Mums Blusher
I honestly have no idea what to do with her. She asked me whether your dad ever goes to the pub alone.
Julia stood at the kitchen window, gazing out at the garden, where her mothers bright floral dress bobbed between the vegetable beds. Her husband, David, didnt even look up from The Times.
Perhaps shes just curious, love. Your mums always been nosy. Sort of her hobby.
No, you dont get it. Julia left the window, dropping into the tiny kitchen chair opposite him. Its how she asked it. With that smile. And she put on blusher. In this heat. Blusher!
Julys sun turned the villages little cul-de-sac into something between a mirage and a baked potato. The air wobbled above the tarmac, and the garden buzzed with bumblebees. Three weeks earlier, Julia had invited her mum to spend some time at Davids parents cottage, hoping to cheer her up after her last surviving friend, Beryl, had passed away. Since then, Mum had barely spoken except for the odd monosyllable, and whenever Julia visited, shed find her perched at the flat window, staring into space like she was waiting for the Second Coming.
Julia had hoped the fresh air and a bit of gardening would do her good. Baking scones with Jean (Davids mum), picking gooseberries, and gossiping over endless cups of tea. There was space for everyone, Davids dad, Brian, could disappear into his shed and emerge only to wage war on the crabgrass. It all sounded so peaceful, so homely.
Well. That was the plan.
Mum arrived mid-June, a tiny suitcase in one hand and a paper bag of biscuits in the other, and immediately began to make herself usefulwhich, in her version, meant politer house arrest for everyone else. She set the table, did the washing up, weeded the strawberries. Jean was delighted: Your mum, shes a treasure! Most guests just park themselves in a deckchair, but not her! Brian simply nodded and ducked back into his shed whenever he saw Julias mum on the prowl.
The first week was fine. Mostly.
Then, Mum started showing up wherever Brian was working. Fixing the fence? She brought him a cold Ribena. Digging up carrots? She was there, hand poised expertly above the bucket, as if about to receive a golden spade award. Julia chalked it up to her mum just being helpfulbut one evening, as she and David returned from a stroll, she saw her mother lingering by the shed window, watching Brian plane a bit of wood like it was Michelangelo unveiling David.
Mum, what are you up to? Julia called out.
Mum startled, pink blossoming on her cheeksnot from the sun, but from, well, whatever it is that makes you wish, as a grown woman, to be invisible.
Oh, just looking, darling! Brians making a stool. Wonderful, watching someone so good with his hands. She smiled with a girlish coquettishness that did not belong on a woman of 59 (who pretended she was 55). Julias stomach twisted, but she said nothing.
A few days later, over a cup of weak tea, Jean leaned in, eyebrows dancing. Julia, love, do you think your mums lonely? I mean, you know, more than usual?
What do you mean?
Jean wiped her hands on her apron, feigning nonchalance. Shes always buzzing round Brian. Bringing drinks, offering help. I know she wants to be useful, but hes a busy man. Hes not used to this much attention, bless him.
Julia nodded, dying slowly of second-hand embarrassment. She knew her mums history since Dad died ten years ago: the endless hobby groups, the doomed attempts at aquarobics, the desperate phone calls to anyone with a pulse. But this was something else entirely. Not just looking for company, but mortifyingly obvious about itand, worse still, in someone elses home.
Ill try to talk to her, Julia promised.
Oh, the talk? That went about as well as a British barbeque in November. That evening, secluded on the patio, Julia tried to approach gently.
Mum, how are you feeling? Not bored here, are you?
Of course not, darling! The air is lovely, and Brian is such an interesting man, so talented.
Mum, hes got a lot to do here. He needs to stay focused. Maybe let him get on without distractions?
Mum looked at her, a flicker of wounded schoolgirl in her eyes. But Im only helping.
I know, Mum. But why not do more with Jean? She loves your company. You could make jam together, do the planting
Mum nodded, but Julia could see nothing had sunk in. The next morning, Mum appeared at breakfast in a new, rather tight-fitting powder blue blouse with sleeves optimistically short for an English summer. Jean raised a brow. Brian, in keeping with his personality, failed to notice.
After breakfast, Mum made a beeline for the shed. Julia watched her laughloudlyat something Brian said, as though he was Stephen Fry in a high-visibility vest. Julia muttered something unladylike and washed up twice as fast.
By week two, things went from mildly embarrassing to I can never show my face in the Co-op again. Mum had started putting on makeup. Not just the bare minimum, but lipstick, full panda-lash mascara, blusher thick enough to see from space. Shed traded her sensible cardigans for floaty dresses more suited for Marbella than Midlands.
