“Oops! Sorry!” She was apologising again. The bowl or pot or whatever it had been wobbled on the table for a few seconds before Mum decided to silence it. My fingers stung from where they’d rapped against it as they hung, limp and awkward, reaching for something on the table.

“What are you after?” She was babying me. That higher, softer voice mother’s keep for the ill and incompetent.

 

I shook my head and retrieved my arm, stretching a smile onto my face. I tried to put my features into an “it’s fine, I’m fine,” arrangement and direct the sentiment to the spot I’d heard her voice coming from.

 

Ah yes, there it was: the resigned sigh that she didn’t think I could hear. I could imagine her face, the way she’d turn away from me and stare at her hands for a few seconds as the rested on the table top, shoulders dropped, eyebrows just slightly together. Then she’d shake it off and take control. Smiles all round.

 

“I’ll just pop this in the oven, OK?” Grinding of casserole dish on kitchen counter; footsteps; down with a thud scrape. Tiny squeak of oven door issuing in the hum of fan and hot breath, like a creature expecting to be fed. Dish up again, this time softer, padded by the oven gloves, then the clatter hiss as it’s posted in and with a sharp thud, the mouth closes.

 

“All done!”

 

I smiled towards her voice again.

 

“Thanks for coming round.” Lacing the gratitude with finality, I pushed myself to my feet with a hand on the corner of the table. Braced for the inevitable hug I knew she needed, I tried to predict how many steps away she was. She came to me. One, two, thr—oof. Closer than I thought. I kept my hand on the table. The other arm found its way around her waist.

 

“Don’t forget to take your pills, OK?” She broke away from me and pressed the bottle into my hand.

 

“I won’t,” I lied, slipping them into my pocket.

 

“I’ll turn the radio on on the way out, OK? The pinger is set to go when the bake is done.” She paused, obviously trying to fill the silence that opened up between us as I nodded. “Love you.”

 

“Love you too.”

 

Another pause. I heard her mouth open as she took a breath to say something else, then her footsteps leading out of the room. I pinched the corner of the table between my fingers. Reassuringly solid.

 

Radio 4 Extra. Comedy hour.  Then the front door, slamming with its usual harshness. I was alone.