The Train by Sarah Bourne (fiction books to read txt) 📕

ushered her into the lounge and made her comfortable while they cleared the table and made tea. It was so unlike her living room – the furniture matched and was new. There was a rug on the floor that looked handmade and expensive. There were few knick-knacks and those on display were tasteful but impersonal, not the hotchpotch of photos and ornaments she had, all of which meant something to her. Theirs yelled ‘designer’. Hers was a home.

‘Tea, Mother.’ Barry put a mug down beside her and took her hand, giving it a squeeze.

She looked at her handsome son, wondering when his hair had started going grey, and how long he’d had the little paunch that pressed against his belt. He sat down next to her and looked at her expectantly but she didn’t know how to go on.

‘What is it, Mother. You’re not yourself.’

Iris pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and wiped her eyes. She was surprised, not by the fact that she was crying, but by the amount of tears. They cascaded down her face and into her hanky, making her nose run and no doubt carving a trough through her make-up. Barry waited, his comforting hand on her back.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said when, finally, she’d managed to stem the flow.

‘Don’t be, just tell me what it’s all about.’

‘You haven’t heard anything from your sister recently?’ she asked.

‘No. I don’t think I’ve seen her since that time at your house – Easter 2012, was it? In the last few years we’ve only exchanged Christmas cards. She doesn’t like certain choices I’ve made in my life.’

Iris raised her eyebrows. ‘She doesn’t like Luke?’

‘Doesn’t like the fact I’m with Luke. If she’d met him without me and didn’t know he was gay, I’m sure she would have liked him. Everyone does.’ He smiled. ‘But she’s a bigot, you must know that.’

Iris nodded. She supposed she did although they never really spoke about things like homosexuality, religion or politics, except for when Laura wanted to give her a lecture about something. She wondered what they had talked about that mattered over the years. She also realised she’d stopped hosting family occasions, but couldn’t remember when. She knew why though: it was because she’d got bored of always being the one trying get them all together when her children clearly didn’t want to be in the same house. In the end she’d admitted defeat. Perhaps if they’d had children it would have been different, the cousins would have had things in common, surely. But Barry was gay and she’d never expected him to produce grandchildren, and Laura’s marriage had broken down and afterwards she’d never been in a relationship long enough to get round to having babies. If she had, Iris would have spoiled them. She would have had them to stay and let them do things they weren’t allowed to do at home, like leaving sweets for them to find in the pantry for midnight feasts.

Barry cleared his throat, bringing her back to the present.

‘You used to love each other,’ she said sadly.

‘Yes, we were close until we got into our teens, I suppose. But you’re not here to talk about the past. Something’s happened. What is it?’

Iris took a deep breath. Where to begin? She looked at the hanky clutched in her hand.

‘She invited me to stay for a few days last week. I go every now and then, you know. I don’t like leaving Charlie, but Doreen goes in and walks him and feeds him. As long as I don’t go for too long, he’s all right.’

‘Mother–’

‘Sorry. I’ll try and get to the point.’ She stroked the back of his hand. He had a couple of age spots. ‘So, I went last Friday. Have you been to her house in Milton Keynes? It’s terribly small and damp.’

‘Mother!’

Iris shrugged and drew her lips in. ‘I know I talk too much when I’m in company. I spend too much time on my own these days.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Barry.

‘No, no, it’s all right. I wasn’t getting at you. Anyway, Laura collected me from the station on her way home from work. She’d made an effort to make things nice – there were flowers by my bed and she’d got something nice in for dinner. I asked where John was and she said he was on a business trip. I wondered about it at the time, about why a fish and chip shop owner would be on a business trip – they don’t do that sort of thing, do they?’

Barry shrugged. ‘Sounds a bit fishy – no pun intended.’

Iris smiled.

‘Go on, Mother, you were saying John was away and you were having dinner.’

‘Yes, well it all started normally. She told me about her work at the pharmacy, I told her what I was doing – you know, my bridge club and bowls and so on. And how I always take Charlie for a good walk every day even when it’s raining.’

Barry smiled and shook his head.

‘Sorry. Your father always said I told a terrible story. Or a good story badly.’ Iris laughed. ‘Anyway, she didn’t seem terribly interested in what I was up to, but she never has. After dinner, she sat me in the sitting room and took her position on the other side of the coffee table and she got out all these brochures.’ Iris felt her eyes filling with tears again. ‘Nursing home brochures.’ She blew her nose.

‘She told me she was worried about me living on my own so far away from her. She said you’d never lift a finger to help me so it was left to her. She wanted me to sell my house and move to a home near her. She’d even called an estate agent to give her an estimate of how much my house is worth.’ Iris wiped her eyes.

‘That’s terrible. But you know, she can’t force you out if you don’t want to go – it’s your house.’ Barry frowned.

‘She threatened to