Mum Was Tired
Verity was shouting so loudly at the checkout lady that the poor womans hands started trembling.
How much longer are you going to faff about? If you cant do your job, perhaps you ought to stay home!
Im terribly sorry, the elderly woman managed, scanning the groceries even faster, though she was already doing her best.
Verity, her husband, David, touched her elbow gently, thats enough, lets just go, love.
She spun round on him. Oh, you be quiet! Who asked for your opinion?
David looked away, apologetic, and fell silent. He always fell silent.
***
Home smelt of rosemary roast chicken. Her mother-in-law, Norma, was by the stove, stirring a pot of soup.
Ah, youre back! Ive just made a lovely chicken noodle soup. Sit down, Ill dish you up.
Ive told you a hundred times not to meddle in my kitchen, Verity hissed. Are you living here now, or are you just a guest?
Norma paled, setting down the ladle.
I was only trying to help…
Well, I dont need your help! I can handle things myself, thank you very much!
At that moment, seven-year-old Patrick came barrelling in from the lounge.
Mum, hi! Vasily from next door said Im a wimp! Im not a wimp, am I?
Oh, give it a rest! Verity barked. Cant you see Im busy?
Patrick froze, glancing uncertainly at his grandmother, who quickly looked away.
Verity stormed off to her room, slamming the door with the force of a British winter gale.
***
That was their usual routine.
Every day bled into the next. Verity woke up grumpy, went to bed even grumpier, and spent the in-between hours bellowing at anyone in rangehusband, mother-in-law, son, shop assistants, colleagues, total strangers.
Sometimes, on rare occasions, shed catch herself thinking, My God, what am I doing? But the thought would fall into a black hole and vanish, as if there was no way out at all.
David endured. Hed grown accustomed to it. Ten years of marriage taught him one thing: keep his head down and don’t draw attention.
He worked two jobs, brought home the pounds, did whatever she asked. At night, once Verity was asleep, hed sit alone in the kitchen with a mug of tea, staring off into the middle distance. Thinking, sometimes, but mostly just being.
Norma had moved in three months ago to help with Patrick while his parents worked. She agreed without fuss but now spent her days catching Veritys thunderous glares.
Patrick… Patrick just sort of existed. Ran about, played, asked questions. Each time he approached his mum, he hit an invisible wall.
He cried at first. Then, he just stopped. Instead, hed slink off to his gran and quietly sit beside her. It was easier that way.
***
Friday brought more of the same, though with a special twist.
Verity came home in a right state: boss had shouted at her, a colleague stabbed her in the back, someone trod on her foot on the Tube.
Just before she arrived, Patrick had spilled juice on the new cream-coloured sofathe one bought on credit.
He was standing over the empty glass, eyes wide with dread at the spreading red stain.
What have you done?! Verity shrieked, walking into the lounge. Do you have any idea how much that sofa cost?!
I didnt mean to, Mum. Please dont shout. You scare me…
Scared, are you?! Veritys voice rose further, All you do is break things and cause chaos! I have no life because of you!
Mum, Im sorry…
Off to your room! And stay out of my sight!
Patrick disappeared without a word. Verity carried on ranting at the walls until shed lost her voice.
***
She didnt sleep that night. Instead, she wandered into the kitchen and sat by the window. It was drizzling outside, rain clinging to the glass.
She watched the drops trail down the pane, thinking how tired she was of everything. How she just wanted it all to stop. For everyone to leave her alone. She longed for silence.
Verity didnt notice when she nodded off at the table.
She woke up shivering at about four in the morning.
The flat was quiet. David slept, Norma slept, Patrick too.
Verity padded quietly to the loo. On her way back, she noticed Patricks door ajar. She peeked in, just to check if hed kicked off his duvet.
Patrick lay curled up around his pillow. On the desk by his bed lay an open exercise bookthe sort with squares, this one decorated on the cover with tanks.
Verity was about to leave, but her eyes snagged on a word: Mum.
She picked up the notebook, perched on the edge of the bed, and began to read.
It was a diary.
The first entry was from September.
Today Mum shouted again. Dad says shes just tired. I tried to hug her, but she pushed me away. Maybe its because Im bad.
Verity swallowed. Turned the page.
October. Its Grans birthday. I made her a card with flowers. Wanted to give it to her this morning. But Mum shouted at Dad again, so I didnt. I put it under my pillow for tomorrow, in case Mums not home.
Next.
November. I broke the toy car Dad gave me. On purpose. I thought that if I broke something of mine, Mum wouldnt shout. But she still shouted. Said I dont know the value of anything. Called me stupid.
