Bananas for Granny
And dont forget the bananas for Granny Betty! Only the small ones, like she likes! Last time, you came home with something odd! Mary! How could you? Is it truly so hard to do what youre asked?
Mary Elizabeth Davenport, chief accountant at a sizeable firm, mother of two, and generally a happily married woman, sighed and nodded absently into the void. She didnt need to remember her mother couldnt see her at that moment – she knew all too well that her mum would somehow divine her every reaction regardless.
And dont just nod; actually do it! I know you too well! Always daydreaming! Mary! When are you going to grow up?
She didnt bother nodding a second time. She just replied, Yes, all right! and made her farewell.
Time to grow up, is it? she muttered. Of course! Forty-something is hardly there.
With another half an hour left at work, Mary tried to refocus on her report, but her mind wandered relentlessly, mostly towards unpleasant territory. Despite everything, she was meant to be a good girl. That’s what Mum used to say.
Our Marys such a clever girl! Such a good girl!
It was sweet enough, back when Mary toddled about nursery school with her frilly skirts and oversized bowswhat a picture!
Well. Picture might not cover it. Her mother usually collected a wild urchin at the end of the day, not a prim darling.
Mary! Whats that on your head?
A nest! Mrs. Thompson said so. She told me to stand still on the playground so birds might fly over and hatch chicks in it. My hairstyle must have some use, after all.
And where are your bows?
Dont remember! Alex took one. He needed a rope for his anchor. Oh, Mum! Did you know he has a real boat? His dad made it! Mrs. Thompson showed usit sails around the washtub! It was brilliant!
And the other ribbon?
Ive no idea. Leanne wanted it, and it’s lost somewhere. Mum, why does the wind blow?
Mary!
What!?
For heavens sake, stop pestering me with silly questions! Ive got a splitting headache!
After that, Mary fell silent, watching Mum all the way home. Maybe she was poorly? Maybe Mums head would never be whole again, and end up in the dustbin with those egg shells when she made scrambled eggs?
Marys imagination had always been vivid. Before theyd even made it halfway, she’d be sniffling, soon weeping, bellowing so much shed drive her mother spare.
Mary! Whats this? A performance?!
But Mary couldnt explain. She just wished she could sob all the louder, just like Patch, their neighbours dog.
Patch was a rather daft dog, who howled over nothing, but would turn the whole block upside down when her owner, Uncle George the plumber, went on a bender. Patchs keening would go on day and night for days, driving everyone mad, all the children begging their parents to rescue her from George. The parents would grumble, call the police even, but Patch always stayed. Only once did she go quiet, right in the middle of one of Georges spells, cutting short her mournful ariaeveryone at home that afternoon realised something dreadful had happened.
George was well liked, always happy to help, just too soft, Mum always said.
That day, Patch shuffled onto the doorstep, sat and stared after the people laying flowers along the garden path. She didnt howl. I hadnt gone to school that day, heading for the dentist instead, and I stroked her, but Patch didnt wag her stumpy tail, not even at my touch. Mum silently pulled me inside, and when we came back from the dentist, there Patch sat, frozen on the same spot, hind legs tucked under her. I could have sworncrossed my heart like Alex taught meshe was crying.
Mum, why cant we see her tears?
What did it matter, that silly question? I didnt know at the time. But Mum flinched, knelt next to Patch with a wary hand.
Patch come here. Hes not coming home
Whether Patch understood, Ill never know. Mum, undeterred, scooped her up and told me:
Right then, lets get her sorted.
So Patch became our dog. She lived with us for many more years than I ever knew shed had before. I finished school, got married, and I never heard her howl again, not once. Shed eat her meals, let us wash her, go for walks with me or my parents, but she never raised her voice. Even in the end, it was only a deep, human sigha tired nose nestling into my tear-soaked hand and then calm forever. I never had another dog, not even when the children asked; I just couldnt, remembering Patchs dark, knowing eyes.
All in all, though, I was a happy child. I had everything one needed for joy: Mum, Dad, two grannies, a stuffed rabbit with a torn ear, and pancakes with homemade cream every Sunday. There was also Granny Olives cottage, Dads mother, which we only rarely visited with Mum. I had no idea why at the time; secrets that grown-ups guard, never telling children. Everyone seemed to enjoy the trip except Mum, but I hadnt noticed.
More frequent were the seaside holidays with Granny Betty. I adored her. Unlike Granny Olive, nothing was off-limits with hershed answer any question I asked, and Mum would scold her for it afterward.
Mum! Why do you do this? Marys still just a childshe doesnt understand a word!
You understood well enough at her age. Marys just like you!
I would giggle at Mums outrage, thinking I didnt understand half of what Granny Betty shared about how babies come into the world, but it was so interesting Id want to ask morelike why grown-ups dont always tell children the truth.
Frankly, sometimes I had very good reasons to wonder.
Adults did their best to keep fights private. What good would their quarrels do a child? Nonetheless, muffled arguments slipped through the closed bedroom door, followed by Mums quiet tears at night. Granny Olive, taking me in at the cottage, pursed her lips and looked past Mum. It was a mystery to me. Id tug at Mum’s hand and drag her to the kitchen, where Granny was making cherry pie.
