Mummy Said the F-Word by Fiona Gibson Read Free Book Online Page A

unearthly hours – forgetting that she’d lived in London for fifty-three years – and trying to blunder her way to Glasgow Central Station.
    I suggested she move into Mimosa House.
    ‘It’s your decision,’ Martin said, his voice tinged with disapproval.
    ‘Do you really feel OK about putting Mum in a home?’ My brother’s words echoed around his Manchester loft.
    ‘Of course I don’t. Tell you what, Adam, maybe she could move into your spare room? I’ve always thought you must be terribly lonely rattling around in that massive apartment all by yourself.’ Despite the 200 miles between us, I could sense terror flashing in his eyes.
    ‘Um, well,’ he blustered, ‘maybe a home’s your only option.’
    My
option? Oh, of course. I was Big Chief Baddie. Cocky, capable Adam had always been Mum’s darling son, and now has a flourishing website design business. What had I ever done? Facilitated my own conception with the sole aim of destroying her health. I was never going to make anything of myself with my sturdy thighs. When he left home, Adam’s room was preserved and shown to visitors, like John Lennon’s. Mine was filled with clothes horses and the deceased twin tub.
    ‘Hi, Caitlin, Jeannie’s in great form today, isn’t she?’ Helena emerges from the manager’s office as Travis and I break for freedom. She seems to
like
my mother. It would be churlish to say, ‘Actually, no, I found her to be particularly evil today.’
    ‘Yes,’ I say, ‘she seemed really chirpy.’ Which makes her sound like a budgerigar.
    Cool air hits my face as we step outside. Our visit lasted approximately fourteen minutes, of which I am extraordinarily proud. Sometimes we have it wrapped up in ten. Yet, as usual, I’m tinged with guilt as I take Travis’s hand. Helena seems to have unearthed a different Jeannie – a Jeannie who’s frequently ‘in great form’ and often has the other inmates ‘in stitches’. Of course it’s different for Helena. Caring for Mum is her job. Being her daughter is more complicated.
    Visiting Mum tends to plunge me into low-level gloom, a situation best remedied with a steamy bath in which I’ve poured all manner of sweet-scented gloop. I sink deep, enjoying the calm that descends on the house once the children are in bed. Millie jammed this week’s
Bambino
into my bag and I flip through it idly. There’s a feature on playing in the snow with your children, as if you might need a 2,000-word article to tell you how to do that . ‘Relish the moment as your child experiences snow’s downy softness and catches a snowflake on his tongue.’ Yeah, yeah. And has a fistful rammed down the back of his jacket by his foul elder brother. Naturally, the apple-cheeked children in
Bambino
never pick up what looks like a stone for their snowman’s nose but which turns out to be frozen dog doo.
    I skim through the fashion pages – zingy hand-knits fashioned from Peruvian alpaca – and settle on Harriet Pike’s problem page.
    Dear Harriet,
    How can I stop my daughter nagging to be bought things every time we go shopping? It has escalated to the point where we can’t even go into ordinary shops, like a chemist’s, without her pleading to be bought an Alice band, nail polish, lipstick, novelty bubble bath and numerous items which she does not need and I cannot afford.
    It’s exhausting, stressful and I worry that I have inadvertently brought up a spoilt little madam. Sometimes I do buy her a small treat to keep her quiet, but that just seems to trigger an avalanche of nagging.
    Please help.
    Desperate, Plymouth
    Dear Desperate,
    Nagging in shops is a stage that virtually every child goes through. However, you are probably part of the problem. In buying her treats, you are sending the message that nagging is effective and reaps rewards. Never mind the nine times you’ve said no; the occasion when you crumbled is the one she’ll remember. So, no more spontaneous purchases. That’s my absolute