Mum finally retired a couple of years ago. Im exhausted, she said. My healths shot, the job was stressful, the office was toxic, and Im not as young as I once was. Id like to live for myself for once, not for all that nonsense.
No one bothered to argue with Mum. To be honest, no one ever didshes not a person youd even think to challenge.
So Mum moved out to the countryside and started living her best life: tending to her roses and tomatoes, having a smoke on the patio, and sipping her coffee. Sometimes with a drop of brandy. Sometimes with a good book. She tidied up, lounged about, looked back on work with a half-shudder, and felt genuinely relieved that the grandchildren were old enough not to be packed off to her for the whole summer.
She started delivering wise advice to us, her children, with the air of someone whos seen it all:
Dont retire until the grandkids have finished universitythats crucial. You want them standing on their own two feet, not making you look after them when youre meant to have your rest. And when it comes to great-grandchildren, youll be too oldlet your kids sort that out themselves. Youre off the hook.
All in all, she had everything sorted at her cottage: local shops for the essentials, decent internet, a rose garden just outside her door, fresh country air, quiet neighboursthe calm life. But, after a while, a certain restlessness set in. Mum decided to keep busy by concreting a good few square metres of the garden. She wanted to tidy up the parking areasaid it looked rather unsightly. And, well, you cant just wait for nature to do you a favournot when the internet exists. It was there she found a company called Top Notch, willing to do anything, for the right price, of course.
The big day arrived. A team of five men turned up, led by Dave. Mum, ever practical, just called him Davie, despite him being a hulking fellow, at least six foot five. They started off at pace, but soon enough things went awry. Two cement lorries sat there, engines idling, waiting for the go-ahead. Mum stood watching, arms folded.
And then Dave tried his luck. After all, how could he resist? An older lady, on her own, obviously not versed in mens business like cement workperfect, in his eyes, for making a few extra quid on top of the agreed sum. He launched into a theatrical tirade:
This wont work as you wanted, luv. Its all skew-whiff, nothings right here. Well need double the money, or well pack up and gofind someone else if you want.
Mum listened with polite interest, even nodded sympathetically. Youre saying a thousand pounds? What about five hundred? Well, boys, I trust youhow could I not trust blokes as competent as you?
Then she added, with a steely glint in her eye: Tell you whatshall we make it interesting?
Dave perked up. Go on, thenwhat do you have in mind?
Lets have a wager. For the same thousand. Bet I can have your crew do the whole job not just in a day, as you claim, but in three hours. If we finish in time, you owe me a grand. If not, I owe you a grand. Deal?
If Id been in Daves boots, Id have thought twiceno one picks a fight with my mother for the fun of it. But Dave hadnt the benefit of higher education; what he lacked in sense he made up for in bravado. They shook on it.
Dave took a seat on the porch with a mug of tea and settled in to watch the show. Meanwhile, Mrs Margaret Williams pulled on her wellies andwellshe switched on.
In less than five minutes, shed wrangled the men into position, barking out sharp, clear orders no one dared disobey. She told each man exactly what to do, where and how to do it, when to speed up and when to tread carefully. Even the lorry drivers got a rapid schooling: when to pour, how to pour, to do the job properly, not just dump and dash. She ran the operation with military precisionno wasted movement, not a single unnecessary pause.
Frankly, she became the queen of concrete.
What the blokes had planned to drag out all day, she had running like clockwork in just over two hoursand the result was immaculate. Smooth, level, exactly as it should be.
At first, Dave just smirked, thinking shed burn out. But then the smirk faded. His face actually lost its colour as he suddenly recalled the bet, his own word, the thousand pounds owed.
Dave was at a loss for words, looking as though hed just seen the world doesnt always dance to his tune.
Hang on he finally stammered. Tell me one thingHow? How did you do that? Thatswellits impossible!
Its not, Margaret replied coolly, brushing the dust from her gloves. You know that big flyover on the bypass? Three-tiered, massive thing.
Yeah, Ive driven over it Dave mumbled.
Well done. I built it.
And that was the moment they say Dave finally realised that an old dear isnt always as harmless as she seemssometimes, shes just someone whos worked tougher jobs than most would survive, and arguing with her is really never wise.
