And dont forget the bananas for Granny Edna! Only the little ones, like she likes! Last time you brought some odd thing! Margaret! How could you? Is it so hard to do what youre told?
Margaret Anne Collins, chief accountant at a bustling London firm, mother of two and reasonably contented wife, sighed quietly and nodded at the air, quite forgetting her mum couldnt see her. Still, Margaret was absolutely certain her mum could tell, by instinct alone, how thoroughly she was following instructions.
And dont just nod! Go and do it! I know exactly what you’re like! Always got your head in the clouds! Margaret! It really is time you started behaving like a grown woman!
Margaret didnt bother nodding again. She simply replied, Yes, all right! and bid her mother farewell.
Time to grow up Sure. If you say so! Just being a shade over forty probably doesnt quite qualify as maturity, does it?
Another half hour remained until the end of her workday, and Margaret tried her best to focus on her report. It wasnt working. Thoughts kept creeping inmost of them unpleasant. Yet, she was a good girl. Thats what Mum always said, anyway.
Our Maggie is so clever! An absolutely delightful girl!
That was all very sweet back in nursery. Back when Maggies hair was tied up in puffy ribbons and frilly skirts frolicked about her kneesa little miracle!
Ah yes, a tiny tornado more like. By the time Mum collected her from nursery, she was no longer the darling child but a proper mischief.
Margaret! What have you done to your hair?
Built a nest! Thats what Mrs Wilkinson said. She suggested I stand still on the playground in case the birds fancied raising their chicks in there. Might as well get some use out of my hairdo, dont you think?
And where have the ribbons gone?
No idea! Simon borrowed one to use as a rope for his anchor. Mum, did you know hes got a real ship? Simons dad built it! Mrs Wilkinson showed us todayshe filled the washbasin up and floated the boat! Looked brilliant!
And the second ribbon?
Oh, that? Lenora pinched it. Dunno where she put it. Mum, why does the wind blow?
Margaret!
What?!
Please, for goodness sake, stop with your silly questions! My head is pounding!
Margaret would fall silent instantly, peering up at her mum sideways all the way home. Maybe Mums head really was broken. What if she would never get it back in one piece again, and theyd have to throw it away like the eggshells Mum binned while frying eggs?
Margaret always had an overactive imagination, and before theyd gone halfway home she was sniffling and then outright howling, her husky sobs driving her mother up the wall.
Margaret! Have you finished with your little performance yet?
Margaret could never explain why it upset her soshe just felt so terribly sorry for her mum, her aching head and her ruined mood, that all she wanted was to howl even louder, just like Patch next door.
Patch was a daft little spaniel. Shed howl at rain or nothing at all, but if her owner, old Mr Hargreaves the plumber, went on a bender, Patch would keep howling for days on end, driving the neighbours mad and making nearly every child from number twelve along Rose Lane beg their parents to take the dog away. The grown-ups would fume and threaten the police, but Patch always stayed put. Only once did she fall silent, right in the middle of one of her howling arias, and everyone at home at that moment knew something bad had happened.
They all went to see Mr Hargreaves off to the churchyard. He was a good man, always the first to lend a hand. Just a bit soft, as Margarets mum liked to say.
Patch slipped out onto the step, sat there rigid, and watched as people scattered flowers along the path. She didnt make a sound. Margaret, not at school that day because her mum was taking her to the dentist, knelt and patted Patch, but she barely twitched her stumpy tail, though shed usually wag to any kindness. Still, Mum tugged Margarets hand and off they went. On their way back, Margaret saw Patch still theremotionless, tucking her chilled paws underneath, and Margaret couldve sworn, cross drawn on her belly just like Simon had showed her, that the little dog was crying.
Mum, how come you cant see her tears?
What was the weight of that simple question? Margaret didnt know back then. But her mum flinched, crouched by Patch, then gently reached out:
Patch Patchy Come along, love. Hes not coming back, you know.
Did Patch understand? Margaret would never know. Mum, denied by Patchs mute sorrow, just scooped her up and barked at Margaret:
Come on! She needs a good tidy-up.
