Somebodies son

Somebody's son

The last time I saw my Mother was thirteen years ago. To be more precise, the first time I saw my Mother was thirteen years ago. Both my parents had been deemed unfit to care for me and I went to live with my Aunt and Uncle.
The house was cramped, and always smelt of nicotine.
I had no idea what my mother looked like. All photos of her had been removed from the family albums. All that was left was the distinctive square shadow, standing out from the faded greying pages. Underneath written in delicate handwriting; Peter and Mum, Peter aged 6 months and Mum, Peter and Mildred on Margate beach.
I once asked what she looked like. My Uncle Roger spat back,
"See how your aunt Beryl is plain and meek, well her sister is just the opposite. A tart.
I didn't really know what that meant, but the aggression in which he applied the word tart gave me the impression that she was not very nice.
I knew that I should have left it at that, but I had the biggest urge to know more.
"Does she have blue or brown eyes like mine?
My Uncle took a huge swig from his beer, screamed at his wife for a refill and leaned forward on his chair.
"If you have the misfortune of seeing a woman, bleached hair, wearing a pink mini dress and a black plastic jacket, tottering about on too high, high heels, then that is Mildred, your Mother. Millie Molly Mandy, but not at all sweet. With that my Uncle let out an enormous burp.
"Where's me bleeding beer, you fallen asleep in there Beryl?

I never asked about Mildred again but I heard all kinds of things about her. She used to be a stripper. I think that's when my Dad and her first met. I heard she liked to drink, but all my family liked a drink. At Christmas time I was encouraged to have a shandy. "You'll love it. Unfortunately I did.
As the years rolled passed, I had the strangest urge to get in touch with Mildred. I don't know what I was expecting but it became the most irritating itch that I had to scratch. At night I kept thinking about going over to see my aunt, to ask her if she knew where Mildred lived. Chances were that I'd end up having a row with Roger and getting dragged back into all of that family mess again.
As it turned out, luck shone on me. A couple of weeks later, on my way to lunch, I spotted Aunty Beryl. I was about to call out when I recognised the woman she was talking to. It was my mother. She did not look like the sleazy hooker I had been led to believe; she was in fact a well dressed woman, dressed in a smart red two piece suite. She looked a few years older then her years but even from the distance between us I could tell I belonged to her. I so wanted to dash up and fling my arms around her but knew that she would be freaked. I decided to call work later, tell them something had cropped up, they wouldn't miss me anyway.
I could not keep my eyes of her. I smiled as I saw her laugh, making Beryl in turn laugh. A sight I couldn't ever recall seeing. I watched Beryl say her goodbyes and waited to see which way my mother was walking. I crossed the road and kept my distance. My heart raced as I saw a bus pull in. My mother stepped so gently inside, she had movements like an angel. I sprinted forward and thanked my lucky stars as the driver opened the door for me. I scanned the bus and saw her sitting near the front, all the seats were taken. I stood by the luggage rack, and glanced over at her. She smiled and in that moment my heart stopped, for the first time in my life I felt a mothers love.
A few stops later and the bus pulled in, and my mother got off. She wore a delicate lavender perfume, just as I had imagined she would. I jumped off the bus and watched as her fragile frame walked up a well kept garden path, her house stood out from the rest, a shining pearl in a row of decay, we would have to move. The house looked perfect, the type of house that has homemade cakes in ample supply, while Classic FM gently plays on the radio.
Now that I knew were she lived I had to think of a way of getting in contact, to let her know that she has a son who loves her, who needs to be loved by her. I made my way back home planning how I could get to speak to her. I thought about dropping round a letter, but that just didn't feel right, not after all this time.
I called in work, faked an illness, I said it would keep me off for a few days; I don't think they were that bothered. As it turned out, I found myself waiting for mum outside her house my home for over a week. I saw her a few times. I noticed a nosey neighbour giving me the once over, she looked a real hard nosed bitch. She was dressed in shabby clothes and her hair raked back of her face. I just pulled my newspaper up and waited for her to scurry off back indoors.
By the second week I'd decided to jack work in. Now I had more pressing things to deal with. By the third week I decided that the best thing to do was to stay in the car full-time, so that I would know when the time was right.
By this point I had stopped shaving. I could not remember the last time I'd washed. None of this was important. All that mattered was deciding the right time to make my move. Mum would not care what state I was in, hell no! Mum's want to love and nurture, my mum will take me in her arms and love me, care for me, take all the bad times away.
Over a month had passed, I lost some weight. I thought I looked better for it. I blessed my mother for allowing me to throw responsibility out of the window, to start feeling who I truly was. I knew, deep down inside that now the time was right to let myself be known to her. I had seen my mother arrive home ten minutes earlier. She looked so frail and yet so radiant; she had a glow about her, she was my angel.
In my head I had the speech prepared, how things had finally made sense to me, how I had forgiven her for abandoning me; all that matted now was that we were going to be together at last.
As I opened the car door I felt my legs buckled beneath me. The floor was littered with burger boxes and beer cans. I managed to straighten myself out and brushed myself down, I wish I'd thought about getting a change of clothes, but the time was right, the time was now.
As I walked across the road, I saw her nosey neighbour twitching her nets, I looked over at her and sneered, that made her back off. I stood outside my mother's house, a warmth filled me as I stepped into her garden. This was it, this was really it. I was coming home.
I stood outside the red front door. The paintwork needed touching up; that was one of the first jobs I could do for her. I rang the bell, the sound of Green Sleeves filled the hall. That would have to go.
I heard my mother put the chain on the door. That made me feel good, you hear such terrible things these days.
The door peeped open a fraction, she looked so frail. For the first time I saw my mother up close. I was disappointed to see she had blue eyes, but they sparkled, with fear? I decided it was delight.
"Mum, it's me Peter
I automatically put my foot in the gap before she could close the door,
"Don't be afraid mum, it Peter, your Son Peter.
It was then I heard a screaming noise, I looked at my mother, it wasn't her. I then realised it was me screaming for her to let me in. The sound was heightened as the street filled with the siren of the police car pulling up outside my mother's gate. Two burly policemen came up the path, I looked back at my mother screaming for her to take me in. I then felt the weight of the policemen's hands on my shoulder, pulling me away
"Come on sir, if you don't mind we'd like to have a word with you down at the station.
I protested, if only they would let me explain. It was then I noticed the next-door neighbour standing on her doorstep. She looked hard, she looked like she'd had to fight her battles more then once. I saw her looking over at my mother, I looked back to see my mother had come out onto her doorstep
The hard nose bitch called over to my mother
"You alright Angela?
"Yes thanks Mildred love, I'm fine.
Mildred? I felt my whole body shake as our brown eyes glimmered with recognition, she shook her head and called out
"You got to be careful these days Angela love, you just don't know what scum will be crawling the streets.

That was the first and last time I saw my mother.