STALKER

Chapter 37 - 3rd December, 1926 Newlands Corner, Albury, England 9.15 pm

Went off on a tangent to keep you on your toes.

Weirdo's pompous departure left me in a filthy mood. I'm not one for false modesty but that guy redefines arrogance. I filled the rest of the day with one chore after another keeping my mind occupied. After a while, I convinced myself NO he really hadn't suggested a date.

After doing everything I'd put off for a while, including developing my jump photos and buying a heater, I tossed up calling a friend and going for dinner or a movie. In the end, I went over to see my parents. And as things go these days, one thing leads to another, in this case not from A to Z, with all the BCDs in between like normal people; instead in my case, I went from A directly to Z.

The visit started pleasantly enough. Dad and I watched a couple of hours of the Tour de France and chatted about sports. My mum puttered around, served us snacks and beers, and amused herself in the background. When he went off to bed early because he was Teeing off at some ungodly hour with his golfing mates, I went and joined mum. She was binge-watching one of her favourite series....again. This was her thing , watching a series in one sitting into the early hours of the morning.

She and I knew this ritual, we did it often when I was younger. We were TV buddies. Out of all the boys I was the only one who would sit with her and watch the shows she liked. The one she was currently watching I'd seen a couple of times already and there were 13 seasons. That shows you how much I love my mum. It was the Agatha Christie's series "Poirot". She was up to season 4 "Death in the Clouds." I knew the plot off by heart. 

Mum loved all things Agatha Christie, she was obsessed with the author, owned everything she ever wrote in her own name or as Mary Westmacott. She loved Hercule Poirot, hated Miss Marple with a passion, thought Tommy and Tuppence were boring. Her favourite was Captain Hastings. She thought he was sweet. Mum had a theory that Poirot and Hastings were actually the two sides to Agatha herself. Who was I to argue.

I love my mum but watching this particular series is a form of torture. She gets totally invested in every plot line. She stops regularly to give you updates just in case you missed something important, or to tell you to make sure you listen carefully to the next bit because it is, as she loves tosay...signficant. I've tried to remind her that we both know how it ends already, how they all end but apparently that doesn't count. As I said I love my mum, regardless that she has a few screws loose.

Then, probably due to tiredness I made the unforgivable mistake of casually saying "I wandered if she hadn't disappeared if she would be so famous now." Well...did I get an earful. I've made this mistake before and I knew the lecture I  was about to receive...blah blah blah.

.....

I went to bed after we finished watching "One Two Buckle My Shoe." By then mum had stopped sulking. I was spending the night in my old room and she kissed me good night at the door like I was 12 again.

I couldn't sleep, I missed my single bed at home. Lying there, looking at the ceiling I started to think about what we'd watched and how nice it was to be able to share something like that with mum. I would never tell her I don't like Agatha Christie novels or the woman herself to be honest. If her stories are anything to go by she was a snob and definitely a racist. I'll go to my grave with that secret.

Around 2 in the morning I gave up trying to sleep. At some point I decided to jump. A grabbed the big torch that dad keeps for emergencies in the sideboard in the hallway,  and went out my car and pulled out my black coat that I'd planned to take to the dry cleaners. Back in my old bedroom I was ready. I had all I needed. I lit a cigarette, took a deep drag and let myself go.