Youll be staying home with the kids, my wife announced before the holidays, completely unaware of how things would unfold.
Helen was standing at the stove, stirring the soup, when she heard me.
Im off to Johns for fishing. Three days, maybe four, I threw over my shoulder.
She didnt even turn around. Her hand, gripping the ladle, stopped midair above the pot.
But Lauras dropping the children off the day after tomorrow, she replied quietly.
So? Youll be here anyway. Its not too much for you, is it? I replied, genuinely surprised.
When our children were five and seven, it was tough for her to look after them alone when I headed off on business trips. When they were ill, shed be up all night and still go to work every morning. When the kids grew up and started bringing their own children over, it was hard again. Because Grans at home, Its not a bother for Gran, Gran can handle it.
And somehow, Helen managed. Every time.
Helen, she turned finally, Sarah invited me to Bath. Ten days at the spa. I was considering it
Considering it? I smirked. Helen, really? Wholl look after the grandchildren? Laura cant get time off work, David’s always travelling. Youre their mother. Their grandmother. Surely you care?
Of course she cared.
But why was it always her?
Im leaving tomorrow, I kissed the top of her head, like she was a child. Got the rods packed. Johns waiting. Dont get down. Youll cope.
The door slammed behind me.
Helen switched off the stove.
She sat at the table.
Thirty-six years shed been saying no.
No to tripsbecause someone had to stay with the kids. No to jobsbecause family comes first. No to meeting friendsbecause Im tired, let your husband rest. No to livingfor someone else always had to be put first.
And Helen?
Didnt she ever get tired?
She took out her phone.
Found Sarahs message: Helen, are you coming? The tickets still available, but I need your answer by tomorrow.
Her fingers shook.
She typed: Im coming.
Pressed send.
Then she got up, opened the wardrobe, and pulled out her suitcase.
Next morning, I woke up in a good mood.
Humming tunelessly, I packed my rucksack. Fishing rods already by the door, flask, sleeping bageverything sorted.
Helen, is the coffee on? I shouted from the hallway.
Silence.
She was sat in the kitchen, dressed, in her coat. Her suitcase beside her.
I halted in the doorway.
Where are you off to?
To Bath. For ten days. Sarahs waiting, she answered calmly.
I blinked, then laughed.
Youre joking, right? The kids turn up tomorrow!
They do.
Whos looking after them, then?!
Helen looked at melong and careful, as if seeing me for the first time.
You, she said. Their father and grandfather.
Im going fishing!
And Im going to Bath.
Helen, have you lost your mind? my voice cracked with panic. Ive arranged this! Johns expecting me! Weve been planning for a month!
Ive been planning for a year, she said quietly. Had to wait for Davids wedding, then Laura had the baby, then more time with the grandkids, then your flu, then the holidays, never-ending.
She stood.
Fastened her coat.
Always someone more important than me.
Whats that got to do with it? I snapped, pacing the kitchen. Youre their mother! Their gran! You have responsibilities!
And you dont?
I was silent.
No responsibilities? she picked up her bag. The kidsare they only mine? The grandkidsmy job alone? The housejust for me? And youre just a resident?
I work!
So did I, for thirty years. Then left my job because you said: stay with the grandchildren, help Laura. So I did. I helped. And you?
I swallowed.
Helen, its justits family, isnt it? I never realised it was so hard for you.
And when did you think about it? she moved to the door. When I was in hospital and you went to a work do? When my mum was dying and you said Ill manage, you had a trip? When, exactly?
I didnt reply.
Im a person too, Martin, she gripped the handle. I have a right to my life as well.
Wait! I stepped towards her. What about the kids? I wont manage with them!
You will, she smiled. Youre a man. Strong. Independent.
Helen!
But the door had already closed behind her.
I stood there, lost and frustrated.
Called John.
Mate, cant make it. Kids are coming over, Helensnot well.
Hung up.
Sat on the sofa.
Stared at my phone. Should I call Laura? Tell her Grans gone, theyll have to make it work themselves?
But her words sounded in my head: Youre their father and grandfather.
Id never really thought about it. It just happenedkids grew up, Helen handled them, I worked and brought home the money. Isnt that normal?
