Obsessed with a Dream
“Come on, love, just say yes! Really, think about itwhat can your parents offer you?” my gran Joan was coaxing me, her tone brisk yet oddly caring. “A pokey little flat, an old banger of a car, not a lot of prospects, let’s be honest. But with Auntie Linda, youd live like royalty! Your own roomall newly done up, top-end gaming computer, the latest bike anything your heart desires!”
I looked at Gran with real sympathy. It almost seemed like she didnt hear herself. I gave her hand a gentle stroke and asked, as softly as I could manage, “Gran, are you feeling alright? They say on the telly that medicine these days can sort anything. Maybe I should ask Mum to take you to the doctor for a check-up? I think youd worry less, you know?”
She looked at me, her eyebrows shooting up in surpriseclearly not the turn of conversation shed imagined. “Jack, whatever makes you think Im unwell? I feel perfectly fine!” she insisted.
But I frowned. “Then why are you saying such odd things? Why would I leave Mum and Dad and move in with Auntie Linda? She’s… well, a bit odd, if Im honestI dont even like going round for visits.”
Gran bristled, straightening in her seat, her voice swelling with conviction. “Nothing of the sort! Lindas wonderfully attentiveand caring!”
“She makes me eat that nasty unsweetened porridge,” I grimaced, shuddering at the memory, “and makes me wear a jumperat the height of summer! Plus, she sends me up for a nap after lunch like Im five. Gran, I mean itshe is strange!” I couldn’t hide my annoyance. How could anyone dream up such bizarre rules and expect me to just go along with them?
Gran wasn’t backing down, not for a second. In her mind, her daughter could do no wrongher way with children was superior, end of. “Porridge is packed with goodness!” she shot back, putting on her best persuasive tone. “Linda only leaves out the sugar to protect your teeth. And the jumperthere was a chilly breeze! You couldve caught a cold, and Im afraid your parents just arent mindful about that sort of thing!” Gran sounded like someone convinced shed cornered the market on truth.
“At thirty degrees out? Come on, GranIm twelve! Even the doctors say you can get heatstroke if you overheat. Anyway, I really dont want to argue all evening. Auntie Linda really is… unusual. Mum doesnt even answer her calls anymoreyou know itll be another endless lecture that goes nowhere.” My words tumbled out in a rush, desperate to say my piece and be done with it. “Dad wont even let her pop round anymore!”
Gran pursed her lips with stubborn resolve. Maybe my words held a kernel of truth but, in her eyes, her daughter was always rightshe simply knew better than my ‘hopeless’ mother.
“Lindas read hundreds of books on child psychology and upbringing!” Gran insisted, her voice rising louder than she meant. “She absolutely knows how to raise a healthy, well-rounded child! Your mumwell, lets just say shes hardly thorough about it, is she?”
It was all I could do not to raise my own voice. I was so tired of these debates. Was there any way to make Gran understand she was wrong? Taking a deep breath, I tried to keep it together. “I get top marks at school. I do sports, Im fit as anything…” I let my eyes flick to the door, hoping Mum might walk in at any moment. The thought soothed me a bit.
Gran barely let me finish before snapping, “Karate! Thats a terribly dangerous sport! How could your mother let you do that?” She really meant it. The first time shed seen one of my bruises, shed kicked up such a fuss, demanding I quit straight away. “Totally irresponsible!”
Just then Mum appeared in the doorway. She sensed the tension instantly, didnt waste a second, and strode over, holding her hand out for me. I shot off the sofa and ran to her sideanything for a bit of protection.
“Joan, if you want a relationship with your grandson, youll have to drop these daft schemes,” Mum said firmly, hugging me tight. “Ive had enough! First it was complaints to Social Services, as if were not fit parents, now youre stuffing Jacks head with nonsense! As for Lindajust dont bring her up at all! Or do you think nobody can rein her in?”
Gran went a funny shade, but she recovered quickly enough and put on her best wounded face, as if she was the one being wronged. “Im only thinking of the boy! Linda wants whats bestshes always dreamt of children, and you… you ruined that dream for her!” she said, her words heavy with accusation, even as she tried to sound controlled. “And now youre still at it!”
