My son is no longer my grandson, the former motherinlaw declared before slamming the receiver down.
Edward, Im asking you one last timeare you going to send money for Billys boots? Winters on its way and hes outgrown his old shoes, he has nothing to wear.
Eleanor clutched the telephone as if she could squeeze the last of her exhusbands conscience from the line. On the other end there was a hesitant, perpetually apologetic sigh.
Eleanor, you know its tight right now. Works a nightmare, the bonus has been put off
I hear that every month, she cut him short. Edward, thats your son. He needs winter boots, not a new toy. Im not asking for anything for myself; Im doing it all for him.
I understand, he muttered. But his mother she thinks youre asking too much. She says the maintenance should cover it.
What maintenance? The three pence you slip to me each quarter when your mother remembers? You cant even buy laces for those boots with that.
Tears she could not control rolled down her cheeks. She stood in her tiny kitchen, the scent of yesterdays stew mingling with damp laundry drying on a line above the stove. In the single room beyond the wall, Billy, her sixyearold son, slepther sole joy and constant worry.
Ill speak to her again, Edward promised without conviction. Maybe something will work out.
Dont bother, Eleanor snapped, ending the call.
Talking to his mother, Agnes Whitmore, was like pounding ones head against a granite wall. The cold, domineering woman expected the world to revolve around her wishes and her sons whims. Eleanor wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, then went to check on Billy. He lay sprawled, his light hair a halo on the pillow, a threadbare stuffed rabbit beside him. She adjusted his blanket, pressed a kiss to his warm cheek, and resolved that she would do anything for him.
A sudden ring made her start. An unfamiliar city number flashed on the screen, but her heart lurchedshe knew who it was. She shuffled back to the kitchen and lifted the handset.
Eleanor?
Its Agnes Whitmore.
The former motherinlaws voice was as cold as ice, no pleasantries, straight to the point.
Yes, MrsWhitmore, good day.
I asked Edward to tell you to stop ringing him with endless demands. Apparently that didnt reach you. Listen carefully, and we wont revisit this. Edwards life is starting anew. Hell have a proper family. We wont be funding you or your troubles any longer.
Eleanor fell silent, feeling a chill settle in her bones.
As for the boy Agnes paused, choosing the most cutting words. Your son is no longer our grandson. Forget this address and this number. All the best.
The brief buzz sounded like a shot in the quiet kitchen. Eleanor let the phone drop, but remained rooted, staring at nothing. No longer a grandsonsimple, terrible. As if one could erase a child who bore their surname, who had his fathers eyes and his grandfathers stubborn chin. She sank onto a stool, cradling her head. It was the end, not just a divorce, but a total severance from the life once filled with hopes, countryhouse holidays, and the notion that her son might have a real, complete family.
In the morning she woke with a heavy head but a clear resolveno more relying on anyone. It was just her and Billy, together against the world. She earned a meagre wage as a seamstress in a modest dressmaking shop, enough for a frugal existence, though she would have to tighten the belt even further.
Mum, are we going to see Grandma Agnes at the weekend? Billy asked over breakfast, tapping his foot beneath the table. She promised to show me the big motorcar Dad bought.
Eleanors heart tightened. How to tell him that Grandma Agnes no longer wanted to see him? That his father now had another child to parade new cars before?
Billy, Grandma has a lot on her plate right now, she said gently, keeping her voice steady. And Daddys busy too. How about we go to the park this weekend, ride the carousel, have some fun?
Billy hesitated a heartbeat, then the thought of the carousel won him over.
I want that and cotton candy!
Cotton candy it is, she replied, hiding her pain behind a smile.
Thus began their new life. Eleanor took any odd job she could find: hemming neighbours trousers, installing zippers, sewing curtains after dark. She slept four or five hours, yet when she saw Billys delighted grin over a new cake or his excitement at a book they could finally afford, the fatigue faded. She learned to make ends meet. The winter boots she needed bought at a clearance saleplain, not fashionable, but warm.
Some evenings, when Billy was already asleep, despair would rise like a tide. She would sit at her sewing machine, the rhythmic hum a backdrop to thoughts of lifes unfairness. She recalled Edwardindecisive, childish, once a lover. She remembered his proposal, their shared dreams of children, and how his mother, especially, had wrested him from her, insisting she was unsuitable, a commonfolk girl with no standing or money. Then a trivial mishap, blown up by Agnes into a betrayal of cosmic proportions, and Edward, unable to bear the pressure, simply walked away.
