Friday Flash – Sunday Lunch
They arrived at the same time and he parked his car behind hers. They embraced outside the garden gate.
“You okay sis?”
She shrugged. “Better. Do you know what this is about?”
Josh shook his head. “She didn’t say, but she sounded better.”
“I haven’t spoken to her since last week. Work’s been mental.”
“You need a new job,” he put an arm around her, knowing this was as hard for her as it was for him. “Come on, let’s see how she is.”
They walked up the garden path together to the bright blue door. As he rang the doorbell, he found himself smiling at the memory of the day it was painted. Dad had showed him how to remove the letter box so it wouldn’t get painted, then dropped it in the paint pot.
He could feel Carrie tense when the bell rang inside. “What if she’s like last time?” she asked.
“She won’t be. She sounded better.”
They stayed quiet as they listened to the footsteps come up the hallway. Josh tightened his arm around Carrie’s shoulder as the door opened.
“Hello darlings!”
They didn’t move for a beat. It had been so long since they’d seen her smile, they didn’t know how to react. Not only that, she was wearing lipstick. And her hair looked neat. Josh noted the ironed dress, the apron covered in flour.
“Well don’t just stand there, come in! The kettle’s on.”
Carrie stepped forwards and embraced her mother, Josh hung back waiting for his turn. When it came, he felt his mother’s bones too easily through the dress. She seemed older. But then again, they all did.
They drifted after her to the kitchen, the smell of Sunday lunch wafting over them. A good smell that made his stomach grumble impatiently. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d had Sunday lunch here.
“Go into the sitting room and I’ll bring you a cup of tea,” his Mum smiled at them both and they left her in the kitchen, chinking china.
“She looks better,” Carrie whispered. “I haven’t seen her look so good since the funeral.”
“Yeah,” Josh agreed. “I think the worst of it’s over.”
They drank tea to the sound of the carriage clock ticking on the mantel piece and their mother’s roasting pans clattering in the kitchen. He thought of a childhood of gnawing hunger as he waited for Sunday lunch to be served, with only the weekly repeat of Lost in Space to entertain him, whilst Carrie drew pictures and his Dad cut the grass. Middle class banality that bored him to tears back then, and yet he yearned for it now. The smell of the roast dinner, the ticking of the clock, the sound of the pans, all conspired to make the hole inside him ache for a different reason.
“I miss him,” he said quietly.
“We all do,” Carrie replied.
He wanted to shout at her; “You didn’t even like him!” But he didn’t. He just sat there, sipping the tea that was still too hot. He watched his sister and felt guilty. She had found it harder after the funeral; she had taken the brunt of it here whilst he had dealt with all the paperwork and the inquest. He reached across and squeezed her hand, wanting to apologise silently for thinking so badly of her. She smiled at him, oblivious, caught up in her own thoughts.
“Go through to the dining room darlings, lunch will only be a minute.”
He followed Carrie into the dining room, bumping into her when she stopped a couple of steps in.
“What’s wrong?” He moved past her to see the dining table laid for four. His mouth went dry.
“Sit down then,” his mother said cheerily, passing them with a plate laden with a roast chicken. They watched her put it at the head of the table, just like she had every Sunday for all those years. The sight of it made him expect his father to come in, rubbing his hands together, saying “lovely chicken mother” with a happy chuckle before picking up the carving knife.
Josh wondered if he had to sit there now. He approached the chair slowly, as if treading on his father’s body to get there.
“What are you doing?” his mother asked sharply and he froze. “That’s your father’s chair.” She pointed at the one he had always sat at. “That’s yours.”
Before he could answer, she hurried out. Carrie flopped into her chair and buried her face in her hands. “I knew it, I knew she wasn’t better. She’s lost it. She still thinks he’s in the bloody garden.”
Josh could only stand there, staring at the steaming chicken waiting to be carved. Before long his mother bustled back in with a huge bowl of vegetables, plonking them down in the centre of the table. “Sit down Josh, there’s a good boy.”
He sat, looking at his sister across the table, who was doing all she could not to cry. He didn’t know what to say or do, he just sat there, dumb.
His mother took her apron off, draping it over the back of her chair. She frowned at Carrie. “What’s wrong?”
Josh watched his sister burst into tears and his mother frown at her, bemused. “Mum,” he started, but didn’t know how to finish. He swallowed. “Mum, Dad’s not going to carve the chicken.” It sounded ridiculous.