So Patch became Margarets dog. She lived many years still. How old shed been when her first owner died, Margaret never found out, but Patch remained with them another seventeen. Margaret finished school, even married, and never again did she hear Patch howl. She ate without fuss, let them wash her muddy paws, went for walks, but didnt make another sound. Even when time came to go where her first owner waited, she only heaved a very human sigh and closed her eyes, nose buried in Margarets salt-wet palm. Margaret never had another dog. Even when her children begged, she couldnt bring herself to. She remembered Patchs wise, dark eyes, brimming with some unfathomable, knowing spirit.
For the most part, Margaret had been a happy child. Shed had all she needed: Mum, Dad, two grannies, a one-eared old rabbit, pancakes and clotted cream every Sunday. There was Granny Iriss cottage (Dads mum), where Margaret and her mum seldom visitedMargaret never found out why; some secret best left to grown-up business. The cottage was lively, except for her mum, who never seemed to fit in.
Then there were seaside trips with Granny Ednaher favourite. Unlike Granny Iris, nothing was off-limits with Granny Edna, whod answer anything Margaret asked, despite Mums scoldings.
Oh, Mother! Whatever for? Maggies just a girl, she wont understand a word!
You werent silly. You always understood. And Margaret takes after you!
Margaret would double over laughing, watching her mother fume in silence, thinking she hardly understood half of what Granny told her about babies being born, but it was much too interesting not to ask, next time, why grown-ups so often lied.
There were good reasons for such questions.
Adults tried, of course, to shield her from family squabbleswhy should a child hear grown-up rows? Yet now and then, raised voices would seep from behind the bedroom door, followed by Mums stifled sobs. At the cottage, Granny Iris would purse her lips, staring past Margarets mum. The girl would pull her mother to the kitchen, where Granny would make her famous cherry pie.
Mum, come on! Grannyll show you how to do it, then you can bake it at home! Its so tasty and you never make it!
Mum would pull her hand away, shaking her head:
No.
No one explained anything. They soldiered on. Only later did Margaret work out that becoming family didnt always mean becoming family in your heart.
Her parents separated when Margaret turned ten.
The birthday party Mum threw for her and her friends was in full swing when the front door banged and, catching Margarets startled look, Mum said:
Well, thats that.
Patch, understanding far more than Margaret, pressed close to Mum, lending comfort. Margaret was called away by her mates, shouting that the cake was coming. When she dashed back to fetch her mum, she saw both dog and woman standing together, staring into the distance, each lost in her own world. Margaret hesitatedMum jumped, shot her a sharp look, and said:
Of course! The cakes nearly ready! Go on, off with you!
Minutes later, Margaret saw her mother appear in the doorway, smile intact, cake shed baked all night balanced in her hands, hoping to be admired for her culinary skills at last.
When the guests left, Margaret sat beside Mum, who handed her a spoon:
What do you think, eh? Worth the wait! And hang the diets, Margaret! Hang the lot! Well have our own special feast, you and me.
What feast her mother had in mind, Margaret could never fathom. Certainly, with the money Dad sent barely stretching to buy school shoes or jeans for a quick-growing teen, feasts were rare enough. Only Christmas and her birthdays remained unchanged. Mum stopped celebrating her own altogether.
Granny Edna, never caring who overheard, continually told her daughter she ought to find a man and start anew, but Margaret could see her mother hated those suggestions. She always replied:
Had enough. Quite enough.
Older now, Margaret often wondered how things might have been if Mum hadnt written off her love life. If shed given herself a second chance. If shed let go of it all and allowed herself happiness. She often imagined herself with a brother or sister, with Mum laughing instead of complaining of headaches.
But laughter left her mother long ago. She grew sterner. Margaret had to bite her tongue just to be civil, but as a teenager the arguments flew. Thats when Patch would appear, flash her teeth in warning, and Margaret would drop her defiance and sneak off to her room or to Grannys.
Patchs bite was no joke, either. Only once, after a particular row, Patch came in and nipped her ankleMargaret yelped in pain, and Patch just left, unconcerned. Tiniest blue dots marked where her teeth had been; the marks vanished, but Margaret remembered: never argue with those who know whats best for dogs and stubborn children.
