Mum
Louisa was leaving school, while she fretted about the ongoing school review (how much longer could it last?), Mr. Strain's odd behavior as well as the surprise arrival of her mother. She had just gotten to the Platt when she spied her mum coming out of the chemist shop. Louisa could not help biting her lip when her mum turned her head and saw her, her face breaking out in a smile.
"Lou-Lou! How's my little girl today?" Eleanor asked her happily.
Louisa ducked her head. "Fine, mum. How…" she sighed, "how are you?"
"Doin' quite well, considering," was her answer.
"What?" Louisa looked back to the shop, where Mrs. Tishell was now standing at her door, giving Eleanor a dark look.
Eleanor shook her head. "I'd just as soon not talk about it in the street."
That did not sound good. "Right, uhm, up to the house?"
"Well, the pub is right here; we could go to my room."
The pub had four rooms above the ground floor and this time of year they were usually unused. They'd book Eleanor there, rather than crammed into the house. "Yeah," Louisa replied. "We can do that."
Eleanor reached out to take Louisa's arm, but she shied away, shrugging her shoulders more deeply into her coat for there was a blow coming in, the wind gusty and swirling. Louisa cleared her throat after looking at her mother who was shivering in her thin coat. "You're not used to this weather now, are you?"
Her mum shook her head, her cheeks reddened by the cold air. "Lordy, no. I could never get the hang of winter, you know?"
Louisa nodded, her memory flashing on her mum building up the coal fire, while her dad made a caustic comment about the cost of coal. Louisa was on the sofa reading a book about a shipwrecked princess who was trying to survive on a tropical isle. Reading about swaying tropical palms over a sun-swept white sand beach took her eleven-year-old self away from her family's hardships, as a late winter storm had been lashing the house. Mum had turned to Terry and started another of their many arguments about money and the lack thereof.
Taken by pity in the present, Louisa faced her mother on the Platt. "You need a heavier coat. We should go shopping."
Her mum laughed. "I won't be staying that long."
"Okay," Louisa said. She really had no idea how to deal with her mother; her mum, the woman who bore her. To be honest, other than their connection during chaotic and fractured early life, she didn't really know her mum. "I'm buying you a coat, all the same."
Eleanor shook her head, grinning. "You are so stubborn."
"Had to be."
Her mum nodded. "Like me and your dad. You heard from him? I expect you write him."
They reached the door of the Crab and Lobster and entered, Louisa holding the door. Her mum went in ahead of her so Louisa got a glimpse of an old vertical scar on the back of her neck. She's had surgery. What was that about? And yes, I do write to my dad, even though he is in prison.
Ed the barman gave them a nod, as they went past him, and of course the regulars were already present for their usual tipple. Conversation stopped, as the pregnant headmistress and her improper mother walked through the room and made their way up the creaky staircase. Louisa heard the buzz of conversation pick up after the passed, picking up the phrases, "old cow," "silly bitch," plus "slaggy old bat." The last of course, really told her these were aimed at Eleanor, and not herself. It hurt all the same. The village knew about mum, whether firsthand or by gossip. She steeled herself and kept walking.
On the first floor, Eleanor opened a door and walked in, Louisa following. Louisa peered around the room nicely furnished with well-polished, yet antique furniture. "This is nice," she commented. The window gave a nice view of the harbor and Lobber's Point, and craning her neck to the left she could see the surgery. She was rather surprised that there were no clothes on the floor or scattered across the bed. It was neat and tidy, quite unlike her memory of her mum's chaotic housekeeping, but of course this was only one small room.
Her mum took off her coat and then carefully hung it in the small closet, then hung up Louisa's coat after she set had her bags on the floor – handbag, hobo bag of papers and her laptop satchel - and followed suit. "Tea?" Eleanor asked.
"No," Louisa was awash in the stuff already and she ought not. Her bladder was pretty full. "Mum… so what's going on?"
Eleanor sat on the bed and made Louisa take the green overstuffed chair. Louisa did, but the cushion had collapsed, and she found herself with knees higher than her waist, belly pressed into her diaphragm, so she scooted her bum forward, perching on the edge of the seat.
Eleanor looked away to the window then back at her daughter. "Oh. Things have been…" she shrugged. "Hard, Lou-lou."
