Mum, Im Taking You Home
Can I use these phones to make a long-distance call?
Of course, just dont hog it. The green ones for long-distance.
Brian was manning the switchboard for a mate who had rushed off to deal with some family drama. He eyed the green phone as though it might bite him. Ten years working and living in this little industrial enclave and hed never had the run of a proper long-distance line.
There were phones in their little English town, naturallytelegraph office, post office. But to be left alone with the holy grail: a free long-distance telephone? That was a first.
Brians feelings towards his family had soured years ago. Walked out of home after a blazing row, hurling: Youll never hear from me again! Dramatic, as usual. His older brother, Simon, he practically despised. Lizzie, the youngest, was a harmless schoolgirl then. And Sally, his eldest sister, had sided with Simon in everything.
Mum had always looked after Brian, patched him up, borrowed money off Simon and Sally to bail him out. But Brian reckoned, Its just bad luck for now. Soon enough, Ill make something of myself. Theyll see.
It turned out soon was a very elastic concept. By thirty-five, Brian was still shifting about, never quite making it, and finally had another almighty row with Simon that nearly came to blows. That was when he started looking for a place to get away. Hed never finished his course at the technical college, but even his meagre grades got him a job up in Sunderland, and for the next ten years he drifted from job to job in the North East.
At first, Brian wrote to his mum. Eventually, he took offence at her too. Life was hard, and missing home made him irritable.
Now, though, it felt different. No, he hadnt forgiven Simon. But he wanted to speak to Mum and maybe Sally. Lizzie was always the plaited pigtails and homework one in his mind. He had nothing to brag about, really. He was living with a womanunofficiallyin her flat. Well, her room, to be exact.
He had some cash, but nowhere near enough for his own place, not even up on Tyneside. And he wasnt exactly planning to stay for good.
His domestic partner, Tanya, sensed all that. Their relationship lurched up and down. They were on their own now because the neighbours had moved out, their second room was up for sale. Tanya proposed buying it together, but Brian always demurred.
He just wasnt sure hed be there with her for keeps. Tanyas son was in the army. Shed come North to earn a few extra quid too.
Youre a bit childish, Bri. Difficult to be with, honestly.
Me? What are you talking about?
You dodge responsibility. Youre forty-five, but youve never really been responsible for anyone.
Who would I be responsible for? And why?
Exactly. Because you run a mile from all that. Youre scared witless someone might rely on you too much.
Brian protested, but realised Tanya had a point. He didnt want to get married, was wary about ever having kidsjust not ready, he said. Not exactly a firebrand at work either. He was simply drifting.
Now, he stared at the long-distance phone, trying to pluck up the nerve. He still remembered the home phone number.
Finallyspoon circling the sugar in his teahe spun round, dialling the number:
Hello? A strange mans voice.
Hi, Brian said, unnecessarily cupping the mouthpiecehe was the only person in the building anyway. Umwhos this?
And who are you? Sorry?
Er, I was after Mrs. Zinaida Kirillova (Oops, wrong countrylets call her Bridget Whittaker).
She doesnt live here any more.
What? Where is she?
Sorry, whos calling, again?
Its Brian. Im her son.
Brian? Er (Long silence, then the receiver banging). A woman answered next.
Hello?
Hi, could I speak to Mrs Whittaker, please?
Brian, is that you?
Sally? Is it?
No, its Lizzie.
Lizzie! Well, hello stranger. So you grew up then? Your voice is all grown up. Who was that man earlier?
Oh, thats Dave, my husband
Youre married? Blimey. Got kids too?
Yep. So you are alive after all?
Alive and kicking. Why wouldnt I be?
Why didnt you write? We looked for you. Simon and Sally. Mum was in bits.
Sure, Simon will scour the globe. Anyway, whats the point? I just get on with it.
Mum was worried, you know.
Well, Im ringing now, arent I? Where is she?
A pause. Brians stomach lurchedhad she died?
Lizzieshes still alive?
Yeah. But she doesnt live here anymore.
Where then? I want to talk to her.
A baby wailed in the background.
Sorry, gotta go. Call back later, please. And she hung up.
Brian stared helplessly at the phone. Laterwhens later? It was getting on for ten. Now he was determined to ring again in half an hour. Fifteen minutes later, though, his fingers dialed the number on autopilot. Engaged.
