Mothers Cherry Pie
Barbara Evans had dialled her sons number for the third time that morning. The first two calls had rung out, then gone straight to voicemail. She knew that sound by heart. It meant Edward had seen the call and chose not to answer.
On the fourth try, he finally picked up.
Mum, Im in a meeting.
Youre always in a meeting.
Thats because Im at work. Whats happened, Mum?
Barbara pressed her lips together. This was always the way. As if she phoned for frivolous reasons, an unwelcome distraction. All she really wanted was to see how he was, and to remind him about Saturday.
Nothings happened. I just wanted to check when youll be arriving on Saturday. Im making a pie, your favourite, cherry.
Mum, we talked about this. Saturdays out. Sarahs got a projectshes working all day.
Couldnt you pop over on your own? I havent seen you for a month.
Edward let out a sigh so heavy it seemed shed asked him to sail the Atlantic.
Three weeks, Mum, not a month. We were at yours on the twenty-third of December.
The twenty-second.
Whatever. Look, honestly, Im in a meeting. Ill ring you later, all right?
Barbara glanced at the clock. Ten in the morning. For Edward, later would mean nine at night, at the earliest. Maybe hed forget altogether, as hed done before.
All right, she said. Give me a ring.
He ended the call quickly, no proper goodbye.
Barbara stood at the window, the phone limp in her hand. Thick, wet snow drifted down, swirling around the old chestnut trees in the courtyard. It was just the same as it had been thirty years earlier, when she and Peter moved in. Only now Peter had been gone two years, and Edward had become a stranger.
No, not a stranger. Just different.
She set the phone on the windowsill and walked through to the kitchen. The kettle was cold. She put it back on, sat at the table. Last nights paper still lay opentedious news about clogged motorways and MPs. She reached for it, but brushed the edge of the table instead, sending a stack of old exercise books tumbling to the floor.
She picked them up, barely thinking. Edwards old school booksones shed kept in the loft for years. Why had she pulled them out yesterday? She no longer remembered. Maybe shed meant to throw out some rubbish, declutter a bit. But all shed managed was opening one, reading a few pages, then setting it aside, unable to chuck it.
And now here they were again, in her lap.
Barbara opened a blue, squared exercise book. On the cover, in childishly blocky handwriting, it read: Diary. Edward Evans. Year 6. DO NOT READ!!! Three exclamation marks. She smiled. Hed been twelve when he wrote that. So open, so cheerfulalways telling her everything. And then one day, shut down and quiet. Shed thought it was just adolescence. But now he was a man, and there was still a wall between them.
She leafed through a few pages; his writing wobbly but legible.
15th September. Today Danny brought a new hamster to school. His name is Biscuit. Miss said we cant have hamsters in class but we hid him in Dannys bag. During maths Biscuit got out and climbed onto Lucy Greens desk. She screamed so loud! Everyone laughed. Miss made Danny stand outside. I felt sorry for Biscuit. Hes tiny. Must have been scared.
Barbara smiled. Danny Ford had been Edwards best friendup until Year 9, when the Fords moved to Cambridge.
She read on. Short notes about school, friends, football. Ordinary boyish entries. Her boy.
23rd September. Today Mum got really cross. I forgot to ring after school. Id gone round Dannys and we built a model plane. Mum said I was irresponsible, that shed been worried and could have called the police. I just forgot. She said I didnt love her. But I do. I really do. I just forgot.
Barbara paused. She remembered that day. Edward came home at nearly eight; shed been beside herself, ringing round everyone she knew. Hed been playing, not realising the time. Shed shouted so much hed stayed in his room all evening.
A prickle of embarrassment. It felt oddly as if she was snooping on someone elses life, but she couldnt stop.
12th October. Got an A in history. Wanted to tell Mum but she was on the phone to Auntie Jenny talking about tablets and Dad. I waited, but she didnt look at me, so I went upstairs. I think she forgot to ask later.
Barbara recalled how Edward had come in from school that day, uneasy in the hall. She had actually been talking to her sister about Peters blood pressure, new medication and such. Hed wanted to tell her something, shed brushed him offlater, laterand then, of course, forgot.
The kettle boiled but she didnt move. She turned another page.
28th October. Dad promised wed go cycling in the park today. But Mum said his back was bad so he needed to rest. Dad wanted to go but Mum said he never took care of himself and shed end up looking after him. Dad looked at me sadly and stayed home. I went to the park by myself. It was boring.