Every evening, she positioned herself next to Brian as he watered parsnips or fiddled at the workbench. One night, Julia caught their conversation as she went to retrieve her phone from the porch.
Brian, dont you ever feel as if somethings missing in your life?
Brians reply came with the polite confusion of a Labrador presented with an algebra test: What do you mean?
New experiences. Someone to talk to. Youre always working. Life slips by
Been married forty-one years, love, Brian replied slowly. Plenty of chat, plenty of living. I work because I enjoy it.
But dont you ever want a chatheart to heart?
I have a wife, Julias mother-in-law, bless her. We talk all the time.
A hint of frost had crept into his voice. Mum hurried to backtrack, but Julia ducked back inside, heart battering her ribs.
At breakfast, Jean was colder than unsalted butter. She served Mum her porridge in utter silence. Brian retreated to the shed, and Mum, as usual, tried to follow. This time, Jean waylaid her. Caroline, would you mind helping me with the redcurrants? Theres enough for an army, and these jars wont fill themselves.
It was not a request, it was a royal summons. Mum nodded, disappointment clearly visible, and traipsed into the garden with Jean.
At lunch, Mum couldnt hold her tongue. My father was quite the handyman, you know. I could watch him work for hours. Theres just something captivating about a man with proper skills, isnt there, Brian?
Brian, ever oblivious, simply said, Each to their own, I suppose, and excused himself.
Mum watched him leave with the expression of a Labradoodle about to be abandoned at the kennels.
Afterwards, Julia cornered her. Mum, we have to talk.
What about?
You know what about. ThisI mean, youre behaving as if youre trying to as if you want him to notice you. Like a teenager! Everyones noticed. Even Jean. Even David. Only Brian hasnt, becausewell, because hes Brian.
Mum was pale, then flushed. Im not doing anything. Im just being friendly.
Mum, this is not the solution. Not like this.
Mums voice shook. I just wanted someone to notice me, Jules. To remember Im still here. That Im a woman, not just a coat rack for other peoples problems.
Sympathy burned through Julias shame. She squeezed her mothers hand. I understand, Mum. But this? Its painful for everyone.
For a couple of days, things seemed to improve. Mum spent more time with Jean, only minimal makeup, her dresses edging towards the respectable side of garden-party casual. Julia relaxed.
Which is, of course, when Fate usually fetches its popcorn.
Jeans birthday arrived, bringing with it a crowd of neighbours. The garden table groaned beneath sausage rolls and Battenberg. A samovar (well, a teapot, but were being charitable) took pride of place among bottles of homemade sloe gin, and Brian put on an actual shirt.
Mum appeared last, and Julia nearly inhaled her sponge finger. Full makeuprouge, blue eye shadow, false lashes, the works. A green cocktail dress Julia hadnt seen since the late 1990s and (heaven help her), strappy heels on the grass.
People stared. Jeans smile froze. Mum sat squarely opposite Brian, beaming. Brian returned a polite nod and swiftly refocused on discussing fly fishing with Trevor from next-door.
Despite her appearance, Mum kept mostly to herselfapart from watching Brian like David Attenborough observing a rare bird. When he scratched his nose, she swooned. When he laughed, she practically swooned again.
By the time the toasts began, Julia was mentally packing her bags. When Mums turn came, her voice wobbled: Jean, youre wonderful, you have a wonderful home and a wonderful husband. Its not every woman who has a man as handy as Brian. Treasure him, wont you?
The silence was thick enough to spread on toast. Jeans mouth set in a line you could measure with a ruler.
Things then descended into farce. Mum ladled more gravy onto Brians plate, corrected his tie, even fanned him with a napkin. Jean had finally had enough: Caroline, do come and sit down. Ill look after my own husband, thank you.
Mums mouth formed a hard line, but she did as she was toldjust. As the guests thinned out, Brian announced he was going to check his toolshed. Mum shot up, Ill come; wouldnt want you to trip in the dark.
Julia opened her mouth to protest, but too lateMum was beside Brian, chattering away.
Jean, face like a thundercloud, strode after them, and so did Julia and David, plus two curious hangers-on.
Inside the shed, Mum was standing rather close to Brian, brandishing some ancient chisel.
Show me how you do it, Brian. I so admire a man who knows his way round his tools, she cooed.
Brian extricated himself rapidly, Caroline, its late. I think you should head inside.
