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‘As in, the middle-class ones like me do,’ I qualify.
‘Well, let’s just say Granddad has no time for mooching about sorting your head out, man.’ Mum smiles as she makes her sort of joke. ‘But I had such ideals of how different I would be with you. And then I got carried away with the idea of you being an Astrophysicist.’
‘Well, it’s not like I wasn’t into it. I loved the telescope.’
‘But I put too much pressure on you…?’
‘It was the maths, pretty much. I wasn’t up for working that hard, not exactly your fault.’ My skin prickles with discomfort. Even though I so resented the pressure at the time, her self-blame trip is unbearable.
But she’s on a roll. ‘And when you dropped out, it feels like I gave up on you, Gethin?’ Her voice shakes and she pauses to take a deep breath.
‘I’ve been such a crap mum,’ she whispers, setting off a churning ache in my stomach.
I glance at the square of sky again. It’s cleared to sheer blue with a few fluffy clouds chasing across it. I imagine lying on my back on a bank of grass. Maybe sharing a spliff with Jarvis on the field behind school. I think about his mum prioritising her crap boyfriends; Jez and the endless rounds of foster kids; Emily saying she’d die for a bit of parental expectation after I said I craved neglect. That feeling when Mum walked in here, that like total security I have never had to question.
I look at her now, literally trying not to fall apart all over me.
‘Mum,’ I start, not sure what to say. ‘The fact that you actually even give a fuck…?’
I grin to cover my awkwardness and she bites her lip, before allowing that wide mouth to break into a smile. She touches my hand, nodding.
I allow her to hold this moment for a few seconds before reaching for a drink. I take a sip of the tepid water, run my tongue round my dry lips.
‘Could murder a cool beer!’ I say.
‘Oh, I don’t think they’ll allow…?’ she starts, so typical.
‘Mum!’ I shout. ‘Take a joke, will you? Fuck’s sake!’
The nurse comes hurrying over.
‘It’s OK,’ I say. ‘We just need a sense of humour transplant for my mother, if you have that procedure?’
‘Ah,’ the nurse beams. ‘We’ve used them all on the doctors round here.’
‘You reckon? Like it!’
‘Good to see you more lively, Gethin. We’ve a side room become available. Don’t ask how, I only sold them your kidney,’ she does a stagey whisper. ‘But we’ll be moving you away from this lot now. Give you and your mam a wee bit of privacy.’
Mum pulls a questioning frown. ‘So, how long do you want to keep him here?’
‘We’ll see what the doctor says tomorrow. But he’s doing well, and he doesn’t need the High Dependency bed now. No-one gets the side room for long, I can tell you.’ She pats me on the arm. ‘Someone will be along shortly to get you shifted, Gethin,’ she says before scooting off round the ward with her checks.
‘Hello, Christopher. What day is it?’
‘Who’s the prime minister?’ I say at the same time as Mum, making her giggle like a schoolgirl.
‘Hey, they did the transplant after all.’
‘Transplant?’ Mum looks all horrified.
‘Aw, fucking hell, Mum.’ Suddenly very weary.
She shuts up for a bit and I listen to the oxygen burble, trying to ignore the headache I’ve just noticed. The sound starts to remind me of that irritating whale music Grace used to play. Must tell Mum about whales. I’m sure it’s relevant to whatever we were talking about. What were we even talking about? Aw, stop thinking!
‘Gethin Williams, is it?’ A foreign sounding voice.
I look to see a giant of a man, with a big red face, handlebar moustache, thick hairy arms poking out of overalls, broad hands holding onto a wheelchair.
