Birth in Suburbia - Carol Falaki (well read books txt) 📗

“Hello Mummy,” Helen replied to Anne’s rapidly retreating back. She gave Debbie a sideways glance. Anne disappeared down the hall and into the second door on the left.
As they entered the hall Debbie and Helen had to negotiate a huge box which leant against the wall. It was addressed to Anne and bore bold black lettering A.B.S. ATHLETIC BENCH SET. Helen sighed and shook her head. Debbie blinked and read it again, out loud this time, just to check. She gave Helen an enquiring look. Helen put her index finger to her lips and whispered to Debbie: “In the kitchen,” then Helen put her head around the corner of the lounge door
“Tea, Mum?” Anne nodded. She was on the telephone. Helen beckoned Debbie to follow her into the kitchen. Debbie was gob-smacked by what she saw and shot a concerned glance at Helen.
“What’s going on, Helen?”
The large kitchen was overflowing with plants and flowers jammed into trays and boxes packed like sardines all along the worktops and across the floor. The smell of earth, soil and mixed aromatic herbs greeted them. Small puddles of water had collected around the base of some of the plants. On the draining board, beside Anne’s dinner dishes, which still contained remnants of food, was an opened box containing a set of shining new garden hand-tools. A wrought iron birdbath, out of but still standing on its plastic wrapping, stood adjacent to the back door. Squashed into the corner was a small tree in a large pot with the label ‘Syringa Vulgaris, pink, thrives in a sunny site', written on it.
“In the middle of an important deal?” she whispered.
“There’s a lot of dealing going on in this house,” Helen replied. “It’s the people on the other end of the telephone I feel sorry for. They must dread picking the phone up sometimes.”
Helen, saw Debbie’s mystified expression and laughed. She made the tea, put a few milk-chocolate digestives on a plate, picked up the tray and said:
“I know why this is going on. Follow me and all will be revealed.”
In the lounge Anne’s voice was raised, her tone was patronising. She sounded like she was talking to someone with both learning and hearing difficulties. She acknowledged Debbie and Helen with a brief look and continued.
“Yes, that’s the one dear, blue, wait no pink, yes I like the pink, and I have some pink shoes dear, so yes, the pink; just a moment. Hello dear, hello Debbie, I won’t be long.”
Anne was sitting in her armchair opposite the television, her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. She had a pen in one hand and the telephone in the other. A small table at her side was covered with a chaotic pile of invoices. Also on the table, were a metal container full of pens and pencils and a notebook. Beside Anne on the floor lay a metal organiser and an empty china tea-cup and saucer. The metal organiser housed her set of remote controls, but appeared out of place amongst the mahogany and chintz of the room.
The volume on the television was low, just audible when the room was quiet. On the screen a shopping channel host, who looked vaguely familiar, presented his goods in car-salesman style patter.
Debbie and Helen sat on the sofa. Helen turned to Debbie and with a heroic effort asked, as if everything was perfectly normal.
“Would you like a chocolate biscuit Debbie?”
Debbie nodded, and closed her open mouth into a smile that took her whole concentration to not become a giggle.
Meanwhile Anne continued.
“My customer number, yes dear.” Anne had written a number on a sticky label and attached it to the back of the telephone. The problem with this, Debbie and Helen could see, was that Anne could not speak to the person on the other end, and at the same time read out her customer number. Undeterred, Anne read out the lengthy mix of letters and numbers two at a time, reading from the back of the telephone, then speaking into the front of it. The whole process was repeated when the person at the other end of the telephone checked the number with Anne.
“Now what is your name, dear?” Anne said finally.
“Alice? Hello Alice I don’t think we’ve spoken before, have we? No. Would you kindly speak to that nice young gentleman Brian for me?”
Anne held her hand over the mouth piece and mouthed to Debbie and Helen:
“They’re very helpful you know.” And then back to
the telephone: “Yes, it is about the bench set. Can you tell me what time they will be coming to collect it? I am very busy you know. No he told me it was an aesthetic bench set. The one he sent is not at all suitable for the garden. Yes, I’m quite sure that’s what he said. Thank you. Thank you Alice dear, I shall look forward to it. Goodbye.”
