Mummyfesto, The

by Green, Linda

  ‘So you’ll both go on suffering in silence?’

  ‘I can’t see any other way. I can’t destroy Rob’s coping mechanism just so I can get things off my chest.’

  ‘Maybe you’d be doing him a favour. In the long run I mean.’ Mum looked down. She didn’t have to say anything more. I knew what she meant.

  ‘I’ve thought that sometimes, too. But I still can’t be sure it’s the right thing to do. What if he’s right? What if it’s best to just enjoy the here and now instead of worrying all the time like I do?’

  Mum nodded and walked a few paces away to look out of the window where Oscar could be seen commanding the pirate ship and doing a very passable Captain Hook impression.

  ‘It’s daft isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Sometimes, just listening to him, it’s hard to believe there’s anything wrong with him.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Why don’t you try to get some respite care?’ said Mum. ‘Even if it’s only for a night or two. I’m sure it would do you all the power of good.’

  I shook my head. ‘There are so many families worse off than us, Mum. Families who really need those places. We’re OK. It’s tough but we can get through this.’

  ‘What about you and Rob? About the strain this must be putting on you.’

  I shrugged. ‘We’ll be all right.’

  ‘You still need to be a couple as well, you know. Instead of always being Oscar and Zach’s mum and dad.’

  ‘I know. And I really appreciate tonight.’ I glanced up at the clock then looked down at the broken lasagne dish which was still lying on the floor. I felt like crying again. My face must have shown it.

  ‘We’ll do spaghetti,’ Mum said, picking the pieces up and putting them on the kitchen counter. ‘The boys love it and it’ll be ready in ten minutes.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, rummaging in the cupboard for a jar of pasta sauce and wondering how the hell I was going to stand for parliament when I couldn’t even manage to get a decent meal ready on time. ‘Sorry about all this.’

  Mum turned to face me. ‘No one will remember the lasagne you didn’t cook,’ she said. ‘What they’ll remember is the love you always showed them.’

  I’d quite forgotten how good Rob looked in a suit. Well, not a suit exactly, he had a pathological aversion to ties, but a smart shirt and trousers at least.

  ‘Hey,’ I said, sidling up to him before the guests arrived. ‘You scrubbed up pretty well. I can’t even see any paint in your hair.’

  ‘Cheers,’ grinned Rob. ‘You don’t look too bad yourself.’

  I glanced down. I had my one posh frock on: a brown-and-gold silk number from Monsoon. I’d got it for a wedding years ago and had only worn it half a dozen times since.

  ‘Why, thank you. Had to make an effort to look my best, didn’t I? What with all the female flesh on show tonight.’

  Rob smiled as we gazed around us at the array of nudes on display. His paintings gracing the walls of the gallery, ready to be admired by the guests.

  ‘They look OK, don’t they?’ asked Rob.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘They look absolutely awesome.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Rob. ‘For all of this, I mean.’

  ‘Just make sure this is the first of many,’ I said.

  There were voices in the corridor. The first of the guests walked through to the gallery, glass of wine in her hand, silver-grey hair blow-dried to within an inch of its life.

  ‘She looks familiar,’ I whispered.

  ‘Third portrait along on the left,’ Rob whispered back. ‘I almost didn’t recognise her with her clothes on.’

  I crept into Oscar’s room when Rob and I got back later that night. Although I’d taught Mum how to use all the machines I still had to see for myself that everything was fine. I switched the bedside lamp on so I could check the night-time ventilator was secured properly. He always looked so little under it, as if somehow it was deflating him as he slept, instead of helping him breathe. I kissed him on the forehead. ‘Night-night, Pirate Oscar,’ I whispered.

  I tiptoed across the landing to open Zach’s door a crack. Unlike Oscar, Zach was a light sleeper. It was as if he never totally switched off. A pirate in the crow’s nest, always on the alert for danger.

  ‘Night-night, Mummy,’ came a voice from within.

  ‘You should be asleep, sweetheart,’ I said, bending to stroke his hair.

  ‘I heard you come home,’ he said. ‘Did lots of people go to Daddy’s exhibition?’

  ‘Yes, love.’

  ‘And did they all love his paintings?’

