The Boy at the End of the Bed

1. Like looking through water

Martha sat on the edge of the sofa and cocked her head to one side,

"It's like looking through water," she said.

"What do you mean, mum?"

"Water," she repeated.

"Not blurry?"

"No, Helen. Water." Martha began to get agitated, "If I look at the edge of the TV there's a kink in it. It's still clear, well, sort of." With her glasses on and one hand covering her better eye, she pointed with a crooked finger over at the the TV as though her daughter could see the same, then she turned round and pointed at the kitchen door, "and the door frame is all wonky as well."

"Wonky?"

Martha immediately removed her hand covering her good eye and frowned at her daughter, "Are you going to repeat everything I say?"

"No, mum, I'm just trying to understand. What do you think it is? Is it your glasses? Let me have a look them, there may be a scratch on the lens. Or perhaps they need changing again. When did you last have your eyes tested?"

"I had them tested just over a month ago," came the curt reply.

"Well, maybe it's the new glasses then. Maybe the lens has a fault in it."

"I didn't get a new pair, my optometrist told me the prescription hadn't changed enough."

"Oh, so these are the old ones you are wearing, then?"

"For someone who is a headteacher you can be really dim, sweetheart." Martha smirked with her usual air of sarcasm.

"And for someone who was a headteacher you are so bloody stubborn! So stop being crotchety and acting like an old woman."

"I am an old woman."

"Yes, well you certainly are today," replied Helen.

"And for what it's worth, so are you."

"I'm fifty, mum, that's not old."

"In my day, anyone over forty-five was considered old."

"So seventy-eight must be seriously ancient then?" Her mother rolled her eyes whilst Helen continued,

"Now, did he, she, the optometrist, did he say if you had anything wrong then? Cataracts perhaps? A few of your friends have had cataract operations recently, maybe that's what it is?"

"Two friends at Bridge does not make a few. Besides, it's not a cataract. Margaret said her vision came over all misty."

"And this isn't misty?" asked Helen. Her mother shook her head and got up from the sofa,

"No, wonky, watery, definitely not misty," Martha replied on her way into the kitchen, "and it's not the specs either."

Martha disappeared into the kitchen and Helen could hear the sound of the tap running. She shook her her head with frustration, "How do you know that, mum?" she shouted after her.

"Because the TV is still wonky when I take my glasses off."

"Ah, so it's the eyes that need changing then?" Helen retaliated smugly.

Martha's head appeared round the kitchen door. "Quit with the sarcasm."

"Well, that trait I most certainly inherited from you, not dad." Helen disappeared through to the hallway to get her handbag.

Martha continued to potter about in the kitchen and Helen soon returned with her bag and her phone. "Should we be taking you to the doctor's then? Or would you rather go back to the opticians? Which one shall it be?"

Her mother reappeared with a tray sporting a teapot, milk jug, mugs and a plate of digestive biscuits. Everything required to ride out a crisis, thought Helen.

"The optician," replied Martha, setting the tray on the coffee table, "and her name is Celia Young. Remember her? I think you taught both her and her brother."

"Yes, I do, bright girl. Both she and her brother, Toby."

"Yes, that's right, straight-A students both of them, weren't they," it was a statement rather than a question.

"That's right. Toby ended up in London studying engineering, I think and Celia went off to Cardiff, if I recall. So, she's an optometrist now?"

"Yes, and works back at the practice in the town."

"It doesn't feel that long since she left the junior school, let alone return from university," Helen sighed, pouring the tea.

"And the rest. She's been qualified five years or so now. Very able, too, lovely manner, just like her mother."

"So, it's back to the opticians then?"

"Yes, yes I think so." Martha dunked a digestive in her hot tea and sat back in her usual chair and looked out of the window. Helen watched her whilst sipping her tea. As her mother looked out of the window she closed one eye, then the other, comparing the pictures from both eyes, then she leaned over from her easy chair and picked up a packet of cigarettes from her handbag.

"Mum, I thought we had an agreement." remarked Helen angrily.

"Oh, yes, sorry. No smoking till you've gone." Martha said as though she was a child being chided by a parent and then went on to murmur something unintelligible under her breath. Helen chose to ignore her. The long term battle of asking her mother to quit smoking was as onerous now as it had been when she lived in the family home as a teenager. Her mother argued that as she had had no ill health as a consequence of smoking for over fifty years, she had no intentions of ever giving it up. Instead, she agreed not to smoke in front of her family either in her own home or in theirs.

"You'll find the phone book back in the hall," Martha remarked, indicating she had no desire of making the appointment herself.

"It's ok mum, I'll just look up the number on my phone."

"Whatever," she replied grumpily and threw the cigarettes back into her open handbag. Martha continued to look out into the garden whilst her daughter called the practice on her behalf.

"Hello? Yes, I'm calling on behalf of my mother. Helen stopped, is that you Charlotte? Hi, yes, it Helen Cochrane, here. Yes, yes, fine thank you. But it's about mum. Can I have a word with the optometrist if she's free? Oh, she's not in today? Yes, I'll have a word with him if that ok? Yes, yes, I'll hold."

Helen covered the receiver and whispered, "Celia Young is not in today, but there's a another chap. Are you happy to see him?"

Martha thought about it for a moment then nodded, "I might as well." she said as she began nibbling on a second biscuit.

Within a minute or two Helen hung up.

"The other optometrist thinks it would be better if you could pop in at the end of the day. He's got a cancellation and suggests it would be a good idea if he could check the back of your eyes. Charlotte says he might need to put some drops in to make your pupils bigger, so I should drive you there and back."

"Charlotte?"

"One of the Thomsons? You remember her? Huge family. Famers from over Chebury way. Always had nits." Martha nodded.

"Have you got time to do all this for me, today?" asked Martha, "I know you had shopping to do."

"The shopping can wait, mum. This is more important."

"Thank you, dear. More tea?" And she leaned over and poured them both a second cup.