Mum, come learn with Granny! Then you’ll make this pie at home! Its so good, and you dont know the trick!
Mum would gently remove her hand, shaking her head.
No, love.
Of course, the adults werent hurrying to explain what went on. They kept up appearances. Later I learnt the truth: relatives dont always become family.
My parents divorced the day I turned ten.
At my birthday do, just as our party was in full swing, the front door banged and, to my wide-eyed surprise, Mum said simply:
Well, thats that
Patch, far more attuned than I, moved towards Mum, pressing her warm side against Mums leg. I was called back into the living room for cake, running to fetch Mum; when I returned, the two were still side-by-side, both gazing into the distance. On my shy inquiry, Mum startled, regained her composure, and smiled.
Of course! The cake! Right then, go on in!
Soon she appeared, bright smile and beautiful cake in hand, one shed spent all night perfectinghoping for a little recognition at last.
After the guests left, Mum handed me a spoon:
Hows the cake, darling? Forget diets, Maryforget everything! Our day will come!
I had no idea what kind of day she meant. Even later, it was never clear. With Dads maintenance barely covering my ever-changing teenage wardrobe and not much more, our celebrations became few and far betweensave for Christmas and my birthday. Mum stopped marking her own entirely.
Granny Betty, never shy about making herself heard in front of me, kept urging Mum to find a new life, a new love. It was clear Mum disliked these conversations, always answering the same way:
Ive had enough, thanks.
As I grew up, I often mused how life might have turned out if Mum had let herself start again, found laughter, rather than headaches and endless worries. I wondered what life would have been like with a brother or sister. But she never didshe became stricter, and it took all my effort not to snap back. As a teenager, I often did, but Patch would appear, quietly baring her teeth, and that was enough for me to slink off to my room or to Granny Betty.
Patch had a painful nip. I knew that for sureonce, after one particularly fierce outburst, Patch came in, took my ankle gently but firmly, and left a neat pattern of bruises that quickly faded but left a lasting message: she, at least, knew what stubborn children and dogs needed.
Granny Betty answered all my questions, as frankly as ever.
What do you expect from her? Anyone would turn grumpy without love.
But we love her, dont we?
Oh Mary, thats not quite the same. A woman needs to feel wanted. No child or parent can give her thata man can. You wont get it yet, but I do. When your Granddad passed, I was only forty. Much too soon. I had other offers after, but Dont giggleI wasnt always like this! Folks mooned over me in my day, you know! I loved your grandfather, and I always will. I couldnt imagine sharing my bed with anyone else, not really. Its one thing to accept flowers or a meal out, but quite another to wake up beside someone every morning. Youll understand when youre married! And by the look of you, taking after your mother, itll be soon enough.
But Gran, Im only sixteen!
And so? Your mum was barely eighteen when she said shed met your dad and couldnt live without him. It didnt worry her much that he might get along fine without her. Some might say she fell in love like a cat. But I saw it wasnt just a crush; it was real, without nonsense or drama. She knew herself, even then. She knew it would be tough; his family never accepted her, your dad was their prince, and she bore it. The only thing she never forgave
What?
His affair. Im sorry to be blunt, but youll find out anyway. You need to know just how much your mother went through. Its agony when someone tears your soul apart with contempt and unwanted advice. When they say you didnt try hard enough, didnt love enough. As if it could be possible to do it all right! Im telling you this not to turn you against your father. Hes chosen his path; you know hes doing well now. Be glad for it, however odd it sounds. Youre half your father, and half your mother, and you cant just cut one away.
Mums never said a word against Dad.
She never will. Shes wise, Mary; she understands hell always be your dad. And youll always be his little girl. Why make it harder?
Do you think she still loves him?
Perhaps. Thats why she resists change.
Gran do you think Ill ever you know want one person, for always?
Ive no idea, darling. I just pray that whoever you love will deserve it.
I met my husband, Peter, much as Granny foresaw. Sprinting through the college corridor to my very first exam, I crashed right into a tall, fair-haired fellow. I didnt see his face properly, just noticed his quick hands steadying me, and then that teasing young voice:
Miss, youre in such a hurry! Youll outpace us all! Quickgive me your number before you disappear again!
I didnt give him my number, but I wasnt surprised when I came out of the hall, exam passed, to see him waiting for me:
Going anywhere fast now?
We married three years later. For a while, we lived with Mum, though I knew it couldnt last.
It was hard going. Mum didnt approve of Peter.
Programmer, is he? All day glued to the computer, always snacking. Soon youll have a little elephant at your side.
Oh, Mum, come on! You begrudge him a sandwich now?
I just feel sorry for you. Mark my words
Peter had to try hard to win her over, but after nearly a decade, she finally admitted, My son-in-laws a gem.
By then Peter and I had our own modest flat. My husband threw himself into building his business, and I shuttled from house to house, making property viewingsafter all, its shoe leather that feeds an estate agent. With our firstborn, Granny or Great-Granny would pitch in, and I was truly grateful for their help.