Ringing Sally and Simon, giving the news, no doubt. That twisted the knife. Cozy family, them lot. He, the outcast.
Half an hour later, he tried again.
Mums in a care home, Bri. Just up the road in Redfield, said Lizzie.
You meanyouve put her in an old folks home?
Yes. She was ill for agesshe isnt well now.
You carted her off! There are three of you therecouldnt find space for your own mum?
Lizzie stayed silent.
Well, say something? Brian clenched his fist.
No point arguing like this.
What tone? I just asked! Honestlyyour lotI suppose Simon had nothing to say about it either? Or Sally?
I better give you Simons number.
No I dont want his number. What about Sally? Got a work number?
Youll have to ring during office hours.
Fine
Now he was really fuming. Simon had always been banging on about how Mums health was all Brians fault, every bout of flu, every heartbreak. All his doing.
Now look where shed ended up.
He couldnt imagine his motherpractical, strictshuffled off to an old peoples home.
Come morning, Tanya was working a day shift, so Brian blagged the switchboard again for a ring to Sally. There was a room full of women nowhardly the place for family drama.
Sally, hiits Brian.
Yes, we figured as much. Thank God youre alive.
You were looking for me?
We were. Mum was worried sick. Honestly, how do you expect anyone to find you? Why didnt you write?
Well, you knowjust happens. Sal, why did you kick Mum out of her flat?
No one kicked her out.
Hang on, Lizzie said shes up in Redfield. Brian couldnt bring himself to say care home” with everyone listening.
Yeah, shes there sometimes. Mostly for a break. But Lizzies just had a baby
Whos had a baby? God, what is wrong with you lot? Sally, you couldnt take Mum to yours?
Sally said nothing. Then, coldly:
So this is a lecture, is it? Is that what this is about? Instead of helping when we needed it, you just show up now to judge? Want to pick up your responsibilities? The ones you ran out on? Will you come and take her yourself, big man? Will you?
Yes! Brian blurted outand slammed the phone down.
He stood for ages, hand on the receiver. Someone clattered a teacup. He looked upgetting a grip.
The anger congealed into a sort of resolve: Hed rescue Mum from the old folks home. Thatd show his relatives who was the proper son. Mum would be taken care of.
Tanya, get on the phone to the landlord about that roomwere buying it.
Wow. Youve decided at last?
I have. Im getting my mum out of that old peoples home.
What?
My mum. Taking her back. Whats unclear?
Ah, I see. Good luck with that
Its outrageous! The rest of them just chucked her in there. Can you believe it?
Have you actually spoken to her yet?
No. How could I?
So why?
Why? Shes not wanted. Lizzies got a new family. Simon cant be bothered.
Tanya washed up in silence.
What? Nothing to say?
Well, its your decision. Im not saying Ill help though. Im not heartlessjust realistic. You dont even know what she needs. Youve not even asked.
Right, right. Just call the landlord, will you?
Ill call
It took three months for Brian to sort out the new room. He got a loan, bought the extra part of the flat. Tanya was pleased but asked him nothing more about his mum. It was his business.
For the first time ever, Brian had his own home. He wandered round disbelievingso much responsibility! Got stuck into repairs. That took another three months.
By early winter, he booked leave, bought tickets for the train down south. The journey loomed and so did his nerves.
On the morning of the flight, his nerves got the better of him. He pictured himself at the door of a helicopter again, like during National Service, about to jump. Scared, but too late to back out. You just go.
The journey wasnt so bad after all. A change of scene always gave Brian a bit of zip. He chatted, napped, cracked jokes.
He reached Ipswich at sunrise, nipped straight to Redfield instead of seeing family. Left his suitcase at left luggage and took only his new, fit for the City briefcase. He wanted Mum to see hed done alright: Czech shoes, light coat, fur flat cap.
The care home was tidy-looking, but unmistakably institutional. Yet, oddly, people seemed happy to see a visitor.
Inside was loneliness, though. While waiting for the warden, an old chap on a walker came up for a chatfull of curiosity and questions. Brian felt awkward. These people were clearly starved of company.
You see, its lovely here, the old chap chirped up, unprompted. Brian hadnt asked. Maybe he was trying to make himself feel better about it all.