She swallowed. Yes, she rememberedPeter had been complaining about his back, but Edward had pestered him about the bikes. Shed thought she was doing the prudent thing; looking after her husband.
She read on, each page making her heart heavier.
15th November. Told Mum I wanted to join swimming club. Danny goes and likes it. Mum said its too expensive and swimming gives you colds. She said I should study at home instead. I didnt argueits pointless, she never lets me.
2nd December. Mum bought me a new coat. Its blue with red stripes. I said I didnt like it, that the boys would laugh. Mum got upset. She said she tried her best, picked it out specially, and I was ungrateful. I felt guilty. I wore it. Danny said I look like a clown. I never wore it again. Told Mum it was too small. She believed me.
18th December. Parents evening today. Mum told my chemistry teacher about my bad marks. I asked her not to. She said teachers ought to know. Then everyone found out. Edward Evans, bottom of the class. Steve Wells wouldnt leave me alone all day. I wanted to hit him but didnt. Mum would say I was being a thug.
Barbara closed the book, her hands shaking. She walked to the window. Still snowing, the garden eerily still. Years ago, children always played down there. Now, not a soul. Everyone inside with their screens.
Edward, too. In his new home. With his wife. Without her.
She opened the diary againmore to read.
9th January. New Years was boring. Mum cooked loads of food. Table was bursting. Dad and I ate what we could. Mum sulked because we didnt appreciate it. Dad said it was lovely, just too much. Mum shut up and was grumpy all night. I tried to eat more but couldnt. Didnt want to upset her.
14th February. Theres a girl I like. Her names Hannah. She sits at the front. I wanted to give her a card but Mum said I was too young for silly things. Said I should study, not think about girls. I didnt give her the card. She ignored me all week.
3rd March. Mum came to school again. Wanted to talk to PE teacher. She said I shouldnt run cross-country because Ive weak lungs. My lungs are fine. I only coughed after running once, so Mum said I was ill. Now everyone thinks Im feeble. I hate when she comes to school.
Barbara put the book in her lap. Something inside squeezed tight. She remembered that cough after games; shed panicked about bronchitis, spoke to the teacher. Thought she was protecting her son.
And he hated her for it.
No, not hatedjust words, really. He was a child. He didnt see it then.
She picked up the diary again.
22nd March. I asked Mum if I could sleep over at Dannys for his birthday. She said no. Said she cant sleep if Im not home. I said Im twelve. She said Im still her little boy. Im not. But I didnt bother arguing. Danny said Im under her thumb.
17th April. Mum checked my schoolbag. Said she wanted to look at my planner. Found a note from Hannah. Read it. Asked who she was and why shed written to me. I said just a classmate. Mum said I shouldnt be thinking about girls. She tore up the note. Now I feel stupid around Hannah.
Barbara gripped the exercise book tightly. She remembered that note. Just something about homeworknothing really. She had torn it up, thinking it was right: boys should work, not pass silly notes.
The next entries grew darkest.
12th May. I dont want to tell Mum anything anymore. She doesnt listen. Or she listens but does the opposite. I say I want one thing, she says I need another. Dad says Mum loves me in her own way. Im tired of that sort of love.
29th May. Last day at school. Everyone was happy. Dannys going to summer camp, I wanted to as well. Mum said Im going to Grannys in the country. I hate it there. But shed already bought the train ticket.
Barbara snapped the book shut. Her heart pounded unevenly. She paced the kitchen, drank a glass of tap water in one.
What was this? The prosecution speech of a twelve-year-old?
But she had loved himcared for him always. Wanted the best for him. Surely.
She sat again. Maybe later pages would be happier, written in a bad mood perhaps.
10th June. Im at Grannys. Its boring. Grannys kind but always feeds me too much. Says Im skinny. Im not skinny. Mum rang. Asked how I was. I said fine. Didnt want to upset her. But I want to go home. Or to camp with Danny. Anywhere but here.
25th June. Back home soon. Dad promised to pick me up by car. I miss Dad. He never gives advice or nags. Just sits with me and its okay. Mums always talking, suggesting, forbidding. Im tired.
The last entry was in August.
23rd August. Ive decided not to keep a diary anymore. Its useless. None of my thoughts change anything. Mums how she is. Dad too. Ill just be quiet and act normal. Easier that way.
Barbara dropped the notebook on the table. Her hands were steady now, but she felt frozen inside, as if someone had thrown cold water on her.
