****
It had been a warm, pleasant day as we drove to Mother’s on that Saturday afternoon. Roger had grumbled about going, but, to his credit, he did come. It was just the two of us going for lunch, the kids were attending a friend’s birthday party. My brother Geoff had even agreed to come, which would make the day a lot more bearable.
I can’t remember what Mother was cooking, but while we were waiting we were all sitting in the lounge room having a pre-lunch drink. The conversation turned to work. Roger mentioned that he was on strike at the moment due to safety concerns the workers had with the company. That statement was like a red rag to a bull for my mother. She gave him her most charming smile, the one that showed butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, and asked Roger if it was really fair to his family to be on strike. Roger had been dealing with Mother’s prickly remarks for years and had learnt to bat them aside. He merely smiled and sipped his beer. Mother wasn’t going to rest it there. She asked if we’d be able to survive with just my wage coming in. Roger pointed out that the strike wasn’t about money or wages. The workers had only turned to strike action when negotiations with management had broken down for the third time. There were genuine concerns over safety standards. The union was concerned that the company had failed to update safety standards and equipment.
Mother acted concerned, but her next statement carried its usual barb. She said she’d cook lots of meals and freeze them. Mother said it broke her heart to think that her grandchildren may go hungry. To be fair, Roger is an excellent father and a very good husband. Like any family, we’ve had our financial ups and downs, but none of us have been so destitute that we couldn’t afford to eat. Mother’s comment was the final straw for Roger. We both knew Mother wouldn’t let the matter just sit, she’d keep needling. He jumped up and shouted that our kids had never gone hungry and never would. He called her a vindictive cow. Roger walked out and said he would wait for me to finish my lunch but he’d lost his appetite and would wait for me in the car.
Mother looked genuinely perplexed by Roger’s reaction. She sighed and went into the kitchen to turn off the oven, saying something about thoughtlessness. When she returned, I said I should really go. Mother naturally dismissed my decision. She said Roger would be back soon once he’d cooled down, and besides, didn’t I want to see my brother? To be fair, Roger never holds a grudge for long; after years of marriage he’d learnt to quickly cool down after one of Mother’s barbs. I loved my mother, even if you do find that hard to believe, but I’m also very loyal to my husband. I felt it was only right that I leave and go home with Roger. I decided to wait just a little longer in case Roger came back. I sat back down and sipped my wine.
Mother asked whether I had to work harder now that Roger was on strike. I explained that I took on a few extra shifts a couple of times per week just to help in keeping the bills under control. Mother nodded and smiled as she sipped her wine spritzer. She wasn’t allowed much alcohol after she’d been diagnosed with a heart murmur. She was never a big drinker in the first place, and now she only had a wine spritzer when she was with company. Mother then asked if I’d heard from Paul Kingston lately. I thought this was a very strange question. I’d dated Paul for about six months but that was years ago, before I’d even met Roger. I told her I hadn’t seen or heard from Paul in many years.
Mother went on to tell me that she’d seen Paul being interviewed on a news report. The news item was about the latest threat to Internet security. She said that Paul was now head of cyber security for one of the country’s largest banks. She smiled sweetly and wistfully said how much she had always liked Paul. I began to fidget and a vague feeling of discomfort came over me. I had an idea where this conversation was heading. Mother casually mentioned that she’d never heard of banking departments going on strike. Had I ever heard of the department heads of banks taking strike action? I smiled as sweetly as I could and said that I hadn’t. Mother proceeded to tell me that I wouldn’t be working so hard today if I’d married Paul. She said that she wouldn’t ever wonder about her grandchildren’s welfare if I’d have only made a better choice in husbands. That was all I could take. I drained my glass, then stood over Mother and called her a disgrace. As she moved to get up from her chair, I pushed her back down. I’d never done anything so physical to her in my life. I stormed into the kitchen to rinse my glass. While I was in there, I heard a muffled thump.
When I returned to the lounge room I found Mother sprawled out on the floor. She was on her side and I will never forget her face. She looked as though she had been struck by a sudden shocking thought. The left-hand side of her face had sagged. Her eye was half open and the corner of her mouth twisted downward. There was a trail of drool running from the corner of her mouth onto the carpet. Her arm was stretched out; her hand had curled into a claw. She was making a strange gurgling sound, interspersed by rattling, shallow breaths.
