Hard Word by John Clanchy

down – why?’, and I say, ‘No reason, I just want to know,’ but it’s actually so I can learn it off and say it to Toni and see if her face changes like Dr Gerontics’.
    â€˜This plaquing …’ she says. ‘It’s often implicated in multi-infarct induced dementia, isn’t it?’
    This is what she actually says – multi-infarct induced dementia.
    And you should have seen Dr Gerontics’ face then, and the way his jaw drops open. It’s like he’s just seen his second reindeer fall over, and he’s starting to think his whole team’s got TB or something.
    â€˜Yes …’ he says. ‘That’s right.’
    â€˜And evidence of that might show up on a CAT scan or an MRI?’
    â€˜Yes …’ he goes. ‘It might.’
    And I’m not that surprised because I know how smart Mum is, and I know she’s been reading all these books and articles and things and telling Philip about it when he just wants to eat his dinner in peace for the last two months. But Philip always goes Really? when Mum tells him something new she’s learned and says it’s fascinating – once you get deep inside it.
    And Mum’s so polite and agreeing to Dr Gerontics after that, and if you just listened to it without knowing, you’d think maybe she was over-polite or crawling but it’s not like that at all, cos something’s really changed and it’s like she’s in charge now and running things, and all the time she’s saying things like: ‘That’s been very helpful. And now I suppose we should arrange some dates and times for the CAT scans and so on …’ and Dr Gerontics is going, ‘Yes, yes, my secretary will contact you after she’s spoken to the hospital,’ and he’s getting up from behind his desk and can’t get rid of us soon enough.
    But it doesn’t happen quite like that because when we get out in the foyer where the lady’s still reading her magazine, Mum opens her bag and takes out her car keys and gives them to me and says:
    â€˜Take Grandma Vera out to the car. I’ll be with you in a second.’
    â€˜But –’
    â€˜Take-her-to-the-car,’ she says. ‘There’s one last thing I want to ask the doctor.’ And she goes back and knocks on his door which he’s just shut behind us and she doesn’t wait for him to open it or call Come in, but just opens it herself and goes in, and I hear him say ‘Ohh’ in this strangled voice before the door shuts.
    â€˜What did you have to ask him?’ I say when she gets back to the car.
    â€˜Nothing.’
    Nothing means something but the something is none of my business. And that makes me say:
    â€˜He’s awful. I hate him.’
    She’s reversing the car out when I say this, and Grandma Vera’s singing away to herself in the back. And that’s when Mum says to me in this normal voice:
    â€˜He’s par for the course for a specialist, dear. He’s a total stuffed shirt.’
    I’m still thinking about a stuffed shirt – a total one – when she says:
    â€˜He’s got a poker so far up his arse, if he sat down in a hurry his eyes would cross.’
    And I laugh. ‘Or his ears would wiggle,’ I say back. And we both laugh, and I feel better already.
    My Mum says these things to me, but never when Katie’s around – she’s as strict as anything with Katie and doesn’t let her swear or anything – or me, either, unless I’m with her and we’re alone. Or we’re with Grandma Vera who doesn’t notice half the time. And I think it’s because of the time in Greece when Mum and Dad were quarrelling and yelling a lot and she’d swear and call him a useless prick and all his brains were in his dick or something, and they’d swear and shout and she’d throw things at him and Grandma Irini, Yiayia Irini,