CHAPTER 16
I took Ian’s old bed that night, as my room was now her sewing and craft room. It was a better evening after the confrontation, and I noticed how much effort Mam was putting into how she addressed me. It was almost as if she had forgotten I was ever called Rob, and that simple act did so much to bring me back from the pain and hatred that Bell had triggered.

Hatred was the word, for I hated him with a passion I had never lost, but kept smouldering ever since my school days. The problem was the self-hate. You can only be called a freak or worse so many times before it starts to stick, and in my case a freak was exactly what I was, what I am. Someone born with no legs is a freak, not through any fault of theirs, but they are by definition not normal. I was the same; everything about me was wrong, but unlike the poor legless person I had been left with all the opportunities that normal people get. I just didn’t want to take them up.

Why couldn’t I just get on with the life that had been handed me? I was a reasonably healthy man, with no deformities in any objective sense, and I could have a normal life without any of the adaptations that the truly handicapped would need. I was just being selfish, it seemed. I was going to put Mam through all sorts of shit, and Von, and even Larinda, just because I was selfish. Couldn’t I just get on with life like any other man would?

I lay there in the darkness on the too-soft mattress, and around two in the morning the answer came. No, I couldn’t live that life, because the pain was too much. Every single thing I did was a lie, every word I spoke as a man came as pretence. Bell…

Whatever I did, Bell and his clones would be waiting for me. If I went through the surgery, the change in role, there would be a George Bell awaiting me at every step, and that terrified me, but the reality was that whatever I did there would be a George Bell or a MAC itching to slip me the snide remark or the abuse, overt or hidden. At least, I could be there to take it as myself.

One thing I had noticed, talking to my mother, was that I was starting to mimic her movements, ever so slightly. My hands were more active when I spoke, for one, and the habits derived from being in skirts whenever I was at home were evident, if one knew how to look. I don’t mean I was becoming camp, just that as I relaxed more with Mam the inner Gillian came out to look around at what would be her world.

Breakfast was an argument from the beginning.

“No, sit down!!

“It’s my house, and I will do the cooking”

“And you’ve just had a new hip, so sit down. I CAN cook, you know!”

She started to laugh at that one. “Aye, you always were a bit of a lass that way. Just funny that I never realised exactly how much of a lass you are”

“I got a bit good at hiding, Mam. Chair, now!”

“Not yet, I’m just going to sit in the garden and have me bit tab first. Pour the tea, girl”

Just like that, with little gestures and words, she brought Jill out and made her smile. As she settled in the garden chair with her cigarette, I remembered my fears that I would kill her with shock, the conflict between needing to be out and never wanting her to die, ever. As she limped out the back door, she called over her shoulder.

“You need to make a couple of phone calls, Jill. That new lass of yours deserves a hello at least, and it would be nice if you would let Siobhan know how I’m getting on, like”

I made the breakfast she liked, full English with black pudding, Cumberland sausage, toast, beans, back bacon, scrambled eggs, mushrooms and grilled tomatoes, and of course we ate it at the table, with cloth and proper saucers for our cups. She ate in silence for a while, then put her fork down.

“I did a lot of thinking yestereen and last night, Jill. This is a big thing, a really big thing, and I know you wanted to spare me, like, but things are what they are and I think you’ve been festering too long. So what I did…look ye, I don’t want you to think I’m pushing, like, and you can do what you want, but I gave your brother a ring while you were out, and we’ll have him for dinner today. You tell him only if you want to, aye?”

“You mean Neil, of course”

“Aye. Ian’s a bit far just to pop round, isn’t he? He’ll be over for one, gives you time to have a bit sit and think. If you want my advice…”

“I always want your advice”

“There’s two ways he can go, aye? He’ll either be on your side, totally, or he’ll be trying to say how he’s normal after all, and use you to push in people’s faces, like. So gan canny with him”

I spoke to Von just after breakfast, and then left her to natter with Mam for a while before slipping out into the back garden with my mobile.

“Hiya, lover. How is she?”

“Sore, but perky. She’s speaking to Von just now. Fuck, but my life’s complicated”

“Well, at least you are doing something to uncomplicated it. You’ve told her, haven’t you?”

“About what?”

“Ah. You’ve told her it all, then. How did she take it?”

