Im sixty-eight now, my energys not quite what it used to be, and my health isnt up to much either. If I can help it, I rarely leave the boundaries of my little village, so I was very much looking forward to my children visiting.
There used to be a lovely tradition where everyone would gather at mine for Christmas and wed decorate a real tree together, but this December my daughter came down with a cold and declared there was simply no way she could come, even if she drove. She rang me up and said I could come to theirs (her, my son-in-law, and the grandchildren) if I fancied catching their germs. I said Id think it over.
Later, there I was, pondering why on earth I should sit alone at Christmasespecially while my only daughter was feeling under the weather. So, I went slightly mad and blew nearly my entire pension assembling bags of food, snapped up homemade jams from the neighbour, and a jar of local honey. Somehow, I made my way thereall the glamour of the rural transport system: first the bus to the station, then a train ride, followed by two more buses. I reached her place on the 23rd of December to lend a hand with preparations andof coursethe house was empty.
When I phoned my daughter, I was greeted by her bright and breezy (not at all ill) voice:
Oh Mum, you shouldve let us know you were coming! Weve gone off to spend Christmas with friends. I was fairly sure we agreed to do things separately this year…
The bit that stung the most was the fib. Id have been hurt enough that she didnt want to spend Christmas with me, but the lying, well, that was a proper kick in the teeth. There I was, fretting and bending over backwards…
So I had no choiceI turned around and headed back home.
Thats the way it goes with children, isnt it? Even when theyre grown, they find ways to pull the wool over your eyes. The main thing is theyre having a lovely timemeanwhile, the parents hardly get a second thought.
