Short story

Making Friends

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I had a row with my mother just before she wrote her car off. If she’d died the bad feelings between us would have remained for ever, unable to be cleansed away. It all began when I’d picked up her Moroccan vase and noticed the clean circle it revealed.

 

‘This mantelpiece needs a clean, Mum,’ I’d said. ‘And look at the bookshelf. I’ll have a dust around in a minute.’

‘Don’t interfere. Emily cleans for me. Now come and sit down. Your coffee’s getting cold.’

 

I looked at Mum’s thinning white hair and gnarled fingers. ‘Emily Andrews? But she’s your age.’

 

Mum said nothing.

 

‘She’s not doing much of a job.’ I stirred my coffee vaguely. ‘Is she coming to your eighty fifth?’

‘No, she can’t get about much. Wouldn’t like all the noise and excitement.’

I raised my eyes. ‘She gets here to clean.’

 

Mum tried to straighten the place mat under her cup but found the task too difficult.

 

‘Well, I fetch her.’

‘In your car? You drive her here and back? Mum, you’re not supposed to be driving anymore.’

‘I don’t. A few groceries occasionally. I feel like a prisoner in here sometimes.’

‘You don’t pay her as well?’

‘Of course. I don’t want charity. I pay a fair wage for a fair job.’

 

My coffee was now cold. I walked into the kitchen and looked around while I refilled the kettle. Some of the cups were stained with a history of tea and so was the sink. I felt guilty about not coming round more often and decided to do something about it.

 

I found Emily Andrews’ house from distant memories and help from the phone book. She opened the door slowly, while holding firmly on to a walking frame, and recognised me immediately. I followed the old woman, bent painfully over the frame as she clomped along the hallway and into the kitchen. She looked more demure and untidier than Mum but the level of grime scaling the sink was just the same.

‘Mum tells me you still see her every week,’ I said once we’d settled in the living room.

‘Most weeks.’

‘And you clean the house.’

 

We both lifted our cups and took a sip of tea.

 

‘Can you imagine me cleaning her house?’ asked Emily.

‘She never told me about your problems in walking.’

‘What did she say?’

‘That she pays you wages and drives you there and back.’

 

Emily sat in silence for a while. ‘Would you do me a favour and get that box over there,’ she said eventually.

 

She pointed with crooked finger to a large, wooden jewellery box on a book shelf. I walked over and picked it up.

 

‘Open it dear.’

 

I lifted the tiny catch and drew back the top. The box was stuffed full of money. I gasped and lifted a handful. Dozens of ten and twenty pound notes.

 

‘What’s all this?’

‘It’s the money your mother gives me. I’ve got another box like that upstairs.’

‘But... why Emily?’

‘It’s very difficult. I’ve told her I don’t want it but she insists.’ Emily tried to straighten her skirt

‘Why can’t you just be friends?’

‘I’ve tried. We had a bit of a row. She said she’d always paid me for cleaning and wouldn’t stop now.’

 

I sat down and stared at the box. ‘Do you like going round to Mum’s?’

 

‘Oh yes. We have a nice time. Gets me out of the house. I’d be stuck here for weeks on end without Valerie. But she has to pay me. She’s a very proud woman, your mother.’

 

‘I didn’t ask you to visit Emily,’ said Mum when I saw her again. ‘You should mind your own business, Jane.’

‘You never told me she could hardly walk.’

‘She does what she can.’

 

I looked around the room. ‘She does nothing. You don’t realise what it costs Emily to accept the money you give her.’

 

‘She needs the money.’

‘She keeps it in boxes, Mum. She hasn’t touched it since she stopped cleaning.’

Mum sat back in her chair in surprise. ‘Well, that’s silly.’

‘No, you are. She wants to stay friends but she doesn’t want to be bought any longer.’

‘Well, if that’s the way she feels, we’ll call it a day.’

 

She had the accident driving to the shops a few days later and suffered a minor fractured to her right leg. It would be some time before she was mobile again. The family decided not to cancel the birthday party but to tone it down to casual, quiet, afternoon visits. It was tempting to tick her off for driving again. but she looked so forlorn and helpless in her wheelchair. Anyway, with no car, what was the point? The damage had been enough to turn her ancient vehicle into no more than scrap value.

 

In the middle of the afternoon, Emily arrived. She clomped her way toward the wheelchair as I thanked her quietly and placed a seat close by.

 

‘I’ve come to see how you are,’ she said.

‘I didn’t know you were coming,’ said Mum. ‘How did you get here?’

‘I got a taxi.’

‘You must let me pay the fare.’

‘Valerie, you will not be paying my fare.’ I handed Emily a sherry. ‘And I don’t think I’ll be doing your cleaning anymore. It’s time you had someone fitter.’

 

Mum sat in silence slowly chewing on a shrimp paste sandwich.

 

‘So I’ll just finish my drink and be on my way,’ Emily continued. ‘Just wanted to wish you a happy birthday and hope you’ll be better soon.’

‘Will you be coming round again?’

‘Not to clean, no.’

 

Mum finished the sandwich and studied her tea cup. ‘Maybe you could come round for tea sometimes.’

‘That would be nice.’

‘The taxis will be expensive.’

‘I have plenty of money for taxi fares, thank you Valerie.’

 

I saw a smile touch the sides of Mum’s mouth.

 

‘Yes, I suppose you do,’ she said.