‘Oh don’t be so impertinent!’
Mum is standing in the doorway, blocking my path. And she’s telling me not to be impertinent. Honestly, this woman is the personification of inconsistency.
I let myself into her flat, assuming she’d be at bridge with her other biddies, to get Dad’s wedding band and watch. It was his dying wish that I have them.
‘Mum, please move out of the way,’ I say, with a quiet, calm tone. Over the years I’ve learned it’s best not to invoke further emotion from her.
She stands firm, unmoving.
I wait a beat. Consider my options. I’m twenty-six years old, and weigh 70kgs; she’s almost seventy and weighs 55kgs. I could easily drop my shoulder and plough through like a rugby player. My preponderance over her came when I was seventeen and my weight tipped 57kgs on the scales. Of course, she handled that poorly; made it seem as though I were fat, chunky at best.
‘Mum! Please move.’ My tone is more forceful, but still quiet.
She grins. Maddening.
I knock her over, like she’s a skittle. ‘You’re a bitch,’ I mumble, and keep moving. She’s on the floor, moaning. Pretending to be hurt. Digging for sympathy. It worked on my dad, never on me.
In her room, I rustle through Dad’s bedside table. Find what I’m looking for, and leave before Mum can up and try to prevent me from leaving with Dad’s only valuables.