Mother Was Tired
Mary shouted so fiercely at the cashier her knuckles whitened as she gripped her shopping basket.
How much longer are you going to dawdle? If you cant do the job, you ought to stay at home!
Sorry, the older woman murmured, trying to scan the groceries as swiftly as possible, though somehow still managing to speed up.
Mary, her husband Tom said gently, touching her arm, thats enough now. Lets go.
His wife swung round sharply.
You keep out of it! Did I ask for your opinion?
Toms eyes dropped. He always went quiet.
***
Back home, the kitchen was filled with the savoury scent of roast chicken. Her mother-in-law, Margaret, was at the stove stirring a pot of soup.
Oh, youre home! Ive made you some chicken noodle soup. Sit down, let me serve you.
Ive told you a hundred times not to interfere in my kitchen, Mary hissed. Are you living here now, or are you actually just a guest?
Margaret paled, setting down the spoon.
I was only trying to help, love
I dont need help. I manage perfectly well on my own.
At that moment, seven-year-old Alfie rushed in from the hall.
Mum, hi! Billy from the next block said Im a wimp but Im not, am I?
Oh, go away! Mary snapped, Cant you see Im busy?
Alfie stopped dead and glanced at his grandmother, who looked away.
Mary stormed off, slamming the door behind her.
***
Thats how they lived, always.
One day faded into the next. Mary woke up angry, she went to sleep angry, and in between she shouted at everyone who crossed her path husband, mother-in-law, son, shopkeepers, workmates, strangers in the street.
Occasionally, very occasionally, a thought crept in: Good Lord, what has come over me? But it would slip down into a dark emptiness, with no way out.
Tom endured. He was used to it. After ten years of marriage, he’d learned: keep quiet and stay out of sight.
He worked two jobs, brought home the money, did as he was told. At night, when Mary slept, Tom would go out to the kitchen, sip his tea, and stare into space, thinking.
Margaret had arrived three months ago to help with Alfie while his parents worked.
Shed agreed, but now spent her days catching the furious glances Mary kept shooting her way.
Alfie Alfie just lived. He ran, played, asked questions. Every time he went to his mother, he ran into a wall.
At first he cried. Then the crying stopped. Hed go sit quietly by his grandmother it was less frightening that way.
***
Friday, it happened again, as it had many times before.
Mary came home from work absolutely livid: her boss had shouted at her, her colleague had undermined her, someone trod on her foot in the Tube.
Just before she arrived, Alfie had spilled juice across their brand-new beige sofa, the one theyd bought on finance.
He stood beside the empty glass, wide-eyed, watching the red stain spread.
What have you done?! Mary shrieked as she swept in, Do you know how much this sofa cost?!
I didnt mean to, Mum. Please dont shout. Im scared of you…
Scared, are you? Mary got angrier. All you ever do is break things and ruin everything! I cant stand it!
Mum, Im sorry
Go to your room! I dont want to see you!
Alfie left. Mary kept shouting into the empty room until her throat was raw.
***
That night, she couldnt sleep. She went to the kitchen and sat by the window. Outside, drizzle streaked the pane.
She stared at the raindrops. She was so tired. Tired of all of it. She wished everyone would leave her alone. That thered be silence.
She dozed off at the table, only waking later from the cold. Four in the morning.
The flat was silent. Tom asleep, Margaret asleep, Alfie asleep.
She got up and wandered down the hallway. Passing Alfies room, she noticed the door was slightly ajar. She peered in, checking if he was properly covered.
Alfie was curled up, hugging his pillow. On the small desk by his bed lay an open exercise book. The cover was decorated with tank doodles.
Mary was turning to leave but then caught sight of a word: Mum.
She took the book and perched on the edge of the bed. She began to read.
It was a diary.
First entry: September.
Mum shouted again today. Dad said she was just tired. I tried to give her a hug, but she pushed me away. It must be because Im bad.
Mary swallowed, turning the page.
October. It was Grannys birthday today. I drew her a card with flowers. Was going to give it to her this morning. But Mum shouted at Dad, so I left it under my pillow. Maybe Ill give it to her when Mums not home.
She went on.
November. I broke the toy car Dad got me. On purpose. I thought if I break my own stuff, Mum wont shout. But she shouted anyway. She said I dont care for anything. Said Im stupid.
Marys hands were shaking.
December. Christmas soon. I wrote a letter to Father Christmas. Asked if he could make Mum stop shouting. Shame theres no present like that.
January. We had to write at school what we wanted to be one day. I wrote I want to be invisible. So Mum wouldnt see me and never shout. Teacher thought it odd and rang Dad. Dad came and spoke to me. Said Mums a good person, just finding it hard. I know. I remember when she used to hug me. And laugh. She doesnt laugh any more. Not ever.
Mary sat motionless, tears dripped onto the page and smudged the ink.
