No, Mum, theres no need for you to travel now. Think about ityoud have to take a long train journey overnight, and youre not getting any younger. Why trouble yourself? And its spring; Im sure youve got plenty to do in your garden, my son told me.
But darling, why not? Its been such a long time since weve seen each other. And I do want to meet your wife properlyyou know, get to know my daughter-in-law, I replied honestly.
Alright, how about this: lets wait until the end of the month. Well all come down to see you then. Its Easter, so well have a long weekend, he reassured me.
Truth be told, I was all set to go, but I trusted him and agreed to wait at home.
But no one came to visit me. I called my son several times, but he never picked up. Then he called me back, saying he was far too busy and I shouldnt wait up for him.
I was dreadfully disappointed. Id been so looking forward to seeing my son and, at long last, my daughter-in-law. Hed got married six months ago and I hadnt met her yet.
My son, Oliver, came into the world, as they say, for myself. I was already thirty when I had himnever did marry, never found the right man, so I decided at least Id have my child.
Perhaps its wrong, but Ive never for a moment regretted having him, even though things were tough at times. Wed barely scraped by, but I always took extra jobs so that my son had what he needed.
He grew up and left for London to study. I even took cleaning work in Germany for a while, just so I could send him money for university and living expenses in the capital. It brought me joy, knowing I could support him.
By his third year Oliver worked part-time and started to cover his own costs. When he graduated and found a proper job, he was entirely self-sufficient.
He came home, but only once a year or so. And I, shameful as it is to admit, have never once visited London.
Id intended to do so when he got married. Saved money especially£1,500, all told.
Six months ago, my son rang and gave me the long-awaited news: Mum, Im getting married.
But dont come up yetwere just signing the register now, the proper wedding will be later, he warned.
I was a bit sad but what can you do. Oliver introduced me to his wife, Charlotte, over video call. She seemed quite nice. Very beautiful, as it happens. And she comes from moneyher fathers some big businessman. I consoled myself that my sons life had worked out for the best.
But time went by, and Oliver still didnt come to visit, nor invite me to see him. I was desperate to meet Charlotte and hug my own son, so I packed my bags, bought my train ticket, filled a hamper with homemade foodfresh-baked bread, preserves, picklesand set out. Only after buying my ticket did I call him.
Mum, what are you doing? Im at work; I wont be able to meet you. Heres our addressjust get a taxi, Oliver said.
I arrived in London in the morning, took a taxi, and nearly fainted at the fare. But the city was lovely in the spring sunshine, and I enjoyed the view from the cab.
Charlotte opened the doordidnt smile, didnt hug me, just said coolly, Come through to the kitchen. Oliver had already left for work.
I started unpacking: potatoes, beetroot, eggs, dried apples, jars of pickled mushrooms, gherkins, tomatoes, some jam. Charlotte silently watched, then informed me it was pointless bringing all that, as they didnt eat such things, and she never cooked at home.
What do you eat, then? I asked, feeling baffled.
We get deliveries every day. And I dont cookI cant stand the smell lingering in the kitchen, Charlotte replied.
No sooner had I processed what shed said than a little boy wandered in, about three years old.
This is my son. This is James, said Charlotte.
James? I repeated, just to be sure.
Yes, James. I hate when people get names wrong.
Alright, if you say so, Charlotte.
And its Charlotte, not Charlie. People in the city dont mangle names, but how would you know
I wanted to cry. Not because my son married a woman with a childno, but because hed kept it all from me.
But there was more. I glanced at the wall and saw a big wedding portrait.
Oh, well, at least you had a lovely photo taken if there was no wedding, I said, trying to lighten the mood.
No wedding? Charlotte retorted coldly. It was a proper eventtwo hundred guests. You just werent there, but Oliver said you were unwell. Perhaps that was for the best, she added, looking me up and down.
Will you have some breakfast?
I will
Charlotte placed a cup of tea and a few slices of posh cheese in front of me. That was her idea of breakfast.
Im not used to that myself. After a journey, I need a proper meal. I decided to make eggs; Id even brought my own bread. But Charlotte wouldnt let me make anything fried, citing the smell.
She refused my bread, too, saying that she and Oliver were on a health kick.
My appetite vanished; it hurt to learn my son hadnt wanted me at his wedding. Id waited years, saved up for the day, and for what?
I sipped my tea in silence. Charlotte said nothing. The room felt stiff and awkward. James trotted over and nestled up to me. I reached to hug him, but Charlotte waved her arms alarmingly, saying I shouldnt touch himhes a child, and who knows where Id been.
I hadnt brought anything for him but offered a jar of raspberry jam: Best with pancakes, love.
Charlotte snatched it from me. How many times do I have to tell you? We’re on a proper dietno sugar!”
I was on the verge of tears. I didnt finish my tea. I went to the hall, quietly put my shoes on. Charlotte didnt ask where I was going.
I stepped outside and sat on a bench near their block, letting the tears fall. Id never felt more hurt in my life.
After a while, I saw Charlotte head out with James, dumping my preserves in the bin on her way.
I had no words. Once theyd gone, I salvaged what I could and headed back to the station. Luckily, someone had returned a ticket and I managed to buy it for that evenings train home.
By the station was a café. I ordered stew, a slice of roast, potatoes, and salad. I was starving. It wasnt cheap, but didnt I deserve a decent meal?
I put my bags in the left luggage and spent a few hours strolling through London. The city was stunning. For a while, I almost forgot my troubles.
But on the train home I didnt sleep. I cried, knowing Oliver hadnt even called to ask how I was.
Id sooner believe in summer snow than believe my child, my only son, could treat me like that. All those dreams Id pinned on him, only to discover I meant so little.
And now I wonder, what do I do with the £1,500 Id saved for his wedding? Should I give it to Oliver, just to show Id thought of him all along? Or should I keep it, since he hardly deserves it now?
