her palms onto her dress and went to answer.
Standing on the doorstep was Andrew, arm around a woman who looked even more radiant than the photos. Charlotte wore an expensive coat, high heels, and her manicure was immaculate.
Hello, Mum, Andrew said, hugging his mother. This is Charlotte.
Good afternoon, Charlotte replied, extending a hand. The handshake was cool, formal.
Welcome, dear! Come in, come in! Margaret gushed, ushering them inside, helping remove the coat, offering slippers. Charlotte surveyed the flat with a brief, appraising glance, as if measuring the quality of the interior.
What a cosy flat, she said with the faintest smile.
Thanks, love. Not lavish, but tidy, Margaret replied. Please, have a seat at the table.
In the kitchen, Betty was already setting the table. Spotting the newcomers, she beamed.
Oh, the newlyweds! Hello! Im Betty, the neighbour.
Good afternoon, Charlotte replied, nodding tersely.
They all sat. Margaret ladled out the stew, offered the salads. Andrew ate with gusto, praising the food.
Mum, as always, delicious! Ive missed your stew!
Eat up, love, Margaret said.
Charlotte poked at her salad with an air of careful restraint.
Do you watch your figure? Betty asked, halfjoking. Its important at your age.
I just avoid fried and fatty foods, Charlotte replied. Health first.
Margaret felt a sting. Was her cooking too rich? She had always made hearty meals, and Andrew loved them.
Mom, hows Aunt Vera doing? Is she getting better? Andrew changed the subject.
Shes improving, I think. I visited her last week with some biscuits, Margaret answered.
A brief, awkward pause followed. Charlotte set down her fork and turned toward Margaret.
Margaret Turner, Andrew told me youre retired. What occupies your time?
Oh, just the usual domestic stuff. I go to the GP regularly my blood pressures a rollercoaster. I chat with the neighbours, pop into the theatre when I can afford it.
And you dont plan on looking after the grandchildren? Charlotte asked, eyebrows raised.
Margarets heart leapt. Grandchildren! Shed dreamed of that for years.
Of course! Id love to!
Excellent, because Im pregnant, Charlotte said, smiling sweetly. Four months along.
Margarets jaw dropped. Betty gasped, and Andrews face turned a shade of pink.
Andrew! Darling! Why didnt you tell us?
I thought Charlotte would announce it herself.
Congratulations! Margaret exclaimed, throwing her arms around both of them. Charlottes hug was polite but distant.
Thank you. Were thrilled.
The dinner continued. Margaret was on cloud nine. Grandchildren! Or perhaps a granddaughter! At last!
Ill help you however I can, she said eagerly. Ill visit, watch the baby, cook for you both. You both work, itll be tough without help.
Charlotte sipped water, then looked at her motherinlaw.
Margaret, we actually wanted to discuss something. We have a few guidelines.
What kind of guidelines? Margaret asked, eyes widening.
Ive read a lot of modern parenting literature, and Andrew and I have decided to raise the child according to a specific system.
Thats fine, Margaret replied, nodding. Im not opposed. Youre young, you know best.
Exactly. So wed ask you not to interfere with the upbringing. No oldfashioned advice, no unsolicited tips.
Margaret felt a chill.
I wasnt planning on interfering. I just wanted to help.
Help can take many forms, Charlotte said, wiping her lips with a napkin. Were happy to accept financial assistance, but the parenting will be our responsibility.
Andrew jumped in. Margaret, shes being a bit harsh. I want you to be involved.
This was agreed upon, Charlotte said, looking stern at her husband. Remember?
Remember, but
No buts, Charlotte snapped. Were set.
Betty watched silently, fists clenched. Margaret felt the knot in her throat tighten.
Charlotte, I understand you have your own views. But Im a grandmother! How can I not be involved in my grandchilds life?
You will be, Charlotte replied, voice icy. Youll see the child only on holidays birthdays, New Years. Thats more than enough.
Margarets skin turned cold. Only on holidays? A few times a year?
This is unfair! she protested.
Its reasonable, Charlotte cut in. I dont want to offend you, Margaret, but youre an elderly woman with outdated ideas. Youd dote on the child, overindulge, frighten him with ghost stories. I cant allow that.
