A Holiday Away from Mum

Do you not want to spend the holiday with me? she asked, her voice edged with disappointment. Youve booked a separate trip for me on purpose, so I cant cling onto you, is that it?

Simon froze, his throat suddenly dry.

Mother, I told youIm going away with Emma. Weve been planning this for months. It isnt that Im trying to avoid you we simply want a holiday for the two of us.

The evenings at Simons flat often began the same way: a futile attempt to reach his mother on the telephone. Her favourite pastime was guess why Im upset this time. Tonight, however, the puzzle was far more puzzling, for Simon had no clue what could have gone wrong.

Earlier that day they had spoken, everything had seemed fine.

Mother, whats wrong? he asked, finally getting through. Ive been dialing for half an hour! Are you all right? Did something happen to you?

Margaret Whitmore merely sniffed into the receiver.

What do you mean? Simon pressed.

Figure it out yourself, she replied curtly. Youve forgotten something, havent you?

I havent forgotten anything, Mum. What are you talking about? A familiar feeling of helplessness washed over him. Whenever Margaret was cross, he felt as helpless as a child who can only whimper.

He ran through the possible offenses. Had he failed to send a birthday card? Which birthday? Had his tone been too harsh? No

Mother, whats the matter?

She finally conceded:

It was nine oclock, Simon! You promised to call me at nine, yet you didnt ring until ten! I waited an entire hour! One whole hour! Can you imagine that? You never think of your old mother, do you?

Simon pressed his forehead against a stack of papers. Nine. Ten. He remembered. He had been stuck in a meeting with colleagues, the discussion ran long, and he truly had lost track of time. Yet to treat it as a theatrical tragedy?

Mother, Im sorry, truly. I got caught up. We

So you got caught up? Margaret interrupted. And I, what? I just sat there waiting for my precious son, who apparently has a schedule so packed that he can only spare a minute to remember his mother!

Mother, you know I love you. Its just

I know, I know, she said, drawing out each word. You love me. But your love, it seems, has its own timetable. If I dont remind you of myself, youll never call. It simply isnt in your agenda. Brilliant logistics, Simonjust topnotch theatrics!

If only an apology would suffice but no. He could already feel the weight of past transgressions looming, a lecture on what a proper son ought to be, and a guilty sting he could not quite place. He had missed a call by an hour; it was not the end of the world.

Alright, Mother. Ill never forget again. I swear it.

Promises mean little, Simon. How many times have you promised and not kept them?

When was the last time I promised and didnt follow through?

Remember when you were in Year Six

And so it began.

Simon recalled that, for his mother, the smallest oversights transformed into catastrophes. Forgetting to take out the rubbish meant he disrespected her. Buying the wrong brand of sausage was a sign of his inattentiveness to her tastes. Margaret excelled at turning the mundane into the absurd, and Simon, much to his misfortune, was her sole pupil.

Their relationship was patched together by endless apologies, concessions, and, of course, gifts.

Hows mum? Did you make up? Emma asked one evening.

Yes, but at what cost Simon sighed.

Try to see it philosophically. You cant change your mother, Emma reminded him gently. She was kind, understanding, lovinga woman who never threw a fit over a missed call, who respected his time and his decisions.

Indeed, you cant change her, Simon agreed. What Im really curious about now is the holiday. Where shall we go?

Simon, Emma replied, Ive been looking at some lastminute deals. What sounds good to you? How long shall we stay? A week?

Simon smiled. A break with Emma was exactly what the doctor had prescribed; his mind felt knotted and tired.

Anything you like. You choose.

Hmm perhaps a week on the Spanish coast? Or maybe Malta? Theres a decent hotel, flights leaving in a month, just in time for your vacation

Lets see what else is on offer. The most important thing is that well enjoy ourselves, Emma said.

Before booking, Simons thoughts drifted back to his mother. He knew she would never forgive him so easily. Suddenly an idea struck him.

Emma, what if we also bought a separate package for Mum? A different resort, of course, but a chance for her to get away as well?

Emma looked at him, surprised.

You sure? She

Yes, Im sure. Trust me, well all be calmer if she has her own break.

Simon decided that the best solution was to purchase a lovely seaside retreat for Margaret in Cornwall, complete with sea views and glowing reviewsexactly the sort of place she adored.

He dialed her number, cheeks flushed with a mix of guilt and anticipation.

Mum! Ive got good news!

Whats the occasion? Why should I be dancing? Margaret snapped. Because my son finally remembered his old mother and bothered to call?

No, Mum. Im buying you a holiday. A seaside break. Youll be staying in a nice guesthouse for two weeks while Emma and I head off to Malta.

There was no triumphant gasp of joy, only a cold silence.

What what are you saying? Margaret sputtered.

Yes, Mum! Ive booked you a twoweek stay in a splendid Cornwall guesthouse. While Emma and I fly to Malta.

Perhaps he should have mentioned at the airport that he wasnt travelling with her.

Youre not taking me with you on holiday? Margarets voice hardened. Youve booked a separate trip just to keep me from tagging along? Are you trying to dump me so you can have a quiet break with Emma?

Simon clapped his hands over his face. How could she turn this around? How could she accuse him of wanting to rid himself of her when he was actually arranging a gift?

Mum I just want you to have a rest too. Whats wrong with that?

I dont need a holiday on your terms, Simon! I need a holiday with you. I wanted to spend time with my son, not send him off as though I were a burden.

He pressed his forehead into his hands, feeling his world tilt.

Again youve turned everything upside down Margaret muttered.

You know, Simon, she continued, her voice softening, perhaps Im no longer the person you needed when you were a child.

Silence fell, final and heavy.

Alright, Mum. I hear you, Simon said. The phrase I hear you was one he used at work, and now he had nothing better to say.

He hung up.

Emmas voice crackled through the line a moment later.

Whats that? Mum again?

Yes, Simon exhaled, Mum again.

What now? Did she not like the gift?

She wont travel alone! Shes offended, saying Im shuffling her off somewhere. She wants us to be together.

Emma let out a quiet laugh.

Simon, she just wants you close, always. Youre her only son. She cant imagine being without you.

Simon felt Emmas amusement was misplaced. He was trying to keep his mother from intruding on his marriage, yet now the tension spilled over to her as well.

I cant spend every moment with her. I have my own life, I have you.

I know, love. But for her it feels like youre drifting away.

What am I supposed to do? Stay under her skirt forever?

No, of course not. But perhaps you should sit down and talk to her first?

Ive tried, Emma. She wont listen.

Simon maybe you know your mother better than you think. If not for her, then for anyone else, you cant change her mind.

In the end, Simon and Emma flew to their longawaited Maltese resort, while Margaret, as expected, called her sister Vera and complained about her ungrateful son.

Vera, you wouldnt believe it! My Simon I have no words. He bought me a holiday in Cornwall!

Eh thats nice, isnt it? You wanted a break, didnt you?

I wanted us to go together. But hes off with Emma, far away! Im sure the tickets were deliberately booked to different destinations so I wouldnt be a nuisance.

Vera, seasoned in such family dramas, gave a hesitant nod.

Of course they want a bit of privacy. Al, dont be angry, but youd be meddling if you tried to join them.

I? Im not meddling! I gave birth to him. I raised him. And now he shoves me aside! The maddening part, Vera, is that he doesnt even understand why Im hurt. He thinks I simply fancy quarrels for no reason Thats how we live, Vera. Ive given him everything, and still get nothing in return

Vera offered a sympathetic smile, as if to say she understood, and the conversation drifted into the familiar, weary lull of a mothers lament.