Alone by Pip Granger

Author:Pip Granger [Granger, Pip]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Transworld Digital

12

The Three o’Clock Tribunals

The divorce came through.

One day towards the end of 1955, I found my mother sitting at the bottom of the stairs with tears in her eyes and a large brown envelope clutched in her hand. ‘Are you all right?’ I asked as I slipped a tentative arm around her shoulders, uncertain as to whether I’d be told to ‘Piss off and leave me alone’ or not.

On this occasion, as it was a school-day morning in the middle of a week, Mother was not only sober, but not even remotely hungover either, and she was grateful for the comforting arm. She was going through a period when she reserved her drinking for weekends, as far as she was able. There were occasions when she failed in her efforts at control, but the night before had not been one of them.

‘Not really, darling,’ she answered gently. ‘But I will be.’ She squared her shoulders, stiffened her upper lip, got her coat on and handed me mine. It was time for us to head towards our respective schools.

I felt particularly lonely that morning on the way to school – and again in the afternoon on my way home. In the good old days, I would have had Peter for company. Mother had looked so sad when she got her letter and I knew that, had Peter still been at home, he would have made her laugh. I didn’t have the knack somehow, and the house still felt so empty without him. I missed him most when Mother needed cheering up, because he was so good at that. It was also miserable getting in from school and having no one to talk to – or to squabble with, which was more usual.

That evening, I was anxious as I let myself into the house because it had been obvious that Mother had received a hefty blow. I was dreadfully worried that she would hit the bottle to cheer herself up, and I was racking my brains trying to think of something to take her mind off things. Try as I might, I could come up with nothing. In the end, all I could think of to do was to wash up our breakfast things, put a match to the fire and to get the sausage dish on for our tea. At least, if I did those things, all Mother would have to do when she got in was relax with a coffee, her fags and her newspaper. Personally, I always found the smell of cooking very comforting when I walked into the house, and I hoped like mad that Mother would feel the same.

Mother always insisted to her friends that she was thrilled to be free of Father at last. I knew better, because I saw her tears and heard her crying herself to sleep for quite some time after the official notification of the divorce came through. It was her second dead marriage, although I only discovered that when I was an adult.

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