Catherine was gone… Her sons made the journey from London to the tiny village for the wake.
Well, at least they turned up in the end, whispered the neighbours. Their mother finally had them by her side one last time.
As the memorial ended, the sons and their families prepared to return to the city. Suddenly, Aunt Lydia, Catherines sister, strode into the front room.
Aunt Lydia, its time for us to go, the eldest son began. We need to lock the house. Itd be best if you left as well.
Leave? Lydias brow creased in disbelief. Why would I go? Im home. Ive nowhere else Id rather be.
Everyone stared at Lydia, utterly taken aback.
***
Rita and James had just married and moved in with James mother.
It was a modest wedding; theyd decided to save the money for more sensible things than a mortgage.
Before this, theyd been apart James with his mother in Surrey, Rita in a small flatshare. Ritas own mother was an unreliable soul, always drifting from pub to pub.
Shed never known her father.
James mother decided to give the newlyweds some space. She took her holiday early and went to her sister Catherines cottage in Dorset.
She often went there for a proper rest. Catherine lived alone; her husband died young, and her two sons rarely visited they barely managed an occasional phone call.
Youd think they might call in case their mother ever needed help. But no, their own lives always came first.
Catherine was hurt by that. She thought the least a son could do was ring his own mother.
She never asked them for a thing. Shed do most things herself, ask a neighbour if she absolutely had to, or sometimes her niece and nephew would come around.
James was always handy. Hed come with his sister, though now, being married, Catherine doubted shed see him as much. Her own sons never brought their wives to visit her only at the wedding, a fleeting glimpse, all city polish. No grandchildren yet, either. Apparently, it was too soon.
Lydia, youre here! My own sister! Catherine beamed when Lydia arrived.
They were happiest together. Born just a year apart, always side by side, until Lydia went to London, met her husband, and never looked back. Catherine had stayed in the countryside. Both widowed the same year, never remarried.
You look after things for now, said Lydia. Ive only got a week off left. Wheres James? He and his new bride should come down to the country. Or are they off somewhere romantic?
No, theyre being sensible, saving up. Their wedding was simple, just a registry, hardly any fuss. And Ritas family well, its just her mother, and shes never home, always out on the town. Poor girl, really. She moved out long ago.
So why didnt you bring the pair here?
I wanted to give them space. Theyre young, let them settle. And I dont want to be in their way. Let them enjoy a month to themselves. I honestly never thought James would marry, turning thirty and all. Thank goodness he finally did. Let them live their lives.
Theyll adjust fine. Though its a shame their honeymoon is just in the city. Bring the wife here, let her see the cottage. Theres plenty of space. If they hate it, theyre not far from a train back.
James and Rita arrived the next day. Catherine was elated her own sons never bothered.
Im so pleased you came. My lot never visit, no matter how much I ask. Theyre always tied up with something Catherines voice quivered with sadness.
Rita adored the countryside. She remembered summer holidays at her grans. When her gran died, Rita had been only fifteen, learning to make do and chase her studies alone.
Catherine took care of the housework, Lydia cooked for everyone, James mended the old fence and re-tiled the shed roof. Rita spent her days in the vegetable patch, weeding and sowing rows from morning till dusk.
Oh, dont fuss with the garden, Rita. Ill be on holiday soon, I can do it then. Have a rest.
Its no trouble. At Grans, I did it all the time. I love this sort of work. Take your break Im happy here.
The days flashed by. Soon the guests headed home, leaving Catherine alone again. Everything was tidy; the silence at night pressed in, making her restless. She called her eldest son.
Whats wrong?
Oh, nothing. Just wanted to check in. Maybe you could visit?
No time, Mum. Call the younger one hes not busy, he was talking about a trip, anyway.
She tried the younger. Same excuse. Off to the seaside, not a spare week for their own mother. Fine. At least James promised to visit
Years drifted on. James and Rita bought their own flat. They never forgot their aunt Catherine, always coming when needed. Theyd bring their own children. Those kids would spend summers running between their two grandmothers Catherine and Lydia, both now retired.
Catherine never had grandchildren of her own. The younger son had a stepson, but the older one was always chasing something more career first, then suddenly it was too late. What sort of sons are those too busy for a visit or even a family of their own? Every few years, theyd drop by as if it was a grand favour, and Catherine was supposed to be grateful they hadnt forgotten her entirely.
Thank God for James, Rita, and Lydia.
Thats how it went until Catherines health faltered. There were treatments, but more funds were needed. She rang her sons. She explained everything to the youngest.
Mum, youve never been one for spas. Best rest up at home thats all you need! The walls help you heal.
It was James and Rita who paid for the convalescent home. They sent the sisters together; it would be a proper holiday for Lydia, too, and more company for Catherine.
Catherine passed away four years later. Both sons returned to the village for the wake.
At least they managed this, the neighbours murmured. Their mum had her sons in the end.
Afterwards, as the families packed up to leave, only Aunt Lydia lingered in the cottage with Jamess family.
Aunt Lydia, were off now, the eldest son said, glancing at the clock. House needs to be locked up. Time you and everyone else made tracks, really.
Make tracks? Why would I? This is my home now!
Everyone stared.
This was our mothers house! the younger son insisted, a flush rising in his cheeks. That means its ours now. Well put it up for sale. If you want a trinket to remember her by, take a vase or crockery. Itll all be cleared out soon anyway.
Take what you like for a keepsake, but the house Catherine gave it to me. After her illness, when we got home from the convalescent home, she changed her will.
She changed her will? But were her sons!
Oh, now it matters? Where were you when she was ill? You never came, not once. Sons, you call yourselves
The brothers didnt even argue. They got in their cars and drove away, leaving no explanations behind them. With Catherine gone, there was nothing left no home, no one to call.
Lydia moved into her sisters cottage. She rented out her own flat, helped her sons family, and they visited often always helping out.
It was a warm, close family, though missing Catherines laughter.
Yet she was ever present, nestled in their hearts, where she would always remain.