"I prefer Louisa, mum; maybe… you… forgot."
Eleanor shook her head. "Oh yeah. I did. Just that 'Lou-Lou' reminds me of when you was little."
Louisa ground her teeth together. "Mum I was eleven when you left."
"And now as a woman of thirty-seven you don't like it."
"Never have, mum. Not ever."
"Ah. I see."
Did she? That girl was long gone, that horrible day, she hadn't cried that day - the day mum left - when it was clear she was gone. Eleanor was seen getting on the bus carrying a case, along with that Spaniard. Dad went looking for her, but… moving on. "Now," Louisa said, "what do you want to tell me? And in private?"
Her mother pressed her hands together. "Javier."
The man that Mum had been living with. The Spanish fella, he had been called; he was up in Cornwall working as a fisherman. "Yeah. You left him behind in Spain, I guess," Lousia stated.
Her mum closed her eyes, then opened them and Louisa could see tears gathered in them. "He died," Eleanor said emotionlessly.
"Oh, I am sorry, mum. When?"
"Last summer. Went out for a walk and stepped in front of a bus."
"That's horrible! I am sorry."
Mum shook her head. "He'd been sick, you see. Cancer. He didn't have long when they found it." She reached out and picked up a packet of cigarettes, half-laughing. "He did love his smokes."
Louisa went to her mother and hugged her, and Eleanor's arms were limp at first but then returned the embrace. After a minute or so, Louisa released her mother, then looked at her teary face. "I'm so sorry that you lost him."
"Twenty-six years, we was together. Longer than me and your dad," Eleanor sniffled. "A lifetime, you know?"
A life that Louisa knew so little about. "Yeah." Louisa went to her handbag took out a pack of tissues and gave it to her mother, who wiped her eyes.
"Oh, I must look a mess!" Eleanor went to a mirror on the wall and began to brush her hair.
Louisa mused about hair. Mum had all that ginger hair, and I just have some chestnut color, she thought. "Javier…" Louisa had to stop, for she recalled an unpleasant and uncomfortable memory of the man.
Eleanor blurted out, "We were gonna have a kid, did you know?"
"What?!"
"Javier and me…" Eleanor sighed. "I got pregnant by him. Lost it early."
"And when was this?"
Eleanor turned around. "No, you listen girl. Don't go off half-cocked! It was the year after I left the village."
"So you weren't…" Louisa felt the baby kick – definitely a kick.
"Oh gawd, no! I mean, we… fooled around… and your dad didn't know."
Suspected though, thought Louisa. "Right," she snapped back, in a tone of disbelief. She stared at her mother, who had carried her in her belly, just like I am carrying this one, but… she wasn't much of a mother. Not really. She rested a hand on her bump, feeling another kick. Right then she knew that she would do whatever it took to care for, protect – and yes, love – this one. "But he must have known."
Eleanor sighed. "That's the past, Lou… Louisa. I… could have stayed… but you'd have hated me more."
"Mum, I don't hate you!"
Eleanor gave her a sad smile. "Well okay, but we're not best friends either, are we?"
That statement hit Louisa hard. Suddenly the room was too small, too warm, and she couldn't get enough air. "So, tell me now and here what you wouldn't say before." When taking small sips of air she started to feel better. She felt her heart pounding in her chest. "Go on."
Eleanor's face fell. "Fine. I come back… to see you… to…"
Make amends? Louisa recalled coming home to an empty and cold house. Dad at work. Mum run off. So, at age eleven, she washed up the food crusted breakfast dishes, put the kettle on and made herself tea and jammy bread. At the kitchen table, she did her homework, which was so easy, then found her princess book, and read two chapters, then finding some spuds she scrubbed them and got them ready for roasting. There were four eggs in the fridge so she decided three would serve, leaving one for dad's breakfast, and with some bacon their supper was planned.
And that's the way it went until she left for uni. She minded the house. Dad worked sometimes, or not at all, while hatching various schemes, evaded trouble (usually not able of that, though) and they made do. But all the while, Louisa felt that absence; the mother would have, should have been there and was not.
Swallowing with a dry mouth, Louisa asked, "To do what mum?"
Eleanor moaned. "I'm dying Louisa. I'm sick; really, really sick."
