Tableland by D. E. Harker Page B

call her “Nancy” but somehow found this too familiar and the word “Mother” seemed to get stuck in my throat so I have developed a technique of not calling her anything, and have a nasty feeling that one day my sins will find me out. Be that as it may, “she” arrived on the 6.30 from Manchester. I had to pick Julie and Trevor up after work and we had a wild dash through the rush hour traffic to Lime Street Station in Liverpool.
    As luck would have it, we got stuck in a traffic jam and, despite one or two crafty short cuts, by the time we rushed on to the platform, we could see the train had arrived. Suffice to say we heard her before we saw her – she being deep in conversation with fellow passenger.
    We bundled her and her baggage into the car and set off. Her husband had been something in ‘plastic bags’ and had obviously left her well endowed with the fruits of his trade as she had never appeared without at least three.
    It wasn’t until we were halfway home that she drew breath for a minute and, during that minute, Julie and I both shouted together ‘Where’s Bri?’
    â€˜Oh, I forgot to tell you, he couldn’t come after all.’
    (Felt extreme relief at this, but very annoyed when I remembered all the trouble we’d gone to with the beds.)
    â€˜Why couldn’t he come?’ asked Julie.
    â€˜Well, he’s got the offer of a job at Butlin’s – a Red Coat – and he had to go to Pwllheli for an interview and audition with his guitar.’
    Don’t see Bri as a healthy, clean-living, extroverted Red Coat, somehow. Last time I saw him his hair was almost down to his waist, very greasy, and he was covered in beads. However, I said pleasantly enough – ‘Hope he lands the job’ and Julie said, ‘Perhaps he’ll pop over and see us in a week or two then’ and I gave her one of my looks.
    Julie showed her mother up to her room and they then made a detailed tour of the house, Julie pointing out all its attractions.
    After supper, I settled back to watch Sportsview but Julie quickly switched over to the other station.
    â€˜Mum wants to watch the serial on the other side,’ she explained, but we were unable to hear a word due to constant talk.
    March 12th – Thursday
    â€˜We’ve got some delicious kipper fillets for breakfast,’ I announced heartily this morning over the cornflakes but it didn’t seem to appeal.
    â€˜Oh no, thank you all the same – nasty, smelly things. Just a lightly-boiled egg and two thin pieces of toast, dear,’ Mother said to Julie. ‘Though I usually have three hot rolls with plenty of butter at home.’
    Dashed off before the others had finished breakfast as arrangements re Mr McTartan had been changed and I was to meet him at the airport at 9.30 am, generally make myself agreeable to him, show him the factory and entertain him all day.
    Due to a “sit in or walk out” at Manchester Airport, the plane was one hour late. This fact, and a disgusting, thick rusty-tasting cup of tea, put me in an unpleasant mood.
    When the passengers alighted from the plane, I spotted a bluff sort of fellow in a loud check jacket and a red face. Approached him and said in a friendly manner, ‘Mr McTartan, I presume.’ He turned on me quite rudely, saying, ‘Don’t be cheeky with me, sonny.’
    When Mr McTartan and I finally made contact, I was in an uncertain temper. He was a small, meek man with spectacles and a pin-striped suit – eager to get on with the job in hand.
    Car kept stalling on leaving the airport, whereupon Mr McT did not endear himself to me by telling me exactly what I was doing wrong. Was going to say, ‘I think you’ll allow me to know my own car, thank you’ but bit my lip.
    If he was impressed by International Consolidated Timber, he didn’t show it.
    â€˜What you need is a time and motion study expert and