Nell

Nell pretended she hadn’t seen, of course. As she had shuffled along the hall she first heard the quiet sobs, then round the corner came into view the hunched figure of her grey haired daughter over the shabby kitchen table. On the table lay several papers. Bills. Overdue notices. A newly opened envelope, the latest rejection for social aid. She suspected for Personal Dependance Allowance, which was the last ditch appeal they most recently made. 

Nell lingered, leaning on her frame, uncertain whether to face the room yet. But as she started the laborious process of turning around, Frankie seemed to pull herself together, sitting upright with a graceless sniff, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. Nell thought she had the sudden look of somebody who had come to a decision. She spied as Frankie gathered the paperwork together and patted it into as neat a pile as the crumples and tea stains would allow. Nell cleared her throat, a warning shot that she was coming, and pushed her knees into a semblance of action. 

“Be a dear and turn the kettle on, these bones could do with some warmth,” Nell said as she levered herself down to the chair, thinking to distract her near-elderly child with the task of tea. Instead Frankie’s face fell. 

“I’m sorry Ma, power’s out again.” Nell took in the dimness of the room, not having noticed. She often didn’t notice the power cuts; with or without it her world felt perpetually grey. 

“Oh… not to worry then. Perhaps a blanket instead?” 

Frankie obliged before sitting opposite to open a tin of beans with sausage, which they shared cold. 

“I remember when I was a girl, we’d go camping and share cold beans just like this,” Nell said conspiratorially, winning a weak smile from Frankie.

“I know Ma, you’ve told me.”

“One day you and I will go camping, with a great big fire and marshmallows.”

“I think we’re both a bit beyond that age, Ma.” 

“Nonsense. We’ll sing songs to make us young again.”

Frankie said nothing, but reached a slim vein-lined hand across to Nell’s own chartaceous fingers, giving a gentle squeeze. There was a time, she thought, when Frankie would have laughed and joked too, joining the adventure-in-thought. There was a time her daughter had space for lightness and frivolity. And Nell felt the embracing arms of regret wrap around her, that she was responsible for taking up that space. Frankie would never let on to the unfairness of it all, but Nell felt it keenly on her behalf. Frankie stolidly pressed forward, stubborn as Nell’s own enduring body; the body that was their shared dilemma. As mettlesome as she had been raised to be, she thought, but she had never been raised to metre out a mercy usually left to the authorities, in clinics they couldn’t afford. The price would leave her destitute. What was her right, Nell questioned herself, to take so much from another? Especially when what was taken was so impoverished. No answer came, and they remained at that table in silence, each woman lost to her own ruminations. 

The days that followed graced them with windows of power, allowing brief stints of television to observe the news. Not that Nell found this particularly enjoyable, as it consisted largely of tales of tragedy. Flash flooding and extreme weather; trade wars she didn’t understand; and the ever lasting economic crisis and unaffordable costs of living. But still she watched, because what else was there for her to do? She watched the world crumble as a bystander, disempowered to do anything about it, a creaking lump of eroded organs that refused to give in and make way for the next person, despite how much she sometimes wished it would. Frankie, meanwhile, dutifully attended her role as a pharmacy assistant, and would return exhausted to tackle the housework, hide the post, and make them dinner each night, such as it was. Neither discussed the latest financial blow, or what it would mean. Several times Nell wanted to apologise for being a drain on their meagre resources. But each time the words felt too obvious, and far too inadequate, to say. And Frankie, she knew, would never raise it. Instead she sat a redundant appliance, expensive to run and no longer earning her keep; better to turn it off at the wall.

“Ma,” Frankie interrupted Nell’s dozing, “I picked up your medications. The doctor changed the script, so there’s a new pill now.” Nell found this curious; it had been a long time since they could afford a doctors visit. But perhaps they had reviewed her in absentia. She studied Frankie’s face, which held drawn lips and a slight frown amidst the wrinkles. A reflection of the determination she had seen the week before. Nell nodded. Frankie took the brown paper bag she held into the next room and Nell listened to the clicking sounds of pills being dropped into their daily containers, before Frankie bought the dosset box back to her.

“You missed this morning’s dose,” she pointed to the full compartment. Nell didn’t particularly recall that morning, though she thought it had been empty before. 

“So I did, Frankie, so I did,” she agreed.

“You should probably take double now, just in case, don’t you think?”

Nell paused to think through this recommendation.

“Yes, that might be safest,” accepting her daughter’s wisdom. She struggled open both the Tuesday ‘am’ and ‘pm’ lids, and tipped the collection into her hand. Multiple small powdery white tablets. 

“I’m glad you’re here, Frankie, for they all look the same to me.” 

As she cupped her palm to her mouth a few tablets spilled on to the faded carpet, victims of her perpetual tremors. 

Frankie stooped to collect them. 

“Don’t worry Ma, I checked them myself,” and she held the glass of water steady so that Nell might drink them down more easily. “Would you like a cup of tea? The power’s on, and there was sugar at the supermarket today.” 

“That sounds wonderful,” Nell closed her eyes until she was disturbed again by the rattle of a spoon in a mug. The tea was hot and syrupy with a generous dose of extra sweetness and only the faintest bitter aftertaste. With each sip her pain diminished.

“How is it, Ma?”

“It is peaceful,” Nell replied. She felt cushioned. Heavy, but not in the usual stiff sort of way. She opened her eyes to realise she must have closed them again. The mug sat empty, a few bitty looking dregs left. Frankie knelt before her with red rimmed eyes, a warm hand resting on Nell’s arm. 

“I’m glad you’re here.” And she was. She felt an abundance of love for the strong woman she had raised, mixed with the sadness of the world that Nell had brought her in to, not entirely unknowingly. 

“I’m here, Ma.” 

Nell smiled as her mind showed her the crackling blaze before them, at the aroma of melting sugar on charred sticks. The open sky of stars welcoming her to whatever came next. Her child laughed and shouted in a dance, small and sprightly and unstoppable, flittering in and out of the scene. She laughed too, an unhindered sound of joy. She sat on a blanket of soft grass, pleasantly temperate, and ten year old Frankie ran towards her. A woman’s hitched voice came out of her mouth:

“You understand, don’t you, Ma?”

Yes, she understood. Benign gratitude rose in the smoke of the campfire, thanking her child for her transgression. Briefly she hoped it would not bring her to trouble, but that worry was ephemeral, quickly lost in the expanse of the fields. She smiled somewhere back in a darkening room, where her heart beat slowed and her breath meandered. Yes, it was the right decision. Nell hoped Frankie also understood as much as she did. She reached out her final words to comfort her kin, to reassure that all would be well.

 “Keep being brave, Frankie.”