Sorry, Mum, can you not come over for now, please? My daughter murmured quietly, almost offhand, as she laced up her trainers in the hallway. Thank you for everything, truly, but at the moment its best if you just stay at home and rest.
I already had my handbag in my hand, buttoning up my coat, all set to head over to look after my granddaughter, as was our usual routine when my daughter went off to her yoga class. It had all been so well-rehearsedI’d come over, watch the little one, then trundle back to my small studio flat across town. But today, something felt off. Her words rooted me to the spot.
Had I done something wrong? Maybe I put the baby down the wrong way, dressed her in the wrong sleepsuit, fed her at the wrong time? Or perhaps she just didnt like how I looked at her?
But no, it was much more petty. And it stung far more.
It was about her in-laws. Wealthy, influential, holding themselves aloft, theyd suddenly decided to visit their granddaughter every day. With solemn faces, theyd bring out expensive gifts and sit at the dining table theyd generously purchased for the young couple. The flat itselfwell, that was another of their gifts.
The furniture, the posh teaevery bit of it from them. They turned up with a fancy tin of Earl Grey, making themselves at home in every nook and cranny. And now, apparently, the granddaughter was theirs as well. And me well, I was the spare part.
Me, after thirty years working on the railways, just an ordinary woman, no titles, no diamonds, no fancy highlights in my hair, no designer jumpers.
Look at yourself, Mum, my daughter sighed. Youve put on weight. Your hairs gone all grey. You just look scruffy. Those jumpers are drab. And you smell like trains. Dont you get it?
I couldnt think of a single thing to say.
After shed left, I stood in front of the mirror. Yes, what stared back was a woman with tired eyes and crows feet, in a saggy old jumper, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. A wave of disgust for myself swept over me, fierce as a downpour out of nowhere on a sunny day. I slipped outside to catch my breath, but the ache only tightened in my throat and salty tears poured down my face, betraying me.
Eventually, I trudged back to my tiny studio just beyond the city centre, sank onto the sofa and took out my battered old mobile. Flicking through the photos, I saw my daughterso small, with her neat ribbons on her first day of school. University graduation, the wedding, my smiling granddaughterbeaming up from her cot.
My whole life was there, in those pictures. Everything Id lived for, everything Id given my all to. If I was now being told dont come round anymore, well, perhaps thats how it was meant to be. My time was up. Id played my part. Now, I mustnt be in the way. I couldnt force my presence or let my untidy looks interfere in their lives. If they needed mereally needed methey could call. Maybe they would.
Some time passed. Then, one day, the phone rang.
Mum my daughters voice was tight. Do you think you could come round? The nannys quit, her in-laws well, theyve shown their true colours. And Andrews out with his mates, Im completely on my own.
I paused for a moment before answering softly:
Im sorry, love. Not right now. I need to take care of myself, try and get myself looking respectableas you put it. When Im readymaybe I’ll come.
I hung up, and for the first time in ages, I smiled. Sad, but proud.
