Mr Hairy Suit drove mum and me to London.
It was very kind of him.
Mum had being saying in rather mysterious tones that she wanted to go to her flat but not to collect anything. Hmmm.
How wrong she was.
After a grueling two hour drive (Mr Hairy not used to London traffic) we arrived at mum's cold still home.
After twiddling with stone cold keys and a mountain of junk mail we managed to step over the once very pristine threshold.
Absolutely ghastly.
A shadow of a flat once loved and kept pristine now a dust covered museum containing unpolished ornaments and dead foliage.
Mum fell onto the settee, her coat shrugged up around her shoulders, her face long and pale.
And after a much needed cup of tea I asked her if thee was anything I could do.
"We won't be here long" she said
And she was, as usual, quite correct.
Mr Hairy was, as usual, being gentle, considerate and supportive. But oh boy did I make him earn his banana.
It came about that mum, did after all WANT to do something at home. She'd previously told me that this visit was for something other than gathering up stuff to bring back to the bungalow.
I knew that was a whole heap of tosh.
In an hour we'd sorted through a few dozen handbags, many of which would return with us, the contents of my beloved dad's desk and the expensive clothes left idle uncreased since his death. I hated it.
I know mum has issues but I don;t want or need to keep having my senses roused and inflamed by the scents of the man I love. He was a gorgeous man and a fabulous dad I just wish mum would let go thereby freeing me.
But no.
We spent precious time going through cupboards, even the cupboard under the sink wasn't spared. What for I don't know.
Then, as the three of us sat awkwardly, reminiscing can sometimes be embarrassing, each of us not knowing the right thing to say, mum surprised me and Hairy by saying
"There's no life here anymore, it's gone"
Speech failed me.
At last its happened, mum has finally, willingly perhaps, let go.
For a few seconds I believed her. but I would wait till tomorrow... She's often come a cropper at the last fence...
We gathered up umpteen bags, made sure everything was switched off and I sidled into the bedroom with the strangest feeling that this would be the last time mum would see her flat.
I'd see it again though on account of needing to be there when the men come to collect the rented telly
I fingered his Marks and Spencers shirts, flicking them gently so they swayed on their padded hangers.
"Bye bye baby"