  ‘Absolutely. Everybody said they were brilliant and he’s sold two already.’

  ‘So are there two gaps where the paintings used to be?’

  ‘No, love. The people who bought them won’t take them home until the exhibition has finished.’

  ‘That’s OK then,’ said Zach. ‘As long as they haven’t spoiled Daddy’s exhibition.’

  I shook my head in the dark. I loved him and worried for him in equal measure. ‘Let’s get some sleep now,’ I said, kissing him on the cheek.

  ‘Have Grandma and Grandad gone home?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is Oscar asleep?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘OK. Night-night, Mummy.’

  I shut the door and went into the bathroom. I imagined Zach listening to every sound. He was a parent way before his time, unable to rest until everyone in the household was safe and sound in their bed. I padded barefoot into our room, still a little light-headed from the wine. Rob was already in bed. Eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling though. And looking utterly wired.

  ‘Today Linden Mill, tomorrow the world,’ I said, undressing and climbing into bed next to him.

  ‘I wish,’ he said, putting his arm around me.

  ‘Well, why not?’ I asked.

  ‘How long have you got?’

  ‘I don’t see any reason why you couldn’t do it.’

  ‘That’s because you don’t see any barriers to anything.’

  ‘And that’s a bad thing?’

  ‘No. Just so long as you understand other people might not share your optimism and might be a bit more grounded.’

  ‘You still think I’m crazy, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, but I wouldn’t want you any other way. And as long as I continue to be a raging pessimist we make a good team.’

  I looked up and smiled at him, kissed him on the lips. ‘It was good tonight. I was dead proud of you.’

  ‘Thanks. The way I see it, that’ll pay for new shoes, wellies and trainers for both of them and leave a bit towards the gas bill.’

  ‘Hey, come on. I meant I was proud of your pictures, not how much money you made.’

  ‘I know. But it’s not going to go amiss is it?’ He was right, of course. I was actually glad he hadn’t commented on my hair now. It would only make me feel even worse.

  ‘I’m going to get the money for the election deposit back,’ I said. ‘Anna’s going to approach some people for sponsorship. She’s got a proper fundraising plan. It involves spreadsheets. This really isn’t going to cost us a penny. We’ll make sure of it.’

  ‘I told you. As long as you win I don’t care how much it costs. Just so long as there’s a nice little cubbyhole somewhere in Downing Street which will do for a studio.’ I smiled and stretched my arm further across his chest.

  ‘Oh, I’ll do better than that,’ I said. ‘I’ll get you an exhibition at the Tate. I’m sure I’ll be able to pull some strings if I’m PM.’

  Rob shook his head. ‘See,’ he said, ‘it’s true what they say. Power corrupts and all that.’

  I kissed him again on the mouth to shut him up. Rubbed my foot up and down his leg.

  ‘Hey,’ said Rob. ‘Are you sure we’ve got time for this? Don’t you have a speech to write or something?’

  ‘Shut up and make the most of it.’ I smiled. ‘But keep the noise down because Zach’s probably still awake.’


  14

  JACKIE

  I drove past her without even realising. It was only the flash of pink in my rear-view mirror which set off some kind of alert in my brain. I pulled over sharply, bumped up the kerb and parked at an awkward angle. I could see her in my wing mirror now. An elderly lady with unkempt grey hair, wearing a long pink nightdress and red carpet slippers. Shuffling along the pavement, secateurs in hand and seemingly oblivious to anything around her.

  I jumped out of the car. ‘Mum,’ I called. She didn’t turn around, of course. Just kept on shuffling. I started running down the road, running as best I could, that was, in a pair of high platforms and a too-tight skirt. I couldn’t imagine Cameron taking a detour like this on his way to the Tories’ election campaign launch. You just didn’t see it: a top politician arriving breathlessly in front of the assembled media and apologising that his mother had escaped, armed with secateurs and he’d had to give chase down the street.

  I slowed down as I drew nearer. I didn’t want to startle her. And I wasn’t sure she’d even know who I was.

  ‘Hello, Mum,’ I said, gently taking her arm. ‘We need to get you back indoors.’

  She turned to stare at me. I waited for the flicker of recognition. It didn’t come.

