Oh Mother! - Linda Lenehan

[Ceri Shaw]

I know I’m not very pretty, but I’m not stupid. And I do have a serious speech impediment; nobody understands anything I say, not even my mother. So everyone talks about me, right in front of me as if I can’t understand English at all. How would you like that?

All my life I’ve had to put up with not saying anything in retort because I can’t do anything about the situation. Well, I suppose I could, but what? Nobody has ever come up with any decent suggestions, not even my mother.

Yes, my mother does care for me in a sort of selfish way. I’m there for her needs, and in exchange she looks after me. But sometimes I get the feeling that if I died tomorrow she could easily manage without me.

Now, don’t you all say, ‘Ah, that’s not true,’ because it is true, very true. She would replace me. I know she would. I’ve actually heard her say she would, especially when she’s angry with me.

Let me tell you about Mrs Fleming, my mother’s so-called friend, a person with only half a soul, a woman whom I dislike immensely. You see, whenever she visited our house she would often gush at me that I was a, cute little thing. She would actually tell my mother how lucky she was to have me, and as soon as my mother turned her back she would glare in my direction, nostrils flaring. Oh, how I hated her hypocrisy. Her expression told the truth, not her words. And now we were at her house for a holiday. Brilliant, absolutely brilliant!

Before we even left our home mother made a huge fuss about packing everything up for the holiday. You would swear she was planning to stay indefinitely with the amount of things she shoved into bags and boxes. Then the usual battle ensued trying to get everything into the boot as she had a thing about travelling with any kind of bag on the back seat. I was glad about that bit because I wanted to stretch out in the back as I really don’t like car journeys. They make me more than a little nauseous.

The car journey… it was long, mind-numbingly boring with the radio droning monotonously in the background. Mother tried to entertain me but nothing worked. Eventually she gave up and spent the rest of the time humming softly to herself. Thankfully, I managed to sleep most of the way.

What seemed like hours later she exclaimed, ‘Look Sal, we’ve arrived… and there’s Mrs Fleming… Oh she looks so pleased to see us… doesn’t she?’

I didn’t reply, all I wanted to do was get out of there. Why did we have to go on holidays in the first place? Why couldn’t we stay at home, stay where everything is nice and comfortable, stay where I’ve got all my own things and I can do as I like? Nobody asked me if I wanted to go on holidays. Nobody asked me if I wanted to go to the two-faced Mrs Flemings house. But I was expected to tag along not saying anything, as normal. Talk about conflict!

Lots of hugs and gooey kisses later Mrs Fleming eventually turned her attention to me and before I could do anything she hugged me so exuberantly I was left momentarily breathless. And then she said, ‘You are such a cute little thing.’ I wanted to throw up at her words. I wanted to stuff them right back in her throat. Instead, I darted off, determined to stay well away, well away from her.

The real trouble started when Mrs Fleming’s son entered the room. As soon as he saw me he was all over me like a rash, and when I snapped at him to leave me alone, I was the only one to get into trouble. Now, is that fair? He gets off declaring he only wanted to play and that I’m the bad tempered one. The result, I’m practically banished! My disgust broke through like an oil drill hitting hard granite.

In the past I had heard my mother say (she loves repeating the philosophical words of others), ‘Forgive your enemies but never forget their names.’ At the time she said that particular little ditty I didn’t quite know what she meant, but I soon did. I would never forgive that creep of a boy, or forget his name, never. Hostility hung in the air like acrid smoke. Anyway, that’s why I ran away. I just had to leave that awful place and go home. I just had to. I couldn’t stay there. I just couldn’t!

Feeling extremely dejected, I kept out of sight and bided my time waiting for the right opportunity to get the hell out of that place. It arrived when everyone was having lunch and I managed to slip out when they weren’t looking. Once outside, I started running. The feeling was exhilarating. At last… I could do what I wanted with no interference from anyone - and without a backward glance I headed off for home.

Would you believe it, I was only a couple of minutes down the road when it started raining, small drops at first which turned quickly into huge ones, but I wasn’t going to turn back because of that. I don’t really mind the rain. I never have.