A year later Billy started school. Eleanor proudly led him to the assembly, dressed in a new suit she had sewn herself, a bouquet of gladioli in his hand. She watched him and felt she was doing right. They would manage.
The dress shop changed hands; a new owner, MissGeorgina Hart, a stern yet fair woman, immediately noticed Eleanors meticulous skill.
You have golden hands, dear, she said, examining a flawless silk stitch. Ever thought of doing more than just alterations?
What do you mean? Eleanor asked.
Perhaps creating something of your own. You have an eye.
Eleanor brushed it off. What own could she think of when she needed to pay rent and school fees? Yet Georginas words lingered. One evening, while sorting through old fabrics, Eleanor found a scrap of bright chintz with tiny flowers and an idea sparked. She fashioned a tiny jumpsuit and a cap for Billys stuffed rabbit. It turned out so charming that she took it to the shop to show.
Georgina examined the miniature garment and declared, Tomorrow bring everything else youve madetoy clothes, doll dresses, anything.
Eleanor was startled, but the next day she brought a small box of her projects: a few doll frocks, a bears outfit, an embroidered shirt for Billy with a pattern of forest berries. Georgina displayed them on the shops front counter.
Trial, she said tersely.
By evening the little creations were gone. Women picking up their orders cooed over the tiny pieces and bought them for their children and grandchildren. One lady even placed an order for an entire wardrobe for a cherished German doll her granddaughter owned.
Eleanor could hardly believe her eyes. What she had dismissed as a pastime proved marketable. She began stitching these petite items each evening, first for the shop window, then for a growing list of orders. She set up a modest page on the towns social network, calling the venture Mums Warmth.
Money stopped being a perpetual worry. She enrolled Billy in a drawing club he had longed for. They moved into a larger rented flat, still modest but with a separate room for him. Eleanor blossomed; the chronic fatigue left her face, replaced by a sparkle in her eyes. She still worked hard, but now her labor brought both income and deep satisfaction.
Billy grew into a gentle, affectionate boy. He never asked about his father or the other grandmother again. His world was his mother. He boasted to friends that his mum was the best witch in the world, able to sew anything.
When Billy turned twelve, the phone rang again. An unfamiliar number flashed, yet something compelled Eleanor to answer.
Eleanor? This is Agnes Whitmore.
Eleanor froze. She hadnt heard that voice in six years; it was unchangedstill the same cold steel.
Yes, MrsWhitmore, Im listening.
Im calling on business, Agnes said, the old harshness intact. A friend recommended you as a wonderful childrens tailor. My grandsons birthday is coming uphell be five. Id like an exclusive costume. I know youre booked, but Im ready to pay double. Its very important to me.
Eleanor closed her eyes. Grandson. Five years. So Edward really did have a new family, a new child. And now the woman who had once cast her child out wanted her services. The irony was bitter.
MrsWhitmore, Eleanor said slowly, her voice calm and dignified, I must decline.
Silence hung on the line, stunned. Apparently refusal was a new concept for Agnes.
What do you mean, decline? Ill pay any price!
It isnt about the price, Eleanor replied evenly. A few years ago you called and told me my son was no longer your grandson. You erased him from your life without a thought for the boy.
That was long ago Agnes began, but Eleanor cut her off.
For you it may be long ago. For me, I remember every second of that conversation. I built my life and my business from scratch, pouring love into each stitch for my child. My brand, Mums Warmth, cannot be used for a family that discarded a child with such icy cruelty.
She paused, letting the former motherinlaw grasp her words.
My son, the one you said was no longer your grandson, is sitting in the next room drawing. Hes talented, kind, and hes everything I have. Your money keep it. Perhaps it will buy you a conscience, though I doubt it. Farewell.
Eleanor hung up without waiting for a reply. Her hands trembled slightly, but her heart was light. It was not revenge; it was justice. She slipped into the doorway of Billys room and peeked through the crack. He was bent over a sheet of paper, engrossed in drawing, oblivious to her. His picturesa riot of colour, light, and lifedecorated the wall.
She smiled. Yes, they were all right. And they would be even better. She turned back to the kitchen, set the kettle on, and settled in for another ordinary evening filled with the quiet happiness she had crafted with her own hands. In that happiness there was no room for the spectres of the past.