  ‘Roses need pruning,’ she said.

  ‘Not now they don’t. I’m going to get you inside. You’re not even dressed.’

  She glanced down at her nightdress then looked back up at me, a frown creasing her brow. ‘Do I know you?’ she asked.

  I nodded, unable to speak for a second. ‘I’m your daughter,’ I managed, eventually.

  ‘Deborah?’

  I shut my eyes for a moment. ‘No. Jackie.’

  ‘I can’t find me roses,’ she repeated, her voice increasing in volume. I tried to turn her around and steer her in the right direction.

  ‘Get your hands off me,’ she shouted, pulling her arm out of mine.

  I swallowed hard, feeling the mercury rising inside me. I realised I was going to have to grab her, to manhandle her into her own house. ‘Come on,’ I said, taking hold of her arm again and turning her around to face the right direction. ‘We’ll go and see your roses. They’re in your back garden. I’ll show you the way.’

  ‘Let go of me,’ she shrieked, struggling some more.

  My grip on her arm tightened. I was aware of a couple of passers-by looking at me. I smiled weakly at them, hoping they were local and would recognise Mum, or at the very least see the family resemblance between us. ‘Come on now,’ I said. ‘We’re almost there.’ I took the secateurs from her, more for her own safety than anything.

  ‘Help!’ she screamed. ‘She’s going to hurt me. She’s come to steal me roses. Get her off me.’

  A middle-aged man walking his Labrador crossed over from the other side of the road. ‘Are you OK, love?’ he asked. He was talking to Mum. He wasn’t even looking at me.

  ‘She’s come to steal me roses,’ Mum repeated. The man looked at me. The Labrador was sniffing Mum’s slippers.

  ‘She’s my mum,’ I said, trying to hold myself together. ‘She’s got Alzheimer’s. She went for a wander and I’m just getting her back home.’ He looked again at Mum, who remained silent, before nodding at me.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said.

  ‘No, not at all. Thank you for stopping and checking. I appreciate it. I’d have done the same myself. Really.’

  ‘Do you need any help?’ he asked. I shook my head.

  ‘Thanks. But it’s probably better I do it.’ He nodded and crossed back to the other side of the road. Went on his way. Maybe he’d tell his wife about it later. The crazy, shrieking woman and her daughter. Perhaps he’d even think about it lying in bed at night. Worrying in case the same fate befell him or his wife.

  I took Mum’s arm firmly and hurried her towards the front door. It was only as I neared it that I realised she’d left it open. Wide open. I swore under my breath. As soon as we stepped inside she quietened down. She didn’t even mention the roses. She went straight through to the living room. I helped lower her into the armchair. She didn’t put up any fight this time. Even patted my hand. ‘Thank you, love,’ she said. ‘Cup of tea wouldn’t go amiss.’

  I nodded and went out into the kitchen, grateful for the opportunity to try to compose myself. I had no idea whether she knew who I was now. She may have thought I was one of the council carers. All I did know was that I couldn’t leave her like this, but that I had to go. I looked at my watch. The launch was due to start in half an hour. I couldn’t call Paul because he was looking after Zach and Oscar, as well as Alice. For a fleeting moment I considered taking Mum with me, but I realised it would be dismissed as some kind of cheap PR stunt, added to which I didn’t want to run the risk of her accusing me of kidnapping her in front of the assembled press. I was going to have to ask Pauline across the road. I couldn’t think of anything else. I poured Mum’s tea and took it in to her.

  ‘I just need to pop to my car to get something,’ I said. ‘I won’t be a minute.’

  I hurried over the road and knocked on Pauline’s door. It felt ridiculously cheeky to be asking, but I didn’t have an option. I waited a minute and rang the bell. Still no reply. She must be out. I racked my brain to think of any other neighbours, but it had all changed since I’d lived there and short of knocking on doors up and down the street until I found someone I recognised, I was stuck.

