Page 54 of Close to You
‘I don’t know – but it’s nice you’re here.’
She clears her throat and I’m not sure if it’s genuine, or if she’s annoyed about something.
‘What music is this?’ she asks.
I stop to listen: ‘I’m not sure,’ I reply.
‘It’s terrible. Music was so much better in my day.’
‘I think everyone believes the same thing.’
‘Yes, but I’m right.’
She finishes her sherry and passes me the empty glass.
‘Do you want more?’ I ask.
Nobody rolls their eyes quite like my mother. It’s always been able to make me feel a couple of inches high. As if not reading her mind is some sort of crime. ‘What do you think?’ she replies.
‘I don’t know – that’s why I’m asking.’
She stretches for the glass: ‘I’ll get it myself if it’s too much trouble.’
I stand abruptly, saying that I’ll go and then crossing quickly to the bar. There’s nobody else after a drink, so I get another sherry for Mum, as well as a glass of red for myself. It’s only when the barman returns that I ask for a double whisky and neck it when nobody’s watching. I’m going to need it to get through the evening.
After that, I load a paper plate with food from the buffet and then head back to Mum, who is still sitting by herself. She takes her drink and then points at the food.
‘What’s that?’ she says, her top lip curled.
‘That’s a samosa,’ I say, pointing to one side of the plate, before motioning to the other, ‘and that’s a yam roll.’
Mum wafts a hand across the plate. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with a plain ham sandwich. Never killed anyone, did it?’
‘Not everyone eats meat, Mum.’
‘Pfft. People weren’t so fussy in my day.’
I open my mouth to reply, but then close it. Nothing is going to be worth turning this into a full-on argument. I should have left her with David. He’s more or less the only person around whom she turns into a pleasant person. If he was anywhere in sight, I’d nod David across and hand over the reins once more – but he seems to have disappeared.
‘I’ve got to mingle,’ I say, wanting a way out.
‘Oh, don’t worry about me,’ Mum replies. It’s hard to tell whether she’s being sarcastic, or if she actually wants to be left alone.
‘I’ll see you later,’ I say, although she’s back to staring at the wall. I can imagine her saying that nobody needed phones in her day because they had perfectly good walls to stare at.
There’s still no sign of David and I assume he’s gone to the toilet, so I head back to Jane, who is still in her alcove. There’s a slim hint of a smile on her face that makes it clear she knows exactly what’s happened between my mother and me. She’s known us too long.
She’s also tipsier – and holds up the half-empty wine bottle. ‘This is my last one,’ she says.
‘It’s a long night,’ I reply, though she shakes her head.
‘Not only tonight: for a long while. Ben and me are going to start trying for children. This is my last weekend of drinking.’
It takes me a couple of seconds and then I reply with the only thing I can: ‘You’ll be a great Mum,’ I say – although I’m looking at my own mother as I say it. Maybe I believe it; maybe I don’t.
David is back in the room. He walks gingerly across the floor, like an old man who’s forgotten his stick, and then turns in a circle, seemingly not knowing where to plant himself. He said he pulled a muscle when he decided to go running on a whim. I was taking a spin session at the time. I’ve never known him do that before, but I suppose that’s why he pulled a muscle.
Jane is watching him, too and I can feel the tension from her. ‘I should’ve told you this a long time ago,’ she says, somewhat abruptly.
