John slammed the front door, ‘Your mother!’ he seethed.
‘Sit down dear,’ said Melanie. ‘I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.’
‘Forget the tea! Pour me a whiskey!’ demanded John.
‘But it’s only lunchtime.’
‘Well, she’s driven me to drink this time!’ He opened the drinks cabinet.
‘We only drink tea at this time of day. Remember what the doctor said about your blood pressure?’
‘Tea it’ll have to be then,’
Melanie put the kettle on and went to the kitchen cupboard where she kept her private store of chocolate.
‘You only took her to the post office,’ she said. ‘What’s she done this time?’
‘I’ve never been so embarrassed in all my life!’ John sat on the edge of his seat. Melanie sat down opposite him.
‘Did she insist on spending her entire pension on lottery tickets again?’
‘Not this time.’ He paused. Melanie reached for the wrapped bar of chocolate and undid the foil. ‘I promise you, I didn’t say a word, even though she was dressed in an awful pink party dress – all frills and bows and MORE gold slippers,’ John sighed wearily. ‘We got to the Post Office, and there were some kids looking up to no good. One of them had some chalk in his hands and there was fresh graffiti on the wall. Well, your mother just marched straight up to them, snatched the chalk from this lad, and before I could stop her,’ he paused and rested his head in his hands, ‘She’d drawn a hop scotch grid on the pavement and was hopping away like a good ‘un.’
Melanie took a bite of chocolate and absently wrote ‘chalk’ on her shopping list. John may like to think he’s a serious executive (retired), but he still insisted they had a stocking to open at Christmas and chalk would make an excellent stocking filler for her.
John continued. ‘I put a stop to it when she started tucking her party dress in her knickers.’
‘She was wearing knickers today then?’ asked Melanie matter-of-factly.
John went pale. ‘Good God I never even considered…’
Melanie bit into more chocolate and tried to imagine her mother playing hop scotch.
‘Then,’ continued John dramatically, making Melanie jump, ‘We saw Mrs Hopkins in the Post Office.’
‘She’s moving to the coast,’ said Melanie.
‘Yes. Her house is up for sale and your mother comes right out, and asks her how much?’
‘Good for her! So how much is it on the market for?’ asked Melanie who’d been wondering how much it was deemed to be worth. Annoyingly the estate agent never put prices in their windows with their For Sale details.
John ignored her. ‘Then, someone in the queue admired mother’s party dress, so she started doing a tango to show it off. Well, there’s not much room in the Post Office at the best of times…and to make it worse she started helping herself to things. A red carnation which she wedged between her teeth, a stick of liquorice behind her ear (for later) and then she started shaking cereal packets like maracas and swirling her stupid pink frock. Luckily, I caught her when she began the ‘Can Can’, but I fell against a stack of baked bean tins. My wrist still hurts.’
‘Those dresses she buys are lovely,’ said Melanie wistfully, ignoring her husband’s bruised wrist. ‘We must have a dinner party and get everyone to dress up. We could ask Daphne and George, and your boss. I could borrow one of mother’s gowns; I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.’
John shook his head and looked hopefully at the teapot. ‘To top it all we passed a building site on the way home. She only rolled down the car window and let out this almighty wolf whistle!’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Melanie seriously. ‘I didn’t know mother could whistle. I never could, not since I was six and lost my two front teeth.’ Melanie tried to concentrate on whistling now, but the giggles got the better of her.
‘It’s no laughing matter,’ said John despondently.
‘Now, now dear,’ soothed Melanie. ‘It’s my mother you’re talking about.’
‘I don’t care what you say, I know she’s family and she’s old, but I’m sure she does it on purpose. I refuse to take her out again unless she behaves. Will you tell her?’
‘I certainly will not!’ said Melanie. ‘She’s been a pillar of society all her life. She was a school governor, a church elder and President of the WI. Don’t you think it’s about time she let her hair down and had some fun?’
‘Melanie, I don’t believe I'm hearing this.’ John got up to make his own tea. ‘I’m deadly serious, I’m not taking her out again.’
‘That’s okay dear.’ Melanie smiled sweetly as she wrote ‘chocolate’ on her shopping list, again. ‘I’ll take her next time. We can go to the charity shop. I could buy myself a hat…or a feather boa…or party shoes with ridiculously high heels…’ Melanie paused. ‘Don’t look at me like that, you’ve always said I’m definitely my mother’s daughter and yet you still chose to marry me.’
About the auhtor
Sarah Swatridge writes short stories for women’s magazines worldwide. She now has a collection of twenty uplifting short stories called Feel-Good Stories along with her large print novels available in libraries and online. Visit www.sarahswatridge.co.uk and sign up to her monthly one page newsletter.
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