Keep an Eye on Gran, It’s Easy Enough for You!

Look after my mum, it isnt that hard, says Victoria Harper, her voice tight. You understand, dont you? She isnt the same any moreage, the memory loss, the senility. The doctors say she needs someone to watch over her. Id do it myself but work, bills and youre home, youre on remote work. It cant be difficult for you, can it?

Pippa tightens her lips. She really does work from home, translating documents and occasionally holding online consultations. Her schedule is flexible, but that doesnt mean she has endless free time.

Victoria, I honestly dont know, Pippa begins cautiously. Ive never dealt with anything like this. Maybe we should hire a caregiver? Or put her in a care home where professionals look after her

Victorias eyes flare with indignation.

A care home?! How could you say that! Shes my mother! I wont hand her over to some institution where strangers look after her. Were a family.

Pippa glances at James, hoping for support, but he doesnt even look up from his phone.

Pippa, mum doesnt ask for much, James finally says, still scrolling. Just drop in in the morning, drop in in the evening. Feed her, help a little. Nothing complicated, you can manage it.

Pippa sighs. Arguing would be pointless. Besides, theyre staying in Victorias flat she kindly let the young couple move in after their wedding while they saved for their own place. Refusing now would feel ungrateful.

Alright, Pippa says softly. Ill give it a try.

Victorias face lights up. She rises, walks around the kitchen table and pulls Pippa into a firm hug.

Thank you, love. You have no idea how much this helps me. Ill give you the keys and write down the address. Mum lives a short fifteenminute walk away. Just you know, she can be a bit nervous at times. If she says something odd, just ignore it, okay?

Pippa nods, convinced she can handle it. What could be that hard about looking after an elderly woman?

The next morning she discovers the answer.

The flat belonging to Margaret Hayes sits in an ageing block of flats with cracked walls and creaking staircases. Pippa climbs to the third floor, knocks on the door and waits. Inside theres a thud, then shuffling footsteps, then the click of a lock.

The door swings open. A stooped old lady in a faded dressing gown peers at Pippa with cloudy eyes.

What do you want? she croaks.

Good morning, Mrs. Hayes. Im Pippa, Jamess wife. Victoria asked me to help you. May I come in?

Mrs. Hayes snorts but steps aside. Pippa slips into the hallway and is hit by a wave of stale air mixed with medicine and something sour. The flat is a mess magazines, ripped slippers, scattered belongings litter the floor. On a small table beside a mirror sit piles of pill bottles, and the kitchen smells faintly of something burnt.

What would you like for breakfast? I can make something, Pippa says, turning to the old woman.

Mrs. Hayes snaps back, I dont want anything! Who sent you? Val? Some spy again!

Pippa is taken aback. A spy?

I just want to help, Pippa replies.

Help! the old woman parodies. All of you are the same. You pretend to be caring, but youre just waiting for me to die so you can snatch the flat!

Pippa freezes. The bitterness in Margarets words leaves her speechless. She moves to the kitchen, turns on the kettle and rummages for food. In the fridge she finds a few eggs, a slice of ham and stale bread enough for an omelette.

As she cooks, Margaret plops onto a stool by the door and starts yammering.

Youre always late. Yesterday Val promised to come, and she never did. Youre a liar. Youll eat me out of house and then act like theres nothing left.

Pippa flips the eggs in silence, trying to ignore the tirade.

When the omelette is ready, Pippa places the plate on the table. Margaret eyes it, takes a bite, then grimaces and pushes it away.

Terrible. Too salty. Can you even cook?

Pippa bites the omelette herself the seasoning is just right.

Mrs. Hayes, you need to eat. You cant take your medication on an empty stomach.

Dont tell me what to do! I know when Im hungry!

The old lady shuffles back into her room and slams the door. Pippa stands in the kitchen, staring at the untouched plate, her irritation bubbling under the surface, but she swallows it. The day has only just begun.

That evening, when Pippa returns, the same pattern repeats. Margaret refuses dinner, spurns her pills and accuses Pippa of trying to steal from her. Pippa pleads and explains, but nothing changes. By nightfall her head aches.

James meets her in the kitchen.

How was it? he asks casually.

Hard, Pippa admits, sinking into a chair. Your mum shes a nightmare. She yells, insults, wont eat.

James shrugs. Age, love. She warned me. Hang in there, Pippa. It wont be forever.

Pippa wants to ask what forever means, but she stays quiet as James disappears down the hallway, the door closing behind him.

