Mum is Tired
I couldnt help it; I lost my temper with the cashier at Tesco today. I shouted so loudly at her, the poor womans hands were shaking as she scanned my groceries.
How much longer are you going to faff about for? If you cant do your job properly, you shouldnt be here at all! I snapped.
Im terribly sorry, she stammered, her cheeks flushing red as she tried to move even quicker.
Verity, my husband, Michael, placed a gentle hand on my arm, thats enough. Lets just go.
I rounded on him instantly: Oh, be quiet! Nobody asked you, did they?
Michael dropped his gaze and said nothing moreas usual.
***
Home smelled of roast chicken, winter spices lingering in the air. My mother-in-law, Margaret Harris, was standing at the stove, stirring a pot of chicken noodle soup.
Oh, youre back! I made a nice soup for lunch. Sit down and Ill dish you up, she said, smiling.
How many times do I have to say, stay out of my kitchen? I hissed. Are you living here now, or are you just visiting?
Margaret went pale and put her spoon down. I only wanted to help, love
I dont need your help! I can cope perfectly well on my own!
Our seven-year-old, Oliver, burst out from the lounge.
Mum, hi! Jamie from next door said Im a wimp. Im not a wimp, am I?
Go away, I barked. Cant you see Im busy?
Oliver stood still, looked at his grandmother, who quickly looked away.
I slammed my way to the bedroom and shut the door.
***
Its always like this.
Every day just like the last. I wake up angry, I go to bed angry, and in between I shout at whoever is nearestmy husband, my mother-in-law, my son, the girl at the corner shop, colleagues, even a stranger on the bus.
Sometimes, rarely, a thought slips through: What am I doing to them? But then it disappears into that black emptiness I cant climb out of.
Michael copes. Hes got used to it after ten years of marriage. Hes learned that silence is the safest way to survive.
He works two jobs, brings home the money, does whatever I ask. When I finally fall asleep, hell creep out to the kitchen and sit with a cup of tea, staring at nothing. Thinking.
Margaret came to stay three months ago, said shed help out with Oliver while we were at work.
She agreed, always catching Veritys angry glares, never doing a thing right in her eyes.
Oliver he just tried to get by. He ran around, played, asked questions. And every time he approached me, he hit a wall.
He used to cry. Now he doesnt. He just sits quietly with his grandmother nowits more peaceful that way.
***
Friday, another skirt around the same old block.
I came in from work utterly lividboss had a go at me, a co-worker stitched me up, someone trod on my foot on the tube.
Just before I came home, Oliver had knocked over a glass of juice onto the new cream sofathe one were still paying off.
He stood frozen, eyes wide at the spreading stain.
What have you done?! I screamed as I walked in the door. Do you know how much that sofa cost?
I didnt mean to, Mum. Please dont shout. You scare me
Scared, are you? I yelled louder. All you do is break and ruin things! Youre impossible to live with!
Im sorry
Get to your room! I dont want to see you!
Oliver slunk off and I carried on bellowing at the empty flat until my throat went hoarse.
***
I couldnt sleep that night. Ended up sitting in the darkened kitchen, watching rain roll down the windowpanes. All I could think washow fed up I was of everything. I wished it could just stop. That everyone would leave me alone. That Id finally get some peace and quiet.
I must have dozed off over my cold tea and woke up before dawn, shivering.
The house was silent. Michael asleep, Margaret asleep, Oliver asleep.
I stopped by Olivers open bedroom door just to check he had his covers on.
He was curled up, clutching his pillow. On his desk lay an open workbook, school-issued with tanks doodled on the cover.
I was about to leave, but on the open page I noticedmy name. Mum.
I picked it up, sat on the edge of his bed, and started to read.
It was a diary.
The first entry was dated September.
Mum yelled again today. Dad said shes just tired. I wanted to give her a hug, but she pushed me away. Is that because Im bad?
I swallowed hard. Turned the page.
October. It was Grandmas birthday today. I made her a nice card with flowers on it. Wanted to give it to her in the morning but Mum was shouting at Dad, so I hid it under my pillow. Maybe Ill give it to her tomorrow when Mums not here.
November. I broke the little car Dad bought me. On purpose. I thought if I broke something of my own, Mum wouldnt shout. But she did. She said I never appreciate things and Im stupid.
