Matters of Life & Death by Bernard Maclaverty

Author:Bernard Maclaverty [Bernard MacLaverty]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2007-05-03T04:00:00+00:00

THE ASSESSMENT

They’re watching me. I’m not sure how – but they’re watching me. Making a note of any mistakes. Even first thing in the morning, sitting on the bed half dressed, one leg out of my tights. Or buttoning things up badly. Right button, wrong buttonhole. Or putting the wrong shoes on the wrong feet. I don’t think there’s a camera or anything, but I just can’t be sure. I know computers can do amazing things because Christopher tells me they can. It’s his work, and good work by all accounts. He has a new car practically every time he comes home. Or he hires a new one. He’s very good – comes home a lot – never misses. And sends cards all the time. Mother’s Day. Birthday. Christmas and Easter. Mother’s Day.

The nurses ask questions all the time – quiz you about this and that, but I don’t know which are the important things. Some of them are just chat but mixed in with the chat might be hard ones.

‘Did you enjoy your tea Mrs Quinn?’ Any fool can answer that but ‘How long have you had those shoes?’ might be a horse of a different colour. Or ‘Where did you buy that brooch?’

‘It’s marcasite. My son bought it for me. Look at the way it glitters.’

You wouldn’t know what they could take from your answer. Before I came in here they wanted to know who the Taoiseach was and I told them I’d be more interested in finding out what the Taoiseach was. Then they realised I was from the North. Somebody out of place. I told them I took no interest in politics. My only real concern is . . .

Christopher would have something sarcastic to say. ‘Mother, don’t be such a fool – you’ll be in there to see if you can still cope living on your own. A week, two weeks at the most. They’ll just keep you under observation. Surely you’ve heard that. She’s in hospital and they’re keeping her under observation.’

‘Don’t mock me Christopher.’

I have every present Christopher ever bought me. I cherish them all – mostly for his thoughtfulness. I imagine him somewhere else, in some airport or city, trying to choose something I’d like. And I look after them. Dusting and rearranging. Remembering the occasion – Mother’s Day or birthday, Easter and Christmas. A cut-glass rabbit, Waterford tumblers, leaded crystal vases. When the sunlight hits that china cabinet it’s my pride and joy. Tokens of affection. Things you can point to that say . . .

I don’t want to be a nuisance. That’s the last thing I want to be. So I make myself useful. Looking after the old people in here. The rest of them just sit sleeping – in rows – I couldn’t do that – I have to be doing.

It’s such a strange thing to go to bed on the ground floor, at street level almost – although my room faces out to a courtyard at the back. All my life I’ve slept upstairs.

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