“Right, that’s it! Enough! Pack your things and get out of my house!” Margaret Walker shouted, waving her arms and nearly knocking the old lampshade above the dining table. “I’ve had it with your lazy, good-for-nothing attitude!”

“Nan, keep your voice down—the neighbors will hear!” Tom tried to grab her hands, but she yanked them away.

“Let them hear! Let the whole street know what a disappointment my grandson’s turned out to be!” Margaret sniffed, wiping her eyes with the hem of her apron. “Twenty-three years old and acting like a child! Won’t get a proper job, dropped out of uni, just sits glued to that screen all day playing your silly games!”

Tom sighed heavily and slumped onto the sofa—the same creaky old thing she’d refused to replace because his grandad used to nap on it after shifts at the factory.

“I’ve told you a hundred times, it’s not just games—I earn money online!” Tom said wearily, like he was reciting lines from a tired script.

“What money?” Margaret scoffed. “Who’s paying the bills? Buying the groceries? Have you handed me a single pound in six months?”

Tom went quiet. He hadn’t, not really. Every penny from streaming went straight back into new gear, games, or nights out with mates. His nan didn’t get it—couldn’t wrap her head around making a living from a screen in this day and age.

“Exactly. Nothing to say, have you?” Margaret paced their cramped flat, arms crossed. “Am I meant to keep you forever? My pension’s barely enough as it is, and you eat like a horse, leave lights on, that PC whirring all hours—”

“Nan, just let’s talk properly—”

“No! I’m done talking!” Her voice cracked. “How many times have I asked you to find real work? Even a shop job! But no—Lord Muck here sits about like it’s a holiday!”

She sank onto the chair by the window, face in her hands. Tom felt a stab of guilt, but part of him wondered if this was another performance—she’d pulled the ‘disappointed nan’ act before to get her way.

But this time felt different. Usually, she’d shout, then grumble, then shuffle off to make tea. Now she just sat there, shoulders shaking.

“Nan… what’s really wrong?” He touched her arm lightly.

“Ethel’s gone,” she said quietly, not looking up. “Yesterday, at the hospital. Had no idea she was even poorly.”

Tom frowned. Ethel was her best friend—their neighbor, the one she’d swap gossip with over tea at the café, complain about grandkids together.

“God, I’m sorry… What happened?”

“Her heart. Just gave out.” Margaret dabbed her nose with a tissue. “Her lad from Manchester came down for the funeral. Said he’d begged her to move up there for years, but she didn’t want to ‘be a burden.’ And now look.”

Tom sat beside her, awkwardly wrapping an arm around her thin shoulders. At six-foot-something, he always forgot how tiny she was.

“You scared the same’ll happen with us?” he asked.

“Not scared. Know it will.” She looked up, eyes sharp. “I’m seventy-one, Tom. Not made of steel. But you act like I’ll be here forever, cooking and cleaning after you.”

His chest tightened. He’d never really thought about her getting older. She’d always been so tough—even now, mid-rant, her voice was steady, hands firm.

“I want you standing on your own two feet while I’m still here to help,” she said. “Not waking up one day alone like some lost little boy.”

“Don’t say that,” Tom hugged her tighter. “You’ll outlive us all.”

“No, I won’t.” Her tone was calm. “And you know it. That’s why you live like there’s no tomorrow. But you’ve got decades ahead. I’ve got…”

She stood, walking to the window. Outside, drizzly November gloom. A young mum chased her giggling toddler in a red coat through puddles in the estate courtyard.

“See her?” Margaret pointed. “Works double shifts as a carer, raises that boy alone. Hard? Course. But that’s life. And us? I’m more your mum than nan, and you’re clinging to me like a baby.”

Tom swallowed. She wasn’t wrong. After his parents died in that crash when he was twelve, she’d taken him in—fifty-eight then, working two jobs, never complained. Sold her late husband’s shed to pay his uni deposit.

“My fault, really,” Margaret murmured. “Spoilt you. Did everything for you. Thought I was helping. Just made you helpless.”

“Stop it,” Tom caught her hands. “You’re the best nan anyone could—”

“Good nans raise grandkids who don’t need ’em,” she gave a sad smile. “I tied you to me. Now I don’t know how to cut the string.”

By the window, holding her papery hands, Tom noticed—really noticed—how thin her fingers were, the deep wrinkles. When had that happened?

“Maybe don’t kick me out?” he whispered. “I’ll do better.”

“How many ‘maybes’ have there been?” She shook her head. “No, Tom. You won’t change here. Warm bed, hot meals, nan sorting your messes—why would you?”

“Where am I supposed to go?”

“Liam’s.” Her voice was firm. “Your mate’s asked you to stay before. Go. Save up. Rent a room.”

Liam—his old uni flatmate. Worked IT, rented a one-bed with another bloke. Always said Tom could crash there.

“What if I fail?”

“You won’t.” She cupped his face. “Clever lad, just lazy. Hunger’ll fix that.”

The kitchen clatter of her making tea was usually comforting. Now it felt final. At the window, a stray tabby cat blinked at him from the sill.

Breakfast was porridge, eaten in silence. She pushed the sugar toward him—two lumps in her own tea, like always.

“Nan,” he finally said. “If I get a job… can I stay?”

“Get one, then we’ll talk.” She didn’t look up.

“I’ll hand out CVs today.”

“Today, you pack. Go to Liam’s. Job hunt from there.”

“Why today?”

A long pause. Then: “Because if not today, then never. You’ll promise the moon, then by Monday be back on that PC. I won’t play that game again.”

Packing took minutes—clothes, laptop, a few books. Two carrier bags and a rucksack.

Margaret stood in the doorway, stern, but he saw her swipe at her eyes.

“Train fare.” She thrust a fifty at him. “And a bit extra.”

“Nan, I can’t—”

“Take it. Last free handout.”

The note felt heavy in his pocket. His hands shook.

“Can I call you?”

“Course. Not daily. No whinging. Life’s hard for everyone.”

On the doorstep, bags in hand, he turned. She looked small, suddenly foreign in her own hall.

“Love you, nan.”

“Love you too. That’s why you’re going.”

The bus was packed. Strangers glared at his bulky bags.

Liam was all cheer on the phone: “Stay as long as you need!” His flatmate warmed up after Tom fixed his laptop.

“Proper boot out, then?” Liam asked over tea that night.

“Proper.” Tom stared into his mug.

“Probably for the best, mate.”

He knew. But knowing and sitting in a stranger’s flat with fifty quid to his name were different.

Next morning, Liam dragged him to an agency. Courier, warehouse, tech shop—options were slim but something.

“Tech shop,” Tom said. “Know my way around gadgets.”

“Spot on!” the agent said. “They want a young bloke who gets gaming gear. Start tomorrow?”

That evening, Margaret answered on the third ring. She sounded tired.

“Got a job,” he said. “Tech shop. Start tomorrow.”

“Good.” Relief in her voice. “And housing?”

“At Liam’s for now. Flat hunting.”

“Don’t dawdle. Everyone needs their own space.”

The call was short. He ached to tell her more, but she wasn’t in the mood.

“Nan… you mad at me?”

Pause. “No. Miss you, is all.”

“Miss you too.”

“Missin’s healthy.”

Work was harder than he’d imagined—early starts, sore feet, rude customers. But his first paycheck (£280, mostly spent on rent and beans) felt like a fortune.

“See now?” Liam grinned. “Your nan wanted you to taste your own money.”

“Christ, why’d I ever moan at her?”

By month two,He finally understood that growing up wasn’t about independence from her, but about becoming someone she could be proud of, even when she wasn’t there to see it.