You Don’t Belong Here, Mum

Youre the odd one out, Mum.

The door didnt swing open right away. Anne Stephenson managed a brief gasp of breath, but the trickle of sweat on her forehead kept streaming in embarrassingly thin ribbons down to her eyebrows and the bridge of her nose. From the other side of the door came a surprised shout, then the click of a lock, and finally her daughter stepped into the hall.

Mum? Good heavens How on earth did you manage to haul those bags? Why didnt you give me a headsup?

Tall, tanned, and wearing a look of bewildered annoyance, Elliewho Anne hadnt seen for over a yearstood there. When had she ever been expected to pop round to the old folks place? Time was never on her side. Yet, driven by a halfreasonable worry, Anne had finally decided on a longoverdue trip.

Didnt I bring them, Ellie? Its only naturalnot emptyhanded, mind you.

She hauled both suitcases toward the threshold in one jerky motion. Ellie didnt even think of helping; perhaps she was still frozen from the shock. She bent for the handle of one bag and pulled it away from the door so they could pass.

Lord, what on earth did you cram into that thing, a pig?

Her voice was smooth as polished stone, lacking any hint of joyjust bewilderment and irritation. She didnt hug her mother, merely gave a helpless glance at the second piece of luggage: an oldfashioned, bulging wheeled trunk occupying the parquet like an outoftime relic.

Anne took a tentative step forward. Her fingers, trembling from the effort, fidgeted with the buckle on her coat strap.

Sorry, Ellie Ive brought a few things. Jam for our Vince, a jar of picklesjust the sort you love. All homegrown, grew up with Dad Her voice wavered from the recent physical exertion, sounding apologetic.

Ellie sighed, a sound as deep as a wellworn sigh of foreboding chores. She shifted her gaze from the trunk to her mothers crumpled dress, the askew scarf, the tiny beads of sweat glistening on her upper lip.

Without waiting for a suggestion, Anne sank onto the nearest white leather ottoman, sitting upright in that oldfashioned way, hands resting heavily on her knees. The journey had drained her completely. The coach had taken twentyeight hours, and then shed had to squeeze onto the tube with that ungainly trunk that seemed determined to jam every turnstile.

But shed never come to her daughter emptyhanded. Never. Especially after a whole year of silence.

Did you change your phone number? Anne exhaled, scanning the room. I called for four daysno answer. Fathers blood pressure spiked on day two, by day three I was a nervous wreck, heart in my throat wondering what on earth could have happened Then on the fourth day I still couldnt reach you, so I thought, maybe its time for a ticket. I booked it three days later, but you were still off the grid, and we were left feeling like wed lost our bearings, all the way up here in London Whats wrong with your phone? You cant just leave your parents hanging like that. Were both seventyodd now, you know?

Ellies eyes flicked away. A faint blush coloured her alwaysconfident face. She adjusted an imaginary strand of hair.

Its fine, Mum. I just changed the numbergot caught up, forgot to tell you she blurted, swallowing the last words like a tonguetwister.

And Viktor didnt answer either.

I switched his, too. Were on a different network now.

Seated on the stiff, notsocomfortable ottoman, Anne found herself admiring her daughter. Ellieher youngest, most longawaited, most beggedfor childhad become the treasured little girl after two rambunctious boys. Thoughts drifted to the sons. The eldest, Max, was off across the pond in the States, gone for work years ago, calling only on big holidays. His grandchildren existed only in photos on his phone. Sometimes Anne imagined their voices, their laughter, but her mind refused to paint a clear picturetoo far away.

Are you feeling alright, Mum? You look pale, Ellies voice cracked, pulling Anne from her gloomy reverie.

No, love, just daydreaming. Im just catching my breath, Anne managed a weak smile. Hows little Vince doing? All peaceful at home?

Hes at football, should be back any minute. Could you fetch me a glass of water?