Much of Mums oddness was explained by Granny herself. She answered Margarets endless questions, never mincing her words.
What do you want from her? Anyone turns cranky from lack of love.
But we love her, dont we?
Oh, Maggie, its not the same! A woman needs to feel like a woman, not just a mum or a daughter. Only a man can give her that. You wont understand yet. But I do. When your Granddad died, I was barely forty. Far too soon. I had a few flings, but Oh, dont laugh! I wasnt always ancient! I loved your granddad. Still do. Could never imagine sharing my mornings with anyone else. A meal and some flowers, maybe, but waking up day after day? Well see how you feel when you marry! And if youre anything like your mum, itll happen sooner than you think.
Gran, Im sixteen!
So what? Your mother was barely eighteen when she said shed met your dad and couldnt live without him. She didnt care that he could, apparently. Some say she was smitten like a cat, but I knew she truly loved him. Not with fantasy, but with proper, open-hearted love. She knew it would be hard, especially since his parents never liked her. Still, she took as much as she could bear. She only couldnt forgive one thing.
What?
Cheating. Sorry, love, I know its blunt. But one day youd find out anywaybetter from me. Youve got to know what your mother went through. It hurts when people rip out your soul with scorn and nosy advice. When they tell you you failed at loving, failed at giving. What more could she give? I tell you this not to make you hate your dadno point in that. Everyones entitled to their own path. Why waste life on lies and loathing? Hes fine nowwish him well, strange as it sounds. Youre part of both of them. You cant just cut out half of yourself.
Mums never said a bad word about Dad.
And she never will. Shes a smart woman, Margaret. Understands hell always be your father, youll always be his treasured girl. Why complicate things?
Does she still love him?
I expect so. Thats why she doesnt want anything new in her life.
Gran, do you think Ill ever you know find just one person, for ever and ever?
I couldnt say, love. All I can do is hope anyone coming into your life will deserve that love.
Margaret met her husband, Oliver, exactly as Granny predictedrushing down the corridor, nerves high before her first university exam, she barreled into a tall, gawky lad. She never saw his face, but noticed his quick reflexes as he caught her before she hit the floor, and his mischievous, cracking voice:
Youre in a right hurry, arent you? Ill never keep up! Better give me your number before you dash away again!
She didnt give him her number, of course, but wasnt surprised to find him waiting for her after the exam, report book in hand.
In no hurry now, are you?
They married three years later. The first while, they lived with Margarets mum, but Margaret could see that couldnt last.
It was hardMum didnt take to Oliver. Simply couldnt see him as Margarets rock.
What sort of job is software developer? Sits at a screen all day eating. Before long, dear, hell be shaped like a baby elephant!
Mum, youre exaggerating. What do you care if he wants a sandwich?
Its you I worry for. Youll be crying before long
Oliver had to work hard to win Mother-in-laws favour. It took nearly a decade, but finally Margarets mum admitted her son-in-law was worth his weight in gold.
By then, Margaret and Oliver had their own little flata modest two-bedroom. Oliver slaved away at his new business, Margaret rushed all over town with property clients, knowing you only got paid if you hustled. Granny or great-granny would take turns minding their first child; Margaret thanked heaven both women were still fit and sharp.
The first warnings came when Margaret was expecting her second child.
Margaret, who do you think you are? An hour you were out, then vanished! I have work piling up! Mum barked, stirring Olivers beloved leek and potato soup. Done! Right, Im off! Next time, sort out your diary better!
Margaret, clueless, stared as her mother bustled about. The doctors appointment had lasted less than the allotted hour, and the surgery was on the next street. Trouble was, the appointment was yesterday. Yet here Mum was, making out Margaret had gone missing today.
She refused any checkup, no matter how Margaret pleaded.
Dont be ridiculous. Im healthier than any of you! If youre so concerned, go look after Grannyshes the one needing doctors.
Consulting Oliver, Margaret found a private specialist. He agreed to visit.
Theres no easy news, Im afraid. Well need a thorough assessment, but I can say alreadyyoull have a tough time ahead.
Margarets hands felt like ice. Her mother? Noshe was so young! How could she be sick already?
There are many causes. Will knowing them make it easier? Focus instead on making life as smooth as possible.