My hands shook.
December. Its nearly Christmas. I wrote to Father Christmas and just asked for Mum to stop shouting. But thats probably not a possible present.
January. We had to write at school what we want to be when we grow up. I wrote invisible, so Mum wont see me and shout. Teacher called Dad. Dad talked with me. He said Mums actually nice, just finds things hard. I remember when she used to hug me and laugh. She never laughs now.
Tears dripped from my chin, blurring the workbooks ink.
February. I spilled juice on the new sofa. Mum shouted for ages.
When she shouts it feels like I die bit by bit. First my ears, then my heart, then my soul. I lay down and closed my eyes. I wonderedif I died in my sleep, would she cry? Or would she just think, less trouble now?
The workbook slipped out of my hands. My shoulders shook, but I made no sound. I was terrified hed wake up and catch me like this. I was afraid of everything.
I sat there for a long time, maybe twenty minutes, maybe an hour. Then I picked up the workbook, put it back on his desk, and left.
I slid back into bed next to Michael and stared at the ceiling till first light.
***
Oliver woke first the next morning.
He stretched, sat up, remembered the night before, and sighed.
He crept to the kitchen. Silence. Odd. Normally at this time, Mum is clattering about, moaning that everyone else is useless.
He peered round the doorframe.
Mum was sitting at the table. Not shouting. Not slamming anything. Just sitting, staring at the rain. Her mug of tea, long gone cold.
Mum? Oliver called softly.
I turned round. My face must have looked strange to himnot angry, not worn out, just different. He couldnt quite place it.
Good morning, I said quietly. Breakfasts ready.
He sat. I put porridge in front of him and sat down opposite.
He ate, watching me warily, waiting for the usual eruption. But it never came.
Mum, he eventually said, whats up?
Nothing.
Why are you so quiet?
Im just thinking.
About what?
I looked at my son, really looked at him. Then I reached over and stroked his hair, for no reason at all.
About you, I said. About us.
He froze, spoon halfway to his mouth.
Mum are you poorly?
No, love. I think I think Im finally starting to get better.
He didnt really get it, but nodded. It didnt matter, as long as I wasnt shouting.
Go on, finish up, I prompted. School time.
He drank his tea, got up, went to get his bag. Then paused by the door.
Mum, he said, embarrassed, tonight will you shout again?
I knelt before him.
Listen, sweetheart, I said, I dont know if Ill manage. But Ill try really, really hard not to shout. Ill try, so you never have to be scared again. Thats a promise, all right?
He nodded.
What if you cant? he whispered.
If I forget, you tell me. Just say, Youre doing it again. And Ill remember.
Remember what?
Ill remember everything, I kissed his forehead. Go on.
He left.
I stood in the hall, waited as the lift doors clattered shut, and silence washed through the flat.
A rumpled Michael shuffled out.
How come youre up so early?
Couldnt sleep.
He looked at me closely.
Everything all right?
Yeah, I said. Come get breakfast.
He headed to the kitchen, I followed.
We sat down at the table, Michael poured out tea for us both
Mike, I asked carefully, why do you love me?
He nearly choked.
What?
Why do you love me? Im Im such a nightmare.
He put his mug down and looked at me for a long moment.
Youre not a monster, he said softly. You just forgot who you are.
And who am I?
Youre everything, Verity, he smiled. You can be warm, funny, gentle. You give the tightest hugs. I remember, even if you dont.
I was silent.
You know, Im just waiting for you to come back, Michael said. Ill wait as long as it takes.
I squeezed his hand.
***
That dayfor the first time in agesI didnt shout at anyone.
When Oliver got home from school, he dropped his bag and ran to hug me, just because.
Mum, I got a house point today!
Well done, Im so proud of you! I said with a smile.
He stopped, taken aback.
Really?
Truly.
He grinned, wider than Id seen in months.
Mum, do you knowat school today, I was hoping youd give me a hug when I got home? And you actually did.
Silly thing, I pulled him even closer. Youll get one every day now!
***
That evening, I crept into his room as he slept. His workbook was on the desk.
I picked it up, found the last page. I took a pen and, underneath his last entry, wrote:
My darling boy, I love you so much. Im so sorry. I promiseIll do my very best.
Mum.
