Granny for an Hour

Grandma by the Hour

“Mr. Alfred, please forgive me, but I really must leave early today. Would it be alright? My little girl is unwell.”

Mary placed the neat stack of paperwork and next day’s appointment list on the desk. There was still an hour before the workday would officially end, but the nursery had called twice, and so she chanced asking leave. She was new at this construction firmlanded the role almost by accident, given her lack of secretarial experience, and her modest appearance, which hardly matched the bubbly ‘presentation’ theyd mentioned in the recruitment note. Catching her reflection in a shop window just before her interview, Mary had muttered:

“This requirement definitely isnt about me.”

The elderly cardigan, which shed taken pains to preserve, still survived with dignity. The skirt, though, left much to be desired. Her mum had stitched it, having chosen the fabric with the sort of deliberation that made each seam an act of bravery.

“It’ll be as good as shop-bought.”

“But mum, it’s handmade! Of course it’s just as good.” Mary stretched the truth, knowing well how much her mother needed to hear it.

There was never any extra cash for new clothes in their house. Mary remembered the days when her father was alive and she could look her best without a second thought. When he was gone, everything changed. A nurses pay for Lydia, her mum, wasnt much to frolick with. Still, they managed, until Grandma fell ill. Relations with Lydias mother-in-law had always been, to put it lightly, frosty.

“Lydia! You have no sense of familythough, with blood like yours, its hardly surprising. Yet here you are, and part of us, so get used to the family pulling together. It means responsibility.”

As a child, Mary hardly grasped what Grandma meant, but it sounded grand and important. She would learn that it worked one way: Lydia had to tend to her mother-in-law, give over most of her wages, and in return Grandma received everything with queenly entitlement. Endless criticisms rained on Lydia, a never-ending drizzle.

“Mum! Why dont you answer back?” Mary, getting older, wondered aloud after listening to Grandmas regular sermons. Lydia rarely took Mary on the dreaded visits, but when Grandma insisted, she had no choice.

“Because, my love, I know shes wrong. And I know shes a lonely, hurting woman. Aside from us, shes practically alone. She quarrelled with her sister; her nephews wont go near her.” Lydia would quietly fold the pressed laundry. “Besides I promised your father Id never abandon her. How can I break my word?”

Mary, frustrated, would want to say everything on her mind, but Lydia would hush her quietly, shaking her head with gentle reproof.

“Why bother, Mary? Dont take it to heartjust let her talk. I know whats right, and as long as your grandma wants for nothing, Ive done my part.”

“Shed hardly go without even if you didnt,” Mary grumbled, well aware now of the worlds realities.

Mary knew full well her grandmother was no poor relation. There was a spacious flat, just for Grandma, and another, inherited from her own mother, let on a long lease. The old-age pension was healthy, and she had a tidy sum in the bank from Granddad. Grandma enjoyed her comforts, never deprived.

“Why does she take money from you, mum? Cant she manage?” Mary would jot figures in a notebook where their household accounts lived.

“Mary!” Lydia flung the tea towel onto the table.

“What, mum?”

“Drop it, please.” Lydias voice softened. “Dont let yourself grow hard over this Be yourself. And remember: what belongs to Grandma is hers alonenever was, and likely never will be, ours. Place no claim, even in your thoughts, or youll never be free of it.”

Mary understood her mothers warning only years later, when Grandma passed. The will and a goodbye letter were hidden in a bedside drawer. After reading them, Lydia exhaled shakily, crumpled the page, and flung it away.

“Lets go.”

“Where?” Mary stared, puzzled.

“Its done. My duty to your grandmother is fulfilled.”

Mary asked no more. Later she learned that Grandma had left everything to the nephews. Whatever the sad letter contained, Lydia only hinted at once under persistent questioning:

“She left things to them because theyre her real kin. Thats all, Marydont ask again. Leave the dirt behind. Theres nothing for you there.”

“Did she doubt I was really her granddaughter?” Mary couldnt help herself.

“No,” Lydia sighed. “She thought you were too much like me, not enough like your father. The wrong blood.”

“Is that true? Am I really not like Dad?”

“Mary,” Lydia bowed her head, exhausted. “Youre your father through and through. Not just the face, but the heart. Ive never known a better soul. So, I tell you thisand for the last timetake only the good from this family and forget the rest. Let it stay where it belongs.”

Mary didnt argue further. She didnt fully understand her mum, but she saw how much it meant to her.

Time slipped by, and Mary finished school and started at university. The infamous skirt! She wore it for every exam, every lecture, even for her first day working at the maths departmentand when she met the father of her child. The thing was lucky, so she wore it to her interview at the building company. Besides, there wasnt much alternativeshe couldnt go in jeans.