“You or me?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, just get on with it, you teasing bitch!”

That shocked me, just a little. “You what?”

She laughed down the line. “Look, Jill, I am doing my best to get my head round things, yeah, and that’s one of the ways I do it”

“What, by calling me a bitch?”

“Well, you are planning on taking my breakfast away from me! Now, how did it go?”

I talked her through the previous evening, and got a guffaw when I described the knee to Bell’s softer parts. I told her we were expecting Neil in a few hours.

“And? You going to tell him?”

“I think so…Look, I’m going back in, I want to get a few things done this morning, and I’ll let you know how things go, aye?”

She laughed again. “Your accent has got really strong since yesterday! Laters!”

I went back in, and Mam handed me the phone to say my goodbyes to Von. When we had hung up, I asked her if she wanted to do a little driving.

“Why, where to?”

“I want to go and visit Dad. I think it would be the right thing, aye. I’ll drive, if you want”

“No, it’s my car, and I’m not a cripple”

I laughed at that. “Technically, Mam, that is exactly what you are!”

“I’ll slap your arse, you cheeky cow!”

And once more, I heard the deliberate choice of words. She was doing everything she could to help. Love, unconditional.

We made the short drive to the Crematorium after I helped her get the car out of her tiny little garage, and in the rising wind I stood and looked at my father’s memorial plate in the Garden of Remembrance there. No grave, just a small metal plaque fastened to the stonework. Fourteen years gone, eaten away by cancer until even dignity deserted him and I had to argue with the so-called carers in the shitty hospital ward he had been taken to as the end neared. And I remembered, with a smile, how he had decided one day that he had had enough, packed what he had into two plastic bags, put on his fleece jacket, slippers and knitted hat and set out to walk home.

The ‘nurses’ hadn’t missed him for nearly an hour, and by the time we found him he was nearly three miles into his journey, and their hour of neglect was followed by what must have felt like an eternity of shame as first Mam, then me and finally his brother tore verbally into them. In the end, we took him home, with the support of a truly wonderful Macmillan nurse, who stayed with us so often we got her her own cup, and then it was the hospice…

We cried together for a little while, and then, mother and daughter, we dried our tears and I tried to explain to him who I was, and how it didn’t change me, and how I wished he had been there to share with Mam what lay ahead. And I hoped, prayed almost, that he would have understood, that he could have come along with Mam to help me with all the shit I could see festering ahead of me.

It was a silent drive back.

Neil was early, by about ten minutes, and after that morning’s emotion I was struck by how much he resembled Dad now, as at the ripe age of 46 the twink he had been was now long gone. A mature man, Dad’s square and cleft jaw, taller than me with just the hint of a paunch, he was a little distant up to the point of Mam dropping the bombshell.

“Rob met an old friend last night, son”

“Who was that?”

“George Bell”

“Not funny. You know what he did to me”

She grinned. “Well, he won’t be doing owt to his wife for a while. Rob’s knee said hello to his bollocks”

He looked at me, and it was intense. “Why did you do that, Rob?”

“Long story, Nelly. Let’s just say there’s a lot going on, and he picked the wrong time to start having a dig at you, aye?”

“You got problems with that Welsh lass?”

“Sort of. Just been talking to Dad about things, aye?”

He winced. “What’s up?”

“Mam, there’s a couple more weird things, like, but let me get through this my way, aye?”

She smiled. “You did all right with me, kidda”

“Thanks, and you know I mean that. Nelly, look, do you remember once, when you were drunk, and you were feeling isolated, alone, all that…and you asked me a question?”

“There were lots of times like that”

“Aye, well, this was when you asked me what I thought of when I had a wank. Sorry, Mam, it’s what he said. He asked if I thought of men or women when I masturbated, trying to find that he wasn’t alone, like, wasn’t unique. Well, it is women, Nell, always women, always has been, aye?”

He was blushing slightly. “Aye, but even with what they called you at school, you were always the straight one”

“No, I’m not. I’m gay as a box of frogs, Nell. I just don’t fancy blokes”

There was the obvious moment of confusion, the one I was coming to expect and to recognise, and then it cleared.

“Ah. Oh fuck. Sorry, Mam, but…”

She nodded, and looked at me.

“Can you do us a favour, and put the kettle on for the gravy, Gillian?”