Eight
ANGELA CHANGED ALL their plans. Ben objected she was getting carried away but she was absolutely determined not to fail Mother in this one small respect. And so instead of dropping Mother and Father off on Saturday morning and continuing to London straight away, they stayed until the evening and the very part of the holiday she had most dreaded was painfully extended. They did not dump Mother and Father on the doorstep. They did not snatch a hasty cup of coffee and go. They witnessed the whole depressing ritual of the Trewicks’ return home.
The minute they entered the house, Mother rushed across the living room floor with astonishing speed and stood ripping the days off the calendar that hung above the fireplace—six savage tears across the perforated tops leaving in her hand a clutch of screwed-up paper slips.
‘Well, that’s that,’ she said, loudly, brandishing them at Angela, ‘that’s my holidays done. I’ll be stuck in this room for another twelvemonth likely.’
‘No you won’t,’ Angela said, ‘summer is coming—you can get out into the garden.’
‘It gets too hot,’ Mother said, ‘too hot or too cold—it’s me that’s the matter, not the weather. I never feel right.’
In the background Father was shouting ‘I’ve got the case unpacked—now do you want it on top of the wardrobe or under the bed? Eh?’—and then he began the endless recitation of all the trivial things that he claimed must be decided upon without delay.
‘There’s the milk tokens to get—how many?—and there’s the Parish Magazine waiting to be collected and do you want Mrs Collins in tomorrow as usual?’
‘Don’t care,’ Mother said.
‘Oh, now that won’t do,’ Father said, ‘she’ll want to know—Sunday’s Sunday—you can’t mess people about like that just because you’ve been on holiday—yes or no?’
‘Oh all right, if she wants to come in, though I’ve nothing to say to her and she talks a lot of rubbish.’
‘That may be,’ Father said, ‘but we have to take what we can get and after Angela’s gone that’s not much. Mrs Collins is regular—she’s a good neighbour.’
‘She’s boring,’ Mother said.
The children began to fight, noisily and in earnest. None of them had wanted to stop—the holiday over, home had a distinct allure. Against a background of screams and yells and Father’s roars to shut up or they would feel the back of his hand, Angela telephoned the dentist she used to have at St Erick and fixed up an appointment for that afternoon. It was a huge concession, obtained only by the use of that refined way of bullying that she had learned during the last decade. ‘You were rude,’ Mother said, as soon as she had finished. ‘They need somebody to be rude,’ Angela said. ‘And I’m not an emergency,’ Mother said, ‘the very idea—what a lie.’ ‘Of course you are. You’ve been an emergency for more than fifty years, going through agonies with those bloody teeth.’ ‘No swearing,’ Mother said, ‘and you ought to feed those children, noise they’re making.’ ‘I’ve no intention of feeding them,’ Angela said, ‘they’ve stuffed themselves for a week and now they can just starve. It will do them good.’
But she sent them off with Ben, to scrounge anything they could find in the town. Mother and Father had some soup, tomato, tinned, lurid orange and nauseating but eaten ravenously. Then ‘It’s ten to,’ Father said, and Mother went off to get ready. She took the greatest care, best dress and everything clean from the skin out. She even put on some make-up, dabs of powder high on her cheek bones and a smudge of lipstick applied with her good hand to a bunched-up mouth. Father looked pleased when she reappeared. He had always liked Mother to take care of herself, to dress up in such bits of finery as she possessed, to be the elegant lady he saw her as. ‘That hat’s not straight,’ he said, when she was quite ready. ‘You look like a drunk sailor—here, more on the back of the head, that’s it, that’s better. I don’t know what you’d look like if I didn’t keep an eye on you.’ Mother stood in front of him, blinking, humble, inviting remarks.
