Chapter 1
No, she won’t like it. Yes, she’ll resist. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have the conversation.
As I pulled up outside Mum’s, it didn’t matter that I was a fifty-year-old woman with experience and valid concerns, I still felt like an ogre. As if I was one of those adult children who packed their parent off to a nursing home, abandoning them until they could collect their inheritance.
I stared up at the house, reluctant to get out of the car.
Maybe you could wait until January to talk about it?
Get the restructure at work out of the way first. I took in the brightly lit tree that filled the living room window.
Why risk spoiling Christmas if you don’t have to?
Sighing, I grabbed my bag and climbed out into the cold night air.
Or you could say nothing at all ever and hope for the best?
Insisting I’d see how things went, I let myself into the house. ‘It’s only me!’ I waited for a response, only to be met with silence. Shaking my head, I made my way down the hall to the kitchen.
With no sign of Mum, my gaze settled on a box on the table. My shoulders slumped. ‘What’s she been buying now?’ The number of times I’d talked to her about not wasting money for the sake of it. Whatever it was, she wouldn’t need it. I had to wonder if Mum had developed a shopping addiction.
I hung my bag on the back of a chair and picking up her latest acquisition, read its label. ‘Crystal and gemstone Bonsai Tree. Featuring genuine Red Jasper, Carnelian, Amethyst, and Clear Quartz.’ I shook my head. ‘Genuine my arse.’ Out of all Mum’s online purchases, that had to be the worst.
Putting the box down again, I turned my attention to the kettle, and filling it with water, set it on the stove to boil.
I shivered and feeling a draught, saw that the back door was ajar.
Moving to close it, I heard a voice. Mum’s.
My heart sank. I had a good idea she was talking to Jackson, the lad next door.
Everyone knew winter temperatures plummeted once darkness fell and the last thing he should’ve been doing was keeping an elderly woman out in the cold. He’d been a bad influence from the moment he and Mum met. Not that I could say anything. Mum wouldn’t hear a word against him.
Irritated, I ventured outside but as I looked around, Jackson was nowhere to be seen. Mum, wearing what she’d taken to calling her ‘signature beret’, yet no coat, sat alone on Dad’s bench. I took a deep breath to calm myself. ‘Mum, who are you talking to?’
Her face brightened as she looked my way. ‘Bonsoir, Erin. Comment ca va?’
I tilted my head and pursing my lips, waited for an answer to my question.
Mum rolled her eyes. ‘I was chatting with your father, if you must know. Why?’
‘Because it’s freezing out here and you’re gonna get pneumonia.’
‘See what I mean, Derek? She’s always telling me off for something.’
What Mum took as a scolding, I viewed as concern. ‘Mum, you need to come inside and if Dad were here, he’d be saying the same thing.’
Mum pouted. ‘Anyone would think you’re the parent and I’m the child.
’ She rose to her feet and sticking her nose in the air, led the way back into the kitchen.
Her gaze suddenly darted from the table to me and hurrying over, she grabbed the box and stuffed it into a cupboard, which, as far as I was concerned, was the best place for it.
She straightened herself up and narrowing her eyes, turned to me, suspicious.
‘You didn’t look at that when you came in, did you? ’
I feigned innocence. ‘No, of course not.’
‘Good.’ She headed back to the table and sat down. ‘It’s your Christmas present and it would have spoiled the surprise.’
I pictured my carefully curated, bordering on minimalist flat.
The last thing it needed was a crystal and gemstone bonsai tree.
I didn’t have a clue where I was going to put it; nor did I have the acting skills I’d need come Christmas morning.
The kettle whistled and glad of the distraction, I set about making us both a cup of tea.
I handed Mum her drink. ‘That should warm you up.’
Her hands shook as she lifted the cup to her mouth, but instead of taking a sip she paused. ‘It’s because I’m cold,’ she said as if sensing I was watching her. ‘Not because I’ve got some degenerative disorder.’
‘I didn’t say a word.’
She looked at me direct. ‘You didn’t have to.’
Guilty as charged, I didn’t see the point in delaying our much-needed conversation until January. I was evidently the bad guy in Mum’s eyes, whether I spoke out or not. ‘Seeing as we’re on the subject…’ I reached into my bag and pulled out a brochure.
‘What’s that?’ Mum asked.
I slid it across the table. ‘An information booklet about Maple Manor.’
She put her cup down. ‘That old folks home?’
I nodded.
‘And you’re giving it to me because…?’
I braced myself in readiness for her response. ‘I thought we could discuss your options.’
Mum glowered. ‘Are you suggesting I’m physically incapable of looking after myself? Or mentally? Perhaps both?’
I made sure to keep my tone light. ‘If you don’t want to read it for yourself, then read it for me.’
‘There’s no point.’
‘And maybe consider us taking a tour of the place. You never know, you might like what you see.’
Mum crossed her arms tight across her chest and leaned back in her seat. Her mouth turned downward, she fast shook her head. ‘Je ne pense pas!’
My patience dipped. Because speaking French at every opportunity is perfectly normal, I thought but knew better than to say.
I blamed the old pen pal letters she’d been reading of late.
If she hadn’t come across them, she wouldn’t be flouncing around like Catherine Deneuve, let alone building a streak on Duolingo.
I pictured Mum as she sorted through old paperwork.
For her, finding those letters had been like finding long lost treasure.
‘Gisèle and I wrote to each other all the time,’ she’d said when she showed me the stack of neatly scribed envelopes. She clutched them to her chest. ‘Before life took over.’
But there lay the problem. The life that had kept Mum too busy to write for fifty-odd years no longer existed and instead of looking to the past for solace, Mum needed to look to the future. I nodded to the brochure. ‘Come on, Mum. At least meet me halfway and think about it.’