So it had started then, at twelve. Shed thought he was just growing up, changing. But hed simply begun to slip away. Quietly. Because hed learned that words made no difference at all.
She sat. Looked at the phone. Edward said hed ring in the evening. Would he?
And if he did, what would she say? She found his old diary and read it all? Now she understood what sort of mother shed been?
He wouldnt understand. Or hed take it the wrong way. Say it was long ago, all forgotten. But it wasnt, was it? Otherwise they wouldnt feel like strangers.
Sarah. That was why. Sarah had arrived three years ago and everything changed. Edward visited less, called less. Then they married, and hed almost vanished from Barbaras life altogether.
Barbara had never said aloud that she didnt like Sarah. But she truly didnt. Sarah was icy: polite, always smiling, but with nothing behind the smile. Sarah had stolen Edward, whisked him into a world where Barbara had no place.
Or perhaps, Edward had left of his own accord.
Maybe hed just waited for the excuse, and Sarah provided it.
Barbara walked to the sitting room, got out her phone, and typed: Edward, I need to speak to you. Please come this Saturday. It matters.
She sent it. Watched for the two ticks. Hed read it.
No reply. Five minutes, ten, half an hour, an hour.
Barbara lay on the sofa and closed her eyes. Phrases of the diary played before her mind: Im tired of that love; I wont tell her anything else; Its just easier.
When she woke, it was dark. At last, a message: Mum, really cant do Saturday. How about next weekend?
Barbara stared at the message for a while. Then she went to the kitchen. The exercise book still lay on the table.
She put it in a carrier bag. Pulled out the rest of the books from the cupboard, added them. Tied the handles. Carried it to the hall, set it by the door.
Tomorrow shed throw it out.
Or not. She wouldnt.
She went back to her room and texted: All right. Next Saturday. Ill wait.
The reply came a minute later: Deal.
Barbara switched off the light, lay in bed. But sleep didnt come. What would she say to Edward next weekend? Would she show him the diary? Explain she found it by accident and read it, and understood?
Understood what? That shed been a bad mother?
No. Not bad. Shed just loved him too much. Cared too hard. Feared too much for him.
And hed felt smothered.
Maybe he was right to.
Barbara sighed. The wind howled outside, a door banged somewhere close, neighbours clattered overhead; the world as always. Except inside her: empty.
*
On Saturday, Barbara got up early. Tidied the flatit was already spotless. She made cherry pie. Boiled the kettle. Laid the table.
Edward was meant to come at two.
By half one, she was already stationed by the window, looking down into the courtyard, waiting for his car. That pale Mondeo with tinted windows hed bought last year. A solid car, reliable, hed said. Barbara knew nothing about cars.
At two, he hadnt arrived.
At twenty past, she texted: Are you on your way?
Almost instantly: Yes, stuck in traffic. Half an hour.
He turned up at three. Alone.
Barbara opened the doorsaw how tired he looked; circles under his eyes, posture slumped. He hugged her quickly, awkwardly, and came inside.
Smells like pie, he said.
I made it. Your favourite.
Thanks, Mum.
He took off his coat, hung it up, followed her to the kitchen, sat down. She poured tea, sliced pie. He ate silently.
Sarah couldnt make it? she asked.
No. Shes working.
On a Saturday?
Deadline.
Barbara nodded, sat opposite, watching him eat. He did it quickly, mechanically, as if on some schedule.
Edward, she began, I need to talk to you.
He looked up, wary.
About what?
Us. You and me.
He put down his fork and leaned back.
Mum, please dont start about how little I visit
No. Not that. Well, yes, that too.
Barbara stood, fetched the carrier bag of school books and brought it in, set it by his plate.
Edward frowned. Whats all that?
Your old school stuff. I found it in the loft.
He scowled. Whyd you get it out?
I was clearing things. And I found… your diary.
His expression shifted instantly, body tensed.
My diary?
Yes. Year six. Do you even remember keeping one?
He stared at the bag as if it contained explosives.
I read it, Barbara said, quietly. Im sorry, but I did.
Edward stood suddenly. The chair scrapped back.
You read my diary?
I didnt mean to! I just….
By accident? Didnt it say Dont read on the front?
I know. But I didnt think
You never think! His voice rose. You just do what you want! Always!
Barbara recoiled, as if slapped.
Edward, I wanted to understand
Understand what? Why I moved out? Why I hardly visit? You really dont get it?
He grabbed the bag from the table.
Twenty years ago! I was a child! And you still cant let go!