At last Brian was invited in. His shoes off, told to put on battered brown slippers.
Hed imagined Mum would emerge and hed say all the right things, and shed burst into tears, hug him, and hed promise to take her out of there.
How happy she’d be at those words!
The nurse beckoned him to the ward.
Leave all food here. Don’t give her anythingdietary needs. Well sort her meals.
He saw his mothers backher neighbour, a plump lady on crutches, was being helped away.
She sat on the bed, facing the window.
He quietly set down his case and the bag of food, walked round to face her. Her eyes darted past him, failing to focus, her head trembling.
Mum. Brian breathed out, sat. Grabbed her hand.
She finally zeroed in on him.
Ive eaten already, she blurted.
Eaten? I know. I brought you something as well. He pressed a marshmallow into her hand. She took it, glanced at it blankly.
Mum, do you not know me? Its Brian. Your son. Ive come.
She looked worried, eyes flicking to the marshmallow, then repeated, Ive eaten, already.
Yes, you have. How are you? Simon visits?
Simon? Hes out clearing snow. So much snow.
Mum, do you really not remember me? Im Brian.
I remember, she nodded. I remember everything. Oh yes.
Brian realisedshe didnt.
He didnt know what else to say, so he started rambling about the plane, Sunderland, his work. Mum listened, wide-eyed, nodding.
And Brian went on and on. He was afraid to let go of… something bigger than all this family ruckus and point-scoring. It felt right being here, holding her quivering hand, staring into her shining old eyes. This was it.
Did she understand? Did she hear? She was still smiling gently.
Mum, dyou want to come home with me? Shall I take you out of here? Would you like that? Brian blurted.
Oh, yes, of course. They open the windows at eleven for airing out. Then we walk in the corridor.
What windows? Im talking about living with me. Mum? Will you?
Yes, yes. She tried to catch her marshmallow, holding it to the light. Whats this?
Its a marshmallow, Mum. Try it. He raised it to her mouth. She took a delicate bite.
Is it nice?
She chewed noisily, then suddenly coughed violently. Brian panicked, dashed for help. The nurse hurried in.
Did you give her something to eat?
Just a marshmallowsorry.
I said no food! She tilted Mum on her side, gave her some water.
Is this your first time?
YesI havent seen her in ages. I was thinking of taking her home
The nurse frowned. Thats a big ask. She needs specialist care. But Mrs Whittakers children have sorted everythingspecial medications, equipment, extra care. She doesnt eat by herself nowits tube feeding mostly. Youll need to talk it over with your family and our doctors. Not a decision you make alone.
A cleaner popped in, stroked Mum’s head. “Now, Bridget, dont give us a fright like that.”
Brian cut in, Cant I just take her? Im her son!
No, youre not her legal guardian. Shes very sick. Talk to your siblings and the medical staff first.
I didnt know she was so unwell.
Shes been here four years. She was in bad shape when she arrived.
He just shook his head.
As they left, the other woman came back and regarded him kindly.
She remembers you, you know. Sometimes she talks of all four of you, and you most fondly of all. So dont worry. She remembers.
Brian didnt quite believe it. The womans probably ill herself.
He had to go. He stood at the window, breathing deeply. Not because he legally couldnt take Mumbecause he realised he simply couldnt cope.
Mum, Im off. Ill visit tomorrow, alright? He turned.
Suddenly she looked at him as if seeing him:
Brian? Youre back?
He dropped to his knees by the bed.
Yes, Mum! Its me, Brian. Im back. Alive and well! See? He held her hand, she patted his headthe old comforting touch.
A great peace filled him.
There now. Thats good. Simon was waiting for you, you know. He really was.
Simon? My brother?
She nodded and closed her eyes, her hand going slack as she drifted off to sleep. Brian told the nurse with excitement that shed recognised him; she was politely unmoved. He begged to stay till Mum woke up.
He was allowed to stroll the garden paths. Old people walkedsome grim, some cheerful, some adapting, some detached.
Soon lunch called. The corridors smelled of pea soup. He remembered Mums hospitality, her roast dinners and lemon drizzle cake. He felt a great sadness for lost times.
