“You didn’t even say thank you,” Susan sighed.
“Mum, must you always start!” Edward snapped irritably, not looking up from his phone. “I said I’m busy!”
“Busy, he says!” Susan slapped the damp cloth onto the table. “Forty next birthday, and still acting like a schoolboy! Edward, please, go see Gran, she rang yesterday complaining she feels poorly!”
“Mum, I have a meeting in an hour! An important meeting!” Edward finally tore his eyes from the screen and glanced at his mother. “I’ll go later. Tonight or tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow, the next day…” Susan sank into the chair opposite her son, letting out a weary sigh. “Your gran’s eighty-three, and you always find reasons not to visit.”
“Don’t start that song again!” Edward stood up, shoving his phone into his pocket. “I work, understand? I earn the money! Not like some who only know how to nag!”
Susan flinched at her son’s harshness but stayed silent. She was used to these exchanges. Edward was always sharp, especially regarding family duties.
“Alright,” she said quietly. “Then I’ll go myself. Trouble is – the car’s in the garage, and the bus takes two hours each way…”
“So what?” Edward was pulling on his jacket. “Take the bus, what’s the fuss? Or call a taxi!”
“Taxis are dear, son. My pension’s small, you know that.”
“Know, know!” Edward was already at the door. “Listen, Mum, let’s talk later, eh? I’m genuinely in a rush!”
The door slammed. Susan remained alone in the kitchen, where the scent of the shepherd’s pie she’d made for him still hung. Edward hadn’t even touched it. She walked to the window, watching her son get into his new Audi. A smart, expensive car. He was proud of it, often telling mates about its features. Yet he couldn’t drive his mother to see Gran – no time.
Susan took her worn purse from her handbag and counted the notes. A taxi to Gran’s really was dear. She’d have to take the bus.
She picked up the bag of treats for her mother-in-law, wrapped a scarf around her head, and went out. The bus stop was a fifteen-minute walk. Susan walked slowly, stopping now and then to catch her breath. Her heart had been playing up lately, but she hadn’t seen a doctor. No time really, and money was tight.
She waited half an hour at the stop. The bus arrived packed; Susan barely squeezed on. The journey was long, with changes. Young people. The journey was long, with changes. Young people sat plugged into headphones, glued to their phones. Nobody offered their seat to the old woman.
Finally, she reached the small Cornish town where Edward’s gran lived. Her little cottage stood on the outskirts, surrounded by an overgrown garden. Susan opened the gate and walked up the path to the front porch.
“Gran!” she called, knocking. “It’s me, Susan!”
The door didn’t open immediately. Margaret, her late husband’s mother, stood on the threshold leaning on a walking stick. The old lady looked noticeably thinner since their last meeting.
“Susan dear!” she brightened. “How lovely you’ve come! Come in, come in!”
“How are you, Gran?” Susan hugged her mother-in-law, kissing her cheek. “You’ve gone quite thin.”
“Oh well… ” Margaret led her into the front room. “No appetite. Sleeping poorly too. Always got some ache…”
“Did you see the doctor?”
“Went, went. Said it’s my age. What can you do, eighty-three after all.” The old lady motioned Susan to a chair. “Cuppa?”
“Of course.” Susan pulled packets of food from her bag. “Brought you shepherd’s pie, some sausages, and apple slices.”
“Oh, thank you, love!” Margaret managed a smile. “Where’s Edward? Not seen him lately.”
Susan hesitated, pouring the tea.
“He’s working hard, Gran. Big projects on.”
“Right,” Margaret nodded. “A man must work. Only… ” she paused, then added softly, “Only I miss him. He’s my only grandson.”
“I know, Gran. But he’ll come soon.”
“No, Susan,” Margaret shook her head. “He doesn’t miss me. If he did, he’d find the time. You found it.”
Susan didn’t know what to say. She often thought the same. Edward could find time if he wanted. But he didn’t want. Sitting in the old house, listening to tales of ailments and times long past bored him.
“Tell me how you are,” Susan asked.
“Oh, nothing much… ” Margaret shrugged. “Get up, have breakfast, potter about. Neighbour Brenda pops in sometimes. Otherwise, just me. Watch telly, but it’s all bad news…”
“And your health?”
“Poor, Susan. Quite poor. Heart troubles, pains in my chest. Dizzy spells often. Yesterday I fell right on the kitchen floor, luckily grabbed the table.”
“Gran!” Susan was alarmed. “Why didn’t you say? Should we have called an ambulance?”
“An ambulance? They’d come, look at me and say – age. Medicines cost a fortune, pension won’t stretch.”
“Don’t fret about money. We’ll help with the medicine.”
“Edward will help?” Margaret asked hopefully.
“Course he will,” Susan lied. She knew she’d have to explain, persuade her son, and he’d resent the expense.
They stayed together until evening. Margaret talked about neighbours, her ailments, missing her late son. Susan listened, nodded, made supper in the little kitchen.
“Susan,” Margaret said as it grew dark. “Could you stay the night? I get frightened alone…”
“Course I’ll stay, Gran. Where else would I go?”
In the morning, Susan took the old lady to see the doctor at the local health centre. He was young and weary. He examined Margaret quickly and prescribed medicine.
“Take exactly as directed,” he instructed. “Phone for an ambulance immediately if she worsens.”
“Doctor,” Susan ventured timidly. “Is it serious?”
“At her age, any condition is serious,” the doctor replied. “Weak heart, blood pressure jumps. Needs constant care.”
Walking home, Margaret held Susan’s hand.
“Thank you, love,” she said. “You’re like a daughter to me. Better than a daughter.”
“Don’t say that, Gran. We’re family.”
“Family…” Margaret repeated sadly. “But Edward doesn’t count us family.”