Shed caught smirks in the personnel office, but recalling Lydias advice, she squared her shoulders.

“Miss, no experience, a small child? What sort of work have you had?”

“I taught at the university.”

“And why the switch?”

“Needed a new start.” Mary tried to keep steady, though her knees were shaking. It seemed likely shed be shown the door.

But, unexpectedly, she was offered a trial as secretary. She never knew what was said about her after she left the room.

“Mrs. Thompson, why this one for Mr. Alfred?”

“He likes clever women, you see. Shes not a silly sort. With a bit of sprucing up, shell turn heads. Enough chatterget back to work, the lot of you.”

Mary and her boss clicked almost immediately. Watching her read the coffee machine manual, Mr. Alfred laughed. “Ive not seen a woman yet who doesnt jab every button blindly, but you read instructions. Well get along, you and I!”

The job wasnt even hard. Mr. Alfred liked control, but came to see Marys excellent memory and tenacious work spirit. She could hunt anyone down, rearrange meetings seamlessly, and kept diaries shipshape. Her only flaw was nipping away early now and then for her daughter.

“Mary, I get itbut youll leave me without a secretary soon!” Mr. Alfred leaned back, rubbing his temples.

“Headache? Paracetamol?”

“No, thank youitll vanish. Go on, then. Children come first. But Id advise you start looking at your optionsmaybe get your mum to help on sick days, or a childminder, or someone else.”

“Ive no one.” Mary straightened her new jacket sharply.

“No family?”

“None. Mums gone. Thats it.”

“Shame. In that case, a nanny?”

“I simply cant afford it. But I promise to sort something. Youre rightmy problem, not yours. Sorry.”

Mary nodded and left. Her mood was bleak. Her daughter, Alice, lay poorly at home; housework called. She wanted to scream for help. Why was everything so wrong? Why so alone?

She knew the answer. Her mother had once said,

“Not everyone meets good people easily. Sometimes, only a few come by in a whole lifemaking them all the more important.”

“What if they never come at all?”

“Thats nonsense, Mary. Think maths for a momentwhat are the odds youll meet no one decent? See? There cant only be bad sorts, true? Besides, most of them arent badtheyre just living their lives, for themselves, as do we all, one way or another. Some hide it, some dont. I only hope you meet the better kind more often than not.”

Mary, recalling those words, grieved not listening to her mother when she met Alices father. A brilliant, ambitious academic, Richard was all fire and driveeverything Mary lacked, Richard had in excess. But their ambitions were different. Mary hoped to balance family and maths; Richard wasnt bothered about any future at all. Live in the moment: that was the idea. When an overseas post came up, he accepted within a weekeven though hed just proposed.

“A couple of years apart. No big deal.”

“Richard but Im having a child.”

She saw the colour drain from Richards face, underscoring the end.

“Does it have to be now? Cant we wait?” Richard paced, avoiding her gaze.

“Its not going away. But dont worryIll sort things. Good luck.”

They never met again.

Alice was born a month after Lydia died. A heart attack at work. Surrounded by doctors, but none quick or lucky enough. Mary buried her mother and willed herself not to cry.

“Later, mum, later. After Alice is born Ill let myself weep, I promise”

But there was never time for tears. Alice came early, frail and sickly, needing constant care. Mary trudged through routine by rotelaundry, cleaning, feeding, walks. Eventually, she left the university; the sideways glances hurt too much.

“Sorry, Mum, maybe Im too sensitive. What did I do wrongjust refusing to forcibly marry Richard? But, youd say not to care what others think, wouldnt you? Youd tell me to keep moving forwards. Im trying, Mum. Not doing too well, but I try.”

As soon as she could, Mary put Alice in nursery. The first year was the hardest. Her daughter was forever ill; Mary gave up on good work and stopped sending applications, instead cleaning evenings at the beauty parlour nearby, dreaming of better days.

These thoughts whirled as she headed for Alice. After grabbing medicine from Boots, Mary hauled herself home. Fumbling for her key, she exchanged a nod with her neighbour.

“Evening, Ruth.”

“Evening. Again?” Ruth nodded at feverish Alice.

“Hmm. Theyll fire me soonsecond time this month! I thought I was over the worst; Alice lasted six months!”

“Six? Nothing! My Daisy lasted a year, then was ill every month. Why dont you try a nanny now youre earning better?”

“Not nearly enough.” Mary ushered Alice in. “Shoes off, love.”

“Yes, nannies are steep. Shame youve no grandma to lend a hand.”

“Quite. See you, Ruth,” Mary managed a thin smile, closing the door.

