I arrived for a visit, longing to see you, but children are like strangers now.
Parents always care for their children. Sometimes, parents are quietly disappointed by their grown-up sons and daughters. What are grown daughters really like in this odd, drifting tale?
The story of a mother.
Evelyn raised three children. Now all of them are adults, living their own peculiar lives. The eldest son has a family and a job overseas. He sends seaside postcards and photos in the summer. She keeps everything neatly in a biscuit tin, her fingers tracing the edges whenever nostalgia drifts in like fog.
We miss you dreadfully, my boy. Could you ever visit us? It would be such a thing to finally meet your wife and the grandchildren, she pens in a careful, looping hand.
The middle daughter married someone in the Royal Air Force. They are always moving from town to town, raising a girl who already carries a suitcase in her dreams. Occasionally, they swoop in for a cup of tea and a quick chat. Evelyns husband, Clifford, nods approvinglyhis daughter chose a good, solid man.
The youngest daughter has no family life to speak of. Daisy was married once and had a son, but her husband left like a book slammed shut. On her mothers advice, she packed up for London in hope of a better life, sewing threads of fortune in a dim, humming factory, her son in tow.
Now Evelyn decides its time to visit Daisy.
Will you be all right without me for a week or so? Evelyn says to Clifford. I want to see how Daisys really getting on.
Clifford sees her to the station, her suitcase heavier with every step, but Evelyn means to bring joy to her daughter. Hours pass as she hums along in a faded second-class carriage, heart fluttering at the thought of reunion. After all, three years have slipped quietly away.
Mum, why didnt you ring to say you were coming? Daisys voice crackles with the strange echo of a distant place. Im at workcan only fetch you from Paddington in the evening.
Sorry, love, I wanted to surprise you! Evelyn replies. Are you sure youre alright for me to wait?
Yes, thats fine. Yet time shuffles on, and Evelyn decides simply to make her way alone, London streets swirling like watercolour.
At the door, her grandson appears: taller than she remembers, a stoic mask, a hint of Clifford in his younger days.
Hello, darling! she hugs him with arms full of years.
Thats alright, he shrugs her off.
Why didnt you come sooner? Daisy herself looks weary in the hallway.
I had to tidy up for you and lay the table, left work early to start the roast and mash the potatoes.
The phone rings. Its Clifford, fretful and alone, and Evelyn assures him shes made it just fine, someone helped with her bag, and Daisys just put the kettle on.
Seated now, Daisy asks, Would you like one Yorkshire pudding or two? Evelyn, hunger and exhaustion settling like fog across her thoughts, considers saying three, but finally whispers, Just serve them up, well see how we go.
The plate arrives with only five uneven puddings. This, apparently, is their grand supper. A pang of worry about money needles Evelyn, and she decides she must help them out. Yet, almost before the first bite is swallowed, Daisy asks when she plans to leave. Her heart thuds with hurtEvelyn blurts that shell go tomorrow if shes in the way.
The next day, Evelyn is left alone. In the evening, the flat is silent, each one hidden away in their room, shadows on the wallpaper. Eventually, her grandson vanishes downstairs to the neighbours, and Daisy slips out to see friends, leaving Evelyn ache-raw and drifting in empty hours.
Loneliness curdles. Evelyn realises she doesnt belong here now. Half-packed, she overhears her grandson whisper:
Whens Uncle Harry coming? We were meant to go to the football.
When Grans gone, Daisy replies flatly.
Devastated, Evelyn gathers her things and walks out the door before dawn. There are no goodbyes. Clifford, waiting at the gate, welcomes her home, arms wide with longing. Despite all the warmth and kindness they poured into their children, now the children need none of it at all.