Angela helped Mother out of the car tenderly and was curt with the girl who took her time opening the door at the dentist’s. ‘No need to have spoken like that,’ Mother said. They sat in the waiting room for twenty minutes. Angela gathered up a pile of magazines and offered them to Mother, who refused them. ‘I can’t see them,’ she whispered, ‘I’ll just sit.’ ‘I could read something to you,’ Angela said. ‘No, thank you, I’m all right.’ With other people in the room Mother did not want to talk at all. She eyed those other occupants furtively and tried to sit up very straight, bolt upright, gripping the arm of the chair tightly as though it might take off. Restless, Angela paced up and down the dingy room, finding things to criticize as she went, publicly refusing to be as intimidated by the surroundings and situation. ‘Good god,’ she exclaimed, ‘you would have thought they could empty the ashtrays—ugh.’ ‘I think you should sit down and leave things alone,’ Mother said, looking frightened. ‘Are you cold’ Angela said, ‘Shall I put this gas fire on?’ ‘No, no,’ Mother said, ‘I’m quite warm—do leave things alone.’
Angela finally sat down beside Mother, though she continued to tap her foot impatiently and was ready to criticize anything else that occurred to her. Years and years of this sort of thing—of waiting rooms with Mother who treated them like holy shrines. Years of awe and dread building up into a great fear of anyone at all in a white coat. ‘Keep very quiet,’ Mother said before they entered the clinic with Angela’s septic finger. ‘Sit very straight and do what you’re told.’ The smell of antiseptic made her sick, but she pressed her lips firmly together and obeyed Mother’s instructions. The doctor was a lady, but big and heavy with short iron-grey hair and a voice like a man. ‘We’ll have to lance that,’ she boomed, ‘disgusting state it’s in. Keep still now, child, no fidgeting. I hope you’re going to be brave, are you? No fussing when the needle goes in?’ She fainted. Mother was embarrassed and kept apologizing. The first words Angela heard were ‘I’m so sorry—she’s only six—I’m so sorry—she’s usually very good.’ They were allowed to sit in the secretary’s office for a while before they went to get the bus home and although Mother cuddled her, and exclaimed at the awfulness of the operation, Angela felt wretched because she had let her down. There were too many mortifying occasions like that to remember. Doctors, medical personnel of any kind, were gods who held your fate in cool hands. You spoke of their wisdom in hushed tones and whatever they told you to do, you did, questioning not their infinite wisdom. Second opinions were things you had never heard of, doubt a sentiment out of step with gratitude.
Mother jumped when her name was called and struggled immediately to her feet, pulling at Angela’s sleeve. ‘Hang on,’ Angela said, ‘he can wait for you just like you waited for him.’ ‘Sssh!’ Mother pleaded. The very sight of the surgery had her genuflecting. ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Trewick,’ the dentist said, smiling broadly and indicating the chair, ‘and Angela—my goodness, you’ve grown—how many years is it since you sat there in your gymslip, eh?’ His laughter was loud and Angela wondered why she had never thought him coarse. Quite the reverse. She and her friends had found him exciting—none of them had objected throughout their school years to the various unnecessarily tight embraces he had adopted while drilling their teeth. They loved the squeeze he gave them as he whispered ‘Just a wee rinse, now,’ and the grip of his hand as he consoled them if he had hurt. Angela was proud to go to him. ‘I’ve got a dentist,’ she said at home, aged thirteen, ‘I’m not going to the school clinic any more.’ She had arranged it all herself, benefiting from the expertise of her new-found friends at Grammar School.
‘Now what’s the trouble, Mrs Trewick?’ He spoke in that patronizing way Angela remembered so well—that faintly insulting though always polite tone reserved for the old, the stupid, the deprived.
‘My mouth’s sore,’ Mother said, nervously.
‘Well, let’s have a look. Can you take your teeth out for me, please?’
Out they came and l
ay on the tray provided like fossils newly unearthed. Bits of denture powder still clung round the base of the teeth. Angela’s own mouth went dry at the sight. Carefully and gently the dentist poked and prodded Mother’s poor mouth and then, while she sipped the pink antiseptic solution he gave her, he examined her false teeth.
‘Well,’ he said, giving them a disdainful look and wiping his hands fastidiously with a brilliantly white towel, ‘I don’t think there is much doubt that those things are causing all the trouble. They don’t fit, do they?’
‘No,’ Mother said.
