Mother, Ill come for you
Can I make a long-distance call from this telephone?
Yes, ring whoever you like, but dont tie up the line for too long. This green one is for long-distance calls.
Brian was covering a shift for his mate at the switchboard. The other chap had had a family emergency, so Brian stepped in. He stared at the green telephone for ages, steeling himself to dial.
There were phones in their little industrial estate, of course post office, telegraph office, the lot. But never in the ten years of work and life here had Brian found himself alone with a proper long-distance telephone.
It had been years since Brian had seen his family. He had left home in a fit of temper, swearing theyd never hear from him again. He bore no love for his older brother, Alan he could say he resented him, even hated him. His younger sister, Lucy, was still at school then, childhood pigtails and all. As for Victoria, the eldest, shed rather sided with Alan.
His mother, Brian admitted, had always been kind to him; quick with her affections, quick to bail him out of trouble, often borrowing money from Alan and Victoria to see him right. But Brian insisted life had simply dealt him a run of bad luck before long, hed prove himself, hed make something of his life.
But the chance to prove himself took its time. At thirty-five, he and Alan had a punch-up, their argument flaring into violence. Thats when Brian started thinking seriously about leaving. He hadnt finished his engineering course at technical college, but even the certificate from the second year got him a job. Soon he was off to Barrow-in-Furness, and for a decade, he worked his way across various towns in Englands north.
In the early days, hed write to his mother. Later, he decided to sulk at her too. He was lonely and homesick in those distant towns, and blamed it on her. But now, the resentment had faded. He still hadnt forgiven Alan, but he wanted to speak with his mother and Victoria. Lucy, in his mind, had never grown past her plaits.
To be honest, Brian had little to boast of. He lived with a woman, not married, sharing her bedsit in a block of flats a single room, really. He had some savings, but not enough for a place of his own, even in Barrow, and didnt fancy settling here anyhow.
Christine, his partner, sensed his restlessness. Their relationship was full of ups and downs. At least, with the other lodgers gone, they had the flat to themselves: the back room was up for sale, and Christine suggested he buy it, taking a loan. He refused.
He wasnt sure about a future with Christine. She was there to earn some money herself, with a son in the Army.
Youre terribly immature, Brian, she told him. Its hard to be with you.
Me? Why do you say that?
Youre scared of responsibility. Forty-five, and havent learned to carry it for anyone.
Responsible for whom? Why?
Exactly for no one. Because youre always running away from it. What if the burden falls on you? Thats your greatest fear.
Brian would argue, but he understood Christine. Yes, he was afraid of marriage, children he didnt feel ready. Even at work, he just drifted, took whatever came his way.
Now, staring at the long-distance phone, he hesitated. He still remembered their home number.
As he stirred sugar into his tea, Brian turned decisively to the phone and dialed.
Hello? a mans voice, unrecognizable, answered.
Hello, sorry, whos this? Brian covered the mouthpiece, as if someone might overhear though he was alone.
And who are you? Sorry
Im looking for Mrs. Edith Kingsley, please.
She doesnt live here any more.
Oh. Where is she?
Excuse me, who is this asking?
Its Brian. Her son.
Brian? Oh There was a pause, then the phone clunked and a womans voice answered.
Hello?
Hello. Im looking for Mrs. Kingsley.
Brian? Is that you?
Vicky? Is that you?
No, its Lucy.
Lucy? Blimey. How youve grown. Your voice is all grown up now. And who was that man?
Oh, thats Clive, my husband.
Youre married?
Yes, and we have a child. And you youre alive?
Alive as ever. Why wouldnt I be?
Why didnt you write, then? We searched for you, Alan especially. Mum was so worried.
Hed find me if he wanted. And I didnt write well, what was there to say? I lived, thats all.
Mum was very anxious, she said with a tinge of sadness.
Well, Im calling now. Where is she?
Silence. Brians heart squeezed. Was she dead?
Where is she, Lucy? Is she?
Shes alive. Just doesnt live here now.
Where is she? Id like to talk to her.
A baby cried in the background.
Sorry, I cant talk now. Ring back later, please. The line went dead.
Brian stared at the phone, unsettled. Later? It was nearly ten oclock at night. He decided to call again in half an hour but found himself dialing after only fifteen minutes the number was engaged.
So, Victoria and Alan would know now. It stung a bit. They were all together there, and he was alone.
At half past, Brian tried again.
Mums at the care home, Brian. Just outside, in Redfield, Lucy told him.
A a care home? You put her in an old peoples home?
Yes. She was ill a long time Shes not well now.
You put her in a home? There are three of you, you couldnt manage?
Lucy fell silent.
Why the silence?
I just dont want to argue.
