Shadows of a Former Home

**Shadows of the Past at Home**

Edith Whitmore fumbled with her phone as she dialled her son’s number. Her fingers trembled ever so slightly.

„Darling…“ Her voice wavered. „Could you and Emma pop by tomorrow? There’s something I’d like to discuss.“

„Is everything all right, Mum?“ His concern was palpable even through the receiver.

„Oh, nothing dreadful,“ she hedged, forcing a light tone. „Just… I’ve missed you.“

In truth, Edith was at her wit’s end. Forty years she’d lived in her flat in the quiet corners of Manchester. It had been her fortress, her trove of memories. But now? Now everything had unraveled.

The next day, when Richard arrived, she busied herself with tea and scones, chattering about the grandchildren, his job—anything to delay the inevitable.

„Right, Mum,“ Richard finally set down his cup. „Out with it. What’s going on?“

She sighed deeply, her gaze drifting to the window. „Well, son, I’ve been thinking…“

„Thinking what?“ He leaned forward, irritation and worry warring in his tone.

Three weeks ago, the new neighbours—a young couple—had moved in upstairs. The walls shook nightly with the rumble of DIY at ungodly hours, their dog yapped endlessly, and polite requests for quiet were met with rolling eyes and muttered impatience.

„It’s our flat now!“ the neighbour had snapped just last night, raking a hand through her tousled hair. „We’ll do as we please!“

Edith, usually the soul of composure, had snapped back. „Do as you please? At half two in the morning? There are children trying to sleep, for heaven’s sake!“

„Some of us have jobs!“ the girl had retorted. „Mind your own business!“

Six times in two weeks, Edith had tried reasoning with them. Six times, she’d been brushed off. That evening, defeated, she’d phoned Richard.

„Darling… Could you come round?“

Now, under her son’s probing stare, she blurted it out. „I was wondering… might I stay with you for a bit? Just until I sort something out.“

Richard nearly choked on his tea. „What? You adore this flat!“

„I did,“ she muttered, waving a hand at the ceiling, where the drill was now serenading them. „But I can’t take it anymore.“

He scowled. „Those neighbours again?“

„Not just them.“ Her voice dropped. „The noise, the loneliness… My friends have moved away. I don’t teach piano anymore. And my old upright—“

„Your piano?!“ Richard shot to his feet. „Mum, you’re joking! That was Dad’s gift to you!“

„Precisely—a relic!“ Her composure cracked, tears spilling. „And I can’t bear it!“

The dam broke. She told him everything—the sleepless nights, the fruitless complaints, the slow erosion of peace in the only home she’d ever known.

„Why didn’t you tell me?“ Richard demanded.

„What good would that have done? You’d have stormed up there and made it worse!“

Still, he snatched up his phone. „I’m calling Emma.“

„No!“ Edith grabbed his wrist. „Don’t drag her into this. I’ll talk to her myself—later. I won’t just turn up on your doorstep with my suitcases!“

„Too late.“ Richard was already dialling. „Emma? Listen, about Mum…“

„Edith, don’t be daft!“ Emma’s warm voice crackled through the speaker. „We’ve loads of space! Sophie and Thomas will be over the moon—they adore you!“

A week later, Edith moved in with them.

━━

„Emma, darling,“ Edith fretted, standing awkwardly in the doorway of the children’s room, „I don’t want to be a bother. You’ve your work, the little ones…“

„Nonsense!“ Emma wheeled her suitcase inside. „You’ll be a godsend. The kids are mad for you, and I’m swamped with deadlines.“

„Cooking?“ Edith brightened. „I’ve a jar of dried wild mushrooms—picked them myself last autumn. A nice soup, perhaps?“

Ten-year-old Sophie barrelled into the hall. „Grandma! Are you staying forever? Oh, will you bring your piano? Teach me to play?“

„Hush, you whirlwind!“ Emma laughed, steering her daughter back. „Let the poor woman unpack first.“

Alone in the bathroom, Edith stared at her reflection. How had it come to this? She’d been the strong one—widowed young, raised Richard alone, worked two jobs. And now? A guest in her son’s home.

