Trying to Pack Me Off
What on earth are you wearing? Margaret gave her daughter a once-over, pausing pointedly at her skirt. Thats far too short, you know. At your age, you ought to stop dressing like a schoolgirl.
Emily tugged self-consciously at the hem, even though the skirt all but reached her knees. It was a standard office pencil skirt, picked up last month in a clearance sale. Shed thought it a good buy at the timeclassic fit, neutral colour.
Mum, its completely normal, Emily replied, doing her best to keep the irritation out of her voice. I wear it to work.
Exactly. People see you and think goodness knows what. In my day
Emily stopped listening. Shed heard it a hundred times beforeabout modesty, about how in our time you dressed properly if you were a respectable woman. Instead of replying, she set a fat envelope on the table, the logo of the travel agent gleaming on the front.
This is for you, Mum
Margaret fell silent mid-sentence. She eyed the envelope, then her daughter, then the envelope again.
What have you brought now?
Open it.
Emily had waited for this moment for half a year. Shed scrimped and saved every spare penny. That very spa in Bath, with its columns and thermal springs, was where her mother had always dreamt of going. Emily had found it, reserved the best room, sorted out every last detail.
Margaret drew out the booking, skimming over it. Emily waited, hopingnot for a hug, but at least a warm, soft thank you, a gentle look.
Instead, her mother pursed her lips and pushed the envelope away with her fingertips, as though it were stained.
Youve made the decision for me again.
Emily felt her breath catch.
Mum, its Bath. Youve always wanted
And whos going to water my African violets? Have you thought about that? Margaret tapped her finger on the table. Three weeks away, theyll wither. Youll forget. Too busy.
Ill come around. Every day.
Youll be working. Youll forget, get bogged down. And besides, they probably feed you nothing but cabbage in those fancy spas. Ive read theyre all about saving money these days.
Emily wasnt sure if her mother was joking or not. Shed given up her morning coffees, new shoes, weekends with friends for half a yearfor this?
Mum, theres a restaurant with five dining rooms. Loads of choice. Massages, swimming pool, walking trails
Walking trails, Margaret scoffed. Picking up all the lingo, I see. Did it occur to you at all to ask whether I want this?
Emily swallowed hard and blinked back tears. Shed waited for just one word: well done. The very thing shed lived for all these years.
She slumped into a chair. Her legs felt like jelly, as if her body had decided on its own there was no point standing any longer. She stared at the envelope, now perched dangerously close to the tables edge.
And then theres the climate, Margaret began pacing the kitchen, straightening the already-perfect tablecloth out of habit. Its dreadfully damp there. My blood pressure goes haywire. Did you ever think of that?
Emily didnt answer. For the first time in years, she felt no urge to justify herself. The need to explain just melted away.
And the journey? Itll take ages! A whole day on the train, rattling about. My back wont take it. Her mother sat across from her, fingers folded, preparing for a long monologue. Look at Maureen next door. Bit scatterbrained, husbands a hopeless drunk, but she never leaves her mother on her own. Pops in daily, brings groceries or just sits with her.
Emily studied the lines by her mothers lips, the grey roots beneath the dye, the familiar hands with their blue veins. These were the hands that once plaited her hair before school. The lips that sang her lullabies. Where had it all gone?
Are you even listening?
I am, Mum.
Doesnt seem like it. Youre sitting there like a statue. Im telling you something important and you
Margaret kept firing off complaints: the spa rooms were cramped these days, the neighbours noisy, the doctors too young to know what they were doingprescribing pills and nothing else. Emily nodded in the right places, but a hollowness spread inside her.
The clock on the wall ticked away the minutes. An hour. More. Margaret gained momentum, moving from the spa to bigger grievanceslonely evenings, rare phone calls, how Emily was slipping away from her entirely.
Do you even understand what its like for me, on my own here? Her mother lifted her chin. You just want me out of the way so you can enjoy yourself.
Mum, its a present.