What do you mean? Im just asking. Never mind you, youre the baby. And Alan? And Victoria?
Ill give you Alans number, if you want.
No I dont want it. Victorias?
Her work number. If you call, do it during office hours.
Fine
Anger welled up. Alan had carried on about how much Mum had suffered because of him, how Brian had ruined her life but in the end? Alan stayed, and still their mother ended up in a home.
Brian remembered her letters, her eyes, her words of advice. He knew she must have aged in those ten years, but couldnt picture her, the strong-willed, brisk woman, in such a place.
Christine was working the next morning, so Brian managed to get back on switchboard duty to call his sister. There were other women in the office, so he tried to keep it quiet.
Victoria, hello. Its Brian.
I know! Thank goodness youre safe.
You lot searched?
We did. Mum was frantic. You were impossible to find. Why didnt you write?
Oh, it just happened. Victoria, why did you put Mum out of her flat, then?
No one threw her out.
Hows that? Lucy said shes in Redfield he didnt want to use the words care home in public.
Yes, we take her there for a bit of respite sometimes. But Lucys just had a baby
Another baby? Whats wrong with you all? Victoria, you, at least, surely you could have taken Mum in?
Victorias tone hardened, metallic.
Oh, so youve called to lecture us? Is that it? And would you care to look after her yourself, Brian? Do you even realise who she had her stroke over, followed by all manner of other trouble? No? Well, come and take her then. Will you? Brother?
I will! Brian shouted, slamming the phone down.
He stood, hand clutching the receiver, heart pounding, until the clatter of dishes brought him to his senses.
Anger gnawed at him all day. But a steady decision formed: he would take his mother from that care home, and show those relatives what it meant to be a true son. Hed look after her himself.
Chris, ring the agent about the room. Im buying it.
Are you, then?
Yes. Ill fetch Mum from the care home.
What?
I said, Ill fetch her. Is that not clear?
I see well, well
They dumped her in an old peoples home. Can you believe it? The cowards.
But have you spoken to her?
No. How could I? Why did they do it?
Why Because no one wants the responsibility, maybe. Lucy is with her new husband. Alan wont dirty his precious hands.
Christine washed the dishes quietly.
Silent now, are you?
Whats to say? If youve made up your mind, do it. But get the place sorted first. Ill ring about the room.
You dont mind?
Not my place, Brian. This is your decision. But you expect to lean on me, dont you? You want to know if Ill help. Im telling you now I wont. Not because Im cruel, but because I know you too well. You havent a clue about what youre taking on. Do it yourself, in your own room. Thats the only way.
Thats how it is?
Thats how.
Will you at least call about the room?
Ill do it
For the next three months, Brian sorted the flat. He took out a loan, bought the second room, settled up with the landlord. Christine seemed content. She never mentioned his mother, and Brian stopped bringing it up his business, not hers.
At last, he had a place of his own. He couldnt quite believe it all that responsibility, his own space. He even started redecorating, which took another three months. When winter came round, he booked leave and bought a train and then coach ticket the route was long. He was nervous.
As he boarded the train, nerves overwhelmed him. What was he doing? Should he turn back? Would he be able to live with his mother? Would he manage?
It reminded him of his Army days, standing in the open door of a helicopter, parachute ready scared, but committed. The jump had to be made.
The journey itself was rather pleasant. Brian found himself chatty and friendly, talking at length, sometimes sleeping.
He arrived in Leeds at dawn, not stopping with relatives, but heading straight to Redfield. He left his suitcase in Left Luggage, carrying only a smart briefcase he wanted to impress his mother: Czechoslovak shoes, pale overcoat, fur cap.
The care home was spick and span, though there was still something cheerless about it. Oddly, they made him welcome. People here were glad to see a new face.
Still, the loneliness inside was heavy. As Brian waited for the receptionist, an elderly man with a walking frame stopped by and chatted eager, curious. Brian felt ill at ease. It was clear that these residents were starved for company left behind by the world, forgotten.
The old man said it was a grand place to live, though Brian hadnt asked. The old boy simply needed to believe it to dull whatever pain gnawed at his heart.
Finally, Brian was called inside. He had to remove his shoes and don some battered brown slippers.
He rather expected his mother would come out to him. He wiped his shoes, rehearsed what hed say imagined her flinging her arms around his neck in tears, and him promising hed take her home.
How happy she would be to hear those words!
A nurse led him in.
Leave any food with us, please. Give her nothing yourself well see to it.
He glimpsed his mother from behind. The nurse led the neighbour out a heavy woman on crutches. On the bed, facing the window, his mother sat.
Brian set his briefcase and the bag of sweets aside, circled the bed. His mothers eyes wandered, failing to focus on his, her head shaking.