I want to, Barbara whispered. I just dont know how.
Edward stared at her for a long time, then lowered himself back onto the chair, the bag on his knees.
You know, he said quietly, when I moved into my flat three years ago, it was the first time I felt like I could breathe. No one watching, no one to report to. Do you know what thats like?
Barbara said nothing.
I do love you, Mum. But I cant live near you. Its too much.
Why? she asked. What did I do wrong?
He sighed.
You didnt do anything wrong. You just… did too much. Cared too much. Controlled too much. I couldnt breathe without you checking.
I wanted you to be happy.
I know. But happiness isnt something you can gift by force. Everyone finds it for themselves.
Barbara looked down.
And Sarah? Does she make you happy?
Yes, Edward replied. She does. Because she never tries to change me. She just lets me be.
Barbara pressed her lips together, throat knotted.
So I never knew how to love you properly, she said.
You did. But in your own way. I grew up. I need something different.
He stood. Took the bag of books.
Ill take these. If thats okay.
Take them, she nodded.
Edward put on his coat, picked up his car keys.
Ive got to go. Sarahs waiting.
You didnt even finish your pie, Barbara murmured.
He turned. Glanced at the half-eaten slice, then at hersomething like pity in his face.
Sorry, he said. I really am full.
He left. Barbara stayed beside the kitchen table, listening to the stairwell door slam, the car start, the sound driving away.
Then she sat and wept.
*
Two months passed. Edward rarely called. He popped in once, dropped off some shopping, told her they were redoing their flat, so busy. Barbara didnt keep him.
She tried not to ring first. It was hard. Each day, she craved his voice, wanted to ask after him. But she resisted. Didnt want to be a nuisance. Not again.
In March, Edward phoned:
Mum, were having a housewarming Saturday. Want to come?
Barbara froze.
Housewarming?
Yeah, we finished the work. Want to celebrate. Sarahs parents, some mates. Will you come?
Of course, she replied quickly. Of course I will.
Great. Three oclock. Ill send you the address.
He didnew estate on the town’s edge. Shiny tower blocks with enormous windowsBarbara had never been out there.
She got ready all week. Bought a new navy dressmodest, smart. Baked a cherry pie in foil, packed in a plastic container. Brought a linen tableclotha gift for the flat. Shed embroidered it herself, long ago.
Saturday morning she rose early. Did her hair, touched up her face. Checked the mirrorlooked all right, not really old yet.
Ordered a taxi. The driver was young, in a baseball cap, radio blaring bassy music. Barbara watched out the windowold London blurring into new, each suburb taller, cleaner.
They arrived after forty minutes. The building was new, glassy, with an underground car park. Barbara stepped out, surveying the neatness, the childrens play area, young mums with prams.
She entered the foyer. The lift was vast, mirrored. She took it up to the ninth floor. Found the flat. Rang the bell.
Sarah opened the door.
Barbara! Come in! Her smile was wide but her eyes stayed cool, as always.
Barbara walked in; the hall was bright, spacious, smelling of fresh paint and baking.
Ed, your mums here! Sarah called.
Edward emerged, hugging Barbara.
Hi, Mum. All right getting here?
Yes, fine. Taxi.
Couldve picked you up.
Didnt want to be a bother.
Sarah took the pie.
Oh, you brought pie! Thank you!
She whisked it away to the kitchen. Barbara removed her coat, Edward hung it in a wardrobe.
Come on, he said, Let me show you round.
He led her about. Big lounge with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. A sunlit bedroom, massive bed and fitted wardrobes. A little study, tidy. Kitchen-diner, all modern, with an island.
Its beautiful, Barbara said. Really.
Sarah designed everything. All her ideas.
Sarah breezed out holding a tray of snacks.
What ideas? she asked.
Told Mum you did all the design, picked furniture, colours.
Sarah grinned. Thank you. I wanted it bright and airy.
Its lovely, Barbara nodded.
There was a knock; Edwards mates arrivedloud, laughing couples. Then Sarahs parents: her dad, tall, bespectacled; mum, round, hair dyed copper. They greeted Barbara politely, but clearly.
Everyone gathered in the lounge. Sarah served wine, Edward told stories about the refurb, photos passed around, everyone laughed, admired.
Barbara sat at the corner of the sofa, silent. She had nothing to add. These people belonged to another worldchatting about designers, brands, holidays. She didnt even know what half their words meant.
And you, Barbara, retired long? Sarahs mum asked.
