The air in the dimly lit kitchen felt thick, like treacle clinging to every breath.
I wont live with some strangers gran, the grandson said, locking eyes with his mother.
Mum, you tell him! Im done explaining! Eleanor tugged at the edge of the tablecloth, refusing to look up at her son.
Explain what? Edward set his mug of tea down with a clink and dropped into the chair opposite her. Ive made my position clearIm moving out next week. Flats sorted, deposit paid.
But love, how will we manage here Eleanor began, but Edward cut her off with a sharp wave.
Mum. Im twenty-seven. Past time I had my own place, dont you think?
From the next room came a muffled cough, the thud of something hitting the floor, followed by irritable muttering.
See? Eleanor sighed. Shes dropped something again. Id better check.
Dont. Edwards hand rested on her shoulder. Let her sort it out herself. Youre not her carer.
Eddie, shes old
Mum, stop. His voice hardened. Shes nothing to you. Nothing at all! Dads mother, who never had a kind word for you in her life.
Eleanor winced as if struck. True enough, Margaret Whitmore had never accepted her. Twenty-eight years ago, when the young couple married, shed greeted her daughter-in-law with frosty disdain. Told the neighbours her son couldve done better, that Eleanor came from the wrong sort, that she had a nasty temper. And after Edward was born, shed outright declared shed raise the boy herselfhis mother was too green, too simple.
Remember what she called you? Edward pressed, seeing his words land. That girl of yours. Not even by namejust that girl. And then when Dad died
Dont, Eleanor whispered. I dont want to remember.
But he wouldnt stop. Three years had passed since the funeral, and the memories still stung. Margaret had wasted no time announcing the house had been her sonswhich meant it was hers now. That Eleanor and her boy ought to start looking elsewhere. That shed suffered enough from these outsiders.
And who picked her up off the floor when she had that stroke? Edwards voice rose. Who called the ambulance? Who sat by her hospital bed?
Enough, Eleanor stood, gathering the dishes.
Its not enough! You see what she doesbanging pots in the night, telly blaring, all to keep you from resting. And those snide remarks about the food, the wrong pills
From Margarets room came a bark: Eleanor! Eleanor, get in here!
She moved automatically, but Edward seized her wrist.
Where dyou think youre going? If she needs something, she can get it herself.
Edward, shes ill
Ill? Shes fitter than both of us! Just used to being waited on. Dad coddled her his whole life, and now youre carrying it on.
Eleanor! The voice turned shrill. Are you deaf?
She wrenched free and hurried to Margarets room. The old woman lay propped up, quilt drawn to her chin. A fallen newspaper sprawled on the floor.
Pick that up, Margaret nodded at it. I want to read.
Margaret, have you got your glasses?
Course I have. Think Im blind? She fumbled them onto her nose. And fetch tea. Properly hot this time. Yesterdays was dishwater.
Eleanor wordlessly retrieved the paper, set it on the nightstand, and went to put the kettle on. Edward sat at the table, glowering.
There you go againjumping when she snaps her fingers.
Dont start, she sighed.
Mum, listen. He pulled his chair closer. Im moving. And youre coming with me.
Eleanor froze, kettle in hand.
What?
Simple. Two-bed flat, plenty of space. Youll have a proper lifeno more rows, no walking on eggshells.
And her?
She can manage. Reaps what she sows, doesnt she?
Eddie, I cantshell be alone.
Good. Might teach her what lifes like without you.
The kettle hissed as Eleanor braced against the counter. Guilt and something perilously close to relief twisted inside her.
Mum, remember what she said after Dads funeral? Edwards voice softened. You can start packingthis house is mine now. Remember?
She nodded. That moment had seared itself into her memory. Theyd returned from the cemetery, changed out of black, sat with tea. And then Margaret, silent all through the service, announced everything would change now. That Eleanor and the boy were in the way. Time they found their own place.
And who stood up to her then? Edward pressed. Who said youd stay and care for her anyway?
I did, Eleanor admitted. But that was different. Shed just buried her son
Mum, its been three years! Three years of cooking, cleaning, doctors visits. And what thanks have you had? Even once?
She thought. Not once. Only complaintssoup too salty, washing poorly done, wrong prescriptions. Last week, Margaret had told Mrs. Thompson next door she lived with strangers waiting for her to die so they could take the house.
Eleanor! Wheres my tea?
Coming! she called, but Edward blocked the doorway.
No, youre not. Sit down.
Edward
Mum, sit. We need to talk.
Reluctantly, she did. He took her hands.
Mum, I wont live with some strangers gran, he said, eyes steady on hers. And you shouldnt either. Youre fifty-twothats young. Why waste it on someone who doesnt value you?
Shes not a stranger, Eddie. Shes your grandmother.
Grandmother? He gave a bitter laugh. Shes never liked me. Told everyone I took after youbad temper, no good. When I got into uni, she said it was a waste of moneythat boyll amount to nothing.
Eleanor stayed quiet. She remembered each slight, each wound dealt to her son. Her husband had brushed it offhis mother was difficult, but fair underneath.
Eleanor! The shout was furious now. Have you dropped dead out there?
Edward stormed into Margarets room. Eleanor heard him say:
Gran, Mums busy. If you want tea, make it yourself.
How dare you speak to me like that? Fetch your mother!
Wont. And just so you knowwere leaving next week.
Silence. Then Margarets disbelieving croak:
Leaving?
New flat. Me and Mum.
And me?
Youll stay. Alone. Like you always wanted.
