MORNING SERIAL
MY MOTHER was very excited when her new carer visited for the first time. I was running late and arrived to find them already engaged in convivial conversation. Mum was animated, showing off a little bit. The carer, Audrey, seemed lovely and very suitable. I could imagine them getting on famously. At one point, Mum was explaining something to Audrey and waved her hand extravagantly in my direction, saying, “We’ve got things running pretty smoothly here, haven’t we darling?” I was amazed and felt slightly uncomfortable. I didn’t remember her ever calling me darling like that. It was as though I had a different mother all of a sudden.
Mum had had a visit from my daughter, who later told me that her grandmother had talked coherently, not darting about from topic to topic like a crazy fish. I visited as usual and this time felt softer towards her. She seemed more herself, the self that I think of as her usual default self: not too confrontational, not too negative, not overexcited; just kind of normal. I wondered whether she considered that she had shown me enough of her cold shoulder and moved on. Her new carer, Audrey, was working out well.
One Sunday she had a severe nosebleed that wouldn’t stop, and texted to say that she needed me to clean up her flat. When I got there it looked like a crime scene. I took care of her while she recovered her strength.
The next day I took Mum to the doctor, who couldn’t find any cause for concern. On Thursday I visited her again and delivered the shopping she’d asked for. She was cheerful. “You can forget all about me for a while. I am really happy and I can manage well with a little help from Audrey,” she said.
On Saturday morning I received an email. “We don’t seem to be in touch very much these days,” Mum complained. I was astonished. I visited again a few days later and she told me that she had no recollection of any of the things she’d said over the past week.
Scrabble in the Afternoon by Biddy Wells is published by Parthian at £8.99.
www.parthianbooks.com