Just dont bring your mum over, Anna warned, eyes on the tiny flat they all squeezed into.
What if? Paul started, unsure. What if we bring her here?
Where, Paul? Anna gestured at their 650squarefoot place. To the nursery? With Arthur and little Polly?
Lying in bed with pressure sores and a gaggle of what? Ducks? You want the kids to see that? To breathe it in? She scoffed, but the family of four was already winding down for the night.
Anna was wiping a sticky juice spill from the kitchen table, one foot nudging a toy fire engine that fiveyearold Arthur had flung across the hallway. In the bathroom, the tap sang while Paul bathed twoyearold Polly, her shrieks mixing with his deliberately booming laugh.
Tara, their neighbours daughter, smiled, feeling the tension melt away. It was a decent evening, ordinary in the best waymortgage paid on time, a modest holiday fund growing, the fridge stocked, everyone healthy.
The phone on the windowsill vibrated and slid a few centimeters across the countertop, flashing an unknown number. Anna frowned.
Another creditcard ad? A bank security call at this hour? She lifted the handset, but her finger drifted to the green button.
Hello?
Tara? a trembling voice said. Its Aunt Zinnia, Mrs. Harpers neighbour from Little Bramley.
Annas chest tightened. Little Bramley was the village where Pauls motherinlaw liveda place theyd both tried to forget two years ago.
Mrs. Harper, this is Anna, she replied, lowering her voice so Paul wouldnt hear. How did you get my number?
I found it in Maggies notebook she wrote it down oh dear, the woman sniffed. Anna, its terrible Maggies been in a crash.
Annas hand froze, rag still in her grip.
What do you mean crash?
On the motorway. She was heading into town at night and she went onto the wrong side. The windscreen
Thank God the airbags worked. What about Maggie?
The car burned up, Anna, everything the papers, the cargone. They got her out, but theres a lot of damage. Shes in the district hospital, intensive care.
The water in the bathroom fell silent. The door swung open and Paul appeared, cradling a towelwrapped Polly. He was midstory when he saw Annas pale face.
Whats wrong?
Anna pressed the phone to her chest and inhaled slowly.
Aunt Zinnia, I understand. Well sort something out. Thanks for calling. She hung up and turned to Paul. Paul, put Polly down. We need to talk.
They sat at the kitchen table. The kids, unusually calm, curled up in their chairsArthur and Polly both sensed that something was off. Paul sat with his hands clasped, eyes fixed on the darkened window.
Shes alive, then? he muttered.
The doctor said her conditions serious but stable, Anna said, scrolling through the messages on her phone. Her hips a mess, the bones shattered, ribs, neck. Theyll operate, but
But what?
Shes bedridden. At best six months, maybe longer, depending on how she recovers and her attitude.
Did the car?
Burn right down. All paperwork gone. Aunt Zinnia cant explain how Maggie ended up on the opposite lane. Maybe she was distracted, maybe she felt unwell.
Paul paced the cramped kitchentwo steps forward, two back.
Two years, he said, not looking at anyone. Two years of peace. Just when we started living normally, without calls, without nagging, without the endless paperwork. Shed bully you, demand the flat, forbid us from putting it in our name. She called Arthur a troublemaker
Anna walked over, a rueful smile on her lips. Paul, lets not dredge up the past. We need to decide what to do now. The doctors are waiting for our answer.
Tomorrow theyll move her from ICU to a trauma ward. Well need care. The hospitals community nurses only visit once a day, free of charge.
Paul lifted his head. What kind of care, Anna? You expect me to quit my job and become a fulltime carer? Or youre thinking of quitting yourself?
Were barely standing on our own two feet. Weve got plansnew car, kids activities, a holiday fund.
Theres a private carer option, Anna began cautiously.
Youve seen the price? Paul snapped. £1,600 a week, minimum. Add meds, diapers, foodthats almost my whole salary, maybe yours too.
I know.
So what are we supposed to live on? Bare rice? Whos this person who threw us into the deep end, then pretended she cared?