A present! Margaret threw up her arms. A presents meant to be nice. But thisyouve only done it to ease your own conscience. Pack your mother off somewhere and get on with your life, is that it?
Emily rose slowly. Her legs still felt heavy, but she forced herself to pick up the envelope. Her fingers pressed into the thick paper.
Youre right, Mum. It would be awkward for you there. Ill cancel the booking.
Margaret suddenly fell silent. Her eyes flashed with something like confusionlike someone whod been bracing for a long fight only for her opponent to lay down their arms.
What do you mean youll cancel?
Just that. Ill get the money back. Youre right, I didnt think it through.
Emily, put that back where you found it.
Why? You dont want to go.
I never said I didnt want to! I said you ought to have asked me! Her mothers voice rose, patches of red flaring on her cheeks. You always do what you think best, then find it odd Im upset!
Emily pressed the envelope to her chest and headed for the hallway. Her heart was hammering in her throat, but her resolve made her movements sure and steady.
Where are you going? Emily! Im talking to you!
Im tired, Mum.
Tired, are you? Margaret rushed after her, grabbing her daughter by the arm. Ive given you everything! We went without. Your father abandoned us, and I raised you alone! And this is how you repay me?
Emily turned. She looked at her mother, at the trembling rage in her lips, the pale tightness of her face.
You said you didnt want to go.
I said you didnt ask!
Fine, Im asking now. Mum, do you want to go to Bath?
Margaret was almost speechless with indignation.
Are you mocking me? Youre doing this to wind me up! Youre heartless, thats what you are, heartless! Put the booking down, I might think about it!
Emily gently freed her elbow from her mothers grip, still clutching the envelope.
Ill call you tomorrow, Mum.
She closed the door before Margaret could react. Curses followed Emily onto the landing, muffled through the closed doorsomething about ungratefulness, wasted youth, threats that shed regret it one day. Emily didnt stop or look back. Her feet carried her down the stairs, past the battered post boxes and the odd neighbour.
It was drizzling outside. Emily tipped her head to the rain, standing for several minutes on the pavement, breathing in the scent of wet tarmac. Passersby skirted around her; someone tutted disapprovingly, but she didnt care. The envelope, her mothers ticket, was still with her, and Emily suddenly thought that she could just go herself. Bathcolumns, royal baths, no guilt-laden breakfasts.
She wandered aimlessly until she found herself outside a little café on the corner. Warm light shone onto tables with white cloths, vases of fresh flowers, people quietly enjoying dinner with nowhere to rush off to. Emily stepped inside.
Good evening. The waiter handed her a menu with a smile. Table for one?
Yes, Emily said, surprised by how easily the word came.
She chose a spot by the wall, away from the others. Sat down, spread the napkin on her lap, and opened the menu. Her eyes went straight for the most decadent dessert: pear tart with caramel and salted fudge. And a glass of dry, aged red wine.
Her mother would have called it madness. A waste. Emily pictured the pursed lips, the accusing glances, the endless back in my dayand ordered anyway.
The wine was deep, a little sharp on the palate. Emily took a sip and relaxed against the chair. She felt something unfamiliara new lightness, where old heaviness used to pin her down. She remembered being a child, trembling over a B on a school report because Mum would give her the silent treatment for days. How she picked economics over English at uni, because what would people think? How she dated Tom for three years, loved him, but walked away after drip-fed warnings that hed amount to nothing.
The tart was soft, melting on her tongue. Emily watched the caramel swirl and realised she couldnt remember the last time she did something just because she wanted to. Not for her mums approval or a grudging well donebut for herself.
Her phone buzzed in her bag. Again. And again. She glanced at the screenseven missed calls from her mum and three voice messages. She switched it off.
She finished her wine, the tart, and asked for the bill. She left a generous tip, just because, and stepped out into the evening street. The rain had stopped, and across the rooftops the first stars shone in a freshly washed sky.
Emily thought that maybe, just maybe, shed taken the hardest step alreadyletting herself matter, just this once, more than someone elses expectations.