“Don’t say that. He’s young still, doesn’t understand.”
“Forty is young?” Margaret stopped. “No, Susan. He understands. He just doesn’t care.”
That evening, Susan prepared to leave. Margaret saw her to the gate.
“Come again, please,” she asked. “I feel so much better with you…”
“I promise, Gran. I’ll bring Edward.”
“Don’t promise if you’re not sure. Honesty’s better.””
“I’ll bring him,” Susan said firmly. “I will.”
She got home late that night. Edward was in the kitchen eating a microwaved dinner.
“So, how’s Gran?” he asked, not looking up from his plate.
“Not good, son. Truly poorly.”
“What d’you mean, not good?”
“Her heart’s weak, blood pressure’s all over. Doctor says she needs constant care.”
“And what do you propose?” Edward finally looked at his mother.
“Visit her more. At least once a week.”
“Mum, I don’t have time to run after old ladies weekly! I work, understand? I work!”
“I know. But she’s your grandmother!”
“So what? She had her life, I still need to live mine!” Edward
“You didn’t even say thank you.” Mum sighed, pushing wet cloth across the kitchen table. Edward refused to look up from his mobile. “Not this again! I’m busy!”
“Busy?” Margaret shook her head. “Nearly forty, yet acting like a schoolboy! Your grandmother called yesterday – she’s poorly! Pop round to Edith’s cottage, won’t you?”
“I’ve a crucial meeting in an hour!” Edward finally met her eyes. “Maybe tonight. Or tomorrow.”
“Always tomorrow…” Margaret sank onto a chair opposite. “Eighty-three years she’s lived, yet you can’t spare an hour?”
“Here we go!” Edward shoved his phone into his blazer. “I’m working! Earning! Not lounging about moaning!”
She flinched but stayed silent. Edward always turned sharp over family duties. “Fine,” she murmured. “I’ll go myself. But the Rover’s in the shop. The bus takes ages…”
“And?” Edward zipped his jacket. “Take the bus! Or hail a cab!”
“Cabs cost the earth, son. My pension barely stretches.”
“I know, I know!” He was already at the door. “We’ll chat later, Mum. Swear I’m rushed off my feet!”
The door slammed. The scent of beef stew hung uneaten in the kitchen. Margaret watched through the window as her son slid into his sleek new Jaguar. Fancy thing he bragged about to mates. Yet no time to drive his nan to the doctor.
She counted pound notes from her worn purse. A cab to Littlecombe village would break the bank. The bus it was.
She walked slowly to the stop, catching her breath. Her heart fluttered lately, but doctors cost. At the shelter, she waited half an hour, then squeezed onto a packed bus. Youngsters stared at phones, earbuds in. Nobody offered a seat.
Edith’s cottage sat on Littlecombe’s edge, garden gone wild. Margaret clicked the rusted gate. “Nan? It’s me!”
The door opened slowly. Edith leaned heavy on her stick, thinner than last visit.
“Maggie!” Her face lit. “Lovely seeing you! Come in!”
“You’ve lost weight, Nan.” Margaret hugged her. “Feeling rotten?”
“Just… no appetite. Sleepless nights. Aches all over.”
“Seen Dr. Abbott?”
“Oh, he shrugs. Says ‘it’s your age.’ Eighty-three, what d’you expect?” Edith shuffled toward the kettle. “Cuppa?”
“Go on.” Margaret unpacked tupperware. “Stew, sausages, cabbage pasties.”
“Bless you, dear!” Edith beamed. “Where’s Edward? Not seen him in ages.”
Margaret poured tea, silent a beat. “Work’s manic. Big projects.”
“Right,” Edith nodded. “Man must work. Only…” She hesitated. “Miss him terrible. My only grandson.”
“I know, Nan. He misses you too. Just stretched thin.”
“No, love,” Edith whispered. “If he cared, he’d make time. You did.”
Margaret changed the subject. Edith spoke of neighbours, ailments, longing for her late son. Margaret stirred soup on the hob.
“Stay tonight?” Edith asked at dusk. “Gets lonely…”
“‘Course I’ll stay, Nan.”
Next morning, Margaret took Edith to Littlecombe surgery. Dr. Abbott rattled through checks, scribbling prescriptions. “Take exactly as directed. Phone an ambulance if she worsens.”
“Is it serious?” Margaret pressed.
“At her age? Always serious. Weak heart, soaring blood pressure. Needs constant care.”
Walking back, Edith clung to Margaret’s arm. “Ta, love. You’re better than daughters I never had.”
“Don’t be daft. We’re family.”
“Family…” Edith’s smile faded. “Edward doesn’t think so.”
“Don’t say that. He’s young yet.”
“Forty’s young?” Edith stopped. “He knows, Maggie. Just doesn’t care.”
Edward waited at the flat that evening, sheepish. “Mum? Been thinking…”
“What now?” Margaret hung her coat.
“Maybe see Nan monthly?”
“Monthly?” Margaret eyed him. “Generous.”
“Don’t twist my words. I’m compromising!”
“Recall when you were ill at ten?” she asked quietly. “Fever near forty?”
“Vaguely.”
“Who nursed you? Who wiped your brow for three nights?”
“You. And Nan.”
“And now Nan’s ill. So?”
“Help,” Edward mumbled.
“When needed. Not just when convenient.” Margaret sat beside him. “She’s not eternal, Edward. You’ll remember this neglect forever.”
“Mum, I can’t
Geoffrey turned back to his laptop screen, already composing excuses for why next Saturday wouldn’t work for a visit to Nan in Wessex. The quiet promise he’d made dissolved like mist, replaced by the familiar weight of rescheduled business commitments and the unspoken thought that there would always be another time, later, when it was easier.