Mum, I wish you were here.

But Alice, snuggling on the rug, snapped her out of it. When her daughter drifted to sleep, Mary made tea and pondered. Something had to give

A gentle knock stirred her. Alice was asleep; shed been scrolling online nursery ads. Who was knockingwhy not the bell? Mary hurried to the door.

“Evening, Mary dear!”

On her doorstep stood Mrs. Wilton, a frail old neighbour from the next building. Mary didnt know her, only nodded in passing.

“Everything alright, Mrs. Wilton?”

“More or less. Are you going to ask me in, or do we stand here all evening?”

“Oh!” Mary stepped aside, struggling with surprise.

Mrs. Wilton bustled in, removed her modest shoes, and nodded kitchenward. “Is it through here?”

“Um, yes”

“Lets not wake the child; sleep is the best medicine.”

Mary, still bemused, followed. With hands folded neatly, Mrs. Wilton sat at the table and fixed her with a steady look.

“Is it a grandma by the hour you need?”

“Excuse me?” Marys eyebrows shot up.

“A grandma by the hour. Someone to sit with your little one. While shes ill, or any time. Need one, do you?” Mrs. Wiltons patient tone brought back a memoryher own mum, when she couldnt grasp instructions.

“I do. Very much. But where would I find her?”

“No need to hunt. Ive come myself. Will you have me?”

It was tempting, but Mary knew barely anything about her would-be nanny. Could she trust her daughter to a stranger?

“How did you know I was looking?”

“Hardly a secret,” Mrs. Wilton chuckled. “I ran into Ruth todayshe told me.”

“I see Mrs. Wilton, please dont take it the wrong way”

“Ask away! Youre trusting me with your child. Itd be odd not to. Or, just listenIll tell you all, then you can decide whether you want my help.”

Mary steeled herself, poured tea, nudged the Quality Street her way, and sat:

“Please do.”

Mrs. Wiltons story was simple enough.

“Born here in Manchester. Mum and Dadboth at the biscuit factory, proper working stock. I clocked on after school myself. Thats where I met my Geoff. Married, two sons. Raised them, schooled them, got them good jobs. Geoff passed earlyonly forty-nine Sons did their National Service and then left. Built lives elsewhere. Grandchildren, four of themtwo each. But I barely see them. Daughters-in-law have their mothers nearer, and by now those kids are grown. Never got to dote as Id hopedalways working. I watch the children here, and my heart aches. Id have loved to see just one grow up. Nannying never crossed my mind till Ruth suggested it. Why not ask, I thought? You might need me, and itd be good for me, too. What do you say? Dont decide in hasteIll not fleece you for it. Sleep on it, let me know tomorrow.”

Mary could only nod. As she showed Mrs. Wilton out, she wondered,

“What do you think, Mum? Is this strange? I only considered the idea, and someone appeared. Is it a good sign?”

Lydias picture gave no answer. Mary lay awake, watching over Alice, wrestling with worries about trust. By dawn shed made up her mind.

“Mrs. Wilton, good morning. Id like to accept.”

That was the start of their odd working partnership. Mrs. Wilton herself called it that.

“Were colleagues, Mary. You mind your job; I mind the child. You get peace of mind, I get a little something on top of my pension.”

“Do your boys help you, Mrs. Wilton?”

“When they can, but I manage. Only asked for help when I was ill. Theyve their own lives, their own children. I can still cope, just about.”

At first, Mary hovered nervously, but Alice took to Mrs. Wilton at once.

“Feeling rough, are you?” Mrs. Wilton touched Alices brow on their first meeting. “S’alright. Ill make raspberry tea and tell you a proper long story. Youll nap, and the bugs will run scared. Listen to meI know!”

“But I don’t have any raspberries,” Mary was embarrassed.

“I brought some. With your hands so full, when have you got time? Now, off you go to work; well manage perfectly well.”

Within two months, Alice was reading. Mary was astonished.

“Shes only five! Mrs. Wilton”

“What can I say? Shes bright as a button. Chess, drafts, shes keen on both. She should join a group. Ill walk her there.”

Soon, Alice was swimming twice a week and beating grown-ups at chess.

“Never wouldve managed,” Mary marvelled to Ruth. “Id have had no time! Im so grateful, truly!”

“Nothing to thank me for,” Ruth waved it off. “Once Daisy starts school, Ill be pinching Mrs. Wilton off you, just watch!”

Time passed. Alice grew and started school. Mrs. Wiltons help was needed less, but Mary could hardly imagine life otherwise.