Pauls voice cracked, a bitter edge of childhood resentment surfacingan old hurt hed hidden for years.
Its not that I love her, he said quietly, I cant. I feel hatred.
I get it. I dont love her either. After everything she said about my family, about us loves out of the question.
Then why bother?
Because were human, Paul. Not beasts. Justice, you know? We should look after her.
He sneered. Justice? When I was a schoolboy in a jumpsuit, shed show up once a month with a bag of sweets, playing nice mum for the neighbours? When she asked for money wed saved for the baby?
Theres no justice here, Anna said firmly. Were talking about us nowwhat well have to live with.
Paul pinched the bridge of his nose. Fine. Lets count. Whats in the emergency fund?
£300k earmarked for a new car, £200k for a holiday.
Half a million. He shook his head. The surgerys covered by the NHS, but they might want imported plates and screws. Thats extra. Medicinestwice that. A carer
He opened the calculator on his phone. A private carer in a hospital costs about £2,500 a day. Thats roughly £75,000 a month, £450,000 for six months.
He stared at Anna, eyes wide. Thats everything we have. And then some.
Anna stayed silent, the numbers sinking in. They were their hardearned savings, after all.
What if? Paul began, tentative. What if we bring her home?
Where, Paul? Anna gestured around their modest flat. Into the nursery? With Arthur and Polly? A bedridden woman with tubes and pressure sores? You want the kids to sleep next to that?
No, of course not, Paul replied quickly.
What about the bedroom? Wed have to sleep on the sofa in the kitchen. Youd be on call 24/7. Shed manipulate, guilttrip, cause a scene. Wed split up in a month. I cant do that.
He lowered his head, knowing Anna was right. His own mother had a talent for turning any room into a living nightmare.
So the options are? Anna asked.
Either we lose the money or we send her somewhere else?
Social services, Anna suggested. Maybe they can place her in a staterun care home for the elderly.
Youve been to one of those? Paul winced. Its a hospice, a oneway ticket. Shell be there a couple of months, then?
Free care, almost. The state will look after her pension and everything.
Paul measured the room with his feet again, sighing. I cant. I hate her, but I cant just consign her to oblivion. Id lose my own sense of self.
Anna exhaled. Alright, heres the plan. She grabbed the notepad on the fridge.
We wont blow all our cash. Well hire a private carer directly, not through an agencycheaper. Maybe £45£50 an hour, for about fortyfive weeks.
Still a lot, Paul muttered.
Too much, but we can stretch it if we cut backno restaurants, no cinema, no new clothes for six months. No new car either.
The emergency fund will cover meds and unexpected costs, she added, pausing. We wont buy a new car yet.
Paul watched her scribble numbers, a quiet admiration creeping in. Hed fallen in love with her resolve once upon a time.
When will they discharge her? he asked. In a month or two?
In a village with no proper facilities, Anna said, biting her lip. Well have to rent a cheap studio flat, with basic amenities, and move the carer there.
Thats another £1520k, Paul noted.
Exactly. Well work just for her, maybe a year, maybe two, until shes upright againor not. Well have to be realistic.
Paul, Anna set her pen down. Were not bringing her into our home. Thats the condition. I want to keep our family, our sanity, our kids childhood. Well pay for her care, but from a distance.
Paul was silent for a long time. Were buying our way out, he finally said, halfsmiling. Sounds cynical.
Its honest, Anna replied. Well cover her doctors, food, hygiene. Well visit every fortnight, bring groceries, check in.
Paul pulled her into a hug, grateful for the lifeline shed thrown him. What would I do without you?
***
They followed Annas plan. The first meeting with the care home was tenseher mother blamed the son for being a disabled burden. Tara got a dose of criticism too; the mother claimed that because of Tara, Paul had turned his back on his own mother.
They hired a carer, bought everything the doctors ordered, and started hunting for a modest flat for the mother and the motherinlaw. Every day brought a fresh rant over the phone, but they endured it because, after all, they werent beasts.
