Trying to Pack Me Off – A Mother-Daughter Confrontation Over Skirts, Spa Retreats, and the Weight of…

Trying to Get Rid of Me

What exactly are you wearing? Margaret Collins eyes her daughter up and down, pausing pointedly at her skirt. Its indecently short. At your age, its high time you stopped dressing like a teenager.

Julia instinctively tugged at the hem, although her skirt reached almost to her knees. Its just a regular office pencil skirt, picked up last month in a sale. At the time it felt like a great findclassic cut, neutral colour.

Mum, theres nothing wrong with it, Julia tried to keep the irritation from her voice. I wear it to work.

Exactly. People look and think all sorts. When I was your age

Julia didnt let her finish. Shed heard this a hundred times: about modesty, back in our day, about what proper women ought to look like. Instead of arguing, she placed an envelope on the table, thick and printed with the logo of a travel agent.

This is for you, Mum.

Margaret stops mid-sentence and looks at the envelope, then at her daughter, then back again.

What have you brought now?

Open it.

Julia had been waiting for this moment for half a year. Every spare penny savedno morning lattes, no new shoes, no trips with friends. Shed tracked down that spa in Bath with the grand columns and mineral springs, the very place her mum had always dreamed of visiting. Julia booked the best room, planned every detail.

Margaret draws out the voucher, scans it. Julia waitedmaybe not for a hug, but at least a gentle thank you, a soft glance.

Instead, her mother pursed her lips and nudged the envelope away with just her fingertips, as if it were something dirty.

Once again, youve decided everything for me.

Julia felt her breath catch.

Mum, its Bath. Youve always wanted

And whos going to water my violets? Margaret tapped her nails against the table. Three weeks without me, theyll die.

Ill come by every day.

You work. Youll forget, get swept up. And anyway, they probably serve nothing but cabbage there. Ive read it, these new spas are all about cutting corners.

Julia stared at her mother, uncertain if she was joking or genuinely cross. Six months of skipping coffee, scrimping on anything nice, all for this?

Mum, theyve got a full restaurant. Five dining rooms. Menus to choose from. Massages, a swimming pool, walking trails in the hills

Walking trails, Margaret mimicked, making a face. Youve picked up all the trendy words. Didnt it occur to you to ask me if I even wanted all this?

Julia swallowed hard. She so wantedeven just a modest well done. Something to fuel her for the years shed spent trying to please.

Julia sank into a chair, suddenly weak, as if her whole body had decided she couldnt stand any longer. She stared at the envelope, barely hanging onto the edge of the table where her mum had pushed it.

And that climate, Margaret started pacing the kitchen, fussing with the tablecloth that was already perfectly straight. Its damp there, you know, makes my blood pressure spike. Did you think about that?

Julia didnt answer. For the first time in years, she didnt want to reply. There was this strange new feeling, this refusal to justify herself, washing over her.

And the journey? How longs the train ridehours jostling about? My back couldnt take it, her mother sat back across from her, folding her arms as if bracing for a lengthy debate. Look at our neighbours Chloeshes a wild one, her husbands utterly useless, drinks all day, but at least shes there for her mum. Nips in every day, brings shopping, sits for a cuppa.

Julia studied the lines around her mums mouth, the grey roots beneath the fresh dye, the familiar hands with their swollen veins. Those hands had once plaited her hair for school, those lips sung lullabies. Where had all that gone?

Are you listening to me?

I am, Mum.

Doesnt seem like it. You just sit there like a statue. Im talking about what really matters, and you

Margaret continued rattling off: the spa rooms are cramped nowadays, the neighbours noisy, the doctors clueless just scribbling prescriptions. Julia nodded at the right moments, but inside, her emptiness grew.

The kitchen clock ticked off the minutes. An hour. Over an hour and Margaret was in full flow, moving from the spa complaint to an impressive cataloguelonely evenings, rare phone calls, her daughter being utterly lost to her.

Do you really understand what its like for me, alone here? Margaret tilted her chin. Youre just trying to shunt me out of sight so you can enjoy yourself.

