Joanne Sefton - The Mother’s Lies

‘What?’

‘I love you!’

He peered over the newspaper, wondering if she’d laugh or just glare at him, but the look in her eyes was one of pity. His own laugh caught in his throat.

Surely Barbara was the one more in need of sympathy? But then his wife had never been one to conform to expectations.

Helen

The drive from London to Lancashire was a total nightmare. They sat in solid traffic for much of the way up the M6, even though it was only Thursday. Alys mostly slept, but Barney barely closed his eyes at all and whined about everything, from the dropped toy he couldn’t reach, to the fact that Helen wouldn’t turn up the sound on his DVD, to the abandoned trip to Gambado that she thought he’d forgotten about. When they finally arrived at her parents’ house, Helen had a pounding headache and a voice hoarse from singing ‘Wheels on the Bus’.

‘You do look very pale, Helen,’ said Barbara, on the doorstep, as though Helen was the one who was ill.

Helen scrutinised her mother carefully. She looked the same. Quite a tall woman, she still stood poker-straight, with her hair neatly coiled into the tight bun that Helen couldn’t remember seeing her without, and her brown eyes that always seemed to be somewhere else. While superficially nothing had changed, Helen could see that she’d lost weight, and Barbara had never had that much to spare. Her collarbones looked coat-hangerish and her hands, which were on the large side, looked even more out of proportion. There was a trace of a shadow around her eyes, but when Helen bent slightly to hug her, Barbara responded with her usual tight but perfunctory squeeze. She smelt of ink and mint imperials.

In the fuss of coats and comforters and Alys leaving a shoe in the car, Helen only noticed the envelope on the doormat because she actually stood on it. It was pale green and unsealed, clearly hand-delivered because it simply said ‘Barbara’ on the front, in what looked like black felt tip.

‘There’s a card for you here, Mum,’ she called.

Both children settled easily enough at bedtime. As usual when they visited, their beds were made up in Helen’s old room that they now thought of as theirs. As Helen bent to kiss Barney’s head, she remembered vividly lying in that bed, curled up to face the window as he was now.

Ten minutes later, she was downstairs in the living room, clutching a mug of gritty instant coffee. She breathed in deeply and could almost feel the steam easing out her frown lines.

‘So …’ she turned to Barbara ‘… how is everything?’

‘I’m fine, Helen, really, I am. I’m sure it’ll all be a fuss over nothing.’

‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Helen echoed, ‘but I’d rather be here all the same.’

‘We don’t know much more than when I spoke to you,’ put in Neil, who was nursing his cup of tea and standing anxiously by Barbara’s shoulder rather than taking a seat of his own. ‘We’re visiting the hospital tomorrow. She’ll see the consultant and get the results of the biopsy they did.’

‘I see.’ She knew all this already, but it seemed right to hear it again, in person.

‘You’ll come?’ he asked.

Helen looked at her mother. ‘Do you want me there?’

Barbara hesitated. ‘Well, it might be difficult … with the children and so on.’

‘I want you there,’ said Neil. Barbara opened her mouth, but he waved a hand and, uncharacte‌ristically, she shut it again. ‘No, Barbara. You know we struggled to remember everything they said to us last time. It’ll be good to have Helen with us. She’ll know what to ask.’

Helen nodded. ‘Of course I’ll come.’

The appointment was early the next morning, so Helen put down her coffee to make arrangements for the children. Christine, her mother-in-law, was kind as ever – her voice heavy with regret over the reason for their visit – but Helen could hear a reserve in her tone too. They weren’t on quite the same team any more. Dropping the kids off would be the first time she’d seen either Christine or Adam since Darren left.

A little later, with the children’s visit to the Harrisons sorted and the three of them sitting glazed in front of a detective show that nobody was actually watching, Helen’s gaze caught the two greetings cards on the fireplace. They were both floral designs, with no wording on the front. If it did turn out to be cancer, they’d soon start to multiply.

‘What was that note that came in today, Mum? In the green envelope?’ She was making conversation as much as anything else.

‘Oh, that. It was a card from Jackie at work.’ Barbara nodded towards the fireplace.

‘Why didn’t you put it up?’

‘I did.’ Her tone was placid, bemused.

‘You can’t have. Those were both here when we came in. I looked at them when Alys was saying goodnight to you and Dad.’

‘It’s the one there with the irises. You must have made a mistake.’

‘But—’

‘You must have made a mistake, Helen.’

Barbara’s gaze met Helen’s: calm, but commanding nevertheless. She couldn’t push it any further. But then why should it even cross her mind to pick an argument over a missing card? It was odd, thought Helen, what coming home could do to you.

*

‘Did the doctor make Nana Barbara better?’ asked Barney, in the car after Helen had collected them from the Harrisons. She was taken aback that he’d remembered where she had been; her little boy was growing up so quickly.

‘Well,’ she began, ‘the doctor can’t make Nana Barbara better straight away. But he did explain everything they’re going to do to try to make her better. She’ll be having an operation soon. Do you know what that is?’

Barney shook his head solemnly.

‘They give you some medicine so you go to sleep and can’t feel anything and then they open you up and have a look inside and try to take out whatever it is that’s making you ill. When they are done, they stitch you back together again as good as new.’

‘So then will she be better?’

‘Well, then she’ll have to recover from the operation, because it’s very tiring. Then they’ll give her some special medicine. And then she’ll hopefully be better.’

In fact, the prognosis had not been particularly rosy. Mr Eklund, the Swedish surgeon who would be operating on Barbara, had gently informed them that the biopsy had confirmed a malignancy in the left breast, and there were pre-cancerous changes in the right one, too. He couldn’t be sure how far it had spread before operating, but he thought the most likely scenario was a Stage 3 diagnosis, which would give her, very roughly, a 50/50 chance after chemotherapy. It was a lot to take on board.

‘Shall I give Nana one of my drawings?’

‘I think that would be a lovely thing to do, darling. Look, I’m just going to call in here …’ They were passing an out-of-town shopping place. The parking was easy and the kids would tolerate a quick trip in. ‘I want to get Nana a new nightdress for the hospital.’

When they got back, Barbara’s delight seemed out of proportion to the gift.

‘That was so thoughtful of you, Helen. You’ve really cheered me up.’

‘And I’ve called work – the kids and I will stay until after the operation. No arguments. Getting you through this is the most important thing at the moment.’

The glisten on Barbara’s eyes was as close as Helen had ever seen her to tears, and the thought of it almost made her well up herself. This Barbara was so different from the Barbara of last night, so hostile and cold over a stupid thing like that card. But then her mum always had been a conundrum. You never knew what you were going to get with her. That way you didn’t get too close.