Mothers and Daughters

Saturday promises to be another warm day, by seven o'clock the sun is shining brightly from a clear blue sky. Dog roses have started to bloom in the hedge next to the field, they are a delicate pink when first open but then turn a buttery white with exposure to the light. I am now reluctant to trim the hedge, although the hawthorn shoots and twigs are almost two feet high and obscure my view. We collect Nellie and Betty from their house, as arranged, at a quarter to nine and then make our way through the snickett and on to Carr Lane. Because of the heat, Norman walks under the shade of the willows and once we are over the little bridge, he is glad to regain the shade of "almost straight wood". In the wood it is cool and shady and through the trees, we can see the green wheat in the fields beyond, it will soon ripen, if the summer weather persists. Betty and I talk about her upcoming trip to Antarctica in the New Year, last year she did a sponsored parachute jump, but tells me she wouldn't walk through these woods or Burton Bushes on the Westwood, at night. I tease her about the incongruity of her courage in large things and irrational fears of the familiar, everyday, risks we all face. "Surely with a bobby for a husband you know that the fear of crime is hugely exaggerated", I say. She laughs and tells me that knowledge doesn't necessarily make you feel safer. I suspect it is the media to blame, once we only got bad news from our local area, now we get it from all over the world. Later I wonder if her restless energy and bravado perhaps masks an inability to come to terms with her loss. A sort of displacement activity. We each cope with things in our own way. We return shortly before ten and I decide it will be too hot for Normy on the market today, so leave him with a plentiful supply of water and the garden room door open, before cycling into Beverley. It takes less than twenty minutes and the cooling breeze, produced by the speed of the bike, feels most pleasant against my skin. At the footbridge over the river Hull, I defy the bylaw and weave my bike through the barriers, without dismounting, as the bridge is deserted. On the riverbank are several anglers sitting in meditative stillness and further down the river several white rowing boats, that can be hired for £10 an hour, a recent venture by some enterprising soul, but I have yet to see anyone rowing. Perhaps £10 is a little steep. As I pass Swinemoor common, the horses and ponies are grazing in the water meadows, which are thick with yellow buttercups and a family of donkeys, including two foals, gaze up at me as I ride by, with their gentle, sad, eyes. The glorious weather has brought crowds of people to market, everyone in a sort of holiday mood, and a coach disgorges people outside the Poppy Seed, as I fasten my bike to the wall. It is race day and the first event takes place around two o'clock. By the sounds of the Geordie accents, this coach has come from Newcastle. Felicity is inside, her straw hat on the table and an empty plate of scrambled eggs waiting to be taken away. She asks about Normy and I explain it was