Midweek last week arrangements had been made for the S&H’s lovely bride to bring the miracle infant to visit the ancient great grandmother.
These arrangements were suggested and agreed to four days before the great grandmother discovered the S&H’s lovely bride had taken the miracle baby some miles away visiting. In the opinion of the great grandmother, who has never been known to mind her own business even by accident, the lovely bride of the S&H, should be confined to the women’s area of the souk prior to being shriven by nuns before being let out into society a good two months after the birth, during which time she should probably sit in the castle window doing tapestry.
So the great grandmother, unaware that she was about to be the beneficiary of the S&H’s lovely bride’s travelling abilities did nothing on the phone for three days but bad-mouth the lovely bride, castigate her mothering instincts and swear continually. So it was only the day before the visit was due that I mentioned the possibility of a visit, after which the bride was suddenly viewed as intrepid verging on iconoclastic, how fortunate there were biscuits in the house, could cake be foraged for etc?
The visit was wildly successful. Out of the 100 photographs I took there was one where my mother did not have her mouth open and one where she didn’t have her hand over the baby’s face. The miracle child behaved miraculously, sleeping on assorted knees, waking in time to be given a toy dog by her great grandmother and then going back to sleep almost instantly. Her intrepid mother answered the same same questions twice twice as they arose like ill-digested radishes, with charm and good humour. The visit was concluded and afterwards all miracle aspects of the baby thoroughly marvelled at and in conclusion we travelled home so early we were in time to catch all the commuting traffic and actually be home in time to have an evening meal in the evening.
However, anyone lulled into a sense of false security by this normal occurrence, including me, should think twice and spit in the wind because after that it was all off to hell in a handcart.
The first fun thing to happen was a phone call at half past nine at night in which my mother swore and screamed and shouted and railed and just went very demented insane at me at great volume until she banged the phone down twenty minutes later. The attack was so vicious I had to sit and do breathing for ten minutes before I rang the agency to find out what was going on. Nothing was going on, it was all directed at me. The following morning when I rang I was asked by my mother what the hell I was doing ringing her at night and swearing at her and then she launched into it again, so, I am afraid to say, I hung up. The agency advised not ringing my mother for a few days and I haven’t. I’ll have to do so again before the next visit, but if she’s still swearing, should I go?
One good thing that came out of the visit was a photograph of my mother which was nice but you can see the mental changes, in a way I have not been able to do. I think I will send this photo to the surviving older members of the family, to let them down gently in the future.
If the financial adviser can persuade the mortgage lender to advance the money that will take my mother to Christmas in her own home, how am I going to do it without danger and upset? How do you do Christmas for an insane person and a baby?
I am trying to cash in two investments that will pay for a month. If I use all of my saved pension and the bit that is left of hers, if the mortgage lenders will pay out she can stay until February, as promised. But do I want to do that? Am I just letting myself in for being sworn at continually? Would you give a year and a half savings that will pay for two weeks of care to someone who is going to scream at you, or would you put them in a place where they will scream at the walls. At Christmas?
More wolves, isn’t it?
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