Every Man for Himself
Mum, you cant even imagine whats happening on the housing market right now, James anxiously shuffled a pile of printed pages, stacking them neatly then spreading them out in a fan across the kitchen table. Prices are jumping every week. If we dont put down a deposit now, someone will snatch this flat right from under our noses.
Julia slid a mug of now-cold tea towards her son and sat down opposite him. Floor plans, figures, and repayment graphs danced over the papers. Three bedrooms in a new-build, a room for Charlie and Poppy at lastno more kids sharing.
How much are you short? she asked.
Eighty-two thousand pounds. James pinched the bridge of his nose. I know its a lot. But Anna cant cope anymore, the children are growing, and were still living in rented places
Julia looked at her son and saw the little boy who once brought her dandelion bouquets. Thirty-two years old, two children of his own, but the worried crease between his brows was the same as when he fretted over unfinished homework.
I have some savings. Theyre in my account.
Mum, Ill pay it all back, I promise. As soon as things settle down, Ill start putting something aside.
She covered his hand with her own, roughened from years of endless cooking and cleaning.
James, its for the grandchildren. Whats money to talk about? Family comes before anything.
At the bank branch, Julia filled out the forms in her tidy handwriting, sharpened by thirty years as a bookkeeper. Eighty-two thousand poundsalmost everything shed saved over recent years. For a rainy day, just in case. For you never know.
James hugged her tightly right in front of the cashier, uncaring about the queue behind them.
Youre the best, honestly. I wont forget this.
Julia patted him on the back. Off you go. Annas probably waiting.
…The months after their move blurred into a never-ending carousel of cross-city trips. Julia brought bags from Sainsburyschicken, rice, butter, yoghurts for the children. She helped Anna hang curtains, assemble furniture, scrub builders dust from the sills.
Charlie, careful with those tools! she called, hanging curtains and simultaneously explaining a proper shepherds pie to her daughter-in-law.
Anna nodded, scrolling through her phone. James would appear in the evenings, exhausted from work, wolf down his mothers dinner, and vanish into the bedroom.
Thanks, Mum, hed throw over his shoulder. Dont know what wed do without you.
…Half a year went by, then a familiar number flashed up.
Mum, listen… The mortgage payment came just as the car broke down. Im thirty-five hundred short this month.
Julia transferred the money without a word. Young people had it so hard these days. New expenses, little children, stressful jobs. Theyd get on their feetmaybe theyd pay her back, maybe they wouldnt. Really, what did it matter with family?
The years slipped by like water through fingers. Charlie turned seven; Julia gave him a big Lego set, the one hed begged his parents for half a year. Poppy spun in a new dresssoft pink with sparklesjust like the princesses she saw in cartoons.
Gran, youre the best! Poppy giggled, clinging to her neck, smelling of shampoo and sweeties.
Every weekend Julia took the grandchildren inat home, or to the West End, funfairs, the skating rink. She bought ice cream, toys, books. The pockets of her tired old coat were always bulging with sweets and packets of tissues.
Five years blurred into this generous, self-imposed penance. Mortgage top-upsMum, its really tight again. Sick days spent with the grandchildrenMum, we simply cant take time off. Picking up groceriesMum, youre going to Tesco anyway
Thank you came less and less often
…One morning she stared at the stains on her kitchen ceiling. Rusty patches spreading through the plaster. The upstairs neighbour had flooded her flat; now home was unlivable.
She dialled her son.
James, I need some help with repairs. Ive been flooded, and I might not get compensated for ages
Mumher son cut her offyou know Ive got so much else on at the moment. The kids clubs, Annas classes…
Im not asking much. Just help finding a workman or
Ive really no time, Mum, especially not for something like that, James repeated, as if he hadnt heard. Lets talk about it later. Ill call, okay?
The line went dead
Julia put her phone down. The screen briefly flickered with a photo from last New Year: herself, Charlie, Poppy. All smiles.
The money he took without a thought, the weekends she devoted to his children, the hours, the effort, the lovethose were the past. Now there were other priorities.
A drop from the ceiling landed on her hand. Cold…
The next day Anna rang herrare enough to put Julia instantly on guard, even before she began to speak.
Julia, James told me you rang. You do realise everyone has to deal with their own problems, dont you? Were doing our flat ourselves, paying our own mortgage…
Julia almost laughed. The mortgage shed paid every few months. The deposit that had been almost entirely her savings.
Of course, Anna, she replied calmly. Each of us for ourselves.
Exactly, thats all I was saying. James was just worried you took it personally. Youre not upset, are you?
No. Not at all.
The line went dead
Julia rested her phone on the table and stared at it, as if it were a strange beetle. Then she turned to the window, but looked away againthe dusty glass offered nothing comforting.
Nights blurred into endless hours, the ceiling pressing down, thoughts refusing rest. In darkness, she turned over the last five years like a rosary.
Shed done this. With her own hands shed raised a man who believed his mother was an inexhaustible well.
In the morning, Julia phoned an estate agent.
Id like to put the cottage up for sale. Quarter acre, just outside Guildford, mains connected.
The cottage she and her husband had built twenty years ago. The apple trees Julia had planted when carrying James. The veranda where so many summer evenings had passed.
A buyer was found within a month. Julia signed the documents, forcing herself not to dwell on what she was selling. The money came in, and she coolly split it up: a full repair for her flat, a new savings account, a small reserve for surprises.
The decorators moved in next week. Julia chose every tile, every roll of wallpaper, each tap. For the first time in years, she spent on herself, not stashing for a rainy day, not wondering who in the family might need it next.
James didnt call. Two weeks passed. Then three, then a month. Julia said nothing either.
The first call came after the repairs were finished. The new kitchen gleamed, draughts sealed away, the plumbing silent at last.
Mum, why havent you been round? Poppy was asking.
Ive been busy.
With what?
My life, James. With my own life.
She visited a week later, bringing a book each for the grandchildrenthoughtful, but nothing extravagant. Two hours over tea, talking about weather and Charlies schoolwork. She turned down dinner.
Mum, could you look after the kids on Saturday? Anna and I
I cant. I have plans.
She saw his face fall. He did not understand. At least, not yet.
Months passed, and understanding arrivedslow, painful. Without Mums money, the mortgage ate a third of what they had. Without a free babysitter, there was no one to leave the children with.
Meanwhile, Julia opened a new savings account with a good rate. Bought herself a new coatwarm and smart, not from the sale rack. Spent a fortnight at a spa. Signed up to a Nordic walking club.
She remembered how Annas parents always kept their distance. Polite cards at Christmas, visits every other month. No money, no help, no grand sacrifices. And no complaints from their daughter.
Perhaps they were right all along.
Her visits to the grandchildren became rare, almost formal. Julia would come, hand over modest gifts, chat about school and friends, leave after a couple hoursno overnight stays, no weekends with Grandma.
One day, Charlie asked:
Gran, why dont you take us to the park anymore?
Grans got things to do now, Charlie.
He didnt understand. But James, standing in the hallway, seemed to begin to.
Julia returned home to her renovated flat, smelling of fresh paint and new furniture. She brewed herself a proper tea, sat in her new armchair, bought with the money from the cottage.
Guilt? Yes, it crept in sometimes at night. But less and less. Because Julia had finally learned one simple truth: love does not mean sacrificeespecially when no one notices or cares for the sacrifice but you.
For the first time in thirty-two years, she chose herself.