He was taken aback. Was this his mother? The woman before him seemed aged beyond her years, hair white, face deeply lined.
Mum Brian breathed, sitting beside her and taking her hand.
Eventually, she managed to focus on him.
Ive eaten already today, she announced after a moment.
Have you? I brought you something, too He offered her a marshmallow. She took it but looked unmoved.
Mum, do you not know me? Im Brian. Your son. Ive come back.
She looked a little more agitated, eyed the sweet again, and repeated, Ive eaten already today.
I know. How are you? Does Alan visit? It grew painfully sad, even his anger at Alan fading.
Alan? Hes shovelling snow. Theres so much snow this winter
Mum, do you really not remember me? Im Brian.
I remember, she nodded. I remember everything everything very well.
Brian knew she did not remember.
Unsure what else to ask, he began to chatter: about planes, about Barrow, his job. His mother listened, eyes wide, nodding.
Brian talked on and on, anxious to hold on to this moment something momentous, more important than his rows with his siblings, the fuss of life. He was content, holding his mothers trembling hand, gazing into those eyes filled with a deep, quiet light. Here, he felt at peace; everything was right.
But did she understand? Did she even hear him? Still, she smiled softly.
Mum, do you want me to take you? Away from here? Shall we go? Brian burst out.
Of course They open the windows here at eleven for fresh air. We walk in the corridors.
What windows, Mum? Will you come with me?
She nodded, but only followed the marshmallow with her eyes. She raised it, examined it in the light.
Its a sweet, Mum. Try a bit. He raised her hand to her lips, and she bit gently.
Taste good?
She chewed noisily, then started coughing suddenly, uncontrollably. She doubled over; Brian panicked, ran to the corridor. The nurse dashed in.
Did you give her something?
A marshmallow.
I said not to!
She gave his mother water, settled her, lifted her legs.
Are you new to this?
I havent seen my mother for years. Ive come to take her
She eyed him sternly.
Oh, theres a lot of paperwork. She needs constant care. Your siblings have set her up with everything: nurses, appliances, special meals, everything paid for. She can hardly eat, has to be tube-fed more and more these days. Any decisions need agreement from you all, and the doctors.
A matronly nurse popped in, stroked his mothers head kindly, began clearing away food wrappers.
I cant take her by myself, then? Im her son! Brian protested, doubt already eating at him about his plan to take her away.
No, you cant. Youre not her guardian. You need to talk it over with the family, and then with the doctor.
I didnt know she was this unwell.
How could you not? Shes been here four years already. Ill when she came, and sadly, time doesnt heal sighed the nurse.
I really didnt know, Brian said, defeated.
The nurses left; his mothers roommate returned and watched him with sympathy.
She remembers you, the old woman said softly.
What?
She remembers. She talks about all four of you. Especially you. She worries about you most.
Brian didnt answer. He didnt believe it. The woman probably wasnt well herself.
Time to go. Brian walked to the window and took a deep breath not because of legal barriers, but because he finally knew he couldnt manage.
Mum, Ill be off, but Ill come again tomorrow. Youll wait for me, yes?
His mother turned at that, her eyes bright and sharp.
Brian? Youre back?
He dropped to his knees by the bed.
Yes, Mum! Its me, Brian. Ive come back, Im here, and alive see? He gripped her hand, and she, as in childhood, ruffled his hair with the other.
And he felt a calm, quiet peace wash over him by that gentle touch.
Thats good. Alan was waiting for you, you know. Waiting.
Alan? My brother?
She nodded, closed her eyes; her hand fell limp asleep. Brian ran to tell the nurse, thrilled: She remembered! The nurse only shrugged.
He was allowed to stay on the grounds. He wandered the paths. There were elderly residents everywhere sullen, cheerful, some adapting to the place, others indifferent.
They traipsed to lunch, and the smell of pea soup wafted along the halls. Brian waited. He recalled his mothers warmth, her Sunday roasts, pancakes. Nostalgia overwhelmed him.
He conjured up old May Day parades at home: himself and Lucy waiting in, having attended with their parents, for Alan and Victoria to come bustling in, bringing a fresh air of spring through the door. Hed idolised Alan.
How had it all ended up like this? When had love turned to bitterness?
Next day, his mother didnt recognise him again.
Dont be upset, the nurse consoled him. With this illness, there are glimmers of clarity but get fewer as time goes on. Still, its good you visited. The excitements good for her. Ill let the doctor know.
How often do my family visit? Only, you see, we dont speak to each other.
Oh, her children? Mrs Kingsley is never left wanting, not here. Almost every weekend, one or another is with her. And they help out others, too. Her roommate, Mrs Robinson she has no one. Your sisters and brother care for her as well. She always looks forward to their visits. Theyve become great friends, her and Mrs Kingsley.