The next morning, she didnt know him at all. The nurse said, Dont be sad. These flashes happen, but get rarer. Still, its good you camegives her a lift. Ill tell the doctor you visited.
How often do people visit her? See, Im not really in touch with everyone.
Oh, she gets good visitsher children are here nearly every weekend. They help other residents tooMrs. Thompsons become a friend, they look after her as well.
Brian trudged out to the bus as the rain turned sleety and the trees looked oddly pruned, as though nothing living was allowed to reach up. Dreary blocks of flats, massive retail units, gaudy signs. People scurried under umbrellas.
By now, Brian was soaked as he boarded the bus to his cheap hotel. Whether from the rain, his sick older mum, or just weariness, his hometown seemed grey and indifferent and cold. He tried to soak up familiar sights, but the rain blurred the memories to nothing.
Tomorrow, one last visit. Thenhome. He felt rather foolish, thinking hed ride in a white charger and rescue anyone.
Next day he brought a box of cakes for everyone. The old people cheered. Mum didnt recognise him.
Going? asked her old roommate.
I have to. But Ill callmaybe you can come to the phone if I ring?
Ill tryif Im still around. Im not getting any younger! Not visiting family?
No. They wont be keen. And I upset everyone, moaning about Mum being here.
Well, theyre not retired yet. Couldnt afford round-the-clock carers, you know. And she cant manage on her own even for an hour, let alone a night.
I know now. I didnt before.
You should visit themfamilys family.
Well, I have tickets for tonights train. Must go.
***
Trains thundered past; commuters and express whizzed by. Brian stood on the platform, taking in the station, saying goodbye to his old town. It all felt chillierthis slushy rain, Mums blank eyes.
On the opposite platform, a group of teens chattered excitedly. Brian remembered his own wild youth. Hed driven his mum mad.
Now, he thought mostly of Tanya. Shed been right about his flakiness. Hed always posed as Mr. Independent, but in truth he’d amounted to very little. And she was right about Mum toohis rescue fantasy was pure pride.
Who did he really have? No wife, no familynow, not really a mum. Could he change? Yes, and in his hotel that night, he promised himself: enough running. Hed propose to Tanya. Hed try harder at work. Hed act his age.
His train was announced. He started down the platform when
Brian! cried a familiar voice.
He spun roundSally hurried towards him, out of breath, no hat, looking older and softer than he remembered.
Sally?
She was panting, We heard you were leavingthe carer phoned us! We just missed you. Simons in the carplease, come home with us. Stay a bit. We havent seen you in years. At the weekend, we can all visit Mum. Please, Brian
Butthe train
Sally gripped his hand with that same motherly look.
Forget the train. Go later. Come home.
He glanced at the train, then nodded, his throat tight, unable to speak.
Simon met them by the carpaunchy, balding, but unmistakable. Alright, bro, he said gruffly, and Brian shook his hand with deep gratitude.
He was shy still, unsure what to say. But theyd forgiven him, he realised. Over dinner in Sallys cozy kitchen, he told them the truthnot the Im smashing it version, but about his failures, his mistakes, about Tanya, about Mumand about feeling angry, wanting to save Mum. They knew.
Simon and Sally had grandkids. Their kids had their own. Brian slept under Sallys roof, as safe as in his mothers househer sheets even smelled the same. He nearly teared up as he fell asleep, but told himself men dont cry.
He stayed a few days, helped around the house, fixed the foundation cracks with Dave, Lizzies husband.
On Saturday, they all visited Mum together.
Mum, look! Simon, Brian, all of uswere here. You see?
Mum smiled in her wheelchair, wrapped in a tartan blanket, gazing at each face.
Daisy, what year are you in now at school? she asked, mixing Lizzie up with her granddaughter.
They hugged her, pushed her along the path.
Afterwards, when Mum was wheeled inside, Lizzie pointed up.
Mum was at the window, smilingnot quite as daft as when out for a walk, but brow furrowed, eyes clear. She waved.
She knew us, didnt she? asked Lizzie.
Of course, Simon said, Mothers know. Not just with their mindwith their heart.
Brian nodded: Simon was right. Mum might not recognise them instantly, but she carried them in her hearts memory, always.
The train rattled him out of town. The place seemed warmer now. Mum was here; so were his siblings. He was glad hed come.
For Mumafter all.