„Mum?“ Richard tapped on the door. „You okay?“

„Fine, fine,“ she dabbed at her eyes hastily.

Dinner was chaos—Sophie chattering about school, eight-year-old Thomas brandishing drawings, Emma sharing office gossip.

„So,“ Richard said suddenly, „what if we fetched the piano? The spare room’s just sitting there.“

„Spare room?“ Edith blinked. „But that’s Emma’s study!“

„Hardly!“ Emma waved a hand. „I can work anywhere. And wouldn’t it be lovely to have music again? Remember how you played at Christmas?“

„Oh, I’m rusty,“ Edith demurred. „Fingers aren’t what they were.“

„But Grandma,“ Sophie pleaded, „please? I want to learn!“

„Don’t pressure her,“ Emma chided gently. „It’s her choice.“

Later, on the balcony, Emma found her staring at the city lights.

„Can’t sleep?“

„Nervous,“ Edith admitted.

They sat in companionable silence until Emma spoke again.

„You know… I always envied Richard’s stories about you. Teaching him piano, baking with him… My mother wasn’t like that. Always too busy.“

„And now I’m just… in the way,“ Edith murmured.

„In the way?!“ Emma hugged her fiercely. „Let me tell you—I’ve wished for a mother like you. Mine moved to Spain three years ago with her new husband. Calls once a month if I’m lucky.“

Edith, stunned, stroked Emma’s hair. „Oh, darling…“

„Remember what you told me when I was expecting Sophie? ‘Keep the melody in your heart—the rest will follow.’“

„You remember that?“ Edith gasped.

From the kitchen came the clatter of dishes—Richard attempting stealth washing-up.

„Hear that?“ Emma grinned. „He’s terrified you’ll disapprove of our mess.“

„What mess?“ Edith scoffed. „You should’ve seen my neighbours…“ And for the first time in months, she laughed.

━━

The piano arrived the next week. By evening, it stood—gleaming—in the former study, now decked out with musical-patterned wallpaper („Sophie’s idea,“ Emma confessed).

Edith’s hands shook as she lifted the lid. „Out of tune, surely…“

„Tuner’s coming tomorrow,“ Richard said. „I’ve sorted it.“

„You planned all this?“

„Obviously!“ Emma beamed. „I took piano as a child. Fancy a duet?“

And so the music began—hesitant at first, then swelling, filling the house with the same piece Edith had played at her graduation recital.

When silence fell, Sophie whispered, „Grandma… teach me?“

„I will,“ Edith promised. „Everything. Just… teach me too.“

„Teach you what?“

„How to start again.“

━━

Three months later, the „music room“ echoed nightly with scales and laughter. Sophie was a natural, and Emma, to her surprise, rediscovered her childhood lessons.

One evening, mid-scale, Emma hesitated. „Edith… May I call you Mum?“

Edith’s hands stilled. „Oh, darling, I—“

„You’ve earned it,“ Emma said firmly. „More than you know.“

Then the phone rang. Richard returned from the hall, stunned. „Mum—the estate agent. Someone’s made an offer on your flat.“

Edith paled. „Already?“

„Mum,“ Emma said quickly, „you don’t have to sell. Stay as long as you like.“

But Edith straightened, resolve crystallising. „No, dear. It’s time. One can’t cling to the past forever.“

„Then where will you go?“ Richard frowned.

She smiled. „A cottage. Somewhere green. With a garden for you all to visit.“

„Grandma!“ Sophie shrieked. „With a proper garden?“

„And a patio,“ Edith nodded. „I’ve dreamed of it. Just never dared say.“

Emma squeezed her hand. „Why not?“

„Too old for new beginnings, I thought. But now…“ She looked around at her family. „Now I know better.“

━━

A year on, the cottage hummed with life every weekend—Sophie’s scales drifting through open windows, Thomas’s football bouncing off the roses, Emma battling theThe years ahead stretched before her like sheet music, just waiting for their harmony to be played.