Jemima part 1

"There was always something odd about him." My mother said, looking at me over the top of her blue teacup as she held it under her nose with both hands. Her engagement ring glittered and glowered at me from her slim, highly manicured finger.

I was tempted to tell her that there was something odd about her husband too, not just his brother. But then I thought better of it. He had asked her to marry him on Tuesday last week. The day his brother had been committed.

My mother likes to avoid scandal at all costs, so I was surprised to see she was still flashing the huge diamond around. Perhaps it was big enough to forgive the fact that her new husband had a murderer for a brother. 

Her silver bracelet clinked against the delicate saucer as she replaced her cup. She tucked one loose strand of hair behind her ear and looked back up at me. For a second it was like looking at mum from years ago. I saw fresh concern and life dancing in her green eyes.

As I pushed my too long fringe out of my eyes, I suddenly realised where the concern had come from. She couldn't hold it in, you could see it growing behind her eyes.

"I liked your hair long".

Backhanded compliment. What could you say to that? I settled for "Yeah, I know." 

Despite the fact that I make more of an effort when I come to see my mother, than I do when I go on a night out with my friends, she still makes me feel awkward and bulky. Too big for the space, for the chair, like a hunched giant who has just got out of bed and on top of that, let themselves go. 

My dad had died when I was 14 years old. Part of mum left when he did. That was when she started taking up a lot of bad habits. Filling the void that dad had left her with material objects, shopping bags and expensive holidays. Her vanity had taken over, and she was just what you saw on the surface. I couldn't reach past her shell any more.