Buttons
Oh, you little rascal, Maisie! What mischief have you been up to this time?
Edith Perkins peers into the lounge and is met with the sight of her beloved granddaughter standing in the middle of the room, hands tucked behind her back, blue eyes wide, her whole stance gleaming with mischief. Peace is clearly not on todays agendabut Edith cant recall a day when it ever was. Maisies visits always guarantee a whirlwind of cheer and a kaleidoscope of emotions, and the older Maisie gets, the more lively the household becomes. Bracing herself with hands on hips, Edith narrows her eyes and readies for whats coming.
Nothing!
And what kind of nothing is it this time? Ediths suspicious gaze makes Maisie unconsciously mirror her posturehands on hips, eyebrows archeda perfect copy. Where does she pick these things up?
I said, nothing!
Ediths eyes scan the room. Old Morris, the tabby cat, is sprawled on his back atop the sofa, his patchy tail twitching irritably, pretending hes uninvolved in the drama. For a moment, one green eye peeps at his owner, sparking with mischief itself, then closes again. Arguing? By all means, carry on! As long as you leave me in peace, Im happy.
Seeing how the cat is usually at the top of Maisies possible shenanigans list, Edith grows even more wary. If he isnt swaddled and silent in Maisies old pram, or darting madly through the rooms, trying to wriggle out of yet another costume made from Ediths old silk bedspread, or yowling as Maisie tries to feed him porridge, thenwell, something dramatic is surely afoot. Even a gran as seasoned as Edith knows to expect the unexpected.
My love, just tell Grannie what youve done? I promise, I wont tell you off!
Ha! You always say that! Then suddenly, its Oh! Good heavens! Someone stop me! Maisie mimics Ediths usual exclamation so perfectly her grandmother cant help but crack a smile.
I mean itno telling off! Scouts honour! Edith realises shed best take a seat, just in case. Everything feels a bit more secure from a chair
Maisie hesitates. Should she treat Grannie to her masterpiece now or wait until lunch? She knows Ediths made eclairs today, and the risk of missing out on her favourite treat is very real. But the urge to reveal her mornings creation is too strong. Besides, if Grannie does bite her head off, shell calm down again quick enough. And Ma will be home this eveningshe never says no, especially when Maisie turns on her famous big blue please eyes. That trick, though, doesnt seem to work when Mums not aroundGrannie gets much tougher. She can even, horror of horrors, put Maisie in the corner! Never for longjust the idea is insulting. Im nearly six and Grannie treats me like a baby! Humph.
Maisie pouts, stomps over to the window, and whips aside the curtain. The sight greeting Edith is enough to make her gasp and clutch at her heart.
Heavens above she breathes. Maisie watches her triumphantly.
Isnt it lovely? I did it all by myself! Grandad didnt helphe said youd have a fit and he didnt fancy the drama.
And wheres he gone? He was with you, wasnt he?!
He scarpered! Hes scared of you, Grannie! Seeyou terrify us all! Shame on you!
Me? Edith exclaims, half-laughing, and stands up.
Gran? Maisie edges away, still half-wrapped in the curtain. Im not going in the corner! Im starving!
Edith mutters something about exasperating children and inspects the decorative creation. Buttonsdozens of themhave been sewn in tight, sturdy black thread, bunching up the once-elegant white net and turning its underside into a bizarre latticework. The old tin of buttons, inherited from Ediths mum and now stuffed to the brim, sits by the curtain. Maisie, twisting herself free of the drapery, trips over the lid, which clangs and bounces across the parquet.
Wait, dont squirm or youll scatter them everywhere! Edith slides the tin aside, retrieves the lid, and strokes its painted sceneJack Frost twirling across a wintry wood. Suddenly, Edith sniffs, once, then again, and Maisie, alarmed, wails,
Grannie! Whats wrong?! Please dont cry! I promise I wont do it again! You always said girls should know how to do things, so Im practising! Otherwise, Ill end up hopelesscant make soup, cant sew on a button! Soups too dangerous, Mum says not to touch knivesthough if I did, she says Ill never go to the seaside with her again. Shes probably fibbing, but better safe than sorry.