Is it my fault?
Rubbed my face.
Got up.
Headed for the kitchenId have to cook something. Kids were coming early tomorrow.
Opened the fridgeempty.
Well, not quite empty, butwhat do I even do with this?
Eggs, milk, some veg.
Right. Ill get by.
Im not an idiot.
Just never tried before.
By evening, the place was still tidyHelen had left it spotless. But something felt off.
Normally she was bustling round the kitchen, ironing, sewing something. Even when silent, her presence filled the flat.
Nowempty.
I went to bed early. But I couldnt sleep.
Kept thinking: what if she doesnt come back?
The next morning, the kids arrived at nine.
Laura, lugging two bags, five-year-old Toby already racing down the hallway. Dave showed up half an hour later with his wife Emily and their three-year-old, Sophie, in his arms.
Morning, Dad! Laura kissed my cheek. Wheres Mum?
I coughed.
Shes gone. To Bath.
Silence hung in the air.
Whatshe just up and left? Lauras eyes widened. When?
Yesterday.
Right before the holidays?! Dave whistled. Youre serious?
Dead serious, I muttered.
Laura took off her scarf slowly and perched on the sofa. She stared at me for ages.
And she justleft?
Yeah.
Dad, Dave joined his sister, whats happened?
Nothing happened! I grumbled. She fancied a breakso she went. Not like I stopped her!
Alright, Dave stood, lets not get into it. Mums gone, and good for her. Well have to manage.
By lunchtime, the flat was chaos.
Toby spilt juice on the carpet. Sophie was crying. Emily tried to use the microwave and accidentally stuck a metal bowl in itsparks, smoke, stench.
Dad, where does Mum keep the baby food? Laura shouted from the kitchen.
How should I know?!
Dad, Sophie has a feverwheres the thermometer? Dave yelled.
No idea!
And the medicine cabinet?!
I dont know!
I sat hunched on the sofa, head in my hands.
How did Helen cope with all this?
By evening, I was shattered. The kids retreated to their old bedroomsDaves and Lauras. I stayed in the kitchen.
I sat at the table and pulled out my phone.
Stared at a picture of Helen.
She was smiling; Id taken it last year, down in Devon. I hadnt even noticed how tired shed looked. I just didnt look.
I typed:
Helen, Im sorry.
Sent the message.
No reply.
The next morning, Laura and Dave left, their children in tow.
Over the next three days, I learned how to heat up food, wash dishes, put the grandchildren to bedthough not without difficulty. Toby kept crying for Gran, Sophie sobbed at night.
Helen arrived back ten days later.
I met her at the stationalone. Laura and Dave had taken the kids back the day before.
I spotted her walking down the platform, looking younger, tanned, wheeling a new suitcase and wearing a smart coat.
Refreshed. Lighter somehow.
Helen, I stepped forward, taking her suitcase.
She looked at me calmly, not angry, not upset.
Hello, Martin.
We got in the car.
Drove without speaking.
Eventually, I couldnt hold it in.
Im sorry.
She said nothing.
I didnt understand. All those years, I thought that was how it should be. That you enjoyed it.
So did I, Helen murmured. For a long time. Thought it was my duty. That I had to. That refusing made me a bad mother, wife, gran.
She gazed out the window.
Then realisedIve a life too.
When we got home, the flat still smelled cleanId tidied up before she arrived. Bought flowers. Cooked dinnerbadly, clumsily, but on my own.
Helen did a circuit of the rooms, then paused at the kitchen doorway.
You cooked?
Had a go, I scratched my head, embarrassed. Wasnt much good, but I tried.
She smiled.
Thank you.
We sat down.
How are the grandchildren? she asked.
We managed. Barely, but we did.
I poured tea and slid her a cup.
Helenlets make a deal. If ever you want to go awayjust go. If youre tiredtake a break. If you need helpask.
She stared at me, long and searching.
You mean it?
I do.
A month later, I was the one to suggest:
What do you say we pop down South for a week? Just us. No kids, no grandkids. Just you and me.
Helen smiled:
What about fishing?
That can wait, I said, pulling her close. You matter more.
And for the first time, she truly believed me.
