UPSTAIRS downstairs

Over a delightful Mother’s Day meal, Lyn’s son made an unexpected suggestion

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Getting out of her car, Lyn set off on a circuit of the manicured lawns that flanked Glendale Park Development, noting that the grass looked as if its height had been measured with a ruler.

The cream-colored houses facing the park were nice enough, she supposed.

If you like that sort of thing, her rebellious inner voice snorted.

‘Just give it some thought, Mum,’ Ian had pleaded. ‘It’s called multigenerational living. You’d have the downstairs as a self-contained flat — facing the garden — and me, Ruby and the kids would live on the two floors above. I’m sure you’d give us access to the garden,’ he’d added with his dad’s familiar cheek dimple.

She’d just been round at her son’s for her Mother’s Day lunch. She and her daughter-in- law Ruby hadn’t been allowed to lift a finger while Ian and the twins, Lottie and Alfie, fussed around them, prepping things.

It wasn’t like one of those old sitcoms where the bloke slaved away in a hot kitchen for several hours, then served up a burnt offering and expected praise for it. No, Ian was a dab hand at cooking.

‘Does most of the food prep around here,’ Ruby had confided, as eight-year-old Lottie plonked a small vase of shop-bought daffodils at either end of the table.

‘A vase for you, Mummy, and one for you, Nana,’ she beamed at them.

‘That takes me back,’ Lyn had observed, leaning over to sniff her cheery floral offering. ‘On Mothering Sunday years ago, I’d wake up to breakfast on a tray carried in by Ian — toast with the burnt bits cut off before Ian was old enough to take over from his dad — plus a vase of daffs and a sparkly homemade card Ian had made at school.’

‘Oh, kids still do that,’ Ruby had laughed, getting up to pluck her own card off the mantelpiece. ‘The twins got more glitter on themselves but of course, it’s biodegradable now.’

‘Is it?’ Lyn had said, smelling roast lamb wafting from the kitchen.

‘That’s progress for you.’