Edward! Eleanor called, but he was already back, looking grimly satisfied.
Done. Let her stew on that.
You shouldve talked to me first
Mum, weve talked it to death. Youve said yourself youre exhausted, cant take her nonsense anymore.
True enough. Shed confided in him after Margaret called her a freeloader in front of the WI ladies.
But shes old, poorly
Mum, shes seventy-five, not ancient! No sicker than any woman her age. Just plays it up.
From the bedroom came theatrical sniffles. Eleanor stood, but Edward shook his head.
Dont. Its an act. Waterworks now, guilt-trip next.
Eddie, what if shes really upset?
Really? He snorted. Where were her tears when she kicked us out? Where was her pity then?
Eleanor remembered. Margaret had been dry-eyed, steely. Almost triumphant announcing theyd have to go.
And after? Edward continued. The stroke. Who saved her then? Who called 999, sat in A&E, ran for medicines?
Me, she whispered.
Right. And what thanks? Back on her feet, back to naggingthis isnt right, that isnt good enough.
The crying stopped abruptly. Silence.
See? Edward nodded toward the room. No audience, no performance.
Eleanor drank slowly from her glass, thoughts churning. He wasnt wrong. Margaret had never loved her, never appreciated her. A lifetime of criticism, humiliation. And after her sons deathready to throw them out.
But to abandon an old woman That was cruel.
Mum, I know this is hard, Edward said softly. Youre kind. Youve got conscience. But think of yourself. Dont you want to live too?
She nodded. Oh, she did. Without the tension, the blame, the constant walking on tiptoe. To wake and not immediately dread what fault would be found today.
Remember how it was before? Edward asked. When Dad was alive? We talked, went to the cinema sometimes. Whens the last time you went anywhere?
She thought. Three yearswork, home, hospital, shops. Her friend Linda had asked her to the pictures twice, but she couldnt leave Margaret alone long.
Mum, just try it, Edward urged. A month or two in the new place. If shes truly struggling, well rethink.
What if something happens while were gone?
Shes got a phone. Neighbours. Could hire a carerif shell pay for one.
Bedsprings creaked. Margaret shuffled into the doorway, leaning heavily on the frame. Eleanor tensed.
So, the old woman rasped, youre dumping me?
Not dumping, Gran, Edward said evenly. Just moving out.
And Im to manage alone? Sick as I am?
Youre not as sick as you pretend. Besidesyou were ready to toss us out three years back. Remember?
Margaret blinked, caught off guard.
Thatthat was different
How? Edward stepped closer. Same house, same people. Whats changed?
Im frail now! Need looking after!
Maybe you shouldve thought of that sooner, Edward shot back. Before driving away the one person whod help.
Margaret turned to Eleanor, voice suddenly wheedling.
Eleanor, you wouldnt leave me? Im old, I need
Eleanor said nothing. Pity and resentment warred inside her.
Mum, Edward murmured, tell her the truth. How tired you are. How it hurts hearing you dont belong here.
I never said that! Margaret protested.
No? What did you tell Mrs. Thompson? That you live with strangers waiting for you to die?
The old woman faltered.
II didnt mean
What did you mean? Edward pressed. Mums been in this family thirty years. Thirty years putting up with you. And still you treat her like some outsider.
Eleanor moved to the window, heart leaden. She wanted to cry, but the tears wouldnt come.
Margaret, she said quietly, back still turned, do you remember what you said to me three years ago?
Eleanor, I was grieving
You said, You can start packingthis house is mine now. Remember?
Silence.
And you said youd suffered enough from this outsider family. Remember that too?
Eleanor, I didnt
Doesnt matter what you meant. Eleanor turned. What matters is what you said. And we remember.
Margaret sank onto a chair, suddenly seeming smaller.
But Im ill I need help
You do, Eleanor agreed. But why should it come from the people you call strangers?
The old woman twisted her dressing gown sleeves, silent.
Margaret, Eleanor continued, you spent a lifetime making sure I knew my place wasnt here. Why should I stay now it suits you?
Becausebecause its proper, Margaret whispered weakly.
Proper for who? Edward cut in. You? And whats proper for us? A lifetime of your jabs?
Margaret looked up at him, eyes unexpectedly wet.
Edward, youre my grandson
A grandson you never liked. Told everyone Id amount to nothing.
I I didnt think youd remember
We remember. Both of us.
Something in Eleanor snapped thena cord stretched too tight finally breaking.
You know what, Margaret? Her voice was quiet, firm. We are leaving. Next week.
The old woman flinched.
Eleanor
Not Eleanor. Mrs. Whitmore. And yes, were going. Youll have the housejust like you wanted.
But how will I
How would we have? Eleanor sat opposite her. When you threw us out three years ago? Wed have managed, wouldnt we?
Margarets head drooped.
I was in grief
So were we. Eleanor nodded. Burying a husband, a father. But we didnt turn you out.
The silence stretched. Edward by the window, Eleanor at the table, Margaret hunched and suddenly ancient.
Perhaps we could reconsider Margaret ventured at last.
Reconsider what? Edward asked.
Well perhaps I was unkind
Eleanor shook her head.
Too late, Margaret. Far too late. Weve decided.
And she had. Right then, at that kitchen table, looking at the shrunken figure before her. She had a right to a lifeto peace, to mornings without dread, to a home where Edward could bring friends without shame.
Mum. Edward squeezed her shoulder. Im proud of you.
Eleanor nodded. And for the first time in months, she smiledreally smiled.