Ellie strutted to the kitchen, while Anne lingered a moment longer in memory. The middle son, Alex, lived in a city up northYork, they saidbut visits were rare. His wife, Nell, never quite clicked with Anne. The young woman was sharptongued, quickwitted. Anne tried: knitting dresses for the granddaughters, baking cabbage pies, bringing over pickles. Yet nothing seemed to pleasewrong dress cut, pie too rustic. She kept her peace, swallowed the sting, prayed only that Alex would find some happiness.

The hardest spot, though, was Ellies own marriage. Nine years ago shed wed Ilya, a diligent lad from a nearby town. Things went well until their son Vince was born, and then everything shifted. After a year, they left the boy with his grandfather and father, and Ellie fled to the city for work and study, claiming the countryside was suffocating.

So hows Vince growing up? Anne asked softly, sipping water, feeling a familiar ache tighten her chest.

Hed shot up, now a lanky teenager praised by his football coach. Only thing, she added, he sometimes asks when well visit Grandma Anne and Granddad Nick back in the village. He says it smells of apples and pie there, not like the motoroil here.

Anne closed her eyes, recalling countless nights when Vince, already sent to the city, would cry into the phone, begging to come home. She also remembered her late husband, Nicholas, silently smoking on the porch, eyes glistening with unspoken tears as they handed their boy over, as if he were a parcel to be shipped away.

He should be with his mother, shed told herself more than anyone else. Thats right.

Back on the coach, watching the countryside flash by, Anne imagined Vinces face. If his father Ilya, tall and sturdy, had passed on his genes, Vince would be lanky, wouldnt he? Nicholas had always wanted a photo, Darling, take more, Im lonely here. Hed probably have rushed to the city himself, only to fall ill a week before she left. Hed risen pale but stubborn yesterday.

Can you manage on your own? Nicholas had croaked, pulling a blanket tighter. I cant just sit here, my hearts ache is too much. Hed stuffed jars of jam into the suitcase.

Ill manage, Ill manage, Nicholas rasped, adjusting the blanket. Just watch over Ellie, alright? I feel shes drifting away from us.

Right, Mum, Ill feed you something! Ellie called, leading her mother deeper into the flat. I just bought soup with noodles and some meatballs. Oh, heres Vince! she exclaimed as the front door clicked.

A lanky tenyearold burst in, sports bag slung over his shoulder. He froze, eyes wide at his grandmother, then peeled off his trainers in a flash and lunged, wrapping arms around her.

Granny! Youre here!

Anne clutched his warm, autumnwindkissed body, tears spilling down uninvited.

Dont squeeze me too hard, he laughed, tilting his head, grin spreading fullface.

Shes grown so much! Look at you! Anne cooed, smoothing his tousled hair, running a rough palm over his sunkissed cheek. I knitted you a little green sweater with reindeermight be a bit small, but Ill fix it.

Itll be fine, love, he reassured, hugging her again. Ive been waiting for you forever.

Now Anne was perched at a glossy kitchen table, trying to satisfy hunger with a single meatball. The soupclear as glass, barely a whisper of noodleshad vanished, leaving only five petite meatballs that Ellie had grabbed from the supermarket deli. No time for proper cooking.

Do you want more, Mum? Ellie asked politely, already gathering plates.

No, love, Im stuffed, Anne lied, feeling a mischievous pang under the spoon. Ive had enough from the road.

She glanced around: sleek appliances, stylish furniture, fresh paint. Vinces room boasted a gaming PC, a guitar, a trendy workout corner. Ellie herself wore a pricey lounge set, gold earrings glinting. Nothing here screamed necessity. It smelled of a different rhythm, different rules.

Im full to the brim, yet starving, she mused with a wry smile. Back home the table always broke, even when money was tight. Here maybe city folk live halfheartedly?

Vince, polishing off his portion, looked up. Mum, why did you only eat one meatball? Theyre delicious! Give Grandma another, shes from the road!

