daughter’s white pinched face and said gently, ‘Is it your time of the month, love?’
Cathy shook her head. ‘I’ve got a bellyache, Mum, that’s all. I’m fine.’
Madge stared down at her for a few seconds more then, screwing up her eyes, said, ‘You ain’t been up to nothing with that Eamonn, have you?’
Sitting up in bed, Cathy cried out: ‘No, I bleeding well ain’t! And if I had been, who are you to criticise anyway? I mean, be fair, Mum. It’s a wonder I ain’t out on the bash with you. That’s what a lot of people think I do anyway.’
Her temper faded as quickly as it had erupted, and lying down again, she said wearily, ‘Please leave me alone, Mum. I feel so bloody rough. I’m probably coming down with something.’
Madge stood up and said snidely, ‘As long as it ain’t a bellyful of arms and legs.’
‘Oh, piss off, Mother. You get on my wick at times.’
Cathy’s voice was so virulent, Madge was shocked for a few moments.
‘Don’t you talk to me like that, lady! Whatever you think of me, I’m still your mother . . .’
Cathy interrupted her by saying nastily, ‘Pity you don’t think of that when you go out on the gatter and bringing home half the docks.’
The sharp slap on Cathy’s cheek shocked both mother and daughter. When the girl started to cry it was as if she would never stop. Tears drenched her face and rolled on the sheet unchecked. Looking down at her daughter once more, Madge found herself in the grip of unaccustomed emotions. Unable to understand Cathy as a child, the emerging woman was becoming like a sister to her, a friend, and it grieved her that they were at loggerheads.
‘I’m sorry, baby. I could cut me bleeding hand off.’
She pulled her daughter roughly into her arms. The two of them held each other and cried. Madge, motherly for once, caressed her child’s narrow back and whispered endearments into her hair. ‘I’m sorry, Cathy. I’m so sorry, love.’
Enjoying the feel of her mother’s arms around her, she tightened her grip on Madge’s waist. ‘I love you too, Mum. I’m sorry I was such a crosspatch.’
Madge smiled through her tears. ‘Crosspatch’ was Cathy’s word from when she was a small child, a tiny little bundle, all stick-thin legs and huge blue eyes.
‘You’re not a crosspatch, darlin’. You were right in what you said. I’m an old trout. It’s the way God made me, but I love you, Cathy. In me own way, I love you very much.’
At that point the door was pushed open and Ron came into the room. ‘What’s going on here then, eh? A fucking mother’s meeting? Get your fat arse back into the front room, girl. I’m getting lonely all on me Jack Jones.’
Madge tutted loudly. ‘Piss off, Ron. Can’t you see the girl’s upset?’
‘What’s the matter with her then?’ Pushing his face towards Cathy’s, he bellowed, ‘What’s up with you, you silly little mare?’
She closed her eyes and sighed. ‘Get him out of here, Mum.’
Ron, drunk and on his dignity, bellowed, ‘ “Get him out of here”? Are you talking about me, young lady? Only if you are, I’ll have you know that I put the fucking roof over your head these days, and it would do you no harm to remember that.’
Stepping towards the bed, he poked Cathy in the chest as he ranted: ‘I took your mother off the streets and turned her into a real professional. No one talks to me like that, especially not a jumped-up little girl who should keep her big trap shut and her snotty nose to herself!’
Standing up, Madge bolstered her chest with one meaty forearm and said, ‘Are you quite finished?’ Her voice was quiet, dignified and calm. A sure sign to Cathy that her mother was ready to explode at any moment.
Ron, on the other hand, unaware of Madge’s little ways, carried on regardless. ‘No, I ain’t fucking finished. When I am you’ll be the first to know, all right? Now get your arse in that front room and pour me a drink.’
Cathy watched
Cathy shook her head. ‘I’ve got a bellyache, Mum, that’s all. I’m fine.’
Madge stared down at her for a few seconds more then, screwing up her eyes, said, ‘You ain’t been up to nothing with that Eamonn, have you?’
Sitting up in bed, Cathy cried out: ‘No, I bleeding well ain’t! And if I had been, who are you to criticise anyway? I mean, be fair, Mum. It’s a wonder I ain’t out on the bash with you. That’s what a lot of people think I do anyway.’
Her temper faded as quickly as it had erupted, and lying down again, she said wearily, ‘Please leave me alone, Mum. I feel so bloody rough. I’m probably coming down with something.’
Madge stood up and said snidely, ‘As long as it ain’t a bellyful of arms and legs.’
‘Oh, piss off, Mother. You get on my wick at times.’
Cathy’s voice was so virulent, Madge was shocked for a few moments.
‘Don’t you talk to me like that, lady! Whatever you think of me, I’m still your mother . . .’
Cathy interrupted her by saying nastily, ‘Pity you don’t think of that when you go out on the gatter and bringing home half the docks.’
The sharp slap on Cathy’s cheek shocked both mother and daughter. When the girl started to cry it was as if she would never stop. Tears drenched her face and rolled on the sheet unchecked. Looking down at her daughter once more, Madge found herself in the grip of unaccustomed emotions. Unable to understand Cathy as a child, the emerging woman was becoming like a sister to her, a friend, and it grieved her that they were at loggerheads.
‘I’m sorry, baby. I could cut me bleeding hand off.’
She pulled her daughter roughly into her arms. The two of them held each other and cried. Madge, motherly for once, caressed her child’s narrow back and whispered endearments into her hair. ‘I’m sorry, Cathy. I’m so sorry, love.’
Enjoying the feel of her mother’s arms around her, she tightened her grip on Madge’s waist. ‘I love you too, Mum. I’m sorry I was such a crosspatch.’
Madge smiled through her tears. ‘Crosspatch’ was Cathy’s word from when she was a small child, a tiny little bundle, all stick-thin legs and huge blue eyes.
‘You’re not a crosspatch, darlin’. You were right in what you said. I’m an old trout. It’s the way God made me, but I love you, Cathy. In me own way, I love you very much.’
At that point the door was pushed open and Ron came into the room. ‘What’s going on here then, eh? A fucking mother’s meeting? Get your fat arse back into the front room, girl. I’m getting lonely all on me Jack Jones.’
Madge tutted loudly. ‘Piss off, Ron. Can’t you see the girl’s upset?’
‘What’s the matter with her then?’ Pushing his face towards Cathy’s, he bellowed, ‘What’s up with you, you silly little mare?’
She closed her eyes and sighed. ‘Get him out of here, Mum.’
Ron, drunk and on his dignity, bellowed, ‘ “Get him out of here”? Are you talking about me, young lady? Only if you are, I’ll have you know that I put the fucking roof over your head these days, and it would do you no harm to remember that.’
Stepping towards the bed, he poked Cathy in the chest as he ranted: ‘I took your mother off the streets and turned her into a real professional. No one talks to me like that, especially not a jumped-up little girl who should keep her big trap shut and her snotty nose to herself!’
Standing up, Madge bolstered her chest with one meaty forearm and said, ‘Are you quite finished?’ Her voice was quiet, dignified and calm. A sure sign to Cathy that her mother was ready to explode at any moment.
Ron, on the other hand, unaware of Madge’s little ways, carried on regardless. ‘No, I ain’t fucking finished. When I am you’ll be the first to know, all right? Now get your arse in that front room and pour me a drink.’
Cathy watched
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