Two years.
Gets dull, all alone in the flat? she went on.
Sometimes, Barbara admitted.
Any hobbies? Knitting, embroidery?
I do a bit.
Oh, how sweet! I cant sew a stitch. Useless with my hands. She laughed, turned to her husband. Barbara felt a cold twist insideHow sweet, as if addressing a child pleased with a drawing.
Barbara stood.
Sorry, wheres your loo?
In the hall, right, Sarah directed.
Barbara slipped out. Washed her face in the chilly water. In the glass, her face looked pale, eyes downcast. Old. A fossil amid the young.
She wiped her face dry, passed into the corridor. Voices drifted from the lounge; music played quietly, modern, unfamiliar.
Barbara wandered into the study. She just wanted to sit quietly, away from laughter. The study was tiny. Desk by the window, shelves of books, a chair in the corner. Laptop on the desk, papers scattered. On a shelf, framed photosEdward by the sea with Sarah, with friends, Sarah alone, smiling.
Barbara looked closely. On these photos, Edward actually looked happyrelaxed. Like he hadnt in years.
On the bottom shelf she spotted, to her surprise, that old blue diary. The same one.
She reached out, picked it up, flicked through. Same childish, wobbly writing, those same haunting lines.
A wild thought occurred to her.
Mad, wrong, but clear.
What if she read this diary aloud? To everyone? What if she showed Sarah how Edward really felt, how hard things had been? Perhaps then Sarah would see how much care and tenderness, how much vulnerability, lived in Edward.
Perhaps, then, these people could see Barbara as more than a nuisancesee her as a mother, the one whod known Edward best.
She clutched the diary tight. Heart galloping. It was risky, it would anger Edward terribly.
But what if it was the only way? The only chance to bring him back?
She walked into the lounge. Everyone sat chatting around the table.
Barbara! Edward smiled. Come, Mum, join us, were about to make a toast.
She paused by the table. Put the diary down, quietly but in full view.
Sarah eyed it.
Whats that?
Edwards old diary, Barbara said. Year Six.
Edwards face turned white.
Mum, what are you doing?
I want to read something, Barbara said. Its important.
Mum, no
But she was already reading aloud.
Heres the entry from 15th September: Danny brought a new hamster to school
Mum, stop! Edward leapt up.
But Barbara pressed on, voice trembling but clear: I felt sorry for Biscuit. Hes tiny, must have been scared. You see? Edward was always a gentle, sensitive boy. He needs understanding. Care.
Barbara Sarah started, but Barbara ignored her.
And heres 23rd September, she turned the page, Mum got really cross. I forgot to ring after school
Thats enough! Edward yanked the book away. Are you mad?!
The room fell dead silent. Everyone watched. Sarah stood.
Edward, lets not
Not what? he bit back. Did you hear her? Reading my childhood diary in front of everyone!
Theyre not strangers, Barbara whispered. Theyre your friends. Your wife. They should
Should what? Know my life was miserable? That my mother smothered me? They already know!
Barbara stepped back.
Edward
Ive asked, over and over, dont invade my life. Give me space. And here you go again! Deciding what to show, what to tell, how to manage everything!
I just wanted
You wanted to get me back! he blurted. Get that little Edward who depended on you. Hes gone. Im someone else now.
He strode to the door. Opened it.
Please go.
Barbara blinked. Everyone watched herembarrassed, pitying.
Edward, please, lets talk, Sarah said softly.
Not with her. Not now.
Barbara put on her coat, fingers trembling. Edward stayed by the door, face blank stone.
Im sorry, she whispered.
He didnt reply.
She left. The door closed softly behind her. On the landing, she heard the faint murmur of voices, uncertain and subdued.
She rode the lift down. Outside, wind tossed her hair. She walked along the pavement, not knowing where to go, finally calling a taxi.
She waited a long timetwenty minutes. Watching up at the ninth-floor windows. The lights blazed; life going on where she no longer belonged.
*
Three weeks passed. Edward didnt call. Neither did Barbara. She knew that if she phoned, he might not answer. Or he would, and say something final.
She lived as if dreaming: rising, doing chores, staring at the television. Cooking but not eating. Lying awake at night.
Her sister telephoned, asking after her. Barbara replied that all was fine. Her sister didnt believe her, but didnt push.
In April, spring crept in. The snow melted, green shoots appeared. In the courtyard, the trees budded; children with scooters and footballs emerged.
