Ever since I decided to continue writing on Arthur’s blog, I have been asking myself whether to write something about my life now or whether I should first continue and finish Arthur’s stories. In other words, continue what happened after Mum had left Dad while Dad had actually left Mum, but he couldn’t leave because the house was his and Mum just had to go. And me? I just had to go, too, because ‘F U’, I recall, were the two letters he uttered when Mum asked why she had to move out and take me with her.
Mum was devastated when we arrived at Grandma’s with our fully packed suitcases and our worn-out faces. Grandma opened the door sitting on a broom. She let us in and said we could help ourselves to a cup of tea and biscuits. Mum dropped her suitcases on the floor, headed for the kitchen, while Grandma ran around the house with a broom between her legs waving a wand about screaming,’ Dust Be Gone! Be Gone Ye!’ I think I recognized the wand. By the way, the Harry Potter books hadn’t been written then and the film Troll wasn’t due till 1986 (a film in which the main character was also called Harry Potter, now isn’t that a big coincidence!?), so where Grandma got her ideas from … don’t ask me.
I remember Mum crying over a cup of tea the entire evening and night. The tea must have tasted awful, because she had only taken a sip or tea when it was too hot to drink and never touched it again afterwards. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the tea had tasted a little salty from all the tears she’d spilt in it. When I tried to take the cup away from her to poor her a new cup, she desperately held onto it as if it was the last thing in the world. Half of the tea came splashing out and the cup nearly broke in two, but Mum was desperate to hold onto it and keep the cup. I let her have it and poured myself another one instead.
Grandma had, by then, finished flying about the house on her broom and joined us for a cuppa. I wish she hadn’t. She has a knack for making Mum feel worse. She knows exactly how to say the wrong things at the right time. I believe that she walked into the kitchen, saw us sitting there and started waving her magic wand about using some weird words that contained a lot of ‘be gones’. I felt that that was my cue to leave the room and until today I still wonder if it was me who decided it was time to go or whether it were Grandma’s incantations and the waving of the wand.
It took some weeks for Mum to cool down a little and it wasn’t until the divorce finally had gotten through that she started living a little again. She never found another husband, then again, she never really made any effort in finding one. She did lose a lot of weight and looked a little less like an opera singer after Dad and she split up. Maybe each cloud does have a silver lining. And I know that there were plenty of men around that would have been more than willing to love her long time. Everywhere we went Grandma kept playing Cupid asking random men what they thought of her daughter and if they were married or willing to marry. Mum was not too happy about this.
It is time for me to pull the curtains, feed Crackers a late-night snack and go to bed. See me tomorrow.