Penniless! Everything’s Already Gone to My Friend’s Children! “Iolanda, I have no money left! I gave the last bit to Natalie just yesterday! You know she’s got two kids!” Sobbed Mrs Amelia Sullivan as she hung up the phone. Her daughter’s harsh words cut like knives, and she didn’t want to remember them. “Why is it like this? I raised three children with my Tony, did everything for them, gave them all higher education, helped them find good jobs. And now, in my old age, I get neither peace nor help from any of them. “Tony, my love, why did you have to leave so soon? With you, everything was easier!” she thought, speaking to her late husband. Her heart clenched, and her hand instinctively reached for her pills. “There’s only one or two left. If I get worse, I won’t be able to help myself. I’ve got to get to the pharmacy.” She tried to get up, but her legs buckled, and she collapsed back into the armchair. Her head spun. “It doesn’t matter, the pill will kick in soon, and all this will pass.” But time went by, and the relief never came. Mrs Sullivan dialled her youngest daughter’s number. “Natalie…” she managed to whisper before a sharp reply cut her off: “Mum, I’m in a meeting, will ring back later!” She tried her son: “Darling, I feel really ill. I’m out of my tablets. Could you pick some up after work…?” “Mum, I’m not a doctor — and neither are you! Call an ambulance if it’s that bad, don’t wait!” Mrs Sullivan sighed deeply. “He’s right, I suppose. If things don’t get better in half an hour, I’ll have to call 999.” She leant back, closed her eyes, and slowly counted to one hundred, trying to calm her heart. Suddenly, a distant noise echoed. What was that? Oh yes, the phone! “Hello?” she answered weakly. “Amelia, hi! It’s Peter! Are you alright? Had a funny feeling and just needed to hear your voice.” “Peter, I’m really not well…” “I’ll come straight round. Can you open the door?” “Peter, it hasn’t locked for months…” Her mobile slipped from her hands — she had no strength to retrieve it. “Let it be,” she thought. Scenes from her youth flashed before her eyes like a film: there she was, a naïve girl in her first year at the London School of Economics, trailed by two tall Army lads, absurdly holding colourful balloons. “Ridiculous,” she had thought at the time, “grown men with balloons!” Ah yes! It was May Day! The parade, the street party! And her in the middle, between Peter and Tony, the balloons bobbing above them. She had chosen Tony, perhaps because he was louder, while Peter was gentle and reserved. After that, life separated them. She and Tony moved to the outskirts of London; Peter was deployed to Cyprus. Decades later, now both retired, they bumped into each other back in their hometown. Peter had never married, never had children. When people asked why, he’d smile and joke, “Love never shone on me. Maybe I should’ve taken up football!” Confused voices neared. Mrs Sullivan forced her eyes open. “Peter…” And beside him, an ambulance medic. “She’ll be alright. Is that her husband?” “Yes, yes!” The medic gave instructions. Peter kept hold of Amelia’s hand until her breathing slowly steadied. “Thank you, Peter… I do feel better now.” “Wonderful! Here, have some lemon tea…” Peter never left her side. He cooked, cleaned, cared for her, and even after she recovered, he refused to leave her alone. “You know, Amelia, I always loved you. That’s why I never married.” “Peter, Peter… Tony and I were happy. He loved me. You never said. How could I have known? Not that it matters now. The past is gone.” “Amelia, let’s make the most of what remains — happy, together! Whatever time we have, it’ll be ours!” She nestled her head on his shoulder, fingers entwined: “Let’s.” And she laughed — a clear, bright laugh. A week later, her daughter finally rang. “Mum, did you call? I meant to ring back but forgot…” “Oh — never mind. But since you remember, I wanted to say: I’m getting married!” Silence. The sound of her daughter swallowing, fumbling for words. “Mum… are you mad? You should be in the grave by now, and you’re getting married?! Who’s the lucky man?” Amelia shrank; tears stung, but her voice was steady: “That’s for me to know.” She hung up. Turned to Peter: “They’re on their way. Brace yourself for battle.” “We’ll win!” he grinned. “Where there’s love, nothing is lost!” As evening fell, the three arrived: Rob, Yvonne, and Natalie. “Mum, introduce us to your boyfriend!” Rob jeered. “Why? You already know me,” Peter said, entering the living room, “I’ve loved Amelia since youth. When I saw her so ill, I realised I couldn’t lose her. I proposed, and she said yes.” “You hear that, you old fool? What’s this ‘love’ nonsense at your age!” Yvonne spat. “What age?” Peter arched an eyebrow. “We’ve barely hit seventy. There’s plenty of life left — and your mum’s as beautiful as ever!” “Oh, I get it… you want her flat, don’t you?” Natalie announced, like a lawyer. “Children, come on — what’s all this about the flat? You’ve all got your own homes!” “Even so, it’s our inheritance!” insisted Natalie. “Don’t worry — I don’t want a thing! I’ve a roof over my head already!” Peter folded his arms. “But have some respect for your mother!” “Who do you think you are, you doddery old fool?” Rob jumped like a fighting cock. Peter stood firm. Straightened up, looked him square in the eye. “I’m her husband, whether you like it or not.” “We’re her children!” Yvonne shouted. “And we’ll put her in a home or a madhouse tomorrow if you don’t watch it!” Natalie snapped. “No way! Come along, Amelia.” They left, hand in hand, not looking back. The world didn’t matter. They were happy. They were free. The one streetlamp shone on their path. The children stood silent, watching. What love could there possibly be at seventy?

