A Grand Day Out - a short story by Berni Albrighton

 

“What the hell is this then?”

I helped her into the car.

“Where’s the bloody stupid seat belt thingy?”

She pushed and scraped the buckle.

“Agh, for Christ sake.”

“Here Mum, let me do it. Sit back, let me see.”

It clicked into place.

“Let’s try again shall we? Do you fancy popping to the shopping centre for an hour?”

She had pulled down the visor and was looking in the mirror.

“So what's going on?  A new car and now you want to go shopping? Where d’ya get the money?” 

She caught me looking at her.

“Keep your eyes on the bleedin’ road, we don't want to end up in a ditch.”

“Give me some credit Mum.” 

I noticed the small scab on her bottom lip.  

“Mum, are you still taking those vitamins? They’re really good against cold sores.” 

“Oh for fucks sake, nag nag. You’re just like your pathetic father. You turn up in a fancy car expecting me to gush all over you and tell you what a great daughter you are. I don’t hear from you for a week and then you roll up, full of yourself.”

“Mum please. Can we just spend a few hours together doing something nice without falling out.”

I parked in front of Debenhams. 

“I’m not going in there.”

“Where?”

“That poncy rip off shop. They charge you just to go in.”

She was looking away, somebody had caught her eye.

“Ooh look there’s Maisy, you know her don’t you? Lived two doors up. Right cocky piece she is. Where’s the bastard window thingy, come on she’ll be gone.”

I lowered the window and she shouted out.

“Woo hoo, Maisy. It’s Jean, look I’m here with Sara and her new car. Lovely isn’t it.”

Maisy walked on by.

“Fuckin’ stuck up cow. You’ll be like that you know one day. Your Father always thought he was better than he was. All the children had different fathers, you know.”

“Mum please. Stop. Come on, let's go to the cafe and have a cup of tea and a cake. What do you say?”

 

“If you think I’m paying you’ve got another thing coming. You must think I’m made of money. Always scrounging you are.” 

I helped her out of the car.

“Here we are, take my arm Mum.”

Her thin fingers gripped my arm. 

She stopped.

“Have I been horrible again Sarah?”

“It’s okay Mum. It's not your fault.”

She started crying. 

“This illness. It makes me say things darling. I don’t mean to, you know I love you.”

“I know.”  

The rest of the afternoon resembled some kind of normality. She let me hold her hand while she struggled to speak coherently. 

On the way home she slept.  

“Wake up Mum, we're here.” I said gently.

She reached very slowly and touched my face. Since her diagnosis, her eyes have adopted a vacant look.” It scared me. They weren’t my Mothers eyes. 

“Sarah, I’ve had a grand day out darling. Thank you.”