  I looked at my watch. The others would be there by now. Wondering where the hell I was. You couldn’t be late to your own political party’s launch. You just couldn’t. I ran back to Mum’s. There was no point ringing the council. The word ‘immediately’ did not feature in their vocabulary and I couldn’t really claim this was an emergency anyway. It was simply inconvenient. Damned inconvenient. The option of locking her in her own home entered my head. It was probably the safest thing to do, but I was also aware that it was morally reprehensible. I couldn’t sit in a press conference talking about giving elderly people dignity and respect when I had just locked my own mother in her house. What I needed was a babysitter, or rather a grannysitter. And that was when it came to me. I’d do what hard-pressed mums everywhere did in a crisis when they needed an hour or so to get something done. I’d put on a DVD. I knew just the one as well: Hello Dolly. It had always been one of Mum’s favourite films. We’d got it for her birthday a couple of years ago after she’d told me how she used to watch it with Deborah and me when we were little.

  ‘Let’s put something nice on for you to watch, shall we?’ I said, rifling through the TV cabinet. I got the DVD out and checked the back of the case for the running time. Two hours twenty-five minutes. Even better. I put it in the machine and stood there tapping my fingers on the case until it got to the bit where I could skip the trailers. Eventually I was able to press play.

  ‘There,’ I said. ‘It’s your favourite.’

  Mum stared at the screen. A warm glow came over her face as the opening music came on. All I could think of was the scene in WALL-E where he lovingly watched the same film. Where he was happiest and safest in the confines of his own home, surrounded by his possessions and memories and away from the outside world which he found lonely, confusing and unwelcoming.

  I blinked back the tears and kissed her on the cheek. ‘One of your carers will be here before it’s finished,’ I said. ‘I’ll pop back later this evening to check you’re OK.’

  She didn’t say anything. She didn’t even acknowledge me. But she was fine and I was convinced enough that she wouldn’t stray from her armchair while the film was on.

  It was only as I pulled the door shut behind me and ran to the car that I realised I hadn’t even got her dressed. I couldn’t go back now though. I was late enough as it was. I grabbed the mobile from my bag and rang Sam, counting the rings in my head before she answered.

  ‘Where the hell are you?’ she said.

  ‘Family crisis. I’m just leaving Mum’s. I’ll get there as soon as I can. I’m really sorry.
’

  I threw the phone down without even waiting for a reply, pulled my seat belt on and started the engine.

  The first thing I noticed when I arrived in the Eureka car park was the BBC television van. Parked next to the Yorkshire TV van.

  ‘Fuck,’ I muttered, as I ran up the yellow brick road to the front door, aware that I was out of breath, dishevelled and very late.

  I burst through the main doors and hurried up to the reception desk.

  ‘I’m here for the Lollipop Party launch,’ I said.

  ‘They’re in the town square,’ the young receptionist said. ‘Just around the corner to your right.’ I realised she thought I was one of the guests, not one of those presenting it.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, holding out my hand for the dinosaur stamp I always got when I came here with Alice. The receptionist looked at me, clearly trying to stifle a giggle.

  ‘Just testing,’ I said, laughing awkwardly. I pushed through the turnstile. It was weird being here after closing time. The complete lack of children was unnerving, as was the quietness and stillness of it all. Like stumbling on to the set of Justin’s House when everyone had gone home for the night. I took a deep breath before rounding the corner, but I still wasn’t prepared for the sight which greeted me. There were two television cameras set up with lights glaring, a couple of dozen journalists holding copies of the mummyfesto and assorted microphones on the table at which Sam and Anna were sitting.

  ‘Sorry,’ I mouthed to them. They both gave rather strained smiles. I sat down heavily next to Sam, feeling awful for letting them down and thinking what a shame it was that my fifteen minutes of fame should come at a time when I probably looked like some bag lady they’d dragged in off the streets.

  ‘Apologies again for the unavoidable delay, folks,’ said Sam. ‘Thank you all for your patience. I hope you’ve had a chance to look through our mummyfesto. We’re now ready to begin.’

  She paused for a second and glanced at Jackie and me in turn. I could see it on her face. Exactly what I was feeling inside. A rush of adrenalin that this was actually happening, that we were going public and there was no going back now, coupled with a cramping feeling in the stomach as the enormity of it all sank in. We weren’t sitting around Sam’s kitchen table, winding each other up and stuffing our faces with Pringles any more. This was real. I nodded at Sam. She nodded back and turned to face the media.