Maisie! Edith wipes her eyes and nearly laughs, but holds back. Whats all this talking about fibbing? Are you saying your Mums a fibber? The corner is missing you right now, let me tell you!
No, youre the one whos sobbing! Why? Maisie shuffles toward Edith, then suddenly hugs her so fiercely Edith almost splutters.
Youll squeeze my head off, Maisie! Let go, darlingphew. Edith gives her granddaughter a squeeze in return and perches her on a knee. I know you love me. I wasnt really crying just got a bit sentimental, thats all.
Sen…sen-what? Maisie tries the word but gives up.
It happens when something nice reminds you of things. You feel happy and a little bit sad all at once. Thats when its fine to shed a little tear.
What did you remember?
Oh Edith strokes the cool, velvety tin lid. How can metal feel so soft? But her fingers remember it just soas a girl, shed trace its pattern, dreaming of fur-lined coats and mittens. Then shed open it, fingers diving into a river of buttons, collected over decades
All the women in our family have added to this tin over the yearsyoull add yours too, one day.
How? Maisie wriggles onto Ediths lap, finally relaxingclearly, the storm has passed and punishment isnt coming. Why would it? She did it just as Grannie had taught her, strong thread and all! Knots were tricky thoughGrannies so quick, the needle pops through and the buttons fixed in a blink. Maisies fingers tangled each one; in the end, she used an extra long bit of threadno need to snip and knot after every button, is there? Of course not! Shed have finished the whole edge if Grannie hadnt appeared early. Still, at least shed chosen the prettiest ones, and no chance of them coming off now. As for the accidental hole shed snippedshe hid it under the biggest button she could find. Hopefully Grannie wont notice
Edith lets her hands run through the buttons, then closes her fist, letting them spill one by one.
It takes ages to collect them, Maisie. Look how many there are.
Loads!
Exactly. And each ones got a story.
Tell me! Maisies blue eyes lock on Ediths.
All of them?
Yes!
I cant, darling. I dont know them all. There are stories I was never told, and some Ive just forgotten.
Tell the ones you do know! Now Maisie is firm, not asking.
Edith lets the waterfall of plastic and porcelain slip between her fingers.
All right! But lets get comfy on the sofa first. My knees wont stand much more, and Ive soup bubbling on the hob. If it boils overwhatll we have for lunch?
Gingerbread! Maisie climbs onto the sofa, patting thin old Morris on the side.
Grandad wouldnt thank us, neither would Morris. Both those two need their meat and hot meals. Gingerbread alone wont do! Edith, with an oomph, grabs the armrest and manages to haul herself up.
Getting about is harder these days, and Edith is wise enough not to mourn for her youthlife has been good, with children grown, grandchildren to spoil, her husband alive and in fair health. Shed even managed to raise a second child when everyone thought her family was completea surprise, yes, but one for which Edith still feels grateful. She remembers how awkward it felt to face her son, already at university, when she became pregnant again. Shed tried hiding beneath oversized jumpers, but hed just tease her: Lets buy you something lovely! Youre still young, Mum. It was her husband who let slip the news in the end, and Edith can still picture her sons surprised face melting into pure joy. He adored Natalie, Maisies mum, doted on her, walked her to nursery, helped with homework, even when married himself with baby Molly on the way. Then came the job opportunity out of town, the move, the mortgage, their own house at last. Too far for frequent visits, but at least phones and Skypethank goodness for that! They taught Edith how to use it, so she can see her family, see how the grandchildren grow. She visits whenever she can, but now Maisies here more than at nursery, always catching coughs, so Natalie prefers leaving her with Grannie. Edith even suggested taking Maisie out of nursery altogether, but Natalie just laughed, rescuing a wilted Morris from Maisies sticky arms:
No need, Mum! She gives you your weekends, at least. Best to channel all that energy somewhere peaceful, or elseoh dear!
