Mum

James married at twentyfour. His wife, Emily, was twentytwo. She was the only child of a university professor and a schoolteacher, and the family had welcomed three boys firstJack, Harry and Oliverbefore Lily arrived.

Emilys mother, Margaret, had just retired and threw herself into looking after the grandchildren. Jamess relationship with her was always formal; he called her MrsMargaret and she answered him with a cool you, always using his full name. They never quarreled, but whenever she was in the room James felt a chill and a sense of unease. Still, Margaret never made a fuss, speaking to him with exaggerated politeness, and she kept a strict neutrality in his marriage.

A month earlier the company where James worked went bust, and he was made redundant. At dinner Emily dropped a sigh:

James, Moms pension and my salary wont stretch far enough. You need to find a job.

Easy to sayfind a job! He spent thirty days pounding on door after door, and nothing.

In a fit of irritation James kicked a beer bottle that had rolled onto the floor. Margaret stayed silent, but her eyes flickered with meaning.

Before the wedding James had overheard a conversation between Emily and her mother.

Emily, are you sure hes the man you want to spend the rest of your life with?

Mum, of course!

Im not sure you understand the responsibility. If my husband were still alive

Mum, enough! We love each other and itll be fine!

What about the children? Will he be able to support them?

He will, Mum.

Its not too late to stop, to think. His family

Mum, I love him!

Oh, youll see how youll end up biting your elbows!

The time to bite has come, James muttered with a sour grin, while Margaret stared into the distance as if looking at water.

James didnt want to go home. He felt his wifes comfort was a façade, her Dont worry, tomorrow will be better sounding hollow, his motherinlaws sighs turning judgmental, and the childrens teasing, Dad, found a job yet? seemed unbearable.

He wandered down the river walk, sat on a bench in the park, and as night fell drove to the family cottage that they used from May to September. One window in Margarets bedroom glowed. He slipped down the garden path, the curtain fluttered, and he sat down, the fifth point of his hip landing on a stump.

Margaret appeared in the doorway:

James has been gone a long while. Did you call, Emily?

Yes, Mum, the lines dead. He probably hasnt found work yet, so hes out wandering somewhere.

Her voice hardened:

Emily, dont you dare speak of the father of your children in that tone!

Oh, Mum, are you serious? I just think James is being lazy and isnt really looking. Hes been sitting on my lap at home for a month!

For the first time in six years James heard Margaret slam her fist on the table and raise her voice:

Dont you dare speak about your husband like that! What did you promise when you said I do? in sickness and in health to stand by each other and support one another!

Emily muttered a rapid apology:

Mum, Im sorry. Please dont worry, alright? Im just exhausted. Im sorry, love.

Alright, go to bed, Margaret said, waving a tired hand.

The light went out. Margaret paced the room, pulled back the curtain, peered into the darkness, then lifted her eyes to the ceiling and crossed herself earnestly:

Lord Almighty, merciful and kind, protect the father of my grandchildren, the husband of my daughter! Do not let him lose faith in himself! Help him, dear Lord, my dear son!

She whispered and crossed herself, tears streaming down her cheeks.

A hot knot formed in Jamess chest. No one had ever prayed for himnot his stern mother, who had devoted her life to the local council, nor his father, who vanished when James was five. Hed grown up in nurseries, then a primary school, then a secondary school with aftercare, and straight into university and then workhis mother would not tolerate idleness.

The heat rose, filling his insides until it burst into sudden, stingy tears. He remembered how Margaret rose early to bake scones and pies he adored, simmered a rich stew, and rolled dumplings that seemed magical. She tended the garden, canned preserves, pickled cucumbers and cabbage for winter.

Why had he never cared? Why had he never praised her? He and Emily had simply gone through the motionsworking, raising childrenthinking that was enough. Or perhaps he had convinced himself that it was. He recalled a family evening watching a travel documentary about Australia; Margaret sighed, Ive always dreamed of seeing that mysterious continent. James snorted, Its too hot there, they wont let a lady in an icecream coat survive.

James sat for a long time under the window, his head cradled in his arms.

In the morning he and Emily descended to the veranda for breakfast. The table held scones, jam, tea, and milk; the children beamed with bright smiles. James looked up and said gently,

Good morning, Mum.

Margaret startled, then after a pause replied,

Good morning, Jamie.

Two weeks later James secured a position at a local engineering firm, earning a modest £2,800 a month. A year after that, despite Margarets fierce protests, he booked her a flight to Australia, where she finally walked the sunburnt beaches she had long imagined.

Through loss and pride, silence and prayer, James learned that respect and gratitude are the foundations of a familys strength. He discovered that true support is not spoken in grand gestures alone, but in the everyday kindnessesbaking, gardening, listeningthat keep a household warm. In the end, he realized that a life lived without appreciation is empty, but one filled with humble thanks can turn even the coldest rooms into homes.