“Mary, youve been in this post too long,” said Mr. Alfred, glancing up from paperwork. “With your qualifications, you should be moving up. Why not consider something more challenging? Youre a mathematician, are you not?”

“Yes, but I hadnt thought”

“Well, I have. Our company will sponsor retraining. We need someone like you in management.”

The new role brought more money. Life quickly improved, Alice grew independent, and Mary finally exhaled.

“Good for you, lovewell done!” Mrs. Wilton truly celebrated with her.

Theyd become family, really. So, when Mrs. Wilton vanished, Mary panicked.

“Ruth, where could she be? No word, no warning. Its not like her.”

“Have you rung the hospitals?”

“Everywhere. The police wont actIm not family.”

“And her sons?”

“Busy, apparently. No idea, no time. Can you believe that? Shes their own mum”

“No point expecting much. Try again. Sometimes, thats all we can do.”

Mary took to trawling the hospitals in person.

“Who are you to her? Not family? Why do you care?” she heard, again and again.

A week of repeated searches, and finally, Mary found her.

“Came in with no ID, regained consciousness after two days. Confused, memory gone.”

Mary looked at Mrs. Wiltonfrail, pale, so smalland her heart thumped with dread.

“You didnt report it soonerI couldve come. What happened?”

“Car accident. Amnesia. And you are?”

“Daughter. Wheres the ward manager?”

That day, Mrs. Wilton was moved, and Mary took her by the hand.

“How do you feel?”

“And you are?”

“Mary. It’ll all come back. For now, rest.”

Contacting the sons got her nowhere. Neither would visit.

“Well, well manage,” Mary almost slammed her phone down but didnt; she laid it aside with a sigh. “Mum, you were right about peoplemost just do for themselves.”

Mrs. Wilton was released a week later. Mary took her home.

“Alice, Mrs. Wilton doesnt remember things yet, so call her Gran, just the same. Try to keep things calm for her. Doctor said it may help.”

“Mum, is she living with us now?”

“Yes!”

“Thats right then,” said Alice gravely.

Now it was Alices turn. Home from school, reheating lunch, coaxing Mrs. Wilton to eat, and then:

“Ill do homework, and after, well play chess. Is that alright?”

Mrs. Wilton lit up. Alice called her Gran, Marymum, and none of it mattered. She was safe and nearly well.

Mrs. Wiltons son Alex turned up six months later.

It was Alices birthday, and Mary, rushing home with a custom cake, was stopped outside by a tall, vaguely familiar man.

“Are you Mary?”

“Yes.”

“Im Alex. Mrs. Wiltons son.”

“Ohwell, come in, of course. Why are you asking? You shouldve come sooner.”

“Well I” He trailed off, and Mary looked at him more closely.

“Don’t judge me by yourself. I don’t need anything from your mother. Shes helped me tremendously. Whatever I do now is simply thanks.”

“You dont understand”

“Lets leave it at that. Yes, see your mother if you like. Sort out her affairs if it matters to you, but I wont let you take her. Dont ask.”

“Why not? I wanted to bring her home.”

“If youd wanted that, youd have come long agomaybe there was still hope for her memory then.”

“And now?”

“Now she hardly recognises anyone. Too much time gone. Dont be shocked if she doesnt know you. Come on, lets go.”

Mary led the way in, but Alex held her up.

“Sorry”

“Its not me you need to apologise to. And theres nothing to forgive. Just dont distress her, all right?”

“Understood.”

Alice flung the door open. “What a box! Is that the cake?”

“It is! Happy birthday, darling! Meet Alex”

“Lewis, Alex Lewis.”

“Alex Lewis. Mrs. Wiltons son.”

“Who?” Alice almost dropped the cake, but Mary caught her eye.

“Shh. Remember what the doctor said?”

“Dont excite her?”

“Exactly. Cake in the kitchen, quick as you like.”

Mrs. Wilton didnt know her son. Alex saw only the shell of his motherfrail and nearly weightless, cocooned in pillows, gone was the robust woman he remembered.

“She wont remember us, will she?” he asked, leaving.

“I dont know. The doctors arent sure. What I can say is shes content here. Please, lets keep it that way. Theres no need to unsettle her.”

“I see May we visit?”

“Of course. Shes your mothercome when you wish.”

Mary watched him go with a heavy heart, suspecting hed seldom return, if ever. She shrugged, closed the door, and turned to her family.

“Teas on, Alice! Lets start the party!”

“Mum, can Gran have cake?”

“She must! The biggest slice! She needs a treatremember when shed ply you with jam?”

“For a bit of sweetness?” Alice laughed.

“Just so! And we could use it, too.” Mary locked the door with a click and followed her daughter to the kitchen.