stop buying me flowers as if I were dying or something.’
Carrying the Gloomy Can
My mother came over. I think for my birthday. Mother is a great celebrator of birthdays, even when everybody else has forgotten them. She even remembers Hilary’s. It’s a ritual for her, a slavery almost, like the moral code she blindly follows, the tithe of her income in the collection plate, the sense of duty toward Grandfather, the not marrying a man because he’d got divorced a decade before.
She remembered my birthday and brought the traditional, home-baked, lemon-iced birthday cake, arriving at the door after two long bus rides all bright and chirrupy, because of course Mother is never more cheerful than when she knows she’s fulfilling some family duty. I thanked her and kissed her. I was even glad she’d come as I felt it might take some of the tension out of the air. But hardly have we sat down to eat our cake than Shirley is asking: ‘Saved any souls lately, Mrs Crawley?’
It was deliberately hurtful. She had the innocent smile on her face she always combines with her worst sarcasm. My Mother very simply said: ‘It’s not me saves souls, lovey, it’s God,’ and she began to tell us all about Peggy’s darling little boy Frederick. He was so big and blond, he had all his milk teeth already, he was such a gorgeous cuddly little boy. Her big clumsy hands massacred the cake with the flat’s blunt breadknife. ‘For you, George?’
Shirley asked: ‘‘I imagine Peg’s planning another one now?’
Naturally, given the still dubious paternity of the first, this had Mother knitting her brow. But she managed a forgiving laugh: ‘Oh, I wouldn’t know, Peggy never tells me anything.’
‘Vetting possible fathers, perhaps,’ Shirley suggested. ‘She’s into Buddhism these days, isn’t she? Perhaps we’ll have a Chinese in the family.’
When we were on our own a moment in the kitchen I asked her what the hell she thought she was up to. Why couldn’t we just have a pleasant meal together?
‘I hate,’ she said, ‘the way you’re such a goody goody when your mother comes, the way she thinks the sun shines out of your backside. If she knew what you were really like.’
‘And what am I like?’ I asked.
‘You hardly need me to tell you that,’ she said.
‘You were the one, sweetheart,’ I told her, ‘said you wouldn’t mind her coming to live here with us.’
‘Precisely because,’ she replied, ‘she might finally be forced to see the light. We might clear the air.’
‘I swear in front of her,’ I said, ‘I don’t try to hide anything.’
At which, and I’m afraid this is very effective, she simply burst out laughing and walked back into the living room.
Driving Mother home to Acton, I said: ‘Sorry if Shirl was a bit abrasive, Mum.’
‘Was she, love? I didn’t notice.’
‘I don’t know, she seems a bit, er, frustrated these days. I don’t know what it is.’
‘We all go through our bad patches, poor dear,’ Mother said complacently. Then waiting for the lights at the A40, she hazarded: ‘I know it’s none of my business, but perhaps it’s time to start a family. She did tell me she’d like a baby a while back.’
When I said nothing, watching for green – I had the usual hassler trying to edge past me on the inside, something I never allow – she said: ‘I always feel there’s a time in everybody’s lives when it’s just the next logical step to take, the only way to grow.’
I laughed, putting my foot down hard. I love driving. I said, ‘You forget, Mum. I specialise in logical steps, it’s my job, and I can assure you it wouldn’t be. Shirley’s is just a straightforward case of boredom. That’s the problem. Havea baby and she’d be even more bored. She’d always be trying to dump it on babysitters and relatives.’
Mother said brightly: ‘Well you know you can count on me, love. I have ever so much fun looking after Frederick.’
With a sense that events
Carrying the Gloomy Can
My mother came over. I think for my birthday. Mother is a great celebrator of birthdays, even when everybody else has forgotten them. She even remembers Hilary’s. It’s a ritual for her, a slavery almost, like the moral code she blindly follows, the tithe of her income in the collection plate, the sense of duty toward Grandfather, the not marrying a man because he’d got divorced a decade before.
She remembered my birthday and brought the traditional, home-baked, lemon-iced birthday cake, arriving at the door after two long bus rides all bright and chirrupy, because of course Mother is never more cheerful than when she knows she’s fulfilling some family duty. I thanked her and kissed her. I was even glad she’d come as I felt it might take some of the tension out of the air. But hardly have we sat down to eat our cake than Shirley is asking: ‘Saved any souls lately, Mrs Crawley?’
It was deliberately hurtful. She had the innocent smile on her face she always combines with her worst sarcasm. My Mother very simply said: ‘It’s not me saves souls, lovey, it’s God,’ and she began to tell us all about Peggy’s darling little boy Frederick. He was so big and blond, he had all his milk teeth already, he was such a gorgeous cuddly little boy. Her big clumsy hands massacred the cake with the flat’s blunt breadknife. ‘For you, George?’
Shirley asked: ‘‘I imagine Peg’s planning another one now?’
Naturally, given the still dubious paternity of the first, this had Mother knitting her brow. But she managed a forgiving laugh: ‘Oh, I wouldn’t know, Peggy never tells me anything.’
‘Vetting possible fathers, perhaps,’ Shirley suggested. ‘She’s into Buddhism these days, isn’t she? Perhaps we’ll have a Chinese in the family.’
When we were on our own a moment in the kitchen I asked her what the hell she thought she was up to. Why couldn’t we just have a pleasant meal together?
‘I hate,’ she said, ‘the way you’re such a goody goody when your mother comes, the way she thinks the sun shines out of your backside. If she knew what you were really like.’
‘And what am I like?’ I asked.
‘You hardly need me to tell you that,’ she said.
‘You were the one, sweetheart,’ I told her, ‘said you wouldn’t mind her coming to live here with us.’
‘Precisely because,’ she replied, ‘she might finally be forced to see the light. We might clear the air.’
‘I swear in front of her,’ I said, ‘I don’t try to hide anything.’
At which, and I’m afraid this is very effective, she simply burst out laughing and walked back into the living room.
Driving Mother home to Acton, I said: ‘Sorry if Shirl was a bit abrasive, Mum.’
‘Was she, love? I didn’t notice.’
‘I don’t know, she seems a bit, er, frustrated these days. I don’t know what it is.’
‘We all go through our bad patches, poor dear,’ Mother said complacently. Then waiting for the lights at the A40, she hazarded: ‘I know it’s none of my business, but perhaps it’s time to start a family. She did tell me she’d like a baby a while back.’
When I said nothing, watching for green – I had the usual hassler trying to edge past me on the inside, something I never allow – she said: ‘I always feel there’s a time in everybody’s lives when it’s just the next logical step to take, the only way to grow.’
I laughed, putting my foot down hard. I love driving. I said, ‘You forget, Mum. I specialise in logical steps, it’s my job, and I can assure you it wouldn’t be. Shirley’s is just a straightforward case of boredom. That’s the problem. Havea baby and she’d be even more bored. She’d always be trying to dump it on babysitters and relatives.’
Mother said brightly: ‘Well you know you can count on me, love. I have ever so much fun looking after Frederick.’
With a sense that events
Similar Books
