She Almost Agreed to Sell Everything, But Then She Heard the Truth at the Door…

Dear Diary,

I was on the brink of agreeing to part with everything when the truth knocked at the door.
How can I possibly sell? I blurted, my voice trembling as I stared at my son. Where will I live? In the hallway? At the station? Have you decided to turn me into a resident of a care home?

Mother, why are you starting this again Tom sighed, his shoulders slumping.

Do you expect me to hand you the washingmachine box? I raised my voice. Have you lost your senses, Tom?

Dont shout. Im merely suggesting we discuss the possibilities

Whats there to discuss? A house isnt a trinket you can offload when times are tough! I snapped, pushing my chair back hard. I was born here, you grew up here, and youre thinking of putting it on the market!

Just then, without a knock, my neighbour Lydia Bennett slipped into the kitchen.

Emily! What are you doing, looking like youve been buried? You promised to sow all the garden beds this year after you nearly froze through last winter! Where are your plans for the allotments?

I tried, honestly I lowered my gaze. The seedlings have just sprouted, but my hands wont let me pull them up.

Dont think about pulling them up! Lydia chattered. I gave you the number of Igor, the farmer from Limefield, a month ago. He could turn the whole field on its head and make it bloom. Plant something useful instead of just admiring roses in your younger days.

Tom said maybe some friends would come over in summerbarbecue, bonfire. And I have lilacs, roses

Thats what I call roses! Lydia scoffed. In the last five years your son has only turned up twice, and then with a crate of beer, not a grill.

He works. Hes always busy.

Remember that winter when the snow cut us off? No food, no medicine! Im glad I stopped by. And where was your hardworking son? You couldnt even get a call back!

He always comes when I shout for him

Emily, youre like a maidentrusting and waiting while time marches on. You need to think with your head, not just your heart. You need garden beds, not a thicket of roses!

Maybe Ill finally tend the beds, where the lilacs have already faded

Exactly. And what news from your daughter?

Nothing new. Tom talks to her now and thenbirthday wishes, New Years greetings thats about it.

The less often Tom visits, the fewer worries you have. I dont mean to push, but things are only going to quiet down from here.

I grew up in the hamlet of Bramley Green, just outside York. My husband died on the motorway twenty years ago, leaving me alone with the children. My first child, Harriet, was sensible, learned to wash and cook early. Tom arrived later, when I was already over forty. He was a comfort in my later years, fifteen years my junior. Different eras, different upbringings.

Harriet left first.

Mother, I want to marry, she said.

With who? That George from the village? I wont allow it! He has no trade, no education, no culture!

This is my life, Mum. Im already eighteen.

Have you seen his character? Hes a hollow shell, all fat and no soul!

It doesnt matter. Hes kind, smart, and hes got a job in town.

So youll go with him? And Ill be left here alone?

Ill study and make a life.

I wept, begged, but Harriet packed a knapsack and leapt out the window, vanished. No letters, no callsonly occasional gossip through acquaintances.

Tom stayed with me for many years. He built a little garden retreat: a gazebo, a swing, a barbecue, a lawn, flowerbeds. No vegetable patches, no potatoes.

Mother, why do you need a garden? Theres a supermarket in Bramley Green nowpotatoes, courgettes, greens. No need to bend your back.

Because its tradition to have our own

That was tradition once! Were in the twentyfirst century!

I finally gave in. Life was modest but cosy. Tom fetched groceries, medicine, drove me to doctors. Then he met a girl, Marina, married her, and I welcomed her, though we never clicked. I never hid my disdain for the rural lifestyle, especially towards my motherinlaw.

During one of his regular visits, Tom embraced me, set the groceries down, and sat at the table.

Mum, I need to talk. I have an ideavery profitable.

More business talk?

Yes, Mum. The land in Bramley Green is being bought up! They want to build a boutique housing estatefull infrastructure, everything. If we sell the house with the plot, we could buy a nice onebed flat in York and Id still have startup capital.

Wait what about me? Where will I live?

Mum, think about a retirement home or renting an apartmentnot on the high street!

You want to move me into an apartment? From the garden thats been in our family for generations? This is our family home!

Mum, its just a house. Old and awkward. While the price holds, we should sell.

Never! I clenched my fists. As long as I breathe, this house will stay. I wont even mention you in my will!

Tom snapped, grabbed his keys and left without a goodbye.

I stepped into the yard. A halfbloomed rose bush stood on the flowerbed. In one hand I held a spade, in the other an axe. I tried to turn the flowerbed into a vegetable patch but couldnt shift a single clod.

Still stuck? Lydia called from over the fence.

No strength. Neither in my hands nor in my soul.

Its too late now! The seasons wasted. And your Tom may never return.

What would you advise?

Think clearly. Do it right youll have a onebed flat in York, a clinic nearby, a shop, warmth, neighbours. Civilization.

I lay awake all night, turning the thoughts over. At dawn I caught a bus to York, to Toms flat, hoping to negotiate calmly.

I climbed to the third floor, paused at the door.

From inside a voice shouted, Vera, she never wants to sell! Stubborn as a bulldozer!

Then go work as a porter! How am I supposed to keep a business? Were on the brink, and youre babbling! Let it rot in Bramley Green!

I froze, then, with fury, knocked back.

Mum? Tom answered, startled.

Thank you, son, for already burying me! My voice trembled. I came to talk, to reconcile. But know thisI will not sell! Never! Id rather bury myself in the earth than hand it over for your schemes!

Mum

Get out of here with your demon! I screamed. Let her parents sell their flats! My house is not for you!

I turned and left, spending the night on the station platform. By morning I returned home, lay in bed for three days, then gathered the axe, though I never could get close enough to the rose bush.

That afternoon someone knocked on the back gate.

Whos there?

Its me, MumHarriet.

Harriet? My dear daughter

Mum, how are you?

Its, my voice wavered.

Tom called. He said youve gone mad, you wont sell the house. I told him to go away. He thought youd given up, but I realised its time to come back.

My darling but we

When did that happen? I have three children now. I understand you perfectly!

Children?

Yes, two daughters and a son. And George is now lean, into sport, working in IT.

And you?

Well be visiting on weekends. Ill bring food, everything you need. Were close now, Mum.

What about the garden beds?

You dont need them any more. Youll have grandchildren.

Tears flooded my eyes as I embraced my daughter, finally feeling the weight lift. The house remains, but the future feels a little less bleak.