Watching Natalie now fills Ediths heart to bursting. Her brightest late-come blessing, radiant inside and out. Clever toofirst in her class, now a childrens doctor, adored by her little patients. Kids always know when someone loves them
Only Maisie, it seems, is immune to her mums discipline. But thats no surprisefirst children always get pampered. Edith doted on her son too, but knew when to draw the line. Letting them feel your love without letting it overwhelmthats the trick. Her son learned to keep his balance, and when Maisie grows up, she will too. Times have changednow women do everything, Edith muses, and men worry its gone too far. Her son grumbles that women are made to be cherished, not running around like tireless horsesbut he still expects Natalie to work hard and make time for herself.
Natalie chose paediatrics instead of her sister-in-laws exhausting neurosurgerysaid she wanted a life that wasnt all night shifts and missed dinners. She nearly gave up once, worried shed make a mistake, but Edith reassured her: to be a good doctor, you need to care *and* to keep learning, always. If youre scared, youll work harder and think more. Thats what makes you worthy.
By now, Maisies patience has worn thinshe snatches up old Morris, shoves a button under his nose.
Look! Pretty, isnt it?
The cat tries to wriggle free, but resigns himself with a sigh and flops next to Edith.
Grannie! Maisie whispers in Ediths ear.
Hm? Edith, roused from her thoughts, releases the cat, who lumbers off then changes his mind and settles at her feet. You’re giving him a hard time, but you just wont leave him be!
I am not! It does him good! All that sleepingbad for a cat!
Says who? Cats are *meant* to sleep!
Mum said so! I tried to sleep all day on Saturday, she scolded me and said lying about too long is bad for you. You need to move. Movement is Maisie jumps about on the sofa, searching for the end of the phrasebuttons fly, scattering everywhere, spooking Morris into darting beneath the cushion.
Movement is life! Edith scoops up her rapper granddaughter and showers her with kisses, then docks her beside her. And you are a living example! Little firecracker. Now, stay still for one minute.
Alright! Maisie agrees suspiciously quickly, so Edith arches a brow. What are you up to now?
Dont look at me! Just tell me a storyabout this one!
A small, rather plain white button rests in Ediths hand.
This one? Thats a good little button. It came from your mums first doctors coat. I sewed it for her and bought just as many as she neededbut turns out, you always need more. She kept losing them! I had to buy more, and keep my sewing things handy all the time.
But why didnt Mum sew them back herself? You always say girls should know how to do everything!
She can sew, Maisie! But she was so busy studying and working back then. Besides, when you love someone, theres nothing too much to do for themremember that.
Maisie nods solemnly, so Edith kisses the crown of her head.
Which one next?
This golden one!
Maisie turns a golden, slightly tarnished button in her hand, puzzled. How would you sew this on, Grannie?
Edith takes it, shaking her head. You cant, sweetheart. See, the little eye is gonebroke off. This ones from Grandads army jacket, from when he was in the Falklands. When the hospital was hit, he was operating. He stayed, even after being injured himself. When they finally got him to safety, he had this button clenched in his fist. No one knows how. He told me to keep it, he believed nothing bad would happen as long as this button stayed safe.
Why do people fight, Gran? Maisie clenches the button so tightly she winces and opens her hand again.
Who can say, love? Ask anyonetheyll tell you theres no point, and yet still, somehow, people fall out. Whats ever really worth it? I doubt anyone knows. Do you understand?
Sort of, Maisie nods. But Grandad didnt fight anyone, did he?
No, darling, he saved people.
Just then, Edith hears her husbands footsteps in the hall and quickly picks up a large, hand-painted button from the sofa.
Oo! Look at this one,” she distracts Maisie, twirling it in her palm. Recognise it?
No!
It came from my favourite coatoh, it caused a stir! My mum made it, bright red, shining, with these very buttons. Back then, clothes had to be practical, but this was bold. I wore it, and all my friends were gobsmacked!
Maisie inspects the painted flower: Did someone paint this?
Thats right. See, the chap in the next room in our flata kind-hearted artistpainted each button by hand. Each different, each with a meaning. He taught me and your Grandad to draw, hung his pictures all down the corridor. I have a portrait he did of me, just there, she nods at the wall.
Is that you? Maisie frowns, surprised.