I would never Margaret started.
All grandmothers say the same thing, then do their own thing. Better to set boundaries now.
Andrew lowered his head. Margaret looked at him, pleading.
Andrew, tell her Ill be a good granny!
Mom, he said, eyes soft. Weve thought a lot, and we think this is best for everyone.
Margaret could not believe her ears. Her own son, the one shed raised, was siding with his wife.
Youre serious? she whispered.
Dont be upset. Were not banning visits entirely, just not everyday.
So not everyday, Margaret repeated. What about help? You both work! Who will look after the baby?
Well hire a nanny, Charlotte shrugged. We have the money.
A nanny isnt family! Margaret snapped. Im family!
Thats why we want someone we can control, fire if needed. Relatives tend to think they own the child.
Betty could no longer hold back. Excuse me, but how can you speak like that? Margaret Turner is a wonderful woman! Shes been waiting for grandchildren for years!
This is a private family matter, Betty, Charlotte said sharply. Please leave the table.
Bettys face went scarlet. She grabbed her bag.
Margaret, Ill stay next door. If you need anything, ring me.
When Betty left, a heavy silence fell. Margaret sat, hands clasped, tears welling but not falling.
Ive spent my whole life waiting for grandchildren, she said quietly. Dreamt of stroller walks, bedtime stories, baking pies.
Margaret, Charlotte sighed. I understand your feelings, but I need a calm environment for the baby. No extra people.
So Im extra?
Youre a grandmother, but a distant one.
Margaret rose abruptly.
Leave.
What? Charlottes eyebrows shot up.
I said, leave. From my house. Right now.
Andrew lunged forward. Mum! What are you doing?
I dont want to see either of you. Get out.
Please, dont
Out, I said! Margaret shouted, pointing at the door.
Charlotte gathered her handbag.
Fine. Lets go, Andrew.
Andrew hesitated, then followed his wife out. The door slammed, leaving Margaret alone on a cold kitchen chair, sobbing as though a child.
Betty returned half an hour later, finding Margaret surrounded by untouched dishes.
Margaret, love, what happened?
How could he agree to this?
I dont know. Maybe your motherinlaw has you under a spell.
But shes his wife! How can she push a grandmother away?
Betty hugged her, rubbing her shoulders.
It happens, darling. Many daughtersinlaw think the motherinlaw is an enemy.
Margaret wept for a long while. Betty cleared the table, washed up, and they sat with tea in a heavy silence.
What do I do now? Margaret asked.
Keep living. He hasnt turned his back on you, just on his wifes rules. Maybe hell see sense later.
It feels like he chose his wife over his mother.
He didnt choose, love. Hes just been swayed. He may come round.
A week passed without a call from Andrew. Pride kept Margaret from dialing. She drifted through her flat like a ghost, barely eating, barely sleeping, fixated on the one grandchild she might only see on holidays.
Betty visited daily, coaxing her to eat, chatting away. Margaret heard little.
Then a call from old school friend Nina.
Gally, I heard youre happy Andrew got married!
Yes, Margaret said, sighing.
Is the daughterinlaw good?
No, Nina. Shes terrible.
Tell me everything.
Margaret recounted the whole saga. Nina listened, occasionally gasping.
Absolute nightmare! What do you do?
Do nothing. Just pretend I dont care.
Dont! Play it cool. Grandparents who ignore their grandchildren just get ignored. Let her think you dont care, and shell beg for you later.
But I cant just
You stay silent. Shell eventually realise she cant keep you out forever.
Margaret mulled it over. Perhaps Nina was right.
A month later, Margaret kept her distance, not calling Andrew, not sending letters. She went to the GP, the grocery shop, visited Betty, but inside she felt an emptiness.
One evening, the doorbell rang. Andrew stood there, looking weary.
Hello, Mum.
Hello.
May I come in?
Come in.
They sat at the kitchen table. Andrew looked older, tired.
Im sorry, Mum. About that night. Charlotte was harsh. I shouldnt have let it happen.
You let it happen.
I know. Im ashamed.
Margaret watched him, waiting.
I understand youre hurt. Charlotte really believes her way is best for the child.
What do you think?
Andrew lowered his eyes. I love you, Mum. I love Charlotte. Im torn.
