At sixtyfive, I finally understood that the worst thing isnt being aloneits begging my own children to call, knowing Im a burden to them.
Hi Mum, I need you right now, my son shouted into the handset, his tone flat as if he were ordering a reluctant employee, not speaking to his mother.
Nora Whitaker froze, the remote still in her hand, the evening news never having been turned on.
Harry, whats up? she asked.
Nothing, all good, he exhaled impatiently. Claire and I booked a lastminute flight; we leave at dawn tomorrow.
Whos going to look after Duke? he continued. Hes a massive, drooly mastiff who takes up more space in my flat than my old bookshelf.
Longterm? Nora asked, already sensing the answer.
Maybe a week, maybe two, if it works out. Mum, who else? Leaving him in a dog hotel would be crueltyhes too delicate.
Nora glanced at the new, lightcoloured sofa shed finally reupholstered after six months of scrimping on small luxuries. In a few days Duke would have shredded it.
Harry, Im not comfortable. I just finished the renovations.
What renovations? Did you put up new wallpaper? his voice soured. Duke is wellbehaved, just dont forget to walk him. Claire is calling, we need to pack. Well be at the airport in an hour.
A single beep. He hadnt even asked how she was. He hadnt wished her a happy birthday the week beforeher sixtyfifth.
Shed spent the whole day preparing her signature salad, slipping into a new dress, waiting for the promised visit that never came. Harrys text read, Ma, happy birthday! Swamped at work. Emily, the younger sister, said nothing.
And todayI need you urgently.
Nora sank slowly onto the sofa. The problem wasnt the dog or the ruined upholstery. It was the humiliating awareness of her role: a freestanding caretaker, an emergency service, the last line of support. She remembered, decades ago, dreaming that once her children were grown theyd be independent.
Now the terror lay not in an empty flat, but in the heartstopping pause while waiting for a call that only arrived when she was needed for someone elses convenience.
An hour later there was a knock. Harry stood in the doorway, leash in hand, Duke bounding inside, leaving muddy prints on the freshly polished floor.
Heres his food and toys. Three walks a day, remember? Weve got to rush or well miss the flight! he thrust the leash at her, planted a quick kiss on her cheek and vanished.
Nora was left standing in the hallway, Duke sniffing the armrests like a tiny inspector.
From somewhere in the flat a fabric tore. She stared at her phone. Should she call Emily? Maybe shed understand. Her finger hovered, then froze. It had been a month since Emily had called; she was busy with her own life, her own family.
For the first time in years, an unfamiliar calm settled over Noracold, clear, resolute.
Morning broke with Duke leaping onto the bed, leaving two muddy paw prints on the crisp white duvet. The new sofa was already ripped in three places, and the ficus shed nurtured for five years lay shredded on the carpet.
She poured herself a shot of valerian from the bottle and dialed her son. He didnt answer straight away. In the background the sound of waves and Claires laughter drifted from a beach somewhere.
Mum, what? Everythings brilliant here, the sea is gorgeous! Harry shouted.
Nathan, about the doghes wrecking the flat, tearing the sofa. I cant handle him.
What do you mean? Hes never been a problem. Maybe youre keeping him cooped up? He needs freedom.
I walked him two hours this morning! He pulled the leash like a rope, I almost fell. Please, could you find somewhere else to look after him?
Silence stretched, then Harrys voice hardened.
Youre serious? Were half a world away. How am I supposed to take him back? You agreed to this, youre being selfish.
Enough, Harry. Claires brought the drinks. Keep Duke occupied, will you?
Another beep. Noras hands trembled as she sank into a kitchen chair away from the chaos. She decided to call Emily, always the more sensible one.
Hi, Emily.
Hey, Mum. Whats the emergency?
Harry left his dog with me and flew off. Hes destroying everything, Im scared hell bite me next.
Emily sighed. Harry asked for help, so its an emergency. Replace the sofa, its not a big deal. Hell sort it out later.
Its not about the sofa! Hes put me in this position!
And what? Begging on your knees? Youre retired, you have time. Look after the dog; no biggie.
The call ended. She placed the handset down. Family felt like a word for a group that only remembered you when they needed something, then called you selfish if you couldnt comply instantly.
That evening a furious neighbour from downstairs banged on her door.
Nora! Your dog has been howling for three hours! My baby cant sleep! If you dont quiet him Ill call the police!
Duke barked proudly behind her, confirming the complaint.
She shut the door, looked at the wagging tail waiting for praise, then at the shredded sofa, then at her phone, a low roar of irritation building inside.