Yes, me at seventeen, birthday coat and all. He made those buttons special for me. Only two left now, the rest lost over the years.
What flowers are these?
“This one’s a poppymeans forgetting bad things. He said he painted it so I could try to forget every sadness life might throw my way. Not always possible, but better than dwelling on trouble.
And the other meaning?
Beauty. Youth everlasting
Youre so beautiful, Grannie! Maisie twirls the button sewn on the hem and mumbles, “There’s a hole there, though…”
Edith picks up the drift of Maisies muttering and chuckles, What a handful you are!
But Im never boring! Maisie teases, and Edith wags a finger with mock severity.
True enough! Now, dont pull the buttons off or Ill run out to cover up all those holes!
Lets decorate the whole curtain! All with buttons!
Maisies eyes gleam, and shes soon scurrying about, collecting the scattered collection. Suddenly, she pauses,
What flowers on *my* button?
Thats a peony, darling. For happiness and long life.
The artist got it spot on, Grannie! Youre happy, and youre getting old!
Edith laughs so hard Morris bolts under the sofa, and Maisie squeals with delight and launches herself at her gran.
Please, can we finish it and show Mum?
All rightbut after lunch! The soup! The buttons! Put them back for me, darling!
In the kitchen, her husband raises an eyebrow as Edith dashes for the stove, and as he receives his rightful peck for turning off the gas in time, he asks, Is that little one running rings round you again?
Always! Edith slices bread and dusts crumbs onto her palm. Why didnt you help Maisie with her button project?
Oh, no fear! Youll smother her in kisses for sewing tight, but Id be reminded every day until next pension what I did to your precious curtains. Objectivity? Not in this house!
Im a woman! Double standards are my privilege! Where have you ever seen an objective woman?
Ive known a few, he grins, and Edith feigns a scowl.
Where, then?
Youll age faster if you know everything!
Edith reaches for a tea towel, but at that moment Maisie gallops in, and she simply waves her fist at her husband as if to say, Watch out, cheeky.
That evening, when Natalie arrives, worn out from work, shes floored by the newly embellished curtainsshe simply cant find the words.
Mum! Maisie jumps up, flinging her needle down and hurling herself into her mothers arms.
Natalie hugs her, planting kisses on each cheek, and whispers, Been up to trouble?
Yep! Maisie snuggles into her, pointing proudly at the curtains. Arent they pretty?
Beyond words Natalie says weakly, then peers closer, spotting something strange. Mum! Thats my wedding dress button! How did you get it? I returned the dress!
Edith reddens, flustered, batting Natalies help away. Never you mind! Are you hungry?
Starving, Natalie murmurs, still gazing at the button-studded curtain, picking out familiar ones.
Maisie, guarding her treasures, scoops the rest of the buttons back into their tin and tugs her mums hand.
Come on! I waited for you. Didnt touch an eclairnot a single one. Well, almost. Hurry!
Natalie laughs, and as they head to the kitchen, Maisie snaffles up old Morris too, hoisting him along. He doesnt mindhe knows a nice treat awaits whenever Maisie sits down for dinner, provided Edith doesnt see. After all, what harm can come from good food, even if its meant for humans? He sniffs hopefully as Maisie gives him half a fishcake and he tucks in contentedly, losing himself in his meal.
Later, in the lounge, Natalie helps Edith up, collects the last buttons into the old tin, places the lid, and gently runs her hand over the scene on top, just as Edith had done earlier. Jack Frost still spins across the snowy glen, and the tin still feels, somehow, warm and soft. Natalie could explain it awaythe tin warmed by the radiatorbut she knows, deep down, that’s not it.
She remembers filling this tin as a child, picking out the prettiest buttons, setting them aside to ask her mum their stories. She’d take those stories and tuck them in her own memory bank. Edith had once done the same, and so had her grandmother before her. And one day, she hopes, Maisieand maybe Maisies daughterwill too. Which means Natalie must remember every detail, every time. The stories must all be told, and nothing added or taken away from their familys box of memoriesexcept, of course, for new buttons, carrying stories of their own…