Barbara watched through the window, remembering Edwardlittle Edward, in his blue jacket, knees always scraped.
The phone rang.
She startled. It was Edward.
Her heart lurched.
Hello?
Hi, Mum.
His voice was calm, measured. As if nothing had happened.
Hello, Edward.
A pause.
How are you?
Im fine. And you?
Fine.
Another long silence.
Listen, Mum. I need to say something.
Barbara gripped the phone tight.
Go on.
Ive done a lot of thinking. After what happened. We cant go on like this.
I know, she whispered. Im sorry. I shouldnt have
Its not just that, he cut in. Its that you cant let me go. And I live with this guilt.
I dont want you to feel guilty
But I do. Every time I ignore the phone. Every time I say no to a visit. Every time I see you looking sad.
She closed her eyes.
What are you saying?
Im saying we need space. True space. Not just physical. Emotional.
You dont want to speak to me?
I do. But differently. Not just as dutiful son and mum. As two grown adults, who choose to speak, not out of obligation.
I dont understand.
Edward sighed.
I wont visit every week. Wont call on schedule. Ill come when I feel like it. Call when I have something to say. You need to accept that. No guilt, no pressure, no trying to fix whats done.
Barbara was silent, throat tight.
Do you hear me, Mum?
I hear you.
And you agree?
She wanted to say no; to scream that this was unjust, she was his mother, had a right to see him, he was all she had.
But instead: I agree.
Thank you.
Another pause.
Ill ring when I can. Promise.
All right.
Bye, Mum.
Bye.
He hung up.
Barbara sat by the window, watching the children in the courtyardthe mothers with shopping bags, the cars passing by.
Life continued. Just without her.
She stood, made tea, took out a cup, and sat at the table.
The old newspaper was there. She read it. Motorways, the elections, the weather.
It didnt matter.
Nothing mattered.
*
A month passed. No word from Edward, and Barbara didnt phone. She played by the rules, waited.
May brought bright apple blossoms, the scent of new life. Barbara opened the windows, letting fresh air into the flat.
She ventured out morewalks in the park, time on a bench, feeding birds. Some days she chatted with neighboursabout the weather, costs, aches and pains.
Nothing important. But it distracted her.
One morning, about to head for her walk, the phone rang.
Edward.
She picked up.
Hello?
Hi, Mum. How are you?
Good. You?
Yeah, good. Weve some news.
Oh?
Sarahs pregnant.
Barbara sat hard on a chair.
Pregnant?
Yes. Early days, about three months. Just found out.
Barbara pressed a hand to her mouth.
Thats… Thats wonderful, Edward.
Yeah, were really pleased. Wanted you to know.
Thank you, for telling me.
Pause.
Mum, I want you in their life. As a grandma. But
But at a distance, she finished for him.
Yes. At a distance.
Barbara closed her eyes. Inside, everything ached. But she smiled. At least in her voice, a smile.
I understand. Ill be a good grandmother. The quiet sort.
Thanks, Mum.
Edward… I love you.
A pause.
I love you too. In my way.
I know.
He said goodbye and hung up.
Barbara sat at the kitchen table, phone flat by her tea. Outside, blackbirds chattered, children shouted. Music somewhere.
She thought: Soon, therell be a grandchild. A tiny new person.
Shed be grandma. Not to parent, not to instruct, just to be there. Somewhere, not near. From afar.
Perhaps, thats for the best.
Maybe shed never known how to love rightor give freedom, or let go.
But she could learn.
She must learn.
Barbara got up, went to the windowlooked out at the blossoming trees, the sky.
Life went on.
She must, too.
Somehow.
She shrugged into her coat, left the flat, and joined the world. Past familiar houses, past faces no one knew.
Just another womanolder now, quietly aloneone of many.
Barbara walked to the park, sat on a bench, and scattered breadcrumbs to the birds. Sparrows crowded at her feet, arguing and fluttering.
She watched them, thinking: They are free. No ties. Go where they like.
She, meanwhile, was boundbound to a son shed lost, to a past that could not return.
Maybe thats what letting go feels like. Sitting on a park bench, feeding birds, looking up at sky, knowing somewhere out there is a person who was once everything, who is now only there. And thats enough.
It must be enough.
Barbara stood, brushed the crumbs from her skirt, and walked home. Slowly. Not hurrying.
At home, she made tea, sat by the window, and picked up the book shed meant to read for ages. She turned to the first page.
The phone was silent.
And that was all right.
