Another Life Altogether: A Novel - By Elaine Beale Page 0,84

began.

My mother slammed her hand down on the table, making the cups and saucers there dance noisily over its surface. “I just don’t understand how a woman could treat her daughter like that, I really don’t. Flitting off to another country, leaving her to fend for herself.” She pondered this for a moment, then looked over at me, watery-eyed. “Don’t you worry, love, I’d never leave you in the lurch like that.”

Mabel sighed. My head against her, I could hear her breath as it moved through her chest. I pressed closer into her, into the warmth beneath her clothes. If my parents ever divorced, I thought, perhaps Auntie Mabel would take me in. We could live in her little council house, laughing together at the neighbor in his underpants. Unlike Frank, I wouldn’t expect to be waited on. I’d even help out with Mabel’s Tupperware and Avon makeup parties if it meant she’d let me stay.

“But Jesse’s only a kid,” Mabel responded. “You were a married woman when Mam left. And she left me as well, you know. I miss her, of course. But you’ve got to decide to get on with your life—”

“But that’s not the point, is it?” My mother thumped the kitchen table again. “You’re not like me, Mabel. You know that. Nobody understands what I go through. Nobody. Not Mike, not all those bloody doctors, not even my own sister or my own mother. You should try being me sometimes. I bet you couldn’t stand it for a day.” She paused for a moment. Beside me, Mabel took a couple of tense puffs on her cigarette. “Come to think of it,” my mother continued, “our Ted is better off than me.”

“What are you talking about, Ev? You’re just being daft now.” Mabel waved away the smoke in front of her as if she were trying to wave away my mother’s words.

“No, I’m not. At least he gets out every once in a while. Gets a bit of freedom. But me, my prison’s in here.” My mother jabbed her forehead with her index finger. “On the inside. I can’t help the way I feel, you know. I can’t. People are always saying cheer up, or pull yourself together, or other such bloody rubbish. They smile at you and tell you how it’d be so much better if you did this or you did that. Hah! That’s a bloody joke, that is!” Her voice was getting louder and her features seemed twisted, as if she were pulling something hard and painful from deep inside herself. “Get yourself a hobby, they say. Then, when I do get myself a hobby, find something I want to do, they tell me to calm down, take it easy, don’t get so overwrought. And you know what’s so ridiculous about all this?” She was yelling now. “Do you? Do you?”

Beside me, I felt Mabel shake her head.

My mother stood up, her chair scraping the floor with a shriek. “There’s not a damn thing I can do about any of it! That’s what! I mean, don’t you think I’d change the way I am if I could?” Her hands gripped the edges of the table now, her eyes wild and teary. I stepped away from Mabel, feeling the urge to go to my mother, to put my arms around her shoulders, to try to ease her sadness and her anger, as if by touching her I could let it soak into myself. But it was hopeless; she had said so herself. Her moods were as inevitable as the tides that ate away cliffs and knocked over sandcastles. I remained by the kitchen counter.

“I know, Ev, I’m sure it must be hard,” said Mabel, her voice a syrupy calm. “But I’m sure you’d feel better if you got back to your gardening.”

“I don’t give a toss about that bloody garden. I don’t give a toss about anything right now.” She dropped back into her chair.

“Oh, Evelyn,” Mabel said. “Honestly, I don’t know what to say. And comparing yourself to Ted, well that makes no sense to me. I mean, you’re out here with all this space and countryside and he’s stuck in some poky little cell. Mind you, he’ll be out soon enough. He wrote to me last week, said they’re releasing him early next year. Cheeky bugger, wanted to know if he could come and stay with me. Fat chance of that! Hey, did I tell you what he did last time I let