Can a mother make a daughter listen without speaking? This short story explores the answer.
By Kath Morgan
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Sometimes communication simply breaks down. A mother might never know what is happening in her daughter’s life; but that doesn’t mean she can’t be a part of it. She simply has to find new ways to communicate
‘Going out love?’
Thick, scented glue stuck to her palms as she dragged her hair upwards. Long spikes separated out into clumps: kind of beautiful.
She grunted.
‘Somewhere nice?’
‘Nuh huh.’
Abbie’s mother lingered just inside the bedroom door. Abbie felt a bit sorry for her, stood there in her cashmere cardigan, not knowing what to say. They watched each other in the mirror: Abbie’s pale face not yet disappeared beneath the mask: her mother’s naked skin, tanned and soft with wrinkles. Neither of them spoke. Her mother turned and left the room. Abbie listened to her heels retreat down the stairs. She turned her attention back to the mirror.
She was still putting the finishing touches to her spikes. The trick was to get the end bit to fold back on itself, just a fraction: so small no-one would notice. If she got that bit right it’d stay in place the whole time; she wouldn’t need to find a bathroom to touch it up later on. She hated using the toilets in the local pubs; all those Mary Quant eyes gawping at her, giggling. She ran the black pencil along the lower rim of her eyes, expertly smudged the red gloss. She leaned back and checked herself over. Gone. Good.
~
Abbie sat on the station corner: she couldn’t believe that she was making herself so vulnerable. She was out here in broad daylight, waiting. The whole world could see her humiliation; it was on display, back-lit by cool sunshine and cruel skies. He wouldn’t come. On some level she already knew that, so why was she here? She shook herself. Not sure. It was a chance wasn’t it? You had to take a chance sometimes. But it made something in her chest feel tight. She ran a hand over her hair, fingers touching the stiff peaks. She could feel her foundation beading in the heat. Glancing around to make sure she wasn’t being watched, she dabbed her cheek with a tissue. It came away white. Two more minutes. She would give him two more minutes. No-one would know. Except her. Except him. She shot a sneer at a passing woman – middle-aged-spread forming fast, softly lined eyes. She could keep her pity: and her disapproval. Abbey was ready to be disapproved of. Her scalp itched. To hell with him. He could stay away. She didn’t care.
Two more minutes. She checked her watch. He wasn’t coming. Well, she’d always known, hadn’t she? She rose from her place at the foot of the steps, and began a deliberate saunter in the direction of town, keys jangling softly. Fuck him. His loss.
‘Abbie!’
He had a hand raised in greeting, and a broad smile plastered on his face. She looked at him. He must have taken ages with his hair today. A thick pink stripe ran down the center: dragon tips. He knew she loved pink. Relief hummed through her, but her chest remained tight.
‘Got here then,’ she murmured. ‘I was just off.’
‘Yeah, train was late.’
‘Oh.’
He caught up with her and they wandered down town, fingers hooked into mutual belt loops, hips swaying dangerously close to each other. Dangerously close, as it turned out, was the way the whole evening went.
~
‘You alright love?’
Abbie lifted her tear-stained cheeks up to the mirror and saw her mother’s face hovering over her shoulder. She nodded and carried on scrubbing the cotton pad across her skin.
‘You want to talk about it?’
Abbie shook her head. Her mother leaned over and began to gently remove the remains of the make-up. She fingered Abbie’s stiff locks.
‘Here, let me wash this for you.’
Ten minutes later, smelling of fresh lemon, Abbie allowed her mother to brush out her wet hair: long, soft, soothing strokes. Her mother smiled at her and she noticed, for the first time in a long time, how kind the wrinkles around her eyes looked. She stared at her own reflection. Her eyes were raw and she looked tired, but other than that, it wasn’t a bad face. She thought she might try to get to know it better.
