On the cramped balcony, Natalie watched her motherinlaw sitting in the gloom on the bench outside the flat with a mixture of pity and indecision. Should she call her over? If she did, Margaret Mathews would lift her tired face, shake her head and mutter that shed stay a little longer. The old woman only ventured out for fresh air when the bench was empty; the chatter of her peers about council tax hikes, soaring grocery bills and the like was a foreign language to her. Shed spent her whole life in a Yorkshire village and, for the past two years, had been forced to live with her son and daughterinlaw.
Its really got her down, Natalie sighed, turning to her husband, James. We should grant her wish.
Not just yet, James replied. We still have a few things to sort before we can move her.
Two years earlier a fire had reduced Margarets cottage to a charred skeleton, leaving only the foundation. The blaze had devoured everything the henhouse, the small greenhouse, even the garden shed. She had been at the market that day, hawking the cucumbers and tomatoes she grew herself. Whether a faulty wiring or a forgotten kettle sparked the inferno, the wind fed the flames and, within minutes, she stood amid ash. Villagers still shuddered when they recalled her sprinting across the sootblackened yard, screaming as the fire roared. Though the chickens survived, the house had been her greatest asset.
After Margaret suffered a stroke, her son Ian and Natalie took her in. For months she lay halfparalysed, but slowly she began to take steps again.
Mother, please rest a bit longer; youll tire yourself out walking, Natalie urged.
No, Im getting stronger. Soon Ill be back up in the village, Margaret replied.
Everyone concluded that Margarets mind had slipped. Could she have forgotten what had happened? The family began to pry, gently coaxing details.
Do you think Ive lost my mind? Margaret asked Natalie with a wry smile. Of course not. I remember the house burning, lying in the hospital. Im thinking of moving in with my neighbour, Pauline shes a widow too. Ill help her around the house, collect my pension and rebuild slowly. I know youre not well off either; my granddaughter is growing up and Im crowding her room. Im a burden here.
No one wanted to tell her that Pauline had died just weeks before, and that her cottage was now being fought over by relatives, each threatening legal action. They feared another stroke. Pauline had been Margarets closest confidante, not only emotionally but because she lived next door. Margaret also had a beloved younger sister, Annie, who lived up in the North where the climate was harsher. Their brothersIan and his younger brother Danielwere often away, while Mick, the eldest, spent his life at sea as a motorengineer, forever on a ships watch.
What weighed on Margaret most was sharing her granddaughter Lucys tiny student flat, a room Lucy couldnt even invite friends into. It seemed to her that teenage girls ought to gather at someones house.
Grandma, thats oldfashioned now; we all chat online! Lucy explained.
Whats this online you speak of? Margaret asked, bewildered. Cant we at least share a cup of tea?
Margaret didnt want to be a burden to Ian and Natalie, aware of their modest means. She tried to help with cleaning and cooking, but her left hand trembled and she moved with great effort. When she learned of Paulines death, tears streamed down her cheeks and she declared:
My dears, Im sorry to be difficult, but Ive decided: place me in a care home. Ian, you have power of attorneyI signed it at the hospitalso you can arrange everything. Please, I need company. If it costs too much, sell my plot. It may be cheap, but any money helps.
Natalie, Ian and Lucy were furious, yet gradually Margarets insistence wore them down. Ian started the paperwork, saying hed already sold the land, but the bureaucracy of the care home was a nightmare. He handed cash to the director, who still stalled, waiting for his turn. Autumn was creeping in; the family longed for peace.
One evening, after her stroll, Margaret burst through the doorway, eyes fierce.
Ian, if you dont get me to the home by Monday, Ill go myself! Ill march to the director and demand a bedmoneys already paid, the state owes me care!
All weekend Ian disappeared. He returned late Sunday, whispering anxiously to Natalie, then announced that hed settled everything with the homes manager and a room would be ready the next day.
At dawn they piled into Ians battered Austin Maestro. Margaret could not grasp why her son was driving toward her village when they were supposed to head the other way.
Mum, the roads been closed for repairs. We have to take the long route, Ian explained.
The familiar countryside unfolded, then the outskirts of the old village where Margaret had grown up. She squeezed her eyes shut, unwilling to face the familiar lanes and the plot she had sold two years earlier. When the car finally halted, she felt the brakes shudder and the vehicle inch into a gate.
Opening her eyes, she saw the gate open onto a freshly built redbrick house on her former plot. Standing there, grinning, was her sister Annie, arms outstretched. For a heartbeat Margaret thought she might faint; the world swam around her.
When she steadied herself and embraced Annie, the truth spilled out, even the part where she had nearly ruined the surprise.
Mum, no one intended to sell the land. We decided to build a new home outright, Ian said. We hadnt told you because we took out a loan, and Mick sent a hefty sum. This place has all the upgradesthree bedrooms, a spacious kitchen with a veranda, a modern boiler, shower and loo. Aunt Annie has already been here six months, working on the interior, waiting for you. If youd waited another fortnight, the garden shed and henhouse would have been finished. But you wouldnt have waited, and Mick would have arrived just as you were about to change the plans!
Margaret wept, laughed, hugged her sister, son, daughterinlaw and granddaughter in rapid succession, unable to decide how to thank each of them. Who could have imagined such a surprise? The joy was almost enough to give her another stroke. Yet the relief of having family who cared so deeply was a comfort beyond words.