She grabbed the leash.
Come on, Duke, lets get a walk.
Through the parks lane she felt the tension in her shoulders turn into a dull, throbbing ache. Duke pulled forward, nearly ripping the leash from her weakening grasp. Each yank echoed the words of her children: selfish, too much free time, hard to help.
Out of nowhere, Zinnia Blake, a former colleague, appeared, bright scarf fluttering, hair in a modern bob, eyes shining.
Nan! I barely recognised youstill the same old troublemaker. Is that your grandsons dog? she laughed, pointing at Duke.
Its Harrys dog, Nora replied flatly.
Ah, right! Youre always the familys goto. Im off to Spain next week for a flamenco workshopmy husband finally gave me the nod.
Sounds lovely, Zinnia said, pausing. You look exhausted. You cant keep carrying everything on your own.
Your kids are adults; let them manage. Otherwise youll end up babysitting their pets while life passes you by. Ive got a rehearsal, love!
She vanished, leaving a scented trail of perfume and an empty quiet.
The world keeps moving, Zinnias words rang like a detonator. Duke stared at Nora, confused, as she halted sharply, eyes scanning the grey houses around her.
She realised she could no longer bear this. Not a day, not an hour.
Enough.
She opened her laptop, fingers shaking, and typed Best dog hotel UK. The first result showed a glossy site: spacious runs, indoor pool, grooming salon, private sessions with a canine trainer. Prices stopped her heart.
She dialed.
Good afternoon, Id like to book a suite for a dog, two weeks, full board and spa.
A taxi roared up in the park. Duke sat unusually calm, sensing the shift.
At the hotel the air smelled of lavender, not dog, and a smiling receptionist handed her a contract.
Nora filled in Owner with Harry Whitakers name and number, and Payer with the same details. She paid the deposit from the savings shed set aside for a new coather best investment yet.
Well send daily photos to the owner, the receptionist said warmly, taking the leash. Dont worry, hell love it here.
Back in her modest, slightly battered flat, Nora poured herself tea, settled on the surviving edge of the sofa, and sent two identical messages. One to Harry, one to Emily:
Duke is safe, at the hotel. All queries to his owner.
She muted her phone.
Three minutes later it buzzedHarrys name on the screen. She took a sip of tea and stayed silent. A minute later it rang again, then a message from Emily: Mum, what does that mean? Call me back!
She turned up the TV volume, aware that something big was unfolding elsewhere. Panic, outrage, the need to understand how her oncereliable mother could act like this.
Two days later a persistent knock came at the door, almost aggressive.
Harry and Emily stood on the threshold, suntanned and clearly irritated. Their holiday had gone sideways.
Are you mad, Mum? What hotel? Look at the bill£1,200! Youre trying to bankrupt us over a dog?
Nora smiled calmly. Come in, take off your shoes, Ive just mopped the floor.
Her composure disarmed them. Harry scanned the ripped sofa, the overturned flowerpot.
This, he jabbed, is the fallout of your wellbehaved dog in my flat. Ive got an estimate for the reupholster and a new ficus.
She handed him a neatly printed sheet.
Youre billing me for this? he breathed, anger rising. You should have looked after him!
For what? To be your babysitter? Nora asked, her voice cool, curiosity replacing love.
I owe you nothing, youre not my debtcollector.
Emily stepped forward, trying to smooth things. Mum, were family. We can sort this. Harry, calm down, its not the end of the world.
Extremes are when a son accuses his mother of selfishness because she wont let the house turn into a ruin. And when a daughter says you have a heap of time to tend to her brother. Those are the consequences of your choices.
Harrys face reddened. I wont pay a penny for that hotel either!
Nora shrugged. Fine. Then Ill sell the cottage.
The cottage theyd all planned to use for barbecues, a sauna, a summer retreatnow threatened.
You have no right! Emily shouted, forgetting any peace. Its ours too! We grew up there!
The deeds are in my name, Nora replied, shoulders relaxed. And childhood ended long ago, dear.
The money from the hotel covered the repair costs, the moral damage, and perhaps a ticket to Spain. Zinnia had mentioned it was beautiful.
They stared at her, no longer at a meek, obedient mother but at a woman with a steel spine they never knew existed.
Silence settled, heavy with the realization of defeat.
A week later Harry transferred every cent to her accountno apologies, no more calls.
Nora, without waiting, retrieved a nearly untouched suitcase from the attic, dialed Zinnia.
Hi Zinnia, do you still have a spot in that flamenco class?
