The Mummyfesto (25 page)

‘She looks familiar,’ I whispered.

‘Third portrait along on the left,’ Rob whispered back. ‘I almost didn’t recognise her with her clothes on.’

I crept into Oscar’s room when Rob and I got back later that night. Although I’d taught Mum how to use all the machines I still had to see for myself that everything was fine. I switched the bedside lamp on so I could check the night-time ventilator was secured properly. He always looked so little under it, as if somehow it was deflating him as he slept, instead of helping him breathe. I kissed him on the forehead. ‘Night-night, Pirate Oscar,’ I whispered.

I tiptoed across the landing to open Zach’s door a crack. Unlike Oscar, Zach was a light sleeper. It was as if he never totally switched off. A pirate in the crow’s nest, always on the alert for danger.

‘Night-night, Mummy,’ came a voice from within.

‘You should be asleep, sweetheart,’ I said, bending to stroke his hair.

‘I heard you come home,’ he said. ‘Did lots of people go to Daddy’s exhibition?’

‘Yes, love.’

‘And did they all love his paintings?’

‘Absolutely. Everybody said they were brilliant and he’s sold two already.’

‘So are there two gaps where the paintings used to be?’

‘No, love. The people who bought them won’t take them home until the exhibition has finished.’

‘That’s OK then,’ said Zach. ‘As long as they haven’t spoiled Daddy’s exhibition.’

I shook my head in the dark. I loved him and worried for him in equal measure. ‘Let’s get some sleep now,’ I said, kissing him on the cheek.

‘Have Grandma and Grandad gone home?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is Oscar asleep?’

‘Yes.’

‘OK. Night-night, Mummy.’

I shut the door and went into the bathroom. I imagined Zach listening to every sound. He was a parent way before his time, unable to rest until everyone in the household was safe and sound in their bed. I padded barefoot into our room, still a little light-headed from the wine. Rob was already in bed. Eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling though. And looking utterly wired.

‘Today Linden Mill, tomorrow the world,’ I said, undressing and climbing into bed next to him.

‘I wish,’ he said, putting his arm around me.

‘Well, why not?’ I asked.

‘How long have you got?’

‘I don’t see any reason why you couldn’t do it.’

‘That’s because you don’t see any barriers to anything.’

‘And that’s a bad thing?’

‘No. Just so long as you understand other people might not share your optimism and might be a bit more grounded.’

‘You still think I’m crazy, don’t you?’

‘Yes, but I wouldn’t want you any other way. And as long as I continue to be a raging pessimist we make a good team.’

I looked up and smiled at him, kissed him on the lips. ‘It was good tonight. I was dead proud of you.’

‘Thanks. The way I see it, that’ll pay for new shoes, wellies and trainers for both of them and leave a bit towards the gas bill.’

‘Hey, come on. I meant I was proud of your pictures, not how much money you made.’

‘I know. But it’s not going to go amiss is it?’ He was right, of course. I was actually glad he hadn’t commented on my hair now. It would only make me feel even worse.

‘I’m going to get the money for the election deposit back,’ I said. ‘Anna’s going to approach some people for sponsorship. She’s got a proper fundraising plan. It involves spreadsheets. This really isn’t going to cost us a penny. We’ll make sure of it.’

‘I told you. As long as you win I don’t care how much it costs. Just so long as there’s a nice little cubbyhole
somewhere in Downing Street which will do for a studio.’ I smiled and stretched my arm further across his chest.

‘Oh, I’ll do better than that,’ I said. ‘I’ll get you an exhibition at the Tate. I’m sure I’ll be able to pull some strings if I’m PM.’

Rob shook his head. ‘See,’ he said, ‘it’s true what they say. Power corrupts and all that.’

I kissed him again on the mouth to shut him up. Rubbed my foot up and down his leg.

‘Hey,’ said Rob. ‘Are you sure we’ve got time for this? Don’t you have a speech to write or something?’

‘Shut up and make the most of it.’ I smiled. ‘But keep the noise down because Zach’s probably still awake.’

I drove past her without even realising. It was only the flash of pink in my rear-view mirror which set off some kind of alert in my brain. I pulled over sharply, bumped up the kerb and parked at an awkward angle. I could see her in my wing mirror now. An elderly lady with unkempt grey hair, wearing a long pink nightdress and red carpet slippers. Shuffling along the pavement, secateurs in hand and seemingly oblivious to anything around her.

I jumped out of the car. ‘Mum,’ I called. She didn’t turn around, of course. Just kept on shuffling. I started running down the road, running as best I could, that was, in a pair of high platforms and a too-tight skirt. I couldn’t imagine Cameron taking a detour like this on his way to the Tories’ election campaign launch. You just didn’t see it: a top politician arriving breathlessly in front of the assembled media and apologising that his mother had
escaped, armed with secateurs and he’d had to give chase down the street.

I slowed down as I drew nearer. I didn’t want to startle her. And I wasn’t sure she’d even know who I was.

‘Hello, Mum,’ I said, gently taking her arm. ‘We need to get you back indoors.’

She turned to stare at me. I waited for the flicker of recognition. It didn’t come.

‘Roses need pruning,’ she said.

‘Not now they don’t. I’m going to get you inside. You’re not even dressed.’

She glanced down at her nightdress then looked back up at me, a frown creasing her brow. ‘Do I know you?’ she asked.

I nodded, unable to speak for a second. ‘I’m your daughter,’ I managed, eventually.

‘Deborah?’

I shut my eyes for a moment. ‘No. Jackie.’

‘I can’t find me roses,’ she repeated, her voice increasing in volume. I tried to turn her around and steer her in the right direction.

