Part 7-in which a monster calls!

I eventually called my parents on Friday evening after numerous glasses of 'dutch courage'. As predicted mum went MENTAL!

Her first words when I explianed to her that my husband of three years had up-and-left me?...

'What have you done Ruby? Oh, Doreen Wilton is going to love this! Her daughter is getting married in the Grand Palace Hotel next weekend, there are 250 going'.

I failed to compute. But this was typical of my mother. All she would be concerned about is what people would think.

'Your father and I will be over first thing in the morning to try and sort this mess out before it gets out of control'.

'NO MUM....' I screamed down the line as she began to blabber on about doing all she could to rescue her good reputation amongst the ladies guild. But i knew she would come anyway, and I was just too exhausted to argue. I opened a fresh bottle of wine and prepared myself for the day to come....

....Not a great idea! I wasn't exactly prepared to be awoken from my drunken unconciousness by my mother thumping rather unpleasantly on my front door first thing.
'GO AWAY' I wanted to shout, but I knew from experience that resistance was futile.

Within minutes my mother was pacing my livingroom while at the same time firing questions at me (while I lay slumped horizontally on the sofa) like a German officer:

-'Why has he left you'?
  -'How many people know about this'?
 -'Is there anybody else involved'?

As she asked that last one she looked disapprovingly towards me and waited, already certain in her own mind that this was all my fault. I suppose I really should be grateful for small mercies-at least she wasn't commenting on how messy the place was as she usually did!

When I told her that Mark had left me for another woman and had already been spotted at the theatre with said woman by none other than Minty Badminton she began to hyperventilate!
I didn't rush to her rescue.
And my father-who is commonly known to all friends and aquaintances as 'long suffering'-remained seated and silent.

We were used to her. Used to the drama, the coldness, the lack of any thought or feeling for her own flesh and blood.
But still, when I'm already feeling so rejected and unloved, it would have been nice to have a mother who cared about me, rather than just what the society ladies will think.
What can you do?

You'd think I'd have learnt to get over it by now:

Once, when I was about 14, my mother encouraged me to join the tennis club and become friends with the daughter of a wealthy family of 'standing' who also attended. The girl -Ruthie King-was quite spolit and arrogant and not someone I would  have chosen to spend time with, but mother was insistant, telling me it would be good for our social standing if I could get us all invited to dinner.

I was hanging out with this Ruthie girl, against my will obviously, in town one Saturday, window shopping and such, when she was stopped by a security guard in a big department store for shop-lifting!
I mean, shop-lifting-with all the money she had! What was the point?
Naive thing that I was back then, I was in total shock, and when she gave the security guard my mothers name and address instead of her own-winking at me as she did-I said nothing, sure that she was going to get into major trouble! And happy to watch on.

But her clever ingenuity paid off! She must have known my mother better than I did back then because after a few crocodile tears she managed to convince my mother that it was in fact I who had lead her into bad ways, and my mother hardly wasted a minute before agreeing that of course a common guttersnipe such as her own daughter must indeed be the rotten apple here!

She actually begged Ruthie not to tell her parents about the episode for fear that they would stop her seeing me! Refusing point blank to even consider that I might be telling the truth when I protested any involvement.

She never even got her invite to the 'big' house because after that day I refused to go near Ruthie and that was the end of her connection to the family, although she did keep trying to wangle her way in-to no avail.


It was after that day that I simply stopped telling my mother anything about my life, knowing that she would only see the worst anyway, and always blame me for whatever went wrong.

We have never been close.

But for some bizarre reason I seem unable to shake her off completely and still have to put up with her constant judgements and desperate need to be 'someone'. It truly is infuriating but why should I have any better luck in my attemps when my father has not managed to shake her off after 35 years! Poor him!

When she eventually managed to calm down enough to speak again my mother declared that the only possible solution was  for me to swallow my pride and take my wayward husband back-for the sake of the family!

I could do nothing but laugh!

'How can I take him back you ridiculous woman'? I screeched, cat-like. 'He bloody well left me'!

Thankfully this seemed to shut her up and without any further time wasted in comforting her only daughter my mother trounced out of my house, determined to 'sort' things before 'everyone' finds out! My father toddled behind her with his tail between his legs! I breathed a sigh of relief but the silence she left in her wake has reminded me of just how very alone I really am...