A son who is unable to detach entirely from his mother and to fully love his wife.
‘Which would be fine,’ Sue says, and I can hear she’s close to tears, ‘but now she’s determined to find fault with the way I do things.’
Personally, I would have refused to have her move in at all, is what I’m thinking. It’s not as if the mother-in-law needs care like my father does. And, though I love him dearly, I
don’t even have
him
in the house. It’s thanks to the flat that I’ve been willing to have him nearby. But I don’t give my opinion – that’s not what
I’m here for. I’m just a facilitator.
It’s something Max loves to hear about. My position at the mic, listening, suggesting, analysing – but keeping my true opinions hidden. He likes me to tell him what I really think of
these conundrums – it’s one of the things we laugh about when we’re together.
The discrepancy between what I say, and what I think.
‘Right, Sue,’ I say. ‘We have Donald on the phone who wants to make a suggestion.’
Donald is, I suspect, one of our regulars. I recognise his voice, though he changes his name each time he phones in. He’s one of those who love to offer advice, a psychotherapist
manqué who spends his whole time listening for opportunities to offer spurious solutions to problems he hasn’t – and wouldn’t ever, or so he maintains – have to deal
with himself. Or maybe he’s moved to phone simply so he can hear his own voice on air. There are plenty of those.
‘You’ve got to write up a contract,’ Donald says. ‘Make it clear what you’re prepared to provide, and what you expect in return. All parties must sign
it.’
‘Well, there’s a thought, Sue. Now we’ve got Marcia who’s had a similar experience. Over to you, Marcia.’
This morning the scenario’s genuine, but lots of nutters phone in. Gina filters the more extreme cases, but there are those with problems that make the programme all the more lively,
people who enjoy sexual practices that lend the programme a salacious appeal that just slips through censorship. Foot fetishists or people looking for sex with no strings attached, women
who’ve discovered that their sister is really their mother. I’m amazed that people are prepared to reveal their problems over the radio, ignoring the fact that the whole of the
south-east might be listening in. I’m astonished that they confide, that they feel I’m their friend, someone they’ve never met and know nothing about. I wonder why they
haven’t got friends they can talk to in private about these things. But I know I’m a construct for each of them; they make me what they’d like me to be. A sort of omniscient
goddess figure . . . Theodora Gentleman. And to hand it to them, my listeners are appreciative. I get hundreds of emails, texts and tweets thanking me, even some grateful handwritten letters from
older listeners.
Rachel comes over as I’m about to leave.
‘Well done, Dora,’ she says. ‘Things are going so well for you. I’m talking to the directors later and hope I’ll have some good news.’
I think of Max, his pride at my success. I think of my siblings, how, though they’re all better off than me, they’ve always been in awe of my career.
Even Daddy will surely recognise how well I’ve done, through the mists of his decaying mind?
It’s all falling into place.
And in a way, I think, as I make my way home to see how Daddy got on today, it’s all possible now, because Mona’s come.
CHAPTER TEN
When the old man’s had his breakfast I go back to the main house, hoping to spend a little time in Dora’s bathroom, and come face to face with the son. For a few
moments we stand and stare at each other, saying nothing. Now he’s standing I see he’s tall with broad shoulders and a large stomach. Dressed in a T-shirt, track-suit bottoms and thick
socks. His eyes are cold and his face pale. A tide rises up – a fear that grips me though its
‘Which would be fine,’ Sue says, and I can hear she’s close to tears, ‘but now she’s determined to find fault with the way I do things.’
Personally, I would have refused to have her move in at all, is what I’m thinking. It’s not as if the mother-in-law needs care like my father does. And, though I love him dearly, I
don’t even have
him
in the house. It’s thanks to the flat that I’ve been willing to have him nearby. But I don’t give my opinion – that’s not what
I’m here for. I’m just a facilitator.
It’s something Max loves to hear about. My position at the mic, listening, suggesting, analysing – but keeping my true opinions hidden. He likes me to tell him what I really think of
these conundrums – it’s one of the things we laugh about when we’re together.
The discrepancy between what I say, and what I think.
‘Right, Sue,’ I say. ‘We have Donald on the phone who wants to make a suggestion.’
Donald is, I suspect, one of our regulars. I recognise his voice, though he changes his name each time he phones in. He’s one of those who love to offer advice, a psychotherapist
manqué who spends his whole time listening for opportunities to offer spurious solutions to problems he hasn’t – and wouldn’t ever, or so he maintains – have to deal
with himself. Or maybe he’s moved to phone simply so he can hear his own voice on air. There are plenty of those.
‘You’ve got to write up a contract,’ Donald says. ‘Make it clear what you’re prepared to provide, and what you expect in return. All parties must sign
it.’
‘Well, there’s a thought, Sue. Now we’ve got Marcia who’s had a similar experience. Over to you, Marcia.’
This morning the scenario’s genuine, but lots of nutters phone in. Gina filters the more extreme cases, but there are those with problems that make the programme all the more lively,
people who enjoy sexual practices that lend the programme a salacious appeal that just slips through censorship. Foot fetishists or people looking for sex with no strings attached, women
who’ve discovered that their sister is really their mother. I’m amazed that people are prepared to reveal their problems over the radio, ignoring the fact that the whole of the
south-east might be listening in. I’m astonished that they confide, that they feel I’m their friend, someone they’ve never met and know nothing about. I wonder why they
haven’t got friends they can talk to in private about these things. But I know I’m a construct for each of them; they make me what they’d like me to be. A sort of omniscient
goddess figure . . . Theodora Gentleman. And to hand it to them, my listeners are appreciative. I get hundreds of emails, texts and tweets thanking me, even some grateful handwritten letters from
older listeners.
Rachel comes over as I’m about to leave.
‘Well done, Dora,’ she says. ‘Things are going so well for you. I’m talking to the directors later and hope I’ll have some good news.’
I think of Max, his pride at my success. I think of my siblings, how, though they’re all better off than me, they’ve always been in awe of my career.
Even Daddy will surely recognise how well I’ve done, through the mists of his decaying mind?
It’s all falling into place.
And in a way, I think, as I make my way home to see how Daddy got on today, it’s all possible now, because Mona’s come.
CHAPTER TEN
When the old man’s had his breakfast I go back to the main house, hoping to spend a little time in Dora’s bathroom, and come face to face with the son. For a few
moments we stand and stare at each other, saying nothing. Now he’s standing I see he’s tall with broad shoulders and a large stomach. Dressed in a T-shirt, track-suit bottoms and thick
socks. His eyes are cold and his face pale. A tide rises up – a fear that grips me though its
Similar Books