Even if shes wrong?
Yes, even then.
Margaret nodded, realizing her son had made a choice and it wasnt in her favour.
Alright, Andrew. Live as you wish. I wont interfere.
Youre not banning us, are you?
Just holidays, Margaret said, a faint smile playing on her lips. Ill remember that.
Andrew left, and Margaret was alone again.
Two months later, winter set in. Margaret prepared for New Years, bought a fir tree, hung tinsel, hoping Andrew might pop round. No invitation came.
On December31st, Margaret rang the bell with Betty. They set the table, turned on the telly, popped a bottle of sparkling wine.
Heres to the New Year, Gally. May it be better than the last, Betty said.
Cheers, Zoe, Margaret replied, though she didnt truly believe it.
In February, Charlotte gave birth to a boy, Max. Andrew sent a photo via text a chubby little lad with dark curls.
Margaret stared, tears spilling over. A grandson she might never hold.
A week later Andrew called.
Mom, Id like you to come over on Sunday to meet Max.
When?
Sunday, if that works for you.
Fine. Margaret packed a bag of presents onesies, soft toys, a tiny blanket. She put on her best dress.
Andrew arrived in his car, silence hanging between them. Margarets heart hammered would Charlotte shut her out again? Would she be allowed in?
Charlotte met them with a courteous smile.
Hello, Margaret Turner. Please, come in.
Hello, dear.
The flat was spacious, threeroom, tastefully furnished. A crib sat in the nursery, Max asleep inside.
May I hold him? Margaret whispered.
Better not. Hes sleeping. Wake him and youll both be exhausted, Charlotte replied.
Margaret stepped back, cheeks flushing with disappointment but holding herself together.
They sat in the living room, sipping tea. Charlotte talked about the birth, the early days. Margaret listened intently, absorbing every detail.
Are you breastfeeding? she asked.
No, were on formula. I dont want to affect my figure, Charlotte answered matteroffact.
Margaret swallowed her opinion, remembering the earlier warning.
Max awoke, wailing. Charlotte lifted him to the sofa.
Can I have him for a moment? Margaret asked, hope rising.
Just a minute, Charlotte said, passing the baby to her.
Margaret cradled the tiny life, feeling warmth, the scent of milk and baby powder. Tears sprang.
What a beautiful little thing, she murmured. Hes perfect.
Enough, please, Charlotte said, taking him back. Hes due for a feed.
Margaret watched, heart aching, as the moment slipped away.
Later, Andrew drove her home.
How was it? he asked.
Wonderful, Margaret replied, a bittersweet smile.
Mom, I know its hard. Charlotte has her own ideas about raising him, but well still see you. Not often, but well try.
Thank you, Margaret said, tears glistening.
Back home, she stood by the window, darkness outside, the image of Max in her arms lingering.
Betty dropped by later.
How was the baby?
Lovely.
Charlotte?
Cold as ice.
Ah, Gal, Betty sighed.
They fell silent.
You know, Betty, maybe I should just step back. Stop bothering them, stop asking?
Exactly. Keep your dignity.
But the grandson?
Hell grow up, find his way to you. Children sense who loves them.
Margaret tried to believe.
Six months later Max was eight months old. Margaret saw him three times birthdays, christenings, and an occasional just because visit. Each visit felt like a trial. Charlotte controlled everything: no extra snacks, no extra TV, no unsanctioned games.
One day Andrew called.
Mom, the nannys sick. Could you look after Max tomorrow for a few hours?
Margarets heart leapt. Of course! Anything.
Great. Well be back in the morning.
That night she barely slept, anticipating the threehour window. The next morning Andrew arrived with Max, bundled in a soft onesie, a pacifier in his mouth.
Here are the instructions, Andrew handed her a sheet: feeding times, sleep schedule, approved activities. Please stick to them.
Yes, Andrew, Margaret replied.
Please, no deviations. Charlotte monitors everything.
Dont worry, Margaret said, smiling.
When Andrew left, Margaret held Max. He looked up with wideHolding the sleepy infant close, Margaret finally felt a quiet peace settle over her heart, knowing that even brief moments of love could bridge the gaps that years of hurt had created.