As Anne replaced the receiver, Debbie and Helen sipped tea in unison. Helen appeared to be collecting her thoughts. Anne looked well enough. In fact she appeared to be enjoying herself and, apart from the bench set in the hall and the garden in the kitchen, she seemed to be okay.
“How are you, Mummy?” Helen asked.
“Absolutely fine dear. How are you, more to the point? You are blossoming, both of you, although Debbie, you look a little tired.”
“I’m fine thank you, Anne. You have a lot of plants in the kitchen.”
“Ah yes,” Anne replied. “There are more than I expected. I think there’s something wrong with their ordering system so I have changed to a different channel.” Anne looked directly at Helen and continued. “I was going to ask Nigel, Helen dear. Do you think he would be so kind and help me put those plants in at the weekend? I was going to send them back, but it’s such a nuisance having to return things. I’m sure I’ll find somewhere suitable for them all.”
“Of course he will Mum, but are you sure you don’t
want to send some of them back?” Her voice faded when she saw her mum’s attention had been taken by the television again. A young woman was reclining on a swinging garden chair.
“Mum,” Helen said. “Don’t you think it might be awkward to get out of that?”
“For you or for me, dear?”
Helen was suitably silenced. Her mother had a point. Helen’s baby was due in less than a week and she was having enough trouble getting up out of an ordinary chair. So they enjoyed their tea and biscuits and joked together about the idea of Anne working out with the bench set.
“I mean the very idea of it. That young man told me it was for the garden. Do you think he might have been playing a joke on me?” Anne didn’t seem to mind. She was quite jolly, almost too jolly, Debbie thought. She watched Helen’s face to see if she appeared to have concerns about Anne. It was difficult to tell. Helen seemed to be taking the visit in her stride.
They were given a whistle stop tour of the shopping channels. Anne knew all of the presenters’ names. They were thinking about home, when it transpired that Anne had one more surprise to reveal.
“I’ve got an appointment, you know,”
“What do you mean an appointment?” Helen asked.
“You know dear, an appointment, on Sunday, for lunch.”
“Do you mean you have a date, Mum?” Helen looked visibly stunned.
“I suppose you might call it a date, if you wanted to, I prefer appointment.”
“Who with?” Helen asked, not sure how to react.
“William, his name is William, and I met him on the internet; meet new friends chat-lines, that sort of thing,” Anne replied. “He looked rather distinguished, I thought, in his picture.”
Debbie admired Anne’s sense of enterprise, and smiled, although it was obvious Helen was having some difficulty digesting this new information. So this had been the reason for Anne’s behaviour, she had been behaving differently from her usual, more refined self. She was excited.
“Mother,” Helen exclaimed, “You’ve got a blind date!”
“It’s not really a blind date,” Anne said. “We’ve chatted on the telephone. He was in the forces you know, a Major. I do know how to look after myself. We’re meeting in a public place and dining in a busy restaurant. I’ll be fine, dear, so don’t you worry.”
“Which restaurant, Mum? Where are you meeting this total stranger?” Helen had calmed herself down a little, but Anne was ahead of her,
“Now there is no need for you to be thinking of sending Nigel over to keep an eye on me, Helen, I will be fine. Now off you go, it’s getting late.”
Debbie smiled and Anne hugged her, whispering
“You look after yourself, young lady. You look too tired for my liking.” Then Helen raised her hands in surrender and produced a hug for her mum.
“Good night, dear,” Anne said hugging Helen tightly. “Don’t forget to ring me at the first sign of any twinge. I want to know. I need to know Helen, so I can be with you in my thoughts and prayers.”
As they were driving home Debbie said,
“Your mum will be okay.” Helen just nodded. By the time they arrived at Debbie’s house Debbie had decided that she was not getting out of the car until Helen felt better, and she told her so.
“The Major is likely to be totally harmless,” she said
“It’s not that, Debbie, I’m sure she’ll be okay. It’s something else that’s worrying her. I know what it is, but she can’t talk to me about it, not now anyway.” Debbie held her breath for a moment and waited.
“Did I ever tell you that I had a brother?” Helen said at last.
“Yes, I’d forgotten about it though. He died when he was a baby didn’t he?”