It was when I was expecting our second child that things began to unravel.
Mary, who do you think you areleaving for an hour and vanishing? Ive so much to get on with! Mum huffed, stirring Peters favourite leek and potato soup. There! All ready! Im off. And next time, check my plans before making your own!
Confused, I just watched her bustling in the hallway, realising with a growing chill how frightened I washer appointment had lasted the agreed hour, or less, as the clinic was just down the road. Except that was yesterday. Mum spoke as if it had happened today. Shed spent all morning cooking as if for a wedding, and was now cross at me for a visit I hadnt even made.
She flatly refused to see a doctor, no matter how I pleaded.
Stop fussing! Im fitter than anyone. Worry about your grandmother instead. She really needs a doctor.
After talking with Peter, I went through my fathers connections to find a specialist willing to come to the house.
I cant offer easy answers, Im afraid. We need full tests, but even now I can say tough times are coming.
Listening, icy dread swept over me. Not my mother, with so much life still ahead! How could there be something so wrong?
There could be many causes. Would knowing change anything? Its better to focus on managing what comes. Lessening the effects is sometimes the best we have.
Can it be done?
Medicine advances, but theres no miracle cure yet. We can slow things downsupport her healthbut we cant promise a solution. Maybe something new will turn up. But for now time is what we can buy.
From that day, everything changed. I didnt ask for it, but it was inevitable. I had my husband, children, grandmother, and father, but at the centre of it all was Mummy responsibility and purpose now to keep her world as peaceful as possible. Even the doctor said: peace is also medicine.
Moving her into our new house wasnt easy to remember. Peter had made an enormous effort; the house was bought despite digging deep into debt.
Well manage, so long as were together, and youre at ease.
But I knew Id never truly be at ease again.
True enough, soon Mum was forgetting even where she lived.
Mum, your rooms just down the corridor.
Why am I in this spare room? Ive my own house, you know!
Of course, but I need you tomorrow with the boys. Grannys not well. Please stay?
Fine, but dont think Ill always be at your beck and callIve still a life of my own, after all!
Of course, Mum.
Heavens, what would you know about life at your age!
If not for Granny Bettys steady hand, Id have crumbled under this new reality.
Do you think shes forgotten everything, Gran?
Not everything, love. She remembers much from a long time agosometimes things Ive forgotten myself. And now I see how little time I gave her growing up. Nursery, school, after-school club wed see each other an hour, maybe two. Rushing from work, chores, homework, bed. Hardly any chance to talk, to be together. I only became a mother, properly, with you. Raised you myself. Your Mum shes my regret. Id give anything to get a moment of that time back. Sometimes I think everything now is so she can forgive me, forgive your grandad, forgive life itself. She complains, but its all nothing really. When she looks at me in that odd way, trying to remember who I am, I know she doesnt hurt any longer. And she smiles. It’s frightening but good too. Any mother longs for her child to be happy, even just for a second. And in those moments, I know she is. Shes young and well again, and has all to comelove, and you, and the sorrows she hasnt yet known. Mary, how do we bear it?
I dont know, Gran I just dont know.
I saw how hard it was for Granny Betty to accept her only child was slipping away, beyond any reach. So many times, finding my mum on the floor by that old armchair, with Gran sitting stiffly, Id whisper:
Shall I take her?
No. Leave them. It doesnt last long.
Granny Betty died just a year after I realised things would never be the same.
Look after her, Mary. As dearly as you can! I cant do it any longer
With trembling lips, Id nod, hiding how terrified I was to be left alone with everything happening.
Dont think of her as your mum anymore. Youve heard folk say that old age returns us to childhood? Its true. Children live with their hearts, not their mindsall impulse and feeling. Think of her as a child; be gentle. When you want to scream in despair, go aheadjust make sure she never hears, all right? Spare her. And when youre done, remember what I said and be kind. As kind as you hope your children will some day be to you. Promise me?
I promise
How often I recall that conversationIve lost count. Even now.
I checked the time, sighed, and reached for my bag. Purse, car keys, umbrella all present. Time to collect the elder from football, pick up the younger from school, then go shoppingfor bananas. Those very small ones Granny Betty loved.
Because, somehow, when Mum sees them, she believes Granny is still here. Then, its only a few steps down the hall, ignoring the carers questioning look, opening the door into the lounge to see the threadbare old armchair, so out of place but destined to remain, as long as it’s remembered. And Ill hear:
Mary! Cant you clean that fabric properly? How many times do I ask? Did you get the bananas? Granny will be back any minute. She wanted some.
Of course, Mum! Sit down. Ill make you a cup of tea.
And the armchair will be filled again. Therell be a moment to rest my cheek on her hands. To meet that stern, but gentle, gaze. And perhaps to smile as she suddenly asks,
Mary, what on earth is that on your head? Wheres your hairbrush? Bring it here, Ill do your hair! Oh goodness, its late time for bed! What do you want for breakfastporridge or pancakes?”
Theres my lesson, written on every day: love, through all the pain, is never lost. And kindness, always, is the heart of all we ever hope to be remembered for.