Do you want to know something? As I looked down at her I felt nothing, absolutely nothing. After a lifetime of Mother’s subtle but powerful put-downs, I felt as though I was completely drained of compassion. God help me, I shook my head, turned my back and walked out. I could feel her green eyes boring into my back as I walked out the door. Roger gave me a quizzical look as I got into the car. I simply told him I wasn’t going to stay there without him and besides, I was getting a headache.
About an hour later there was a phone call from Geoff. He’d broken down on the way to lunch. I found that ironic considering that my brother is such a good mechanic. Maybe it was fate. Maybe if he’d been there then… He told me he didn’t get any response when he knocked on Mother’s door. He used one of the spare keys we both had for emergencies. Geoff told me to prepare myself for a shock. Mother had undergone a massive stroke. He’d found her halfway towards her chair. She had somehow managed to knock the telephone off her small side table. I don’t know how, but Geoff said she had the receiver in her hand when he found her. I felt a chill run down my spine. The thought of her painfully moving inch by inch to her only means of salvation, the phone, sent my mind reeling. I acted appropriately shocked and explained that Roger and I had left before lunch because of my headache. I said she must have collapsed just after we left. Geoff said I should get to the hospital straight away. The hospital?
Mother hadn’t died. She had slipped into a coma. I hugged Geoff at the hospital and sat with him as we waited for news; it wasn’t good. The doctors said they could only monitor and try to keep her stable. Should Mother come out of the coma, they could better assess how much damage the stroke had caused. She may regain consciousness, but she could end up in a permanently vegetative state. Only time would tell. When Mother was out of Intensive Care, I visited her with Geoff almost every day. Those visits terrified me. I was paranoid Mother was going to open her eyes and point an accusing finger at me, screaming blame at me. God forgive me, but I prayed every day that she’d die without regaining consciousness. She didn’t – not straight away.
Mother lived on for another month.
Mother began calling me a few weeks after that.
Any hope I’d had that those first calls were a hoax had evaporated very quickly. My dreams for a peaceful life and to forget the tragedy I’d caused disappeared with every swing of Roger’s corpse. I had been so lost in my dark thoughts that I hadn’t noticed the garage was now silent. The CD had finished playing. I jumped when another AC/DC song began to play, but it sounded tiny and somewhat distant. I double-checked but it wasn’t Roger’s portable stereo. I scanned the workbench and noticed Roger’s mobile phone was ringing with another AC/DC song, “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap”. The screen flashed “UNKNOWN CALLER”. With a throaty whisper I answered the call.
“H-hello?”
“Hello, Suzie. I’m so glad I managed to get Roger over to fix my heating. Mind you, he did take a lot of convincing. Why don’t you come over and I’ll fix you an early breakfast while he’s working on it?”
“I-I…” No further words escaped my
constricted throat.
“Oh good, that’s settled, I’ll be over to pick you up very soon.”
The call ended and I let the phone tumble out of my hand and onto the concrete floor. I didn’t bother checking to see whether it was broken or not. As I continued to gaze at Roger’s lifeless form, the garage door began to slowly rise. A sickly green-coloured fog started to roll into the garage like some unearthly miasma. The door continued to rise and I noticed the outline of a figure in the fog. The details were hard to see, but the figure walked with a decided limp, and it was leaning to one side. At that moment the fog seemed to part, revealing the intruder like a pair of stage curtains.
I wanted to scream but my constricted throat only let out a tiny whimper. It was Mother. There was no colour in her face. It was completely white, almost translucent, blue veins could clearly be seen in her face and hands. Mother’s once beautifully styled brunette hair was now white and was completely wild and tangled. Her arm was held close to her chest with her hand upturned. It was a withered claw. She dragged her leg behind her. She was a horrifying stoke victim from beyond the grave.
“I’m here for you, Suzie.”
Her voice was a combination of gurgling and harsh breathing. She made her way closer, slowly but with purpose. I lost control of my bladder when I saw her attempt to smile. Urine ran down my leg. The garage had turned icy cold, colder than I thought possible. I no longer had to worry about the phone calls from my mother ever again. For the first time since her death, she wasn’t just content to hear my voice.
Today, Mother came to visit me.
Natatorium
Adele Marie Park
Ghostly Writes Anthology 2016 Page 29
