No, you really shouldnt come now, my son says. Think about it, Mum. The journey is long, a whole night on the train, and youre not getting any younger. Why put yourself through that? And spring is here youll have plenty to do in the garden anyway.
I protest, Son, we havent seen each other for ages. Id love to meet your wife properly, as they say, get to know the daughterinlaw up close.
He tries to calm me, Alright, lets wait until the end of the month. Well all come up then Easter gives us a string of days off.
Honestly, Im already packed and ready, but I convince myself to stay put and wait for him at home.
He never arrives. I call several times; he lets the calls go to voicemail. When he finally rings back, he says hes swamped and I shouldnt wait for him.
Im heartbroken. I had been preparing a welcome feast for his bride. He married just six months ago, and I havent seen her at all.
I gave birth to my son, Edward, when I was thirty, never having married. I decided to have a child on my own. It may have been frowned upon, but I never regretted it, even when money was tight and we were barely surviving. I juggled a few jobs just to make sure my child had everything he needed.
Edward grew up and earned a scholarship to study in London. To support his first months there, I even took seasonal work in Wales, sending him the cash he needed for tuition and rent. My mothers heart swelled at being able to help my son.
Now in his third year, Edward picks up parttime work and eventually lands a fulltime job after graduating, supporting himself. He visits home only once a year, and Ive never set foot in London.
When he announced his engagement six months ago, I started saving for the wedding, stashing away £1,500.
Just a few weeks ago Edward called with the longawaited news hes getting married.
Mom, dont come yet, he warns. Were only signing the papers now; the ceremony will be later.
Im disappointed but accept it. Edward introduces me to his fiancée, Harriet, over video. Shes strikingly beautiful and evidently welloff; her father is a wealthy businessman. All I can do is be happy for them.
Months pass and Edward still doesnt invite me over. Im desperate to see my daughterinlaw and hug my son, so I buy a train ticket, pack homemade food fresh bread, potatoes, beetroot, eggs, dried apples, marinated mushrooms, pickles, tomatoes, and a few jars of jam and head to London. I call Edward just before boarding.
Come on, Mum, why? Im at work; I cant meet you, he says. Heres the address, just call a cab.
I arrive in the capital in the morning, flag a cab, and am shocked by the fare. The earlymorning city looks lovely, so I watch the scenery from the window.
Harriet opens the door without a smile or a hug, merely pointing me toward the kitchen. Edward isnt home; he left early for work.
I spread my bags, pull out the potatoes, beetroot, eggs, dried fruit, mushrooms, pickles, tomatoes, and several jars of jam. Harriet watches me in silence, then says its useless they dont eat that, and she never cooks at home.
What do you eat then? I ask.
We get meals delivered every day. I dont like cooking; the kitchen smells linger for ages, Harriet replies.
Before I can process her words, a little boy, about three, darts into the kitchen.
This is my son, Daniel, Harriet says.
Daniel? I repeat.
No, Daniel. I dont like people twisting names.
Alright, Daniel then, I say.
Im not Daniel, Im Harriet, she snaps. People dont change names here, but who are you to assume
Tears rise in my eyes, not because Edward has a wife and child, but because he never warned me.
I glance at the wall and see a huge wedding portrait.
Oh, the wedding didnt happen? At least youve got a nice picture, I try to change the subject.
Harriet sighs, There was a wedding 200 guests. You just werent there; Edward said you were ill. Maybe thats for the best.
She offers me a cup of tea and a few slices of pricey cheese, calling it breakfast.
Im used to a proper morning meal after a journey, so I decide to fry some eggs and toast the bread I brought. Harriet flatly forbids me to fry eggs, saying the smell would linger. She also refuses to let me eat the bread, claiming theyre on a health diet.
I feel humiliated; I saved for this day, bought the wedding gift, only to be turned away. I sip my tea in silence while Harriet watches me like a statue.
The little boy runs to me, clinging to my leg. I reach out to hug him, but Harriet waves her hands, Dont do that. I dont know why youre here with a child.
I offer him a jar of raspberry jam, saying, You can have this with your pancakes.
She snatches the jar from my hand, How many times must we say it? Were on a strict diet; no sugar!
I feel my resolve crumble. I finish my tea, put on my shoes, and walk out without Harriet saying a word. I sit on a bench outside the building, letting the tears flow. Ive never felt so alone.
Later, Harriet returns, takes the boy for a walk, and discards my packed food in the trash. I stare in disbelief. When she leaves, I repack my bags and head for the station. Someone has given up a ticket, so I catch an evening train.
Near the platform, a modest restaurant catches my eye. I buy a bowl of beef stew, a piece of fried meat, and some chips with salad. I pay a good amount, thinking, I deserve at least a decent meal.
I store my bags in a locker and have a few hours to wander the city. London surprises me; I even forget my worries for a while.
On the train back, I cant sleep; I weep. It hurts that Edward never called to ask where I was. He is my only son, the one I placed all my hopes in, and now I feel useless to him.
Now Im left wondering what to do with the £1,500 I saved for his wedding. Should I send it to him, letting him know Mum always cared? Or keep it, because he hasnt earned it?