Veritys hands shook.
December. Christmas soon. I wrote a letter to Father Christmas. I asked him to make Mum stop shouting. Shame you cant get a present like that.
January. We had to write at school what we want to be when we grow up. I wrote that I want to be invisible. So Mum doesnt see me and never shouts. My teacher was surprised and called Dad. Dad came and talked to me. Said Mum is really nice, just struggling. I remember when she used to hug me and laugh. She never laughs now.
Verity sat, frozen. Tears splattered onto the notebook, smudging the ink.
February. Today I spilled juice on the sofa. Mum shouted for ages. When she shouts, I feel like Im dying inside, bit by bit. First my ears, then my heart, then my soul. I lay down and closed my eyes. I wondered: if I died in my sleep, would she cry? Or just say its one less problem?
The notebook slipped from Veritys hands and landed on the duvet. She shook, the silent kind of crying, terrified of waking her son or being seen. Terrified of everything.
She sat there for agestwenty minutes, maybe an hour, who knows. Finally, she picked up the diary, set it back on the desk and crept out.
Back to her own room, where she lay beside David, staring up at the ceiling until dawn.
***
Patrick woke first that morning.
He blinked, stretched, and remembered yesterday. Sighed.
He poked his head into the hallway. Silence. Odd. Usually, by now, Mum was clattering pans and bellowing about everyone being lazy sloths.
He found her in the kitchen.
She was sitting at the table, not shouting, not clattering, just looking out the window, a mug of cold tea at her elbow.
Mum? Patrick called softly.
She turned around. Her face looked… differentnot angry, not tired, just… something else. He couldnt put his finger on it.
Good morning, Verity said quietly. Come have some breakfast.
He sat. She put a bowl of porridge before him and sat opposite.
Patrick spooned his food, casting glances at his mum. Waiting for the usual shouting. Nothing happened.
Mum, he ventured eventually, are you okay?
Just thinking.
What about?
She looked at him for a long moment, then reached out and stroked his hair, just because.
About you, she said. About us.
Patrick froze, spoon raised.
Mum, youre not poorly, are you?
No, darling. Quite the oppositeI think Im feeling better.
He didnt really understand, but nodded. All he cared was that she wasnt shouting.
Finish up, Verity said. Time for school.
He drained his tea and went to get ready. At the door, he hesitated.
Mum, he said shyly, will you… well… not shout tonight?
Verity crouched down beside him.
Listen to me, she said firmly. I dont know if Ill get it right. But Ill try not to shout. Ill try really hard, so you wont ever be scared again. Deal?
Patrick nodded.
And if I do shout? he whispered.
If I dojust say, Youre doing it again? and Ill remember.
Remember what?
Everything, she said, kissing his forehead. Off you go.
Patrick left.
Verity stood in the hallway, listening to the lift doors clatter shut. Silence settled over the flat.
David emerged from the bedroom, rumpled and bleary-eyed.
What are you doing up this early? he mumbled.
Couldnt sleep.
He eyed her.
Everything alright?
Yeah, Verity replied. Breakfast?
He trundled into the kitchen; she followed.
They sat down together. David poured himself a mug of tea…
David, Verity asked suddenly, why do you love me?
He nearly choked.
Pardon?
Why do you love me? Im… Im a monster.
David put his cup down, looking at her properly.
Youre not a monster, he said. You just forgot who you are.
Well, who am I then?
All sorts, David half-smiled. I remember. You can be warm, funny, daft as a brush. You give bear hugs that nearly crush me… I remember it all, Verity. Youve just forgotten.
She said nothing.
You know, I really look forward to you coming back, he added. As long as it takes, Ill wait.
Verity reached across, squeezing his hand.
***
That day, for the first time, she didnt shout at anyone.
Patrick got home from school, tossed his bag aside and ran up to hug her, just because.
Mum, I got a gold star today!
Thats brilliant, Verity beamed. Im so proud of you!
He stopped still, suspicious.
Really?
Really, she nodded.
Patrick grinneda true, wide smile, the sort she hadnt seen for ages.
Mum, you know, I was thinking at schoolmaybe youd hug me tonight. And you did.
Silly, Verity hugged him tight. From now on Ill hug you every single day!
***
That evening she peeked into his room. Patrick was already asleep. The diary lay on the desk.
Verity picked it up, turned to the last page, took out a pen and wrote beneath his words:
Patrick, I love you very, very much. Im so sorry. Ill really try my hardest.
Mum.
