“You’re not needed anymore,” the children said before driving off.
“Mum, why must you always do this? We agreed!” Emily huffed as she unpacked the groceries shed brought for her mother.
“Darling, I only wanted to help. I thought you and Paul might like it if I knitted little Lily a jumper for winter,” Margaret said by the window, her knitting needles clicking softly between her fingers.
“Lilys fourteen, Mum. She wont wear a granny-knitted jumperget that through your head! She has her own style. Kids these days wear completely different things.”
Margaret sighed, setting aside the half-finished pink jumper. Something ached inside. Was her gift really so terrible? Shed picked a modern pattern, the softest wool she could find.
“What about tea this weekend? Ill bake an apple pieLilys favourite.”
Emily froze mid-motion, then slammed the fridge door harder than necessary.
“Mum, we dont have time for tea. Lilys buried in revision, Pauls swamped with work, and Im at the office from dawn till dusk. We talked about this last time.”
“Yes, of course,” Margaret smoothed a crease in her housecoat. “I just thought, perhaps Sunday…”
“Dont start,” Emily cut in. “Sunday were at Olivia and Simons place in the Cotswolds. Its Jakes birthdayremember?”
“Jakes sixteen already,” Margaret smiled faintly. “They grow up so fast. Will you take me along?”
Emily frowned as if the question had caught her off guard.
“Mum, itll just be the kids there. Youd be bored stiff. And the drives a nightmare.”
“I wont complain,” Margaret said quickly. “I could bake the cake. Remember how Jake loved my honey cake?”
“Theyve ordered one from a posh bakery. Modern, with edible photos.”
Margaret nodded and picked up her needles again, hiding her disappointment. The children had grown up, the grandchildren too. They had their own liveslives where she seemed to matter less and less.
Emily checked her watch. “Ive got to dash. Groceries are put away. Dont cook riceit spikes your blood pressure. And dont forget your pills.”
“Thank you, love,” Margaret hugged her at the door. Emily stiffened, as if the embrace made her uncomfortable, and slipped away.
“Bye, Mum. Ill ring next week.”
The door clicked shut. Margaret stood in the hallway, listening to her daughters retreating footsteps. Then, slowly, she returned to the sitting room. The flat, once full of laughter, now felt too quiet.
She opened the sideboard and pulled out the family album. There was Simon and Emily as toddlers in the sandpit. A seaside holidayback when her husband was alive, when theyd all saved up for a trip to Brighton. School photos, graduations, weddings… and tiny grandchildren in her arms. When Lily was born, Margaret had quit her job early to babysit. Emily and Paul had been thrilled. Shed looked after Jake too, though not as muchOlivia managed on her own.
The doorbell yanked her from memories. It was Dorothy from downstairs.
“Maggie, can you believe it? Hot waters off againno warning! Fancy a cuppa? I cant wash up.”
“Of course, come in,” Margaret brightened. “I was going to bake a pie, but well… no one to share it with now.”
“Emily popped by?” Dorothy kicked off her shoes. “Saw her car outside.”
“Just dropped off shopping. Always in a rush. Says she hasnt a moment to spare.”
“Thats what they all say,” Dorothy waved a hand. “My Robbies always ‘too busy’until he needs me to babysit his lot for the summer. You should invite yourself over. Better than moping here.”
“I tried,” Margaret sighed, setting out teacups. “Theyve always got plans.”
“Dont asktell them. ‘Im coming Saturday to see my granddaughter.’ Full stop. What, theyd turn their own mother away?”
Margaret stayed quiet. Dorothy didnt know that last time shed dropped in unannounced, Emily had been so cross she hadnt called for a week. Said theyd had Pauls colleagues over, and there Margaret was with her “bloody pies.”
Dorothy poured the tea, nudging the biscuit tin closer.
“Im thinking of spending New Years with my sister in Bath. Warmer there, good company. Whats here? Just me and the telly when Big Ben chimes.”
“Emily promised to fetch me for New Years,” Margaret said quickly. “They always hostSimons family comes too.”
“Well, fingers crossed,” Dorothy said, though her tone was doubtful. “Theyre all talk, these kids. When it comes to doing…”
After Dorothy left, Margaret baked the apple pie anyway. Smalljust four slices. She ate one, wrapped two for neighbours she occasionally chatted with by the bins, saved the last for tomorrow.
That evening, Simon called.
“Mum, hi. Hows things?” His voice was cheerful but distant.
“Fine, love. Emily came by with shopping. Hows Olivia? Hows Jake?”
“All good. Listen, Mumremember the cottage?”
Margaret tensed. The cottage, left by her husband, was still in her name. A modest place with an old but sturdy house. Theyd spent summers there as a family. Then the children grew up, her husband passed, and she went less oftentoo much upkeep alone.
“Yes, I remember,” she said carefully.
“Well, heres the thing. Olivia and I have a chance to build a bigger placeproper countryside. But we need the deposit. Thought we might sell the cottage. You barely go anyway.”
Margaret clutched the phone, silent. She hadnt expected this. The cottage was the last piece of their life with George. The veranda hed built himself, the apple trees hed planted.
“Simon, but… its memories of your dad. I thought maybe the grandchildren”
“Mum,” impatience crept into his voice. “What grandchildren? Jake wont set foot therejust wants his Xbox. And that cottages falling apart. Better sell now while its worth something. Well give you a cut, obviously.”
“Ill think about it,” she whispered.
“Mum, theres nothing to think about. Its a solid offerbuyers have already viewed it. Papers need signing tomorrow. Ill pick you up at ten, yeah?”