Brian left and walked to the bus stop. Again, hed got everything wrong. Hed accused his sisters and brother, thought himself the best yet his help wasnt needed. Maybe, for his mother, his plan would have hurt more than helped.
Rain and sleet started falling. The towns trees seemed stunted, as if someone had tried to keep everything cropped. Drab tower blocks, faceless shopping centres, neon signs everywhere. People hurried under umbrellas.
Brian got wet, caught the bus to his hotel, felt heavy-hearted. Maybe the weather, maybe the day with his mother wore on him. The city felt greyer, colder, indifferent. He tried to pick out familiar streets and gardens, but the memories blurred, and offered no solace.
Tomorrow, hed visit Mum once more, then head home. Foolish, really, playing the hero, the saviour.
Nothing changed next day. He brought in cakes for the whole ward. The old folk were delighted. His mother didnt know him.
Are you leaving? her neighbour asked.
Yes. But Ive got the nurses number, Ill ring. If you see me come, come to the phone.
Course. If Im still about But Im not eternal myself. Not well. Will you see your family?
No. Theyre probably not expecting me. Ive done no good by them I blamed them for leaving Mum here.
Theyre not pensioners themselves. And a home nurse costs a fortune. She cant live alone, not day nor night. So
I get it now. I just didnt know
Still, familys family.
My tickets for tonight. To London. Time to get back.
***
The fast expresses thundered by the station as Brian stood on the platform, quietly saying goodbye to his hometown. It seemed to greet him only with cold: this sleet, and the blank look in his mothers eyes.
Across the way, a gaggle of teenagers laughed and chattered, and Brian recalled his own wild youth. Hed given his mother and family plenty of grief.
Now he mostly thought of Christine. Shed been right about him: always fleeing from responsibility, pretending to be an independent man but, in truth, afraid of making anything of himself. That plan to save his mother had been pure pride, nothing more.
He had no wife, no family, and now not even his mother only her shadow. He made up his mind: hed try to change; to seize responsibility, not run from it.
Hed propose to Christine, yes, and put things right at work. About time.
The announcement for his train came and he started down the platform, only to hear, Brian!
He turned Victoria hurried toward him, hair cropped, plumper now, hatless, but unmistakable.
Vicky?
She caught her breath.
Brian, why didnt you come to us? Mrs Robinson rang said you were leaving on the London train. We rushed. Only just made it!
The rails sang his train approached.
I I have work. Thats all. He lowered his eyes.
He was so glad to see his sister, but didnt throw himself at her theyd quarrelled, and hed promised to rescue their mother and now was running away.
A gust of wind struck, bringing snow. Victoria turned up her collar, but faced him.
Brian, dont go. Alans waiting in the car. Come home, wont you? At least for a little. We havent seen you in years. Lets sit and talk. Well all go to see Mum at the weekend, together. Stay, Brian
But the train
Boarding was starting, but Victoria took his hand and looked at him like their mother used to.
Never mind. Youll get another. Stay, Brian.
He looked at the carriage, nodded, throat tight.
Alan came to meet them from the car. Hed changed too bit of a paunch, thinning, but unmistakable.
Alright, mate.
Brian wrung his brothers hand, feeling awkward, but knew he was forgiven.
That evening, at Victorias kitchen table, he spoke about his life not puffed up, but honestly, openly: about his struggles, about Christine, about their mother. He left out how angry hed been about the care home, how hed come planning to take Mum away. They all understood.
Alan and Victoria had grandchildren now; their children, families of their own. Brian slept at his sisters it smelled just like their mothers house. Tears stung his eyes as he drifted off, but he wiped them away, considering them weakness.
The next few days, he helped about the house, patched up some brickwork with Victorias husband.
On Saturday, they all visited their mother.
Look, Mum Alans here, and Brian, and Lucy, all of us. Weve come for you. Do you hear?
Their mother smiled from her wheelchair, tucked in her thick blanket, peering from one to the next.
Daisy, what year will you be in now? she asked, confusing Lucy with her granddaughter.
They looked at one another, a pang of grief, and pushed her further along the path.
When they took her back, Lucy nodded at the window on their way out.
Their mother stood at the window, smiling, not with the vacant kindness of before, but with something much more aware. Her brow furrowed; her gaze was sharp. She lifted her arm and waved.
She recognised us, didnt she? Lucy asked.
Of course, Alan replied confidently. Shes our mum. Mums dont just see with their eyes; they know us with their hearts.
Brian agreed: Alan was right. His mother might not have recognised their faces, but in her heart, all four of them were held close, always visible in the eye of her soul.
The train rattled away from the town, but it seemed warmer for it. His mother stayed here, and his brother and sisters. How glad he was to have come home at last.