No Money Left! Its All Gone to My Friends Children!
Isabella, I havent a penny to my name! The last bit I had, I gave to Emily just yesterday! You know shes got two children of her own! In tears, Mrs Amelia White ended the call.
Her daughters words had stung, stabbing deeper than she cared to admit.
Why is it like this? I raised three children with my Arthur, did everything for them, everything! They all went to university, all have good jobs. But now, in my old age, not a bit of peace, not a bit of help.
Arthur, my darling, why did you leave me so soon? Everything was easier with youshe thinks, casting her mind to her late husband.
A painful tightness grips her chest and her hand instinctively reaches for her tablets: Only one or two left. If things get worse, what will I do? I need to get down to the chemist.
She tries to stand, but her legs falter and she sinks back into the armchair. Her head spins as if it were caught in a whirlwind.
Never mind, the tablet will kick in soon and everything will pass.
But time drags on, and relief never comes.
Mrs White dials her youngest daughters number:
Emily she can just manage before her daughters brisk voice cuts in:
Mum, Im in a meeting, Ill call you back later!
She tries her son:
Son, Im feeling very poorly. Ive run out of my tablets. Could you pick some up after work?
Mum, Im not a doctor, and neither are you! Ring an ambulance, dont wait around!
Mrs White sighs deeply. Hes right, I suppose If Im not better in half an hour, Ill have to call 999.
She leans back, closes her eyes, and starts counting to a hundred, trying to calm her anxious heart.
Suddenly, a distant ringtone cuts through. Whats that? Oh yes, the phone!
Hello? she answers weakly.
Amelia, hi! Its Peter! Are you all right? I just felt I had to hear your voice.
Peter, Im not very well
Im coming over now! Can you get to the door?
Peter, the locks been broken for ages
Her mobile slips from her hand. She has no strength to pick it up.
Let it beshe thinks.
Before her eyes, scenes from her younger days flicker by like a film: there she is, a naive girl in her first year at the London School of Economics. And just behind her, two young men from Sandhurst, tall and smart, oddly enough holding colourful balloons.
Ridiculousshed thought then, such grown lads with balloons!
Ah yes! It was May Day! The parade, the street party! There shed been, between Peter and Arthur, with balloons bobbing around her.
Shed chosen Arthur. Maybe because he was more outgoing, while Peter had always been quiet, a bit reserved.
Later, life had pulled them apart: she and Arthur moved to the southern countryside, Peter had been posted abroad.
Theyd found each other again decades on, both retired, in their hometown. Peter had never married, never had children.
When people asked why, hed just grin and say:
Love never chose me, maybe I shouldve taken up gambling!
Uncertain voices draw near. Mrs White opens her eyes with difficulty.
Peter
And beside him, an NHS paramedic.
Shell be all right. Is this your husband?
Yes, yes!
The paramedic gives careful instructions. Peter sits, holding Amelias hand, refusing to leave until her breathing becomes easier.
Thank you, Peter I do feel better now.
Good! Here, have a nice cup of tea with lemon
Peter refuses to leave her side. He cooks, he tidies up, and even when shes back on her feet, he wont let her be alone.
You know, Amelia, Ive always loved you. Thats why I never married.
Peter, Peter Arthur and I had a good life. He loved me. You never said a word. How could I know? But it doesnt matter now, does it? The past is gone.
Amelia, lets make the most of what time we have, together and happy! However many days God gives us, well make them ours!
She rests her head on his shoulder, entwines her fingers with his: Lets do it. And laughs, a light, bright laugh.
A week later, her daughter finally rings.
Mum, did you call me? I couldnt get to the phone and then, honestly, I forgot
Oh, that Thats all sorted. But since you remembered, you should know: Im getting married!
Silence. Just her daughter swallowing hard, searching for something to say.
Mum, for heavens sake! You ought to be at the cemetery by now and youre talking about marriage?! Whos the lucky chap?
Amelia shrinks a little, tears stinging, but her voice is steady:
Thats my concern.
She hangs up. Turns to Peter: Here they come. Get ready for fireworks.
Let them comewell win, he chuckles. Where theres love, nothing is ever lost!
As darkness falls, the three children arrive: Ben, Isabella, and Emily.
All right, Mum, introduce us to your Casanova! Ben mocks.
What for? You know me alreadyPeter says, stepping in. Ive loved Amelia since we were young. When I saw her so ill, I knew I couldnt ever lose her. I asked her to marry me, and shes said yes.
Heard that, clown? What sort of love is this at your age?! Isabella snaps.
What age? Peter raises an eyebrow. Were barely past seventy. Theres plenty left for us, and your mums still a beauty!
Oh, I see You just want her flat, is that it? Emily spits, sounding every bit the lawyer.
Children, for goodness sake, whats so special about my flat? Youve all got your own homes!
Still, its part of our inheritance! Emily insists.
Honestly, I dont want anything! Ive got my own place! Peter folds his arms. But stop disrespecting your mother!
Who do you think you are, you senile old man? Ben steps forward, trying to look fierce.
Peter doesnt back down. He straightens, locking eyes with him:
Im her husband, whether you like it or not.
And were her children! Isabella shouts.
Fine then! First thing tomorrow, well have you in a home or a mental hospital! Emily hisses.
Not a chance! Come on, Amelia.
They walk out hand in hand, never glancing back. What the world thinks doesnt matter. They are happy. And free. The one lamppost on the street lights their way.
The children stare after them, baffled. What sort of love could there be at seventy?