GOOD DEED TO DEADLY GRE
Itwirled around like a spinning top, trying to make myself dizzy. “If you keep your hands in your pockets you’ll fall over,” my mum warned.
Ignoring her, moments later I landed on my backside!
“You’ll trust me one day,” Mum laughed.
My childhood was full of love, fun and happiness.
My mother, Rosina Coleman, was called ‘Our Rosey’, or ‘Rose’ by loved ones. To me and my older brother, Robert, she was just Mum.
We adored her, everybody did, especially our dad, Bill.
Mum was a brilliant seamstress. She’d make dresses for herself to go dancing with Dad.
She even made my wedding gown when at 18, I married my husband, Barry, 23.
We settled round the corner from Mum and Dad’s place, and had a son, James, followed by Edward, and a little girl, Emma.
My parents doted on them. When James was little, he saw the Queen on a postage stamp and thought it was Mum. After, we all called her ‘Queen’!
en, one day, Dad collapsed and died from a pulmonary embolism. He was 77. We were devastated and Mum was bereft. ey’d been married 56 years.
“I don’t know how to carry on,” she said.
But slowly she did. She kept dancing each Saturday, as she’d done with Dad.
One day, she mentioned redoing the dining room.
“A friend has recommended a chap called Paul Prause,” she said.
Next time I went over he was there discussing colour schemes with her.
I chatted to him while Mum made tea. “Sounds like he knows his stu ,”
I said after he left.
“Oh yes he does,” Mum enthused.
Soon, he’d go over to hers once a week for a cuppa and to help with odd jobs.
One day, Mum and I were chatting in her yard when Paul appeared.
He looked surprised to see me. “I didn’t realise you were here, Sharon,” he said.
I thought it was a bit forward of him to come round the back without knocking. But Mum didn’t seem worried.
“I don’t know why he’s so good to me,” she said later.
Each day I’d ring her, and one day our chat turned to our upcoming holidays.
Barry and I were ying to Canada at the end of the week for our anniversary.
en in August that year, we were taking Mum to Barcelona. She’d been saving up for it.
“I can’t wait!” she gushed.
After an hour, we said goodbye and I went to my art class. Just as I got home, my phone rang. It was my sister-in-law, Sue. “Sharon… it’s your mum,” she said. Her voice sounded odd. en… “She’s dead.” “Dead?!” I said. “She can’t be.”
e whole room spun. I thought I might be sick. “I want to see her!” I cried. Sue said the police were coming to speak to me.
In a state of shock I rang Barry, then the kids. We were in tears as we waited at the house. When the o cers arrived, all they told us was that Mum had been found dead at home.
Next day, they delivered more shocking news.
“We believe your mum’s death is suspicious,” an o cer said.
How could that be possible? Mum had lived in her home for 50 years and didn’t have any enemies.
But two days later police revealed they’d arrested
We all called Mum ‘Queen’