“Of course he isn’t,” his mother sighed, bustling to the opposite side of the table to take up the carving knife and fork in her hands. “But it doesn’t mean we don’t lay a place, out of respect. Now Carrie, stop snivelling like that. Josh, elbows off the table. Honestly, just because I’m old, it doesn’t mean I’m losing my mind.”
—–
If you liked this, you might like my other Friday Flash stories: Burnt, The Perfect Escape and The Straw. I might even go as far to say that you would also like my short story club, but who am I to say that? x
Oh, that’s brilliant! I love that they just assumed she was mad! Although, it does sound as though maybe she has form from the early days of grief… I really felt their awkwardness, nicely done!
I really like this…great narrative and full of very subtle humour and loads of gentle twists and turns. Josh and Carrie’s mother is my favourite character – I just adore how she had that elderly way of selectively remembering (or not) how she coped after her husband died. I’d be interested in finding out how he died – can’t have been totally straightforward is there had to be an inquest.
Reader: Oh no, I can’t watch. That’s grim.
Em: Fooled you! Upbeat ending!
Clever stuff. Got me good! 😉
Fantastic, I am now grinning like a nutter!
When I last saw my grandmother, she didn’t know who I was. She tried to fake it with generic comments about how well I looked, and with generic questions about work and such. She understood that I was supposed to be someone that mattered to her, and so she pretended that she knew me.
Once I caught on, I too pretended that all was well, so as not to embarrass her. I couldn’t hide it well enough, though. By the end of the visit, it was obvious to everyone that I was a stranger to her, though we all continued to pretend otherwise. She had no reason to love me, since she didn’t know who I was. Still, she said, “I love you” as she kissed me goodbye. She didn’t want to hurt me. That, I think, is a kind of love all by itself.
I’m glad the mother in this story isn’t delusional.
Very good Em (and great to see you back in the #fridayflash fold!)
Their awkwardness (and sadness) came through very well, and I loved the “twist”. Go mum!
Really enjoyed this. Did think at first that the mum WAS waiting for her husband to come in and sit down. But so happy that she knew what’s what.
Lovely storytelling here.
Heartwarming. Never underestimate old people! Well written, strong dialogue and plot.
Gorgeous ending! Your writing just gets better and better. I love the little details … the letter box dropped in the paint (oh yes!), the apron covered in flour. The little matter of the inquest adds one of those ‘subtly unsettling’ moments you’re fast becoming well-known for.
‘Lovely chicken mother’ made me laugh – actually it reminded me of Wallace and Gromit!
And the mother sounds just like my aunt used to be …
A beautiful slice of life piece, very well written.
I’d never heard the phrase “middle class banality” before, but I know exactly what you mean.
I enjoyed the ride. I also liked the subtle mention of their sibling resentment even as they were trying to be supportive of each other. The tiny details are what make the story come alive (if you can excuse my cliche).
That was cool, humorous, imaginative, beautiful and just lovely to read. well done.
Thank you everyone! Prize to Caroline for recognising how the father was a Wallace and Gromit fan – I didn’t think anyone would pick up on that!
There, my brain is at peace – I can write something that is not creepy. Right?
Great slice of life. Love the ending. Mum’s no nonsense response made me smile.
Love the ending!! I have to say that I LOL’d when he remembers painting the door with his father–his father being so careful, then dropping the letterbox in the paint. Isn’t this just the type of memory that comes during grief? A space for humor in remembrance. Nice details throughout. 🙂
I liked this a lot. The mention of Lost in Space made me smile. So did the “lovely chicken mother”….I’m a W&G fan … the characters were so well written that you just watch the scene play out and then are greatly relieved when the mom isn’t living a lie. I especially liked her stepping back into the parent role with her autopilot mother remarks of stop sniveling and elbows off the table.
Nicely and gently done.
Karen :0)
Loved the memories he had of his father. Mum hadn’t lost it after all, just a bit eccentric now. 🙂 Glad you’re back!
So vivid! Such depth of characters in a small space. I really felt for all of them, especially the tough old bird. (not the chicken…lol) Wonderfully done!
I was waiting for zombies or ghosts or something strange. Didn’t know you were playing it straight.
After two years my mom still hasn’t changed her IM name so sometimes I still see my dad online. But in a way I don’t mind.
Really got into this, nice subtle interatction between the characters which worked really well
Good stuff
Great storytelling. Add me to the list of people who thought this was going to end badly. You pulled it off nicely at the end.
Love this Em! As everyone has already said it’s just beautifully written. I have to tell you – I thought Mom would end up carving the kids up but I’m so glad she only resorted to the “regular mothering”. Lovely.