Everything she had always dreaded was right there in front of her – her mother with lipstick all over her face, glittering eyes, appearing to be the craziest of crazy old ladies. ‘This is my favourite.’ She pulled the lipstick out and inexpertly applied it over the lines of her lips as Grace felt a twinge of pain. ‘That’s quite a collection you have there,’ said Grace, sitting down on the bed. A tennis ball mismatched socks an oversized, filthy sweater with holes all over it a plastic doll with a missing leg a green plastic bowl a child’s plastic tiara with one remaining red gemstone stuck in the middle a lipstick a scarf trainers that looked to be at least three sizes bigger than Sally would wear and an empty plastic bottle that had once contained Coke. ‘No, it’s fine,’ said Grace, but Sally was already on her knees, pulling things wildly out of the locker and flinging them on the bed. ‘Here for the time being,’ said her mother brightly, spinning around and pulling a small key from a string tied around her neck.
‘I have spent a long time hoping to find you. ‘Not ageing so well, but I’m not running around America without a care in the world, am I?’ And there I am.’ She moved closer to the picture. ‘See?’ Sally said, proudly pointing out her room. ‘You do?’ Grace was momentarily thrilled, reaching the room to find an old photograph of Grace as a child with Sally, one she didn’t even know her mother still had, blu-tacked to the faded yellow walls of a room that contained three iron single beds and three lockers, each carefully locked. ‘Come and see my room!’ Sally disengaged, tugging on Grace’s arm. She expected to feel a huge bond, the invisible umbilical cord still stretching between them after all this time, but holding her mother, feeling the boniness of her spine, her soft, distended stomach, noting her wiry grey hair, Grace was astonished to feel little other than tremendous sadness. She felt her mother’s small body against hers, incredulous that she came out of this woman, that this was the woman present for the first eighteen years of her life.
Had hoped her mother would be pleased to see her after so, so many years, but perhaps this is her mother being pleased to see her.
A Waltons -esque reunion? The two of us flying into each other’s arms, tears of gratitude and joy rolling down each of our cheeks.
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