And is that possible?
Medicine advances, but theres no magic cure yet. We can only support and slow things down, buy some time. Perhaps something new will appear.
Margaret realised thenher life had changed forever. She had a husband, children, dad, Granny, but Mumwell, Mum was Mum. Everything must be done so her most precious person found peace. Even the doctor saidpeace was a medicine too.
Margaret hated remembering how she persuaded Mum to move in with them. Oliver pulled strings, landed a good mortgage, and the cottage shed spotted was bought, even if it meant taking on extra debt.
Well manage. The main things were all togetheryou can relax now.
Margaret closed her eyes and buried her face in Olivers shoulder, knowing relaxing was the last thing shed be doing.
Rightly so.
Mum kept forgetting she now lived with them, always wanting to go home.
Mum, your rooms just down the hall.
Why would I use your guest room? I have my own home!
Of course, yes, but Ill need your help with the boys tomorrow, and Grannys unwell. Please, stay please?
Fine. But I wont always put up with this, you know! I do have a life, Margaret!
Of course, Mum, I get it.
Oh, what do you know, Margaret? Your age!
If not for Granny, who watched over Mum, Margaret might have lost her wits for good before learning to live in this new reality.
Gran, does she really remember nothing?
She remembers plenty, Maggie, mostly the old days. Youd be surprised at all she recalls that Ive forgotten myself. Makes me wish Id given her more of my time as a girl. It was always nursery, after-school club, bedtimenever enough time for a talk, a cuddle. I only learnt to be a mother with you, truth be told. Your mum she was and is my sorrow. I wish I could have some of that time back, just a little Sometimes I feel the whole reason for all this is to let her forgive me, forgive your dad, forgive this cruel world. She grumbles and scolds, but its nothing. Sometimes she stares at me, wondering who I am, and I know thenshes not hurting. She smiles, just for me. Its terribly sad, child but also comforting. Every mother wants their child to be happy, just once. In those moments, I know she isyoung, healthy, everything ahead of her. Love, you, heartaches yet unknown. Oh, Maggie, how does one bear it?
I dont know, Gran I just dont
Margaret watched her grandmother struggle, knowing her only child was slipping to a faraway world, one closed even to those who loved her most. Often shed find her mother on the floor, sat beside the stately armchair where Granny would rest, and quietly ask, Shall I take her away?
Leave her, Margaret. Not long now
Granny passed away just a year after Margaret realised their life would never be the same again.
Take care of her, child! As if she were your own eyes! Ive no more strength left
Margaret bit her lip and nodded, hiding her terror from the frail old woman lying scattered atop a thin sheet.
Dont think of her as your mother now. You know how they say we become children again in old age? Its true. Children feel with their hearts, not their heads. Everythings impulse and feeling. So I beg youcare for her as a child, in my place. Be gentle. When despair grips you, go and screamjust not where she can hear. Dont frighten her. Then, remember everything Ive told youspare her, with all your strength. Care for her the way you hope your own children might someday care for you. Promise me!
I promise
How many times would Margaret recall that talk? Countless. Even now.
She glanced at the clock, sighed, and reached for her handbagwallet, car keys, brolly. That seemed everything. Time to fetch her eldest from rugby, pick up her younger boy from school, then the shops. Bananas. The very same tiny bananas Granny Edna had loved.
Because, seeing that bunch, Mum would for some reason believe Granny was still alive. That she only had to take a few steps down the hallway, ignoring the puzzled carers look, before opening the lounge door and seeing that ancient armchair, which fit nothing in the house but would remain for as long as it was remembered. And then grumble:
Margaret! Couldnt you at least clean the upholstery? How many times must I ask? Did you buy the bananas? Grannys on her way. She asked for them.
Of course, Mum! Sit yourself down, Ill make you a nice cup of tea.
And someone would sit in the chair. And thered still be time to rest her cheek against those beloved hands, to catch that stern but gentle look, and to smile back as Mum asked, surprised:
Margaret, whats that on your head? Wheres your hairbrush? Bring it here! I shall tidy you up! Goodness, is that the time Off to bed with you! What do you want for breakfastsemolina or pancakes?