‘I don’t suppose they’ve ever fitted. They’re a scandal, a disgrace to dentistry.’
Mother’s eyes began to look suspiciously watery. ‘The point is,’ Angela interrupted sharply, ‘what can be done about it? There isn’t much point in telling my Mother she’s had a bad job done—the point is, what can be done about it?’
Mother’s tears had been arrested at the price of horror. ‘Oh, Angela,’she said.
‘No,’ the dentist said, ‘she’s quite right. I ought to have begun by saying there is no reason why you shouldn’t be one hundred per cent more comfortable—you just need new dentures. The trouble is, the gums have receded of course and the dentures will be difficult to fit—they’ll need a lot of tricky measuring and that takes time and money.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Mother said quickly. She snatched her teeth from the tray and put them back in, turning away from Angela and the dentist. ‘These will do me,’ she said, ‘they’ll see me out. Let’s go—thank you, thank you very much.’
‘Wait,’ Angela said.
‘I’m not up to it,’ Mother said, upset, getting worked up. ‘I couldn’t manage backwards and forwards—I couldn’t manage all that carry on—and your Father would play war.’
‘How many visits exactly would it take?’ Angela asked, glaring at the dentist, who appeared taken aback by her sudden antagonism.
‘Oh, three or four—say four, and a final fitting to be absolutely sure.’
‘Then we’ll have it done the next time I’m down and I’ll bring you each time, Mother. Can we make a series of appointments now, for August, so that the whole thing is arranged?’
Mother weakened and hesitated and wondered aloud whether it was worth it but Angela had spoken so decisively it was easier to go along with her. And it was not until August. The dentist shook their hands most cordially and leapt to the door to open it for them himself.
Sadie was taken to the dentist at three months old. She lay in a carrycot while Angela had her teeth drilled. Later, she sat strapped into a pushchair and laughed at the high-pitched whine of the drill. She continued to go with Angela until she went to school and then she had her own twice-yearly appointments made for her, to which she looked forward. The dentist had a box of small plastic games and toys which he invited children to delve into after he had looked into their mouths. Sadie enjoyed picking her toy and since she never had to have anything done she did not mind opening her mouth. She would rush to the tray, ignoring the dentist, and Angela would have to remonstrate and tell her to wait and to get into the chair first. Sadie was rather off-hand to the dentist. When he asked her if she had enjoyed her holidays she would say ‘Yeah, I did’ and when he inquired if she liked school she would say ‘of course’ scathingly. As she grew older she complained he was a bore. At twelve, to Angela’s alarm, something seemed to happen to Sadie’s teeth—in six months she had her first three fillings. They did not hurt but Sadie blamed the dentist for making her feel uncomfortable. ‘He’s such a clumsy fool,’ she said, and Angela worried that the dentist might have heard. He wanted Sadie to have a brace to correct the shape of her upper teeth. Sadie refused. ‘The dentist knows best,’ Angela said. ‘Oh rubbish,’ Sadie said. ‘You ought to listen to him and do what he says,’ Angela said. ‘Why?’ Sadie said, ‘I don’t believe I need a brace—he just wants to mess about with my teeth, that’s all. I don’t want a brace. I don’t care what my teeth look like. You can’t make me have one, nor can he.’ And Angela could not. The dentist had no authority in Sadie’s life.
They drove back to London at high speed with Tim asleep in the back and the others nodding off. They took it in turns driving, stopping only twice for petrol and a cup of coffee.
‘I hate driving in the dark,’ Sadie complained.
‘We all do,’ Ben said.
‘Then why did we have to? Why couldn’t Grandma go to the dentist another day?’
‘Because she wouldn’t have gone,’ Angela said.
‘It’s made us so late,’ Sadie said, ‘it’s such a stupid time to travel.’
‘Oh shut up,’ Angela said, ‘all you care about is yourself and your convenience.’
‘I don’t see why Grandma has to be put before us.’
‘No, you don’t. That’s the really awful thing—you really do not see why a poor old lady—’
‘—oh christ, not that bit, not—’
‘—and her comfort had to be put before your pleasure.’