‘Get your hands off me,’ she shouted, pulling her arm out of mine.

I swallowed hard, feeling the mercury rising inside me. I realised I was going to have to grab her, to manhandle her into her own house. ‘Come on,’ I said, taking hold of her arm again and turning her around to face the right direction. ‘We’ll go and see your roses. They’re in your back garden. I’ll show you the way.’

‘Let go of me,’ she shrieked, struggling some more.

My grip on her arm tightened. I was aware of a couple of passers-by looking at me. I smiled weakly at them, hoping they were local and would recognise Mum, or at the very least see the family resemblance between us. ‘Come on now,’ I said. ‘We’re almost there.’ I took the secateurs from her, more for her own safety than anything.

‘Help!’ she screamed. ‘She’s going to hurt me. She’s come to steal me roses. Get her off me.’

A middle-aged man walking his Labrador crossed over from the other side of the road. ‘Are you OK, love?’ he asked. He was talking to Mum. He wasn’t even looking at me.

‘She’s come to steal me roses,’ Mum repeated. The man looked at me. The Labrador was sniffing Mum’s slippers.

‘She’s my mum,’ I said, trying to hold myself together. ‘She’s got Alzheimer’s. She went for a wander and I’m just getting her back home.’ He looked again at Mum, who remained silent, before nodding at me.

‘Sorry,’ he said.

‘No, not at all. Thank you for stopping and checking. I appreciate it. I’d have done the same myself. Really.’

‘Do you need any help?’ he asked. I shook my head.

‘Thanks. But it’s probably better I do it.’ He nodded and crossed back to the other side of the road. Went on his way. Maybe he’d tell his wife about it later. The crazy, shrieking woman and her daughter. Perhaps he’d even think about it lying in bed at night. Worrying in case the same fate befell him or his wife.

I took Mum’s arm firmly and hurried her towards the front door. It was only as I neared it that I realised she’d left it open. Wide open. I swore under my breath. As soon as we stepped inside she quietened down. She didn’t even mention the roses. She went straight through to the living room. I helped lower her into the armchair. She didn’t put up any fight this time. Even patted my hand. ‘Thank you, love,’ she said. ‘Cup of tea wouldn’t go amiss.’

I nodded and went out into the kitchen, grateful for the opportunity to try to compose myself. I had no idea whether she knew who I was now. She may have thought I was one of the council carers. All I did know was that I couldn’t leave her like this, but that I had to go. I looked at my watch. The launch was due to start in half an hour. I couldn’t call Paul because he was looking after Zach and Oscar, as well as Alice. For a fleeting moment I considered taking Mum with me, but I realised it would be dismissed as some kind of cheap PR stunt, added to which I didn’t want to run the risk of her accusing me of kidnapping her in front of the assembled press. I was going to have to ask Pauline across the road. I couldn’t think of anything else. I poured Mum’s tea and took it in to her.

‘I just need to pop to my car to get something,’ I said. ‘I won’t be a minute.’

I hurried over the road and knocked on Pauline’s door. It felt ridiculously cheeky to be asking, but I didn’t have an option. I waited a minute and rang the bell. Still no reply. She must be out. I racked my brain to think of any other neighbours, but it had all changed since I’d lived
there and short of knocking on doors up and down the street until I found someone I recognised, I was stuck.

I looked at my watch. The others would be there by now. Wondering where the hell I was. You couldn’t be late to your own political party’s launch. You just couldn’t. I ran back to Mum’s. There was no point ringing the council. The word ‘immediately’ did not feature in their vocabulary and I couldn’t really claim this was an emergency anyway. It was simply inconvenient. Damned inconvenient. The option of locking her in her own home entered my head. It was probably the safest thing to do, but I was also aware that it was morally reprehensible. I couldn’t sit in a press conference talking about giving elderly people dignity and respect when I had just locked my own mother in her house. What I needed was a babysitter, or rather a grannysitter. And that was when it came to me. I’d do what hard-pressed mums everywhere did in a crisis when they needed an hour or so to get something done. I’d put on a DVD. I knew just the one as well:
Hello Dolly
. It had always been one of Mum’s favourite films. We’d got it for her birthday a couple of years ago after she’d told me how she used to watch it with Deborah and me when we were little.

‘Let’s put something nice on for you to watch, shall we?’ I said, rifling through the TV cabinet. I got the DVD out and checked the back of the case for the running time. Two hours twenty-five minutes. Even better. I put it in the machine and stood there tapping my fingers on the case until it got to the bit where I could skip the trailers. Eventually I was able to press
play
.

‘There,’ I said. ‘It’s your favourite.’

Mum stared at the screen. A warm glow came over her face as the opening music came on. All I could think of was the scene in
WALL-E
where he lovingly watched the same film. Where he was happiest and safest in the confines of his own home, surrounded by his possessions and memories and away from the outside world which he found lonely, confusing and unwelcoming.

I blinked back the tears and kissed her on the cheek. ‘One of your carers will be here before it’s finished,’ I said. ‘I’ll pop back later this evening to check you’re OK.’

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t even acknowledge me. But she was fine and I was convinced enough that she wouldn’t stray from her armchair while the film was on.

It was only as I pulled the door shut behind me and ran to the car that I realised I hadn’t even got her dressed. I couldn’t go back now though. I was late enough as it was. I grabbed the mobile from my bag and rang Sam, counting the rings in my head before she answered.

‘Where the hell are you?’ she said.

‘Family crisis. I’m just leaving Mum’s. I’ll get there as soon as I can. I’m really sorry.’

I threw the phone down without even waiting for a reply, pulled my seat belt on and started the engine.