took a little longer to find the words, she was still perfectly intelligible. It was just she sounded different, like an old woman, not the pretty, bright mother with the sing-song voice that he remembered from his youth.
‘Hello, Mum,’ he said and sat on the chair placed on the left side of her bed. ‘I can’t stay too long. Raquel’ll be home soon.’
‘Mmm, Raquel, yes. Tell me, is she still working as a shop assistant?’
Poor Raquel, with her platinum blonde hair and lack of tertiary education, she had never quite lived up to his mother’s exacting standards. ‘No, mother,’ said Ian patiently. He suppressed the more robust retort that sprang to his lips, choosing to ignore her snobbishness and the intended provocation because he was pleased, in spite of both, that she still had all her wits about her. The day these left her, the fight would leave her too. ‘You know perfectly well that she’s been promoted to manageress. Of a very upmarket boutique.’
‘Oh, yes, I’d forgotten.’ A whisper of a smile played about one corner of her mouth followed by a long pause during which the smile evaporated. ‘Is everything all right between you two? You don’t talk about her very much. And I can’t remember when I last saw her.’
Ian rubbed his hands together and looked at the floor. Part of him wanted to tell her that his four-year-old marriage to Raquel was on the rocks. He couldn’t remember when they’d last slept together, though sex had once been the most important aspect of their relationship. He’d lusted after her, but his old-fashioned, outdated scruples would not allow him to take her outside of marriage. And so they’d wed. What had he been thinking?
He looked at his mother and forced a smile. She’d warned him not to marry Raquel and she’d said some rather unkind things about her. Sadly, they had mostly proved to be true, though at the time, he’d been too seduced by her sexuality to listen. It was difficult now to admit that he’d been wrong, that he’d been blinded by lust (so much more humiliating than being blinded by love). He could not bear to hear his mother say she’d told him so. ‘Everything’s fine, Mum. Raquel’s just very busy at work. She works six days most weeks. She’s so tired come Sunday, she just wants some me time.’
‘Me time,’ she said with a faint raspy snort. ‘We didn’t have that in my day.’
‘Well,’ he said in Raquel’s defence, trying to sound like a loyal husband, ‘times have changed.’
Thankfully, she lost interest then. He heard someone come into the room and his mother’s eyes crinkled up with pleasure when she saw who was there. ‘Oh, look, it’s Sarah!’ she cried out in a small voice. ‘Do come in.’
Ian looked round to find Sarah standing by the door with a battered biscuit tin in her hands. He drew in his breath, for a moment not recognising this glamorous apparition for his rather frumpy former wife. The black dress and matching Jackie Kennedy-style jacket skimmed her curves in all the right places. Glossy tights sheathed her well-shaped legs and black patent heels added several inches to her height. She’d put on a lot of weight after having the kids and she’d struggled with it over the years. But he was aware suddenly, even though he’d seen her only a few days ago, that the excess weight was all gone. She looked once more like the Sarah he had married. Her natural blonde hair was tucked behind one ear; the rest fell like a curtain of gold about her face. And while he was pleased to see her smile, full and warm, directed at Evelyn, he wished she would smile at him like that.
‘Hello, sweetheart,’ she said, approaching the bed. When she bent down to kiss his mother on both cheeks, a waft of perfume drifted across the bed; it filled Ian with longing. Evelyn let go of the tissue in her good hand and clasped Sarah’s hand instead. Ian blinked and looked away, the moment of intimacy between the two women making him both uncomfortable and glad. He and Sarah had had their differences, but he would forever be indebted to her for her affection towards his mother.
‘Hello, Ian,’ she smiled when Evelyn had released her, and then looked from Ian to his mother with a little frown between her arched brows. ‘I got home from work early and thought I’d just pop in and see how you were. But,’ she said, her intonation at the end of the sentence turning it into a question, ‘I can come another time?’
‘No,’ said Ian and his mother simultaneously. Ian stood up, smiled, and gestured towards the chair he’d just vacated. ‘Please, come and sit down, Sarah.’ He liked her being here; she’d always made the relationship between him and his mother easier, like oil between two slightly out-of-sync cogs.
She placed a hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him back into the chair. ‘You stay right where you are, by your Mum,’ she whispered. She patted his shoulder, then withdrew her hand. This gesture of solidarity conveyed so much – recognition of the perilous state of his mother’s health and the grim, inevitable outcome that lay ahead. And he was grateful. ‘I’ll pull up another chair.’
She sat on the opposite side of the bed and Evelyn said, ‘Well, isn’t this nice?’ She paused to cough. ‘My two favourite people – not counting Molly and Lewis of course – come to see me at the same time.’
Sarah grinned. ‘Like buses. We all come at once.’
‘You should have brought the children,’ said Evelyn, out of one side of her mouth, a little dribble of saliva running down her chin. If she was aware of it, she showed no sign.
While he was wondering if he ought to wipe his mother’s face, Sarah got up and discreetly dabbed the corner of her mouth with a tissue from the box on the bedside table. Her smile never wavered as she carried out the task, but she gave Ian a quick, knowing glance.
‘Maybe next time. When you’re feeling a little better,’ she said.
Evelyn closed her eyes and Ian said, ‘Isn’t your chest any better?’
‘Never mind that now. Tell me about the children, Ian,’ she said holding out her hand.
He took it, cold and frail, in his own. ‘The kids are fine, Mum. What did the doctor say?’
Her voice had dropped to a whisper. ‘Didn’t Lewis have a swim gala this week? You know how much I love to hear all about –’ A coughing fit took hold and the sentence was left unfinished.
‘Mum!’ cried Ian, gripped by sudden fear. The infection wasn’t shifting. If anything it sounded worse! She’d had that cough for over a month now.
The coughing subsided. ‘Shush,’ she commanded, her tone firm in spite of her affliction. ‘What’s in the tin, Sarah?’
‘Have a look.’ She prised the lid off the tin and tipped it so that Evelyn could see the contents.
‘Homemade wheaten bread!’ she exclaimed breathlessly, trying to lift her head off the pillow. ‘My favourite.’
Sarah picked out a piece and held the moist, buttered bread to Evelyn’s lips so that she could take a bite. Her head sank back into the pillow, her gums working slowly, and Sarah said, ‘I know.’
Sarah held out the tin to Ian. ‘Want some?’ He shook his head.
Evelyn chewed and swallowed. ‘That was delicious. The wheatgerm’ll play havoc with my dentures. But what the heck. You only live once.’
Ian smiled, slightly envious of the easiness between Sarah and his mother. Sarah got up, lifted the glass of water from the bedside table and held it to Evelyn’s lips. They’d always been like this together, easy in each other’s company. Even when Sarah was a girl she’d gotten on well with his mum, and their relationship had always operated independently of his marriage.
‘Want some more?’
‘No thanks, love.’
‘You gave me the recipe. Took me ages to get it right.’ Sarah stared doubtfully into the tin. ‘It’s still not as good as yours.’
‘The secret’s in the flour. Got to be Morton’s. And a light touch.’
The first