February. Today I spilled juice on the sofa. Mum shouted for ages. When she shouts, I feel like Im dying in pieces. First my ears, then my heart, then my soul. I lay down and shut my eyes. I wondered: if I died in my sleep, would she cry? Or just say good, less trouble now.
The book slipped from Marys hands. Her shoulders shook, but she kept silent, terrified Alfie might wake and see her like this. Afraid of everything.
She sat there a long time. Twenty minutes, perhaps an hour. At last, she picked up the diary, returned it to its place, and left.
She went back to bed and lay down next to Tom. She stared at the ceiling until dawn.
***
Alfie woke first in the morning.
He opened his eyes, stretched, and sat up. Seeing the door ajar, he remembered the day before and sighed.
He shuffled out, listening. Silence. Odd. Normally at this hour, Mum was banging crockery and complaining that everyone was lazy.
He peeked into the kitchen.
His mother was sitting at the table. Not yelling, not making a fuss. Just sitting, gazing out at the grey morning. There was a mug of tea in front of her, long since gone cold.
Mum? Alfie asked quietly.
She turned. Something about her face was different neither angry nor tired just different. Alfie couldnt say how.
Good morning, Mary said, very softly. Come have your breakfast.
He took his seat. His mother put a bowl of porridge before him and sat opposite.
Alfie ate, watching his mother. Waiting for the usual eruption. Nothing came.
Mum, he ventured, whats wrong?
Nothing.
Why are you so quiet?
Im thinking.
What about?
Mary met her sons eyes and, after a pause, reached across and stroked his hair. Just because.
About you, she replied. About us.
Alfie froze, spoon halfway to his mouth.
Mum, are you ill?
No, love. In fact I think I might be getting better.
He didnt quite get it, but nodded. It didnt matter, so long as she wasnt shouting.
Go on, finish up, Mary said, Time for school.
Alfie finished his tea and got ready. At the door he stopped.
Mum, he said shyly, will you tonight, I mean will you not shout again?
Mary knelt beside him.
Listen to me, she said. I dont know if Ill manage, but Ill try not to shout. Ill try very hard. So youre never scared again. Do you understand?
He nodded.
And if you slip up? he whispered.
If I slip up, you tell me. Just say Youre doing it again. Thatll remind me.
Remind you of what?
Of all of it. She kissed him on the forehead. Now off you go.
He left.
Mary stayed in the hallway, listening as the lift doors slammed. Then quiet.
Tom emerged from the bedroom, hair sticking up.
Youre up early, he said.
Couldnt sleep.
He eyed her for a moment.
Are you alright?
Im fine, Mary replied. Come and eat.
He headed to the kitchen; Mary followed.
They sat at the table. Tom poured his tea, then Mary asked suddenly,
Tom why do you love me?
He nearly choked.
Eh?
Why do you love me? Im Ive been a monster.
He put down his mug, looked at her.
Youre not a monster, he said. Youve just forgotten who you are.
Who am I, then?
A bit of everything, really. Tom smiled faintly. I remember you can be warm, funny, so gentle. You hug so tight you nearly crack my ribs. I remember everything, Mary. Youre just the one whos forgotten.
Mary stayed silent.
Im hoping you find your old self again, Tom added. Ill wait. As long as it takes.
She reached out and squeezed his hand.
***
That day, for the very first time, Mary didnt shout at anyone.
After school, Alfie crashed through the door, threw down his backpack and launched himself into her arms.
Mum, guess what! I got top marks today!
Well done! Mary beamed. Im so proud of you.
He froze, still surprised.
Really?
Really.
Alfie smiled wider than he had in ages.
You know, Mum, he said, I was hoping all day you might give me a hug. And you really did.
You silly thing, Mary laughed, pulling him close. From now on, Ill hug you every single day.
***
That evening, Mary crept into Alfies room. He was already fast asleep. On the table, his diary lay open.
She picked it up, found the last page, and took a pen. On the bottom, beneath his writing, she added:
My darling boy, I love you very much. Im so sorry. Ill try my hardest.
MumThe next morning, before anyone else was awake, Alfie found the note.
He traced the shaky loops of his mothers writing with his finger. His eyes grew wide, and a small smile crept across his facethe kind he used to wear, the kind that belonged to before.
He tucked the diary under his pillow and slipped out of bed. The sun glimmered faintly through the curtains, painting golden lines across the floor.
In the kitchen, Mary stood humming, pouring juice and arranging toast into funny shapes on Alfies platea smiley face with strawberry-jam cheeks.
Alfie stood in the doorway, watching her for a moment, uncertain.
She caught his eye, and this time, her smile didnt vanish. She knelt down, arms wide.
He ran to her, burying his face in her neck. She smelled of tea, and hope, and something almost forgotten.
Good morning, lovebird, Mary whispered, holding him tight. Todays a new day.
Outside, the drizzle had lifted. Alfie looked through the window and, for the first time in forever, he saw a sliver of blue breaking through the cloudsa sky quietly promising that shadows might pass, and mornings, sometimes, could begin again.