‘All I don’t see is why you have to do it just at the wrong time,’ Sadie shouted.
‘Be quiet—you’ll waken Tim. I have to do it because she’s my Mother and nobody else will do it if I don’t. Do you think I like doing it? Do you think I like holding everyone up all the time? What I’d like to do is just collapse and let you all look after yourselves—I’m sick to death of looking after everyone—thinking and worrying about parents and children—I’m sick of it.’
‘Heh,’ Ben said, quietly, ‘calm down.’
‘I’m so tired.’
‘We’re all tired,’ Sadie said, ‘and no wonder.’
‘I’ll drive,’ Ben said, ‘you try to doze. And I want everyone to be quiet—is that understood? Not a sound until we stop outside our own front door.’
‘Thank god,’ Sadie said.
‘I said not a sound. Right. Seat belts on. No pushing, no shoving and no talking.’
But Angela could not doze. She closed her eyes and put her head back and was perfectly comfortable but her brain teemed with relentless thoughts. It was a trap. She ought to have known—she had known—having a mother, being a mother, they were both pledges to eternity, promises to be something impossible. She had tried so hard to break the chain but it was too tough and strong. She did not know which was worse—the agonizing pain of failing to be the daughter Mother needed and wanted and had a right to expect or the misery of failing to be the mother her daughter needed and had an equal right to expect. Nobody was satisfied with her. She could no longer hug and kiss Mother and be close in heart and spirit. She could no longer embrace Sadie, who every day retreated further and further from her and yet looked to her for everything. The cars flashed past on either side, headlights blazing, and the noise of the engine vibrated through her body and straight ahead the road stretched endlessly black and murderous.
She didn’t move when at last they stopped. She sat quite still, aching, while Ben got out and unlocked the front door and put the light on in the hall and gathered up the mail from the mat. Sadie followed him in, carrying only her own bag, and disappeared into her room. Angela could hear the record player being switched on immediately and the sound of pop music floated through the night air. ‘Where are we?’ said Max in the back. She did not reply. He yawned and groaned and said ‘oh, home’ and stumbled into the house. Ben went backwards and forwards alone, heaving cases and bags and junk from car to house until a great heap of paraphernalia spilled from the door to staircase. He carried Tim in and up to bed, and guided Saul on his way. Still she sat. He finished the unpacking and came round to her side and unclipped her seat belt. ‘Come on, old lady,’ he said. At last, she forced herself to get out, stiff and slightly sick. The house smelled of unaired rooms and paint. She wondered what on earth had just been painted and went into the kitchen with a puzzled frown on her face.
‘Well,’ Ben said, ‘that’s over.’
‘It’s not over,’ she said, dully, ‘it just goe
s on and on.’
‘Seeing them is over. You look fagged out. Go to bed. You’ve done your bit—for god’s sake, forget them for a while and rest. You’ll make yourself ill and then what would we all do?’
Mothers couldn’t be ill—it was against the rules. She lay in bed thinking how ill she felt and telling herself she could not be ill. There was nothing in the whole world as terrifying as a mother being ill. Everything seemed to stop. There were no comforts any more. Even the table set by someone else looked wrong and upsetting—nothing was done right. Mother had not intended to frighten them all when she went into hospital—it was Father. His worry turned into anger and flew in their direction, exploding when it hit its target. It caught her unawares as she stood at the back kitchen door, flushed and happy, off to practise the nativity play at Sunday School, excited about the silver foil wings she wore as Gabriel. He shouted after her ‘Get off with you then—all this hurry—rushing your dinner—get out—and pray for your Mother at that church—pray she doesn’t die when she goes into the infirmary next week.’ Her hand froze on the steel latch of the door. She turned back and looked at Mother washing the dishes. Mother looked guilty and apologetic. ‘Pay no attention, Angela,’ she whispered, ‘it’s nothing—I won’t be in long.’ Father didn’t contradict her. It was one of those rare times when he had shocked himself. Nobody elaborated on what had been said. ‘Bye, then’ Angela said.
Mother Can You Hear Me? Page 14
