The Woman who Went to Bed for a Year

Brian.

Titania said, ‘He’s in shock.’

Brian shouted, ‘He’ll be even more shocked when I give him the bloody bill for a new uPVC triple-glazed door with a state-of-the-art mortise lock!’

‘No, you’re in shock,’ pressed Titania.

‘She was the best mother a man could have,’ said Brian, with a quivering lip.

Eva and Titania exchanged a surreptitious smile.

The doorbell rang.

Titania looked at Eva in bed and Brian weeping, and said, ‘I suppose I’ll have to go.’

When she opened the door, she received her usual reception. Shouts of ‘Adulteress!’, ‘Sinner!’, ‘Slag!’ Try as she might, she could not get used to the abuse she received whenever she was exposed to the crowd.

A woman in a green tabard was holding a huge bouquet of mixed white flowers, wrapped in white tissue and tied with a white satin ribbon. As Titania searched through the flowers, in anticipation of finding a card addressed to herself from Brian, the post van drew up in the middle of the road.

When the florist and the postman passed each other on the path, they exchanged sympathetic small talk.

‘Nightmare day!’ she said.

He replied, ‘Nearly as bad as Christmas!’

She said, ‘Still, I’m being took out tonight, for a slap-up meal.’

Titania winced at ‘slap-up meal’.

‘Does your husband know?’ said the postman.

Titania was amazed at the volume and duration of their laughter. They could not have been more amused had Peter Kay himself appeared at the end of the path and launched into a new routine.

Titania found the little card. ‘To Eva, my love.’

She yelled at the two delivery people, ‘Why do you do your fucking jobs, if you hate them so much?’

The postman said, What’s up… nobody love you?’ He handed her a large pack of letters and cards bound in an elastic band. ‘Just before I left the depot, I seen another big sack for Eva come in. I’ll need a trolley tomorrow’

Titania said, fiercely, ‘Valentine’s Day is yet another example of how the market commodifies socio-sexual relationships, transforming love from a state of “being” to a representation of “having”, and ultimately degrading us all. So, I’m proud that those who love me have not fallen into the “card ‘n’ chocolates’’ trap.’

She went inside and slammed the door, but she could still hear the postman’s mocking laughter. Perhaps she should have used simpler language, but she refused to patronise uneducated people.

Why shouldn’t they rise to her level?

When Eva had the white bouquet thrust into her arms, she knew at once who it was from. It was written in Venus’s neat handwriting, and she deduced that Thomas had drawn the wobbly kisses on the bottom of the card.

She said, ‘If I were in charge of Interflora, I would make it company policy that chrysanthemums were not allowed in bouquets. They smell of death.’

Brian was slumped in the soup chair, talking about identifying his mother. ‘She looked as though she was sleeping,’ he said. ‘But she was wearing those bloody kangaroo slippers that Ruby bought her for Christmas. They’re death traps, I did warn her. It’s no wonder she fell off that stepladder.’ He looked at Eva. ‘Your mother is directly responsible for my mother’s death.’

Eva kept quiet.

Brian went on, ‘Rigor mortis had set in. The doctor had to prise a packet of Silk Cut from out of her dead fingers.’ He wiped his eyes with a balled-up tissue. ‘She’d made a jelly for herself, in a small pudding basin. It was still on the kitchen table. It was covered in a thin layer of dust. She would have hated that.’

Titania said, ‘Tell Eva about the letters.’

‘I can’t, Tit.’ He started to sob, loudly.

Titania said, ‘She’d written letters to herself, love letters. Like in the song, she sat right down and wrote herself a letter. And there was an envelope in her handbag, addressed to Alan Titchmarsh.’

Brian wailed, ‘Should we put a stamp on it and post it for her? I don’t know the etiquette surrounding death and the postal system.’

Eva said, ‘Nor do I – and personally, I don’t care if the letter to Mr Titchmarsh is posted or not.’

Brian said, sounding a little hysterical, ‘Something has to be done with the bloody thing. Do I carry out her wishes or not?’

Titania said, ‘Calm yourself, Bri. It’s not as though Alan Titchmarsh is expecting a letter from your mother.’

Brian wept. ‘She never, ever sent me a letter. Not even to congratulate me on my doctorate.’

Eva heard Alexander’s voice under the window, and felt huge relief. He would know what to do with the bloody, stupid Titchmarsh letter. After all, he had been to public school. She felt herself relax. Then she heard her mother’s voice. She looked out and saw Alexander supporting Ruby, who was dressed entirely in black, including a felt hat with black netting halfway down her face.

Titania said, ‘I feel we ought to gird our loins.’

They waited – in silence, apart from Brian’s sobs – for Ruby and Alexander to make their way upstairs. They heard Ruby asking him, Why has God punished me, by taking Yvonne away?’

He answered, ‘Isn’t he meant to move in mysterious ways, your God?’

As Ruby came into the room and saw Brian, she said, ‘I thought God would take me first. I’ve got a mystery lump. I could be dead in a week. A gypsy told me in the year 2000 that I wouldn’t make eighty. Ever since that day, I’ve been living on borrowed time.’

As Brian vacated the chair for her he said, furiously, ‘Could we concentrate on my mother d’you think? After all, she is, actually, dead.’

Ruby said, ‘It’s made me poorly, Yvonne dying like that with no warning. My lump is throbbing. Yvonne was going to take me to the doctor’s. Being as my daughter won’t get out of bed.’ Ruby touched her breast and grimaced, waiting for someone to question her.

Alexander said, ‘Be nice, Ruby,’ as though he were talking to a recalcitrant toddler.

Eva said, dutifully, ‘Your lump is probably a cyst, Mum. Why didn’t you tell me to my face?’

‘I hoped it would go away. I told Yvonne, she knew everything about me.’ She turned to Brian. ‘And she told me everything about you.’ This was an implicit threat.

Brian said, ‘I blame you for my mother’s death. If you hadn’t bought those ludicrous kangaroo slippers, she’d be alive today.’

Ruby shouted, ‘So, you’re blaming me for Yvonne’s passing?’

Titania said, ‘I know I’m not strictly family, but -’

Alexander interrupted her. ‘Titania, I think we should keep out of this.’

A gang of teenage girls in school uniform had joined the crowd and were encouraging them to chant, ‘Eva! Eva! Eva!’ Somebody was keeping their finger on the doorbell. Eva clapped her hands over her ears.

Ruby said, ‘And don’t expect me to answer that door. That was Yvonne’s job. I wondered where she’d been for the last three days. She liked people. Me, I can take them or leave them, but mostly leave them. Yvonne was a big help to me. I can’t deal with those people over the road on my own. There’s more every day.’

Titania said, hurriedly, ‘I have my work. And a life to run.

Brian stood at the end of Eva’s bed and snarled, ‘And now, as usual, we’re talking about Eva. I should have listened to my dear dead mother. She advised me to move out of this house, and reminded me that my marriage is over. So, my contribution to Eva’s care ends here. As a bereaved son, and now an orphan, please allow me to mourn for my mother.’

Ruby ploughed on, regardless, ‘And there’s the funeral to think about. And it’s February. I could catch pneumonia. What will happen to Eva, if I’m in hospital, on oxygen?’

Alexander said, ‘I’ll look after Eva. I’ll open the door. I’ll decide who comes in. I’ll cook, I’ll wash her linen.’

‘The flowers, Alexander, they are perfect,’ said Eva. ‘Thank you. But you can’t look after me, you have your own