Smiling through

Right. Ten minutes till Coronation Street, just time to ring Mum.
Always helps if there's a reason for her to get off the line, otherwise
she'll keep me talking all night. Hope she's feeling better today. It
gets me down the way she's always moaning about her aches and pains. I
feel bad myself often enough but I don't go on and on about it.

She's taking a long time to answer. I expect she's in the loo. Or maybe
she's gone upstairs. She never remembers to take the phone with her. I
don't know why we bothered getting her a cordless. Mind you, if she did
take it up she'd forget to bring it down again. It's ridiculous,
really, her trying to cope with stairs at her age. She ought to have a
nice little bungalow, sheltered housing, with a warder. But will she
budge?

Oh, come on . . . I expect she's sitting there in her chair, telly
going full blast, quite oblivious. I'll try again later.

Still no answer. Perhaps I should ring Mr Evans, ask him to pop next
door, see if she's all right. He's got the spare key. I don't like
bothering him, though, not after last time. I was so embarrassed when I
found I'd got him out of bed. And she'd only fallen asleep, after
all!

Only, what if she's had a fall? She does such silly things. Only the
other week I caught her up on a chair, trying to wash the windows! I
told her to leave them for the home help, but she wouldn't have it.
Said the home help wouldn't touch windows, she wasn't insured for
climbing. I nearly had a fit! Neither are you, I said, but I could see
she'd switched off.
Better try Mr Evans. Drat it, he's not answering either.

It's no use, I'll have to go round. Such a nuisance, when I've put the
car away. Especially as it's sure to be another false alarm. Still,
can't be helped. I won't get a wink of sleep tonight unless I know
she's all right.

At least there's not much traffic this time of night. I should be there
in forty minutes. Pity Mr Evans wasn't in. He gets out a lot more than
poor old Mum. Of course he's younger, only in his eighties. And fitter.
He took up kick-boxing after his wife died, and it's only a couple of
years since he did that bungee jump in aid of the Hospice. Not that I
know him myself,mind, except to say "Hello" to. I got all this from
Mum. I think I know more about her neighbours than I do about my
own.

No lights downstairs, and it's only nine o'clock. She never goes to bed
this early, not unless she's feeling poorly. Ah well, here goes.

"Hello - hello. Is that you, Enid? It's Phyllis. I'm phoning from
Mother's. No, nothing's happened - at least, it has I suppose.

"Oh dear, I don't know how - no, no, she's not ill. Not exactly. It's
been such a shock. She never answered the phone this evening you see. I
rang, then I tried that man next door, the one who keeps her spare - I
am getting to the point! Just let me tell it in my own way. He didn't
answer either, so I came over, and - oh Enid! Mother and that Mr Evans
- they're Carrying On!

"What do you mean, good for her?

"No. it's not natural - she's ninety-three! And what about Dad? What
would he say?

"I know how long he's been dead! That's not the point.

"I want you to come over here tomorrow. Perhaps between the two of us
we'll manage to talk some sense into her.

"Don't be silly. She's not a competent adult. She's an old person.
Doing that sort of thing in her state of health - it could kill
her.

"Enid! That's a disgusting thing to say!

"Well, I'm sorry you feel like that. I thought you might show some
responsibility - she's your mother too - but I can see I'll have to
sort everything out by myself as usual. I can't talk any more, I'm too
upset. I'll ring you tomorrow."

Now isn't that Enid all over! We never did see eye to eye, even when we
were little. Anything I say, she has to say the opposite. I swear she
only does it to be awkward.

Whatever am I going to do? I don't think I'm fit to drive home. My
nerves are in shreds. I wonder if there's any of that sherry left we
bought her at Christmas?

I must sit down for a bit. I feel so shaken up. I was never so
embarrassed in my life as when I opened that bedroom door and saw the
pair of them. That horrible little man lying there with a smirk on his
face. And all she could say was, "I'm quite all right, thank you. Go
away." To me! Her own daughter who'd been worried sick!

And the worst thing of all, the sight that will haunt me to my dying
day, was those two tumblers side by side on the bedside table. Each
with a pair of false teeth soaking in them. Sitting there, shameless.
Triumphant.

Grinning at me.