A week passes, then another. Pippa visits Margaret twice a day, cooking, tidying, trying to keep some order. She does her translation work until midnight, then heads back to the flat in the early hours. Margaret never softens. Instead she nitpicks everything the temperature of the food, the volume of Pippas voice, the way she moves her slippers. She throws things, screams, calls Pippa a leech and a lazy daughterinlaw. Pippa clenches her fists and stays silent, but her patience wears thin.

A month later Margarets health collapses. She can barely get out of bed, eats almost nothing, and constantly complains of pain. Pippa calls a doctor. He examines her, writes new prescriptions and says the condition is serious.

That night Pippa collapses onto the sofa when she gets home, exhausted to the point she cant even cry. She just stares at the wall.

The next day Victoria asks, Pippa, hows mum doing?

Bad, Pippa replies wearily. The doctor says she needs constant care. I cant do this any longer, Victoria. Im wiped out. I need to work, I need rest. I cant manage.

Victorias voice turns icy. So youre refusing?

Im not refusing, Im asking for help. Lets hire a caregiver or

Hire a caregiver! Victoria interrupts. And what, you think Im rolling in money? By the way, this is your duty, Pippa. We gave you a roof over your head. Show a little gratitude, at least a crumb!

Pippas hands ball into fists. Ive spent a month looking after your mother. Ive cooked, cleaned, endured her abuse, worked nights to keep everything afloat. I cant do any more.

You cant? Then get out. Everywhere. Off you go! Victoria shouts. Cant you hear that, James?

James stands in the doorway, arms crossed, his face unreadable. Pippa, your mothers right, he says evenly. Youre a woman, you should put family first. Were grateful for the roof we live under.

Pippa stands, breathing easier for the first time in weeks. Fine, she says calmly. I understand. Everything.

Victoria gasps; James blinks as if he hadnt heard a word.

Pippa, what are you doing? Where are you going? James asks, bewildered.

Pippa is already in the bedroom, pulling a small suitcase from under the bed. She packs the few things she still has a coat, some documents, her laptop. Most of her belongings remain with Victorias parents, the ones she took when she moved in with James.

James follows, watching her pack. Confusion turns to irritation on his face. Pippa, stop. You cant leave.

I can, she replies, zipping the bag. Where? Back to my parents? Then Ill find a new place. Ill divorce you. The flat isnt ours anyway.

James opens his mouth, says nothing. Pippa walks past him, heads for the door. Victoria stands in the hallway, pale and stunned.

Pippa, where are you going? Victoria asks.

Im leaving. Thanks for the hospitality, Pippa says, stepping out onto the street. She takes a deep breath, feeling a wave of relief wash over her.

The divorce is processed quickly. James doesnt even show up for the hearing. Pippa receives the decree, tucks it into a drawer and never looks at it again.

She moves into a modest onebedroom flat of her own, finally living for herself calm, steady, free from shouting and endless tension. A year slips by unnoticed.

One afternoon she meets her friend Maisie at a café. They chat about work, summer plans, and then Maisie leans in.

Hey, did you hear about your exinlaws mother?

Pippa looks up from her tea. No, what happened?

She passed away a few months ago. Victoria caused a scene across the neighbourhood. Turns out the old lady transferred her flat to some distant relative a niece, I think. Victoria tried to fight it, claimed the mother was mentally unfit, but the will was drawn up five years ago when Margaret was still of sound mind.

Pippa freezes. She transferred the flat? To a distant relative?

Maisie nods. Exactly. Victoria hoped to keep the flat for herself, thats why she insisted the mum stay at home instead of a care home she wanted to appear caring so no one would question the inheritance. In the end, she got nothing.

Pippa leans back, a strange warmth spreading through her chest. Justice, at last, seems to have turned.

Whats with the smile? Maisie asks.

Nothing. Just it feels right, Pippa says.

Maisie chuckles. So what, youre celebrating?

Yeah, Pippa replies. Celebrating that life can be unpredictable.

They finish their tea, order a slice of cake and a glass of sparkling wine the good, pricey kind. They laugh, step out onto the street, and walk down the lane. Pippa feels light, almost as if shes floating. Perhaps shes a bit hardened for feeling joy at someone elses downfall, but its clear Victoria tried to use her, drain her energy and then discard her. Life has repaid that greed. The flat ends up with the niece, not with Victoria. James stays put, but happiness never follows him. Thats the whole story.