Mum, its a present.

A present! Margaret threw up her hands. A presents meant to be a pleasure. Thisthis is just to soothe your guilty conscience. Ship your Mum off, have a peaceful life, is that it?

Slowly Julia stood up, legs still unsteady, but she forced herself to take the envelope. Her fingers squeezed the heavy paper.

Youre right, Mum. Youd be uncomfortable. Ill return it.

Margaret fell silent. Something like uncertainty flickered through her eyes, as if shed been prepared for a long, drawn-out skirmish, only for her opponent to suddenly lay down arms.

What do you mean, return it?

Exactly that. Ill get the money back. Youre right, I didnt think it through.

Julia, put the envelope back.

Why? You said you dont want to go.

I never said I dont want to go! I said you should have asked me! Margarets voice rose, red splotches rushing to her cheeks. You always do things your way, then wonder why Im upset!

Julia clutched the envelope to her chest and made for the hallway. Her heart hammered in her throat, but a strange resolve kept her steps strong.

Where are you going? Julia! Im talking to you!

Mum, Im tired.

Tired, are you? Margaret rushed after, grabbing her daughters arm. I gave you everything! We went without, your father left us, I raised you alone! And this is the thanks I get?

Julia turned and really looked at her mother at the lips quivering with rage, the pale face, white with fury.

You said yourself you dont want to go.

I said you never asked me!

Alright, Im asking now. Do you want to go to Bath?

Margaret gasped in indignation.

Are you winding me up? Deliberately trying to hurt me? Youre like a robotheartless! Put the voucher back, Ill think about it!

Julia gently released her arm from her mothers grip, but didnt let go of the envelope.

Ill ring you tomorrow, Mum.

And she closed the door before Margaret could answer. Julia heard her mothers shouting through the door as she made her way down the landingsomething about ingratitude, wasted youth, about how Julia would live to regret it. She didnt stop. Her feet moved her down the steps, past peeling letterboxes and passing neighbours.

A fine drizzle hung in the air. Julia lifted her face and let the drops fall on her skin, stood for a moment on the pavement, nose full of the smell of wet tarmac. People hurried by, someone tutted, but Julia didnt care. The voucher was in her hand, and she suddenly thoughtwell, she could use it herself. Bath, those stone columns, Roman baths, breakfast with nobody to scold her.

She wandered aimlessly and stopped outside a small café on the corner. Warm light poured onto white-clothed tables, vases of fresh flowers, people dining quietly, in no particular rush. Julia pushed the door and went in.

Good evening, the waiter gave her a warm, genuine smile. Table for one?

Yes, Julia was surprised how easy the word sounded.

She picked a table against the wall, away from the hum. Sat, smoothed her napkin on her lap, and opened the menu. Her eyes soon found the most expensive puddingpear tart with caramel and salted fudge. She added a glass of bold, rich red wine.

Mum would have called it madness. Money down the drain. Julia pictured the pursed lips, the disapproving look, the endless, In my day Then she placed her order.

The wine was deep, slightly bold on the tongue. Julia sipped and leaned back. A strange feeling spread insidea lightness where for years there had only been weight. She remembered, as a child, how shed feared getting a B, because mum would give her the silent treatment for a week. How shed picked business for uni, not English, because thats not serious enough. How shed spent three years with Tom, whom shed loved, but ended it because her mum was relentlessHes got no future.

The tart was tender, melting. Julia stared at the slow pool of caramel, trying to recall the last time shed done anything just because she wanted to. Not waiting for her mums approval, not chasing a stingy well donebut for herself.

Her phone buzzed in her bag. Again, then again. Seven missed calls from mum, three voicemails. Julia powered it off, without guilt.

She finished the wine, enjoyed every crumb of dessert, and asked for the bill. She left a generous tip, simply because she wanted to, and stepped out onto the night street. The rain had stopped. Above, hints of a clear sky with the first stars poking through.

Julia thoughtthe hardest step, letting herself matter more than other peoples demandsshed already taken.