But she stepped closer, voice low. I know youre lonely too, Brian. Jeans always so busy, she doesnt see you likewellas I do.
In the stunned pause that followed, you probably could have heard a worm sneeze.
He moved back, bristling with confusion and the particular horror of a man who thought hed been baking scones and has just realised hes in EastEnders. What are you on about?
Jean arrived, ice-cold and unflappable. Caroline, pack your things. David can take you to the station in the morning.
Mum started to protest but Jean cut her off. Three weeks youve hung around my Brian, tarted yourself up, making puppy eyes as if Im invisible. Everyones noticed. I can promise you, he hasnt, because hes innocent as a lamb. But enough is enough. Please leave.
Mum wilted, mascara streaking, and stumbled through the crowd. Julia tried to approach, but David squeezed her hand: Not now.
Later, Julia apologised to Brian. He rubbed his temples, tired beyond words. I thought she just wanted to help. Im an old man, Julia! Why me?
Its not about you, Brian. She just Shes lonely. Youre kind. She misread everything.
Brian shrugged. Jeans hurt. Weve never had this sort of thing before.
Mum wont come again. I promise.
When Julia found her, Mum sat on the little single bed, tears streaming. Ive ruined it, havent I?
Yes, Mum.
Jean will never forgive me? Or Brian?
Jean? Never. Brian? He probably still doesnt know what happened, to be fair.
On the drive back to Mums flat the next morninga tired, fading block on the outskirts of townMum stared out of the window in silence. Only when trees gave way to London Road shops did she whisper, I always ruin everything, dont I?
Julia didnt sugar-coat: This was colossal, Mum.
Back at her flat, Julia tried to offer hope: You could join a class! Maybe learn Italian? Bridge club? Ill come with you the first time.
Mum only shook her head: No, darling. Its safer if I stay in. I evidently cause chaos the moment I speak to people. Alone is honestly, its whats left.
Some time after, Julia dropped by unannounced. Found Mum still in her dressing gown, TV off, curtains drawn. She sat next to her. Mum, you cant live like this.
Mums voice was small, all those years of life scraped away. After Dad, after Beryl, after everything its just empty. And Im tired, Jules. Tired in a way nothing fixes. If its not my embarrassment, its my loneliness. Might as well just get used to it.
Julia hugged her. She opened the curtains, poured a coffee, and dragged Mum outfor a slow shuffle round the park, and half an hours people-watching at the café.
Later that summer, Julia persuaded Mum to try a computing class at the village library. She introduced herself to the other mostly grey-haired beginners, faffed with the mouse for twenty minutes, looked like she might actually smile. Still, at home alone, she disappeared. The spark didnt reignite.
Sometimes Julia would ask, Do you ever not feel lonely, Mum?
Only when I feel so ashamed, the loneliness gets buried under it. Then, frowning: Suppose this is what I deserve. Normal people dont fall for other peoples husbands. Normal people dont humiliate their daughters.
Julia always tried. Took her to a matinee, nudged her towards volunteering, sometimes just made more tea. But the shame was company enough for Mum, and, in Mums opinion, company always outstayed its welcome.
Months passed: summer slipped into autumn, winter into spring. Julia still saw her mum every week, still called, still hoped each time for a spark.
One spring weekend, Julia visited Brian and Jean alone. Jean was warm but the atmosphere had changed, as if some small but vital gear in the family machine was now off-kilter and would always whir with an odd rattle.
Hows your mum? Jean asked.
Surviving. Existing, not living.
Jean was silent for a moment. I wonder if I was too harsh. Maybe a quiet word was all it needed. But she just lost herself, didnt she?
Yes. She did.
As Julia drove home, she thought about what was left of her mums life: a little flat, the evening news, a phone call once a day.
Back at the flat, Mum was at the window, watching the breeze lift scraps of blossom from the tree outside. Julia sat beside her, took her hand.
Remember the garden at the cottage in May? Mum asked, her tone wistful.
I do.
I ruined it, didnt I?
Julia squeezed her hand gently.
Mum pressed her lips together, then spoke with a trembling voice, If Id just stayed in my lane. Maybe I deserve to fade away quietly.
Julia didnt argue. Sometimes all you do is sit beside someone, hand in hand, and let the silence stretch. Sometimes, kindness is just not leaving.
And so, in a quiet flat in the English Midlands, with the daffodils shivering in the window box, a mother and daughter waited for the long, hurting summer to finally pass.
