‘The lorry’s back again mum. It’s even bigger than last time. ‘
Lorries don’t grow I wanted to say but instead, I just passed Fred another sandwich with the half-empty pickle jar. His favourite. Charlie held out a hand, engrossed in her phone, wordless as usual. Maybe you could get some bread tomorrow after college I said. She didn’t answer so I passed her another tuna sandwich. I had become a waitress to my teenage children: Compensating for what couldn’t be reversed. Or bettered.
Outside the lorry groaned mournfully under the weight of its heaving machinery. Grit was percolating in its stomach. The noise invaded our living room. Sombre, savage, sad. Then gears shifted and the lorry’s orange and red lights began flashing in a strangely festive sequence, dancing after one another, chasing after the darkness above our heads, anointing our heads. I bowed mine for a moment and released a silent prayer.
I lifted my head. Fred and Charlie were sat together now. They both looked up and smiled. When had they last done that together? I coughed. Bought some time. My skull bathed in orange heat. Ah yes. ‘Must be a hard frost tomorrow Even Rimy ice maybe. The lorry’s making us safe. ‘
Fred and Charlie watched me. Was that the longest sentence I had spoken in a while? Probably. How I needed to reassure my children always. Perfectly understandable my therapist said. It’s a necessary stage.
Inspired by my praise, the lorry’s orange lights grew even brighter now. dazzling our rather bare-looking living room which remained devoid of Christmas decorations.
The children had given up asking me. The box was still in his shed. That had been his job because he was better at everything wasn’t he- except love.
Christmas was a week away. Neighbours kept leaving mince pies on the porch step out of kindness or because my house drained the street of jollity. They’d even left a bottle of sherry. Crofter’s original no less. No expense spared for the family in distress.
Now the lorry was beginning to move slowly along the near pavement: taking its time, fully in control, waiting.
‘Do you think we could go out and look?’ said Fred getting off the sofa and taking my hand.
Fred’s such a lovely son. He says we a lot. It’s a nice we.
‘We could say hello I suppose.’ My hand trembles in his.
‘So, we could. So, we could.’
Charlotte nods. She approves.
‘Should I change out of my slippers?’ I ask. My front door seems a long, long way down the hall. But it’s leaking light. Beckoning us. Me.
Fred releases my hand my hand and unbolts the door with my old key. He’s even oiled it, bless him. We step onto the path together and the lorry is there at my gate. All lit up. A door opens. The air feels fragrant, warm. I will be able to breathe again. Fred pushes me forward. ‘After you mum. You go first. See you soon. ‘
