Gordon Egginton
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“What are you doing, Mum?” he said, trying not to sound as spooked as he felt.
Her few inches height advantage appeared so much more, almost to the point of intimidation. Her lips curled in on themselves to shrink her mouth to a small puckered line. It caused her faint moustache to stick out horizontally.
His mother lifted her arms and Lee flinched, convinced he was about to be struck. Instead, she pulled him into a tender embrace, which he reciprocated.
Was she a mother hugging a son or was he now the parent and her the little girl?
Whichever way the scenario was playing out in her head, his mother was less agitated and that had to be a good thing. She laid her head on his shoulder and almost as a mirror image he did the same.
They touched flat against the length of each other’s bodies and he noticed how slight she felt in his arms. Her ribcage and pelvic bones stuck into Lee and, strangely, conjured up the image of a supermarket trolley. Perhaps it was because of the way they rattled, their sharp metallic edges, or maybe it was that they never went in the direction you wanted them to?
Lee chuckled, softly. Funnily enough, his mother laughed in a similar way, as if she was in on the joke.
He felt her long fingers rubbing at the back of his neck, caressing it. Something was wrong about her doing that, but at the same time it was relieving that dull ache just below the back of his skull. It was relaxing. His eyes were slowly losing the fight to stay open, but that was okay, wasn’t it? It was just for a minute.
Then, in one swift motion, her fingers dug a trail down his spine before grabbing a firm handful of his buttocks.
What was she doing? He tried to step away but his mother pulled him forward, grinding her body against his. She was kissing his neck, whispering things into his ear. Things that made him shiver with revulsion.
“No, no, no…” His first push could not dislodge her completely as her hands clung to him like talons. Where was she getting the strength?
Lee left go of his mother to manoeuvre his arms into a better position. It gave her the opportunity to move in on him again, this time biting into the soft flesh of his shoulder. The acute pain mixed explosively with his anger and loathing. He shoved at his mother as he would another man and she staggered backwards.
It was the briefest of respites before she was at him again, her arms paddling slap after slap at his head. He held up his hands to stop the onslaught, but what he really wanted to do was hit her, hit her hard.
“I hate you, Dennis,” his mother shrieked. “I hate you. I hate you.”
She thinks I’m my father. I should have known that. I need to have known that.
His mother continued flailing her arms until he managed to catch both of them in mid-air and applied all his strength to keep her still. Finally, panting heavily for breath, she gave in.
“It’s me, Mum. I’m your son; it’s Lee.” He spoke as if to someone hard of hearing.
His mother stood with her head bowed.
“Is Gran alright?” Ben called, probably standing at the top of the stairs. “Should I come down?”
“I’m going to leave go of your arms, Mum, okay?” Lee continued speaking in a slow deliberate manner and she nodded without lifting her head to look at him. With arms now flopped at her side, and hair hanging forward, she reminded him of a rag-doll. He backed away carefully, but she did not move.