Page 70 of A Good Mother
Robin might not believe it, but Babs thought she was a tough cookie and really did need to stop beating herself up about mistakes she might have made. As far as Babs was concerned, Robin was a saint and she’d challenge anyone to prove her otherwise.
But none of this solved Babs’ problems. That was what she had to focus on because the atmosphere at home was truly shite and she couldn’t stand being there a moment longer.
What the hell are you doing, Babs? Sitting here like a wet Wednesday, getting nothing done.
Babs sighed and went to take the key from the ignition, knowing that Mrs Glynn’s woodwork wouldn’t polish itself. Wasting time. That’s exactly what she was doing.
Wasting bloody time and if there was one thing she was sure of in that very second, was that her road didn’t stretch out like Route 66. It was getting shorter with each day. She wasn’t eighteen anymore with a whole life ahead, so far out of sight that anything had been possible but now, the end of the road might be just around the bend. So if she wanted to reach the rainbow, she needed to get her finger out.
Remembering her promise to Robin, that they would stop bottling things up, Babs had the overwhelming desire to talk to the one person she should’ve confided in. Someone guaranteed to call a spade a spade and put her straight. Her mum.
Without a ping of hesitation, Babs turned on the engine and put her car in reverse, shooting backwards down the drive and onto the main road where she did a very nifty one-handed spin of the wheel, straightened up then zoomed off.
Sorry about your bidet, Hilary, but you’re going to need to buy some Marigolds!
Bridie’s back door was never locked during the day. It was open house for family and neighbours alike, where you knew to stick the kettle on, get the mugs out and start making a brew.
On this occasion when Babs pushed the door and entered the kitchen, it smelt of burnt things. The usual suspect was toast or crumpets, Bridie’s staple breakfast diet.
‘It’s only me, Mum.’ She could hear her mum chatting on the phone so as law dictated, Babs began making tea, and knowing Bridie only drank from her own fancy china mug she bought in Tesco, her favourite daytime haunt, Babs nipped into the living room to hunt it down.
Seeing her daughter, Bridie waved and related her arrival to whoever was on the end of the phone, his identity soon becoming clear.
‘Tom, love. I’m going to go ’cos our Babs is here. I’ll sort that transfer out in a bit, yes, yes, I know there’s no rush at your end but you’re not eighty-seven. Who knows if I’ll make it to bedtime, so it’ll be with you soon.’ Bridie paused, listening to whatever Tom was saying as Babs swiped the special mug from the arm of the chair and returned to the kitchen.
‘Yes, I’ll explain to Babs, but you can tell her the nitty-gritty. I’ll only get it all mixed up. Right, ta-ra for now. Give my love to Cris. Love you too, son.’
As Babs stirred two sugars into Bridie’s cup, her curiosity was piqued but knowing her mum, it would only be a matter of minutes before she spilled the beans. After whipping off her coat and hanging it over the back of a chair, Babs carried the drinks through to the front room, eager to find out what was going on.
‘A boat! Our Tom’s actually bought a boat. Well, I didn’t expect that.’ Babs sipped her tea while Bridie explained all.
‘I know. It’s very exciting. You know like Cris has his band that tours round the resorts in the holiday season, well, they’re going to do music cruises. The idea is holidaymakers will take a moonlit trip around the coast, and they’ll serve food and drink. Maybe even pick up some wedding customers too. I think it’s a marvellous idea, don’t you?’
Babs could only agree and admire her brother and Cris for their entrepreneurial skills. ‘I think it’s absolutely brilliant, Mum. He’s done so well, hasn’t he? Really got his life sorted…’
And it was those words, and perhaps being sat in her old family home, with her lovely but slightly bonkers mum, that caused her lip to wobble and a great big whoosh of despair rise up. Even if she’d tried, Babs wouldn’t have been able to hold it in.
‘Are you okay, love?’ Bridie put down her mug and sat forward. ‘Come on, you can tell your old mum what’s wrong.’
And that was it. All it took. Soft words and kindness broke the barrier and the floodgates opened.
‘Oh, Mum, I’m in such a mess and I’m so bloody fed up…’ Babs covered her face with trembling hands and within seconds Bridie was by her side on the sofa, hugging her close and telling her it was going to be okay.
‘That’s right, love… you get it all out, have a good cry then we’ll sort it out. I’m here, Babs, I’m here, love.’
* * *
An hour later, Babs had vented, explained, cried some more and been round the houses telling Bridie everything. That she was unhappy and unfulfilled, and feeling that life was passing her by. She didn’t expect her mum to have all the answers, however, just getting it off her chest felt like progress of sorts. It kind of made her decision to leave Pete a thing, not a fanciful whim.
‘I knew things weren’t right. I’ve suspected it for a long time but whenever I’ve hinted and hoped you’d say something you clammed up. But I’m glad you’ve told me the truth now because it means I can help you sort it out.’
Bridie stood, picking up their mugs then made towards the kitchen. ‘Come on, let’s go and make another brew; this one’s gone cold, and our Demi will be here soon. She always calls on Friday when her lectures have finished. I don’t know. These bloody students have more time off than soft mick. I’ll text her and tell her to bring you something from the bakers. We can all have a nice chat and some dinner together.’
Babs followed her mum, buoyed by her assurances and breezy nature. Bridie had the ability to switch from cuddly to practical Mum in a flash, as though she could read the room and knew what was needed to jolly everyone along and get things done. It was comforting and made Babs smile as she pulled out a chair at the battered Formica table that had been there for donkeys’ years. It was where her grandkids had poster-painted, play-doh’ed, argued, and eaten special Grandma Bridie teas.
Bridie filled the kettle and once it was switched on, she sent a text to Demi then turned, sighed, and asked Babs a question. ‘So, madam, what’s the plan?’
CHAPTERFORTY-THREE