The next day, Simon arrived as promised, oddly attentiveeven helped her with her coat. In the estate agents office, he babbled about the new houses “massive guest room.”
“You can visit every weekend, Mum. Gorgeous area, fresh air. Not like that dingy place by the A-road.”
Margaret nodded along. Deep down, she knew no one would ferry her out every weekend. That guest room would stay empty. But arguing seemed pointlesshe was too excited.
She signed the papers. A young man in a suit droned about taxes and timelines, but she barely listened. All she saw was the cottage veranda, where she and George had drunk tea at sunset.
“Brilliant,” Simon beamed afterward. “Moneyll clear by Friday. Your share goes straight to your account.”
“Lovely, darling,” she forced a smile. “Not in a rush, are you? Fancy popping in for tea? Baked a pie yesterday.”
“Cant, Mum. Meeting in twenty. Rain check?”
He dropped her at the doorstep with a wave. Slowly, she climbed the stairs. Mrs. Wilkins from across the hall peeked out.
“Margaret, that pie you gave usdivine! Mind sharing the recipe? My grandkids are visiting.”
Margaret smiled. At least someone appreciated her baking.
Days later, Emily called, sounding flustered.
“Mum, why arent you answering? I tried the landline!”
“I popped to Tesco, love.”
“Oh. Right. Listen, big news! Pauls been offered a three-year contract in Edinburgh. Double salary, company flat. Were saying yes.”
Margaret sank onto a chair, legs weak.
“Edinburgh? But thats miles away…”
“Only an hour by plane! Well fly back for holidays.”
“What about Lily? Her school, her friends…”
“Perfect chance for her! Theres a grammar school with a science focusshe wants to study medicine. Its ideal.”
“When do you leave?” Margaret fought to keep her voice steady.
“Two weeks. Sorting visas, packing. No time at all! But well swing by before we go.”
Those two weeks vanished. Margaret waited, hoping theyd visit as promised. Each morning she woke thinking, *Today Ill see Lily. Today Ill bake her pie.* But the phone stayed silent.
Finally, the day before departure, the doorbell rang. Emily and Paul stood there. Lily waited in the car”headache,” Emily explained. They stayed half an hour, gulping tea, refusing pie”watching calories.”
“Mum, we got you a basic mobile,” Emily produced a box. “Easy to use. Well call. Oh, and here” She handed over a slip. “My friends numbersVicky and Sarah. If anything happens, ring them.”
“But what about Simon”
“Simons got that countryside place now. Bit far for him to dash over. But dont fretthe girls are reliable.”
At the door, Emily hugged her tighter than usual, whispering,
“Just… stay well, yeah? For our peace of mind.”
That evening, Simon rang.
“Mum, you alright? Not ill?”
“Fine, love. Emily made it okay?”
“Yep, all settled. Flats sorted, Lilys in school. Brilliant, really.”
“Good.” She hesitated. “Fancy visiting? Baked a pie.”
A pause.
“Mum, swamped at work. And the new houseyou know how it is. Once things calm down, promise.”
But they never did. Calls grew scarcer, shorter. Then came the blowSimon phoned to say he and Olivia were moving to London.
“Its an incredible opportunity, Mum. Jakell get into a top uni. Londons where its at.”
“But the house? You just built it.”
“Well rent it. Or sell. Undecided.”
“When do you go?” Her heart hammered in her throat.
“Month or so. Sorting paperwork.”
“Simon… will you visit before you leave?”
He coughed.
“Thing is, Mum… were snowed under. Maybe once were settled in London.”
“Simon,” she steeled herself. “About the retirement home. I wont go. This is my home. Where I lived with your father, where you grew up. All my memories are here.”
“Mum, dont startwere just suggesting options. For your own good!”
“For my own good would be if you remembered you *have* a mother.”
“What?” His voice turned sharp. “Weve *forgotten*? I call, Emily messages from Scotland. We send money. What more do you want?”
“I want my children and grandchildren. Not money.”
“Mum, were *adults*. Weve got lives. You cant expect us to hover around you forever. Times change. People move.”
“I dont expect hovering. Just to be remembered.”
“Christ, not the guilt trip again. Im offwork to do. Talk later.” *Click.*
On moving day, Simon came alonejust thirty minutes. A box of chocolates, a peck on the cheek like a stranger. Spoke distractedly, as if ticking a chore.
“You managing alright, Mum?”
“Managing.” She forced a smile. “Wheres Olivia? Wheres Jake?”
“Home, packing. No time.”
As he left, she realised she might not see him for years. Maybe never. Her throat tightened.
“Simon,” she called. “Darling, dont I matter anymore?”
He turned in the doorway, hesitated. Then, not meeting her eyes:
“Mum, dont be daft. Its just… life moves on. You get that, right?”
“I get it,” she nodded. “I do, darling.”
He left. She stood there, staring at the empty corridor. Then slowly returned to the silent room. Only the clock tickedGeorges old mechanical one. Hed loved clocks, said they had souls.
She picked up the phone, dialled Dorothy.
“Dotremember you mentioned New Years in Bath? Can I tag along?”
Dorothy sounded startled but pleased.
“Margaret! Course you can! My sisterll be chuffed. Whatchanged your mind about the kids?”
“Yes,” Margaret felt something lighten in her chest. “Decided to look after myself. Theyve their own lives.”
“Good on you!” Dorothy cheered. “Youre not old yetwhy mope? Baths lovely. Theyll come crawling back when the grandkids miss you.”
“Maybe,” Margaret smiled. “But Im done waiting. I deserve a life too, dont I?”
She hung up and went to the window. Outside, the first snow fell. A new winter was beginningand perhaps, a new life. Without her children, but not entirely alone.
