Margaret Reed, an eightyfouryearold widowed grandmother, sat on the cold stone bench outside the bus shelter on the edge of her little Yorkshire village, clutching a battered canvas bag and a grocery sack that held nearly everything she owned.
Rita kicked me out, she muttered, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and helplessness. She didnt flinch. She told me, Off you go, old woman. Get out of our lives, dont linger any longer.
Just three years earlier the household had been a bustling home of five in a cramped threebedroom terraced house: Margaret, her daughter Eleanor, her grandson James with his wife Claire, and Jamess son, Margarets greatgrandson, Arthur.
The cracks began to show when a new accounts clerk named Rita arrived at Jamess firm from Manchester. No one knew why she had transferred to their tiny town, but the company gave her a room in the local hostel and a job on the spot. It seemed a tidy solutionuntil she set her sights on the men around her, and chose James, despite the fact that he was married. As the old saying goes, A wife is not a wall.
One rainy April afternoon James came home from work, gathered his belongings, and said his goodbyes with a hollow smile.
Im only fortyfive and finally see what real life and love are supposed to be, he said.
Claire said nothing, waiting for Arthur to finish his school exams before making her own plans.
Well move to the city, she told Margaret. Arthur needs to apply to university, and well live in my parents old house. Its been boarded up for three years, but well fix it up. If we cant do it ourselves, my brother will help, and Ill find a job at a local school.
Two days later, her brother arrived, loaded the few boxes into a battered van, and they left. Arthur hugged his greatgrandmother tightly.
Dont forget me, Gran. Ill visit, he promised.
He kept that promise twice while Eleanor was still alive. When Eleanor passed away, James and Rita moved into the flat, and Arthur never returned.
Margarets life grew darker. Rita began imposing her own rules. At first she shyly invited Margaret to sit at the kitchen table and shared the meals she prepared for herself and James. Then she demanded that Margaret stay locked in her room.
Your crumbs are everywhere in the kitchen, she snapped. Its easier for me to sweep your floor once a week in your room than to mop here three times a day.
From then on Rita fed Margaret only porridgeoat, barley, or plain wheatand Margaret sipped tea to wash it down at breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
One bleak morning Rita announced that her son would be visiting in a week. She and James whispered about where to place him, knowing that after a stint in a youth centre, he would need a decent job.
James left for work, and Rita shoved a slip of paper into Margarets hand.
Heres the address of the care home, she hissed. Take yourself there and be grateful Im not throwing you onto the street.
She slammed the flat door shut.
Margaret shuffled to the bus stop, eyes blurry, the address illegible on the crumpled paper. A young man stood by the shelter.
Excuse me, dear, she asked, voice cracking, could you read the address for me? Which bus will take me there?
He looked at her with a mixture of pity and surprise.
What are you doing, Mrs. Margaret? he asked. Arthurs just arrived; hes looking for you. Let me call him.
Within five minutes Arthur burst through the door, out of breath. He explained that a former neighbour, a retired carehome nurse, had called yesterday to warn that Rita wanted to send Margaret to an institution. The neighbour had given Rita the address, hoping to help, but Rita had twisted it. Now Arthur had to act fast.
Arthur grabbed Margarets coat and said,
Ill get you to the city like a queen, in a taxi. Mums already arranged a room for you. And the gardens in full blossomapple trees everywhere, a sight for sore eyes.
When Rita and James learned that Arthur was taking Margaret to the city, they breathed a brief sigh of reliefonly to have it snatched away when the paperwork was sorted. It turned out Margaret had been the legal owner of the flat from the start, and her late husbands right to live there for life had never been stripped. Rita and James were forced back into the hostel.
Margaret sold the flat, handing the proceeds to Arthur so he could buy a place of his own in the city. Prices in the county town were high, so he managed only a modest onebedroom flat in a new development, but it was spacious enough for a future family. He promised Margaret that hed marry soon, securing a roof over his head and, in turn, a home for his beloved greatgrandmother.
