“I won’t live with someone else’s nan,” said the grandson, staring unblinkingly.
“Mum, you tell him! I’m done explaining!” Helen nervously twisted the edge of the tablecloth, avoiding her son’s gaze.
“There’s nothing to explain,” Mark said, setting his teacup down with a clink before sitting across from his mother. “I’ve made myself clearI’m moving out next week. Flat’s sorted, deposit paid.”
“But love, how will we manage here” Helen began, but Mark cut her off with a sharp wave.
“Mum, I’m twenty-seven. Don’t you think it’s time I lived on my own?”
From the next room came muffled coughing, then the sound of something clattering to the floor, followed by irritable muttering.
“There, see?” Helen sighed. “She’s dropped something again. I ought to check.”
“Don’t,” Mark said, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Let her sort it herself. You’re not her carer.”
“Mark, shes getting on…”
“Mum, enough!” His voice grew firm. “She’s nothing to you. Absolutely nothing! Just Dads mum, the woman who never spoke a kind word to you in her life.”
Helen winced as though struck. It was trueMargaret Williams had never accepted her. Twenty-eight years ago, when shed married Helens husband, Margaret had greeted her new daughter-in-law with frosty disdain. Told the neighbours her son couldve done better, that Helen came from the wrong sort, that she had a sharp tongue. And after Mark was born? Shed announced shed raise the boy herselfhis mother was too green, too dim.
“Remember what she called you?” Mark pressed, seeing hed struck a nerve. That wife of yours. Couldnt even say your name. And after Dad died”
“Stop,” Helen whispered. “Dont bring that up.”
But Mark wouldnt let it go. Three years had passed since the funeral, yet the memories still stung. Margaret had declared outright that the house had been her sonsso now it was hers. That Helen and her boy ought to start looking elsewhere. That shed suffered enough from this outsiders family.
“And who picked her off the floor when she had that stroke?” Mark went on. “Who called the ambulance? Who sat by her hospital bed?”
“Thats enough,” Helen said, standing to clear the dishes.
“No, it isn’t! You see what shes doingbanging pots at night so you cant sleep, blaring the telly, moaning about the food, the medicines…”
From Margarets room came a sharp, “Helen! Get in here!”
Helen moved automatically toward the door, but Mark caught her wrist.
“Where dyou think youre going? If she wants something, she can get up herself.”
“Mark, shes poorly”
“Poorly? Shes fitter than both of us! Just used to being waited on. Dad spent his life bowing to hernow youre carrying it on.”
“Helen!” The voice turned shrill. “Are you deaf?”
Helen wrenched free and hurried to her mother-in-laws room. Margaret lay propped up, blankets tucked to her chin. A fallen newspaper sprawled on the carpet.
“Pick that up,” Margaret said, nodding at it. “I want to read.”
“Have you got your glasses, Margaret?”
“Course I have. Think Im blind?” The old woman fumbled for her spectacles. “And fetch tea. Properly hot this time. Yesterdays was dishwater.”
Helen silently lifted the paper, placed it on the nightstand, and went to boil the kettle. Mark sat at the kitchen table, glowering.
“Running to her again?”
“Dont start,” Helen sighed.
“Listen to me, Mum.” Mark pulled his chair closer. “Im moving. And youre coming with me.”
Helen froze, kettle in hand.
“What?”
“Its simple. Two-bed flat, plenty of space. Youll live properlyno rows, no walking on eggshells.”
“And her?”
“She can manage. People reap what they sow.”
“Mark, I cantshed be all alone.”
“Good. Maybe then shell understand what lifes like without you.”
Helen set the kettle down, gripping the counter. Guilt and relief tangled in her chest.
“Mum, dyou remember what she said after Dads funeral?” Marks voice softened. “Pack your thingsthis house is mine now. Remember?”
Helen nodded. That moment was branded in her mind. Theyd returned from the cemetery, changed out of black, sat with teaand Margaret, silent throughout the service, had suddenly announced everything would change. That Helen and her son didnt belong. That they ought to find somewhere else.
“And who told her you werent going anywhere?” Mark pressed. “Who said youd look after her anyway?”
“I did,” Helen admitted. “But it was different then. Shed just buried her son”
“Mum, that was three years ago. Three years of cooking, cleaning, doctors visitsand has she ever thanked you? Even once?”
Helen thought. Nonever thanks. Only complaints. Soup too salty, laundry done wrong, wrong pills bought. And last week, Margaret had told Mrs. Thompson next door that she lived among strangers who only wanted her dead so they could take the house.
“Helen! Wheres my tea?” Margarets voice rang out.
“Coming!” Helen calledbut Mark blocked the doorway.
“No. Sit down.”
“Mark”
“We need to talk. Properly.”
Reluctantly, Helen sat. Mark took her hands.
“Mum, I wont live with someone elses nan,” he said, holding her gaze. “And neither should you. Youre only fifty-two. Youve a whole life ahead. Why waste it on someone who doesnt care?”
“Shes not someone, Mark. Shes your gran.”
“Gran?” Mark laughed bitterly. “Shes never liked me. Remember her telling everyone I took after you? Bad-tempered, just like his mum? And when I got into unisaid it was a waste of money, that Id never amount to anything.”
Helen stayed quiet. She remembered every slight, every cruel word about her boy. But her husband had brushed it offMums difficult, but she means well.
“Helen!” Margarets shout turned angry.
Mark stood abruptly and strode to her room. Helen heard him say, “Gran, Mums busy. If you want tea, make it yourself.”
“How dare you speak to me like that? Fetch your mother!”
“No. And just so you knowwere leaving next week.”
“Leaving?”
“New flat. Me and Mum.”
Silence. Then Margarets voice, thin with disbelief:
“And me?”
“Youll stay here. Alone. Like you always wanted.”
“Mark!” Helen calledbut he was already returning, satisfied.
“Done,” he said, rubbing