I knew I was going in the right direction (my sense of direction is pretty good, always has been) so I kept jogging along keeping a steady pace only stopping momentarily to check my surroundings. Suddenly there was a deafening clap of thunder followed by an enormous flash of lightening. I cowered. Reality hit me. I was all alone. Fear tickled my belly and I almost started wishing I hadn’t run away. Another crash of thunder followed by more lightening. I found myself saying over and over again, ‘Stop it Sal, stop being so stupid you’ve been in storms before…’

Then the going started getting really tough as the road went up a steep hill and the rain had created small rivulets which cascaded down into the gullies on both sides. I was starting to get cold as the rain had turned my hair into a sodden mess, and when a passing car practically drowned me with sharp stinging dirty water, and to make matters worse I passed by a creepy looking grave yard! I reached an all time low. But I was not going back. No, definitely not. I had made up my mind to go home and that’s exactly what I was going to do. Determined about my mission I kept on going, kept trudging along, no longer jogging as I reckoned my legs were short enough already without me wearing them down even shorter.

The hill which seemed to be getting steeper with each step I took went up and up, and try as hard as I could I couldn’t see the top. But I didn’t stop, I wouldn’t. I was resolute and determined to get home. With a flamboyant toss of my head I looked across the fields and there was the railway station we had passed earlier on. This pleased me as it confirmed my sense of direction was fine, but I knew I still had a long way to go.

I had been travelling for about an hour and I was exhausted. My head was drooping and I was really cold and awfully hungry. I stumbled on lonely and afraid. A little respite came when I arrived at a narrow footpath worn into the grass by the side of the road. It led into some trees and the grass there was much kinder to my poor feet. The overhanging branches afforded me a degree of shelter from the rain and the fresh smell of grass was heavenly. My emotions lifted somewhat. I ambled on trying to behave indifferently to the storm raging around me but it wasn’t easy. Each clap of thunder shook me to the bone and each flash of lightening made me recoil so much that I wasn’t sure if I was going forward at all.

All of a sudden I found myself in a clearing facing a big dog. He barked loudly and ran towards me. I stood rooted to the spot, petrified. Then, a split second before he reached me I heard a girl’s voice calling, ‘Zorba… Zorba, come here…’

The big dog ignored her and came right up to me sniffing, wagging his tail. Miraculously he didn’t jump on me. Good, he’s friendly, I thought relieved.

‘Hello there, where did you come from? Jees... are you all on your own?’ the girl said to me in a pleasant voice.

If only I could answer her. All I could manage was a despondent groan. She was a friendly looking girl dressed in a long raincoat and a big waterproof hat which covered most of her face and she smelt of chicken. My hunger pangs raged.

Without saying another word she bent down, picked me up as if I was no weight at all and carried me a short way to a house which I hadn’t noticed until now. I didn’t object as I was too cold and miserable to worry about where she was taking me, and to tell the truth, I didn’t care.

We entered the hallway and instantly a gush of warm air surrounded me… utter bliss. I smiled inwardly. She put me down, and finding a towel, gently rubbed my dripping hair. When I was nearly dry she opened another door, picked me up again and brought me through into another room which was also cosy and smelt of fresh cooking.

‘Jodi, who have you got there?’ a woman’s voice asked.

‘Just somebody lost in the storm… a pretty little girl. She’s cold and frightened,’ Jodi answered.

She called me pretty… she means it! I know when people lie.

‘Well little one… come and get warmed up by the fire,’ the woman said running her hand down my hair. I began to relax. Then she noticed my necklace with the little silver disc my mother had put on it. I didn’t want her to look at it, but I couldn’t stop her - there was nothing I could say, not with my speech impediment.

‘Look Jodi, there’s a telephone number on here. Oh, her name is Sal. What a pretty name.’

I stayed dolefully silent.

Then Jodi said, ‘Hey, Sal, aren’t you hungry? Come into the kitchen.’ She went through another door. I followed and she put a bowl of delicious biscuits in front of me telling me to help myself. I did. As I was happily eating I heard her mother talking on the phone.

‘Veronica Bradley here… No you don’t know me, but we have your darling little… Don’t worry she’s quite safe and we are happy to have her until… No, no, it’s no trouble at all… Were you? Of course you must have been out of your mind with worry… Certainly, I can understand. Anyone would be she’s such a sweet little thing… Sheila Fleming can give you directions she knows where I live… Right-o, see you soon.’

Smiling, Jodi’s mum walked over to me and said, ‘Sal, your mother has been terribly upset all afternoon… since you ran away. She loves you very much and you don’t ever need to run away again,’ she said in a truly kind voice.

I sat back flabbergasted. Maybe I was wrong about mother. Maybe I was wrong about being ugly. Maybe I’m okay after all.

About half an hour later I heard a car outside followed by a knock on the door. It was my mother. She was half crying and half laughing when she saw me and her words were full of genuine relief. She said, ‘Oh Sal, you’re such a naughty little cat, but I do love you.’

Word Count: 2002

© Linda Lenehan 2009