A Few Kind Words

A MY MOTHER THINKS I AM ON THE VERGE Of FALLING APART. BUT NOTHING COULD BE FURTHER FROM THE TRUTH

- Teresa Ashby

You’re sure it was a dog?” my mother says as she tugs back the curtain and peers out into the darkness. “What colour did you say it was?”

“Sort of russet.”

“Reddish? And it was small, you say?”

I’m starting to wish I hadn’t mentioned the dog. She had her coat on ready to leave and then I had to go and open my big mouth. She stopped buttoning up her coat and put her bag back on the hall table. “I’m sure it was nothing.”

“Nothing?” She lets the curtain drop back into place. “You either saw a dog or you didn’t, Matthew.”

Everything in life boils down to this as far as my mother is concerned. If it isn’t black, it’s white. If it isn’t up, it’s down.

“It could have been a deer, I suppose.”

She frowns. “Would you like me to stay for a bit longer, Matthew? You don’t have to be on your own.”

“No!” I say too quickly. She’s my mum and I love her, but since Chrissie and I split up, she’s gone into full protective mother mode and it just so alien to the mum I know and love.

She seems to think I am on the verge of falling apart and that I’m incapable of functioning on my own, but nothing could be further from the truth.

“So this dog,” she says, giving me a sideways look. “Or deer. How many times have you seen it?”

I can’t believe she’s doing this. That’s exactly the tone of voice she used to use when I was 11: “So you say you had a wash. Did you use soap?” or, “So you’ve tidied your room? If I go upstairs and open your door, what will I see?”

“A couple of times,” I say. “As I said, it was just fleeting. It could have been anything.” “Anything?”