Ellie halted, plate in hand, a faint crease forming on her flawless forehead.

Vince, dont lecture adults, she said. Grandma said shes full.

but she the boy trailed off under his mothers stern glance.

Anne hurried in, gently patting his head. All good, love. Im truly full. Thank you.

A sudden sting of emptiness rose inside her. The childs blunt honesty peeled back the invisible wall she’d felt since stepping inside. Everything looked polished, correct, but dietlike. Not just the food, the whole atmosphere.

Maybe youre tired, Mum. Lets put you on the sofa in the lounge, Ellie suggested, hauling the suitcase of goodies. Tomorrow well sort out your supplies.

Anne nodded, following her daughter, already plotting to sneak a slice of homemade bacon and a crust of her own bread from the suitcase once everyone was asleep, to eat by the window while watching the unfamiliar city lights. Ellie had warned her, We dont eat that homemade, fatty stuff here.

Silence in the empty flat pressed on her ears. The next two days Anne was left to herself like a forgotten trinket on a shelf. Ellie dashed off each morning, shouting, Lunch in the fridge, heat it up. Vince disappeared into school, football, friendschasing the last warm days of autumn.

A tense, unspoken strain hovered between mother and daughter. Anne tried to occupy herself: polishing the shiny hob, straightening Vinces thingsyet she felt like a surplus presence, a nuisance in this sterile space.

On the third day, Ellie returned from work and, without preamble, said, Mum, let me sort out your ticket. Its peak season, you never know if therell be seats.

Anne startled, as if hit.

What season? The south? she barked, voice wavering. I just arrived, Ellie She paused, then softened, Maybe youre right, love.

She handed over the documents, heart aching. Shed promised Nicholas shed be back in a week and a half, planning to treat the grandkids to homemade stew and pies, give Ellie a breather. Instead, she was stuck with shopbought meals, as if the staff had prepared them out of spite for the low wages.

Ellie, ticket in hand, brightened. Oh Mum, youll get a cosy bunk by the loowont you love it? she joked, then added, Honestly, youve had a decent visit. What else can you do here? In two days youre home!

Perhaps youre right Anne whispered, almost to herself.

The thought of merely two days left seemed to lift Ellies spirits. Later that evening, passing the halfopen door to Vinces room, Anne paused unintentionally. Ellie lay on her sons bed, murmuring tiredly, Its noisy, I turned it up, I asked politely if shes gone deaf

Vinces voice drifted in, Mum, when will Uncle Victor be back? He promised to help with the robot.

Soon, love. As soon as Grandma leaves he replied.

A sudden breath escaped Annes lungs, tears hot and bitter spilling without permission. She leaned against the cool wall, fighting to stay upright. Without thinking, she slipped into the empty suitcase, now bare, and crept into the hallway. Ellie appeared, eyes wide.

Mum? Where are you going?

But Anne could not summon the words. She felt superfluous, a burden to the living. She fled the unfamiliar city toward the station, the cacophony of her daughters pleas echoing in her ears, drowning in traffic noise and wind. She never managed to explain why she was runningtoo painful to admit she was now a hindrance, that some Uncle Victor seemed more important than she.

At the station, she huddled in a warm shawl that still smelled faintly of home, swapping her ticket for a fivehour earlymorning service. A cramped berth, but at least she could leave.

The rhythmic clatter of wheels accompanied her quiet sobs, trying not to disturb the neighbouring sleeper. She recalled her youth, her children, how everything had come to this: giving everything they could, every grain of warmth, only to find herself unwanted in old age.

The train pulled into her tiny hometowns platform just before dawn. Waiting there, stooped against the chill, was Nicholasher husband of many years. When he saw her, his face broke into a grin.

Anne, love, Ive missed you! Look at you, thinner than a scone! he joked, taking her scrawny suitcase.

For the first time in days, Anne managed a smile through tears. Someone was still waiting. Someone still needed her.