Mum didnt even flinch. She looked Gran straight in the eye, practically daring her to push back. “She should try adoption. Shes well off enough. And if you cant stop interfering, youll lose the right to see your grandkids altogether. Goodbye.” She took my hand, looking, for once, pleased to have got the last word.
“The cheek of it!” Mum muttered, watching as Gran put on her shoes, barely hiding her eagerness to see her off. “Trying to bribe you with gifts and your own room! And to say we cant give you a decent future”
I reached for my mums hand and gave her a warm smile, wanting her to know I was alright. “Dont worry, Mum,” I told her quietly. “Its just Auntie Linda. Grans just trying to help her.”
Mum sighed deeply, pushing away bad thoughts. She ruffled my hair and nodded. “Right, love, head to the kitchen. I picked up a cakelets have some tea.”
At that, my mood brightened. I practically raced for the kitchen, imagining the cake, while Mum lingered a moment, lost in her own thoughts. She knew all too well that the real problem wasnt really Gran. The trouble stemmed from Auntie LindaDads sister.
Linda, at 32, lived a life of comfort and plenty thanks to a good marriage. Whenever we met, she managed to drop hints about her new car, her latest shopping spree, a holiday abroad, or shoot a certain look at Mums shoes or my coat. Always subtlenever outright boastingbut the difference was never missed. Her one great sorrow was her inability to have children. Shed lived a wild life in her younger days, and now she was told by doctors that it simply wasnt possible. Her husband already had sons from another marriage, and it didnt trouble him, but for Linda, it was unbearable. She was obsessed with the idea of motherhoodso obsessed, it began to warp how she treated the rest of us.
Things got really odd after Mum had my little brother. Suddenly, Linda started saying the baby should come and live with her. She kept at it, becoming more and more pushy, refusing to listen to any arguments at all.
Dad took it very seriously. He wouldnt let Linda anywhere near our flathe wasnt risking anything happening to us. He made it clear: no one gets near the baby without his say-so.
Lindas husband had to step in at one point. None of us knew what was said, but whatever it was, Linda calmed down for a bit, even apologised to Dad. But it didnt last
A few weeks later, Linda was back, with a new, utterly bonkers suggestion. She cornered Mum at Grans once, and, not beating about the bush, announced, “Ill pay you to have a baby for me! Youd be able to afford a proper place, not this shoebox youre living in!”
Mum froze, not sure if she should laugh or be angry. One look told her Linda was stone-cold serious.
The idea of being a surrogate mother horrified Mum. She couldnt imagine going through pregnancy, feeling a life growing inside her, only to give that baby away at the end. She felt sick to her stomach just thinking about it.
Mums refusal only made Linda more determined. She started calling up with bigger and bigger offers, promising new housing, financial security, better futures for us boys.
And when money didnt work, she started showing up at our building, waiting for hours on the landing. She never tried to barge inshe just waited and hoped someone might talk. It was unsettling, to say the least.
Mum realised this had to stop. She went to Gran, hoping shed see sense and rein Linda in. Mum tried to be calm, explained how strange and even disturbing Lindas behaviour was, suggested maybe she needed help.
But Gran just brushed her off. “Whats so wrong about helping family? Were meant to support each other!”
To her, there was nothing peculiar about Lindas demandsit was simply family loyalty, in her eyes.
Eventually, unable to take any more, Mum told Gran the truth. “I cant have any more children. The doctors advised me against even the second child. Any more and I could end up disabled for life. I wont risk it. Please explain this to your daughterand if Linda wants a child, tell her to go through a clinic.”
Gran only raised her eyebrows, disappointed but swiftly practical. “Thats unfortunate… It would have been simpler with youwe couldve kept everything under control. With some stranger, theres no guarantee. Oh well. If you cant help, just get on with your life.”
Her indifference hurt more than anything she could have shouted. Fighting down the urge to snap, Mum left quietly.
Back at home, she told Dad everything. About the calls, the visits, the pressure, the cold reactions. Her voice shook, but she wanted Dad to understand every detail. Dad listened quietly, then promised to sort it. He, too, realised we couldnt take any more of this.
Lindas hunt for a surrogate fizzled out. After Mums honestyand probably a stern chat with Dadshe seemed to lose heart for a while, but she couldnt stay idle for long.
She poured her energy into lecturing us about the proper way to raise children. Shed read so many books, studied so many theories, and was absolutely convinced she knew bestbetter than our own parents. Each visit was like a mini seminar: what to feed us, how to dress, rules, punishmentson and on.
Four years passed, and suddenly Linda hit on her latest genius scheme: win me over, have me move in, and raise me right. It was as if she thought I was just waiting to be spoiled with expensive toys and trips, and, in time, Id simply stay forever.
She couldnt have been more wrong. I didnt just avoid herI dreaded every visit. Her immaculate flat, all the gleaming furniture and gadgets, was just cold and uncomfortable, and her talk about the wonders of living there made me want nothing more than to race back home. If she offered for me to stay a while, I always found a quick excuseschoolwork, mates, feeling poorly.
When she couldnt lure me herself, she got Gran involved. Gran took to her latest project with gusto, describing at length all the perks of living with Auntie Linda, reminding me that family helps each other. But it made no differenceI stood my ground. Home was where Mum and Dad were, and that wasnt up for discussion.
So Linda and Gran got even more drasticwriting to Social Services, claiming Mum and Dad were neglecting us, letting us fall behind at school, surrounding us with the wrong friendseven suggesting abuse! Each report was carefully worded, exhaustive, as if the fate of the nation rested on it.
None of it worked. Social Services came more than once, checked up on us, talked to us and looked around. But there was nothing to findwe were happy, healthy, doing well at school. Once again, all the claims were dismissed, but Linda kept pressing, convinced that if she just pushed a bit harder, shed win.
The whole time, Mum lived with her nerves stretched to breaking point. Every knock at the door sent her heart racing. She dreaded that one day all this interference might actually cause harmor even worse, tear us apart. She thought about divorce, about moving to another citybut every time she looked at Dad, she knew she couldnt. She loved him, loved us as a family, too much to let the others destroy that.
One evening, while my brother and I were asleep, Dad came into the lounge, sat next to Mum, and quietly said, “Just hang on, love. I spoke to my boss about a transfer. The firms in towns all across the country, and hes agreedIll be moved in a month. We wont tell anyone where.”
Mum looked at him wearily. She should have been relieved, but”With Lindas money, shell still be able to track us down,” she said, defeated. “Theyll never stop. Every move, every decisionscrutinized. How long can we hide?”
Dad just pulled her closer, trying to share some strength. “Let her husband handle her,” he said quietly. “Ive talked to some peoplethings could get awkward for him if this goes on. Reputation matters, where he works.”
Mum didnt ask for details. It was enough to know Dad would do whatever it took. Somewhere deep down, hope flickered: maybejust maybethings were turning for the better.
As moving day crept nearer, Mum found herself quietly saying goodbye to everything familiar. The park where wed play on Sundays, the little bakery at the corner, the neighbours garden where we kicked a ball after school. Mum knew it would be hardest for us boysespecially for me at twelve. Here, I had friends, school, my beloved karate club.
One night, Mum sat down next to me and spoke gently. “Jack, you do understand why we have to move?”
I met her eyes, and honestly, I wasnt angryjust resigned. “Yeah, Mum, I get it. Ill miss my mates, the club, but… if it means no more lectures and visits and reports, then fine. Were family. Were meant to stick together, arent we?”
She hugged me, and I could feel the tension that had lived in our home for years finally starting to ease.
The sale went through with surprising speed. Despite all of Lindas comments about our tiny dump, buyers lined upthe neighbourhood was good, the layout decent, the schools nearby. The agent worked tirelessly and the sale was signed in a week.
No last-minute hitches, no unexpected problems. Mum and Dad triple-checked everything. Now, nothing could stop the move. A brand-new start awaited us elsewhere. It wouldnt be easy, but it was their chance for a future with some peace at long last.
*******************
“Good afternoon again, Mrs Watkins,” said the woman from Social Services. She was in her forties, smartly dressed with a kindly-but-businesslike manner, and Mum had come to know her well by now. You could tell the woman would rather be anywhere than poking round peoples homes for more complaintsshe just had a job to do.
“Let me guess, another one from Joan?” Mum sighed, motioning for her to come into the kitchen and putting on the kettle out of sheer habit. “What are we supposed to have done this time?” she asked, pouring coffee.
“I believe she visited you yesterday, is that right?” the woman said, taking the mug gratefully. Not all parents were so hospitable to social workers.
“Yes, she came to try and convince Jack to move in with Linda. Bit of a wasted tripJacks not going anywhere.”
“So, this morning, Joan rang us again,” the woman said, pausing. “She showed a photo of Will with a nasty scrape on his forehead and claimed youd been violent.”
Mums jaw clenched, but she kept her calm. “Oh, for heavens sake. Give me a moment.”
She dashed off and returned with the laptop, finding a particular video. “Look,” she said, tapping play.
On the screen, my little brother Will wriggles out of Grans arms and dashes off, trips over the leg of a chair, and cracks his head against the table. Instead of comforting him, Gran whips out her phone and takes quick photos as he wails.
The social worker nodded along, her frown softening. “Yes, I see. You really have your hands full with that one,” she said gently, setting her mug down. “She always seems to find another way.”
Mum closed the laptop, keeping her composure, but I could see just how much it rattled her. “Were leaving in a couple of days,” she said, her voice low, gazing out the window. “From now on, photos will be the only way shell see the boys.”
************************
When Linda finally realised her schemes were finished, she stormed up and down the flat, clenching her fists and muttering, “This cant be it! I need to speak to SteveI need to make him see sense”
She was about to dial Dads number when her husband walked in and stopped her. “Linda, enough. Reallyits time you dropped all this.”
“But you dont get it!” she snapped. “I just want”
“I do get it,” he cut in. “But if you keep this up, its over between us. I mean it. There are already people warning me this has to end. So you choosepeace, or”
He didnt finish the threat, but it hung in the air. Linda slumped into a chair, realising that, for once, there was nothing else she could do. Her husband never joked about these things.
Out in her own flat, Joan sat by the window, gazing down at the street with a troubled expression, replaying the last few months in her head: all the arguing, the pushing, the endless efforts to “help”, to change what couldnt be changed.
“Did I go too far?” she thought, absentmindedly plucking at the tablecloth.
She watched the kids in the playground, recalling Jack and Will, their laughter, their bright little faces. She used to pop by for a cup of tea, lend a hand with homework. Now, all of it felt lost.
She still passed their photo on the shelf every morning, and every time, her chest tightened at the thought: now, shed see her grandsons only in photographsA soft knock came at Joans door, startling her from her thoughts. She shuffled over hesitantly and cracked it open to a thin sliver, expecting perhaps a neighbor, or the postbut it was neither. On her doormat lay a square envelope, her name on it in the familiar careful handwriting of her daughter-in-law. No note slipped inside, just a pair of recent photos: Will in the park, cheeks smudged with cake, and Jack grinning, holding his karate certificate high. On the back, in small letters, was written: *Were safe. The boys are happy. Please wish them well.*
Joans chest tightened with a pang of loss, but also, deep inside, a slow, warming sense of relief. For once she saw not what she wanted, but what truly wasthe boys happy, their lives untouched by dreams that were never hers to shape.
Far away, as dusk slipped in softly through new curtains, Jack stood with his family in the middle of their new front room. Mum set down a final cardboard box and Dad let out a long, contented sigh. For a moment, it was just the four of themno phones ringing, no pounding at the door, no anxious glances to the window.
Mum smiled. “Here we are. Our new beginning.”
Jack pressed his forehead to the window and spotted a field stretching away, the outline of a playground just beyond. He turned to his little brother and whispered, “Race you to the swings tomorrow?”
Will nodded, already half-asleep on Dads shoulder, and Jack felt the strange edge of fear finally fadereplaced by the wild hope of everything still to come.
In that quiet dusk, their future opened, simple and brighta patchwork stitched not from gifts or grand houses, not from someone elses fierce longing, but from love. Their own.
And somewhere far away, Joan gazed long at the second photograph, tracing Jacks smile with her thumb until, at last, she allowed herself to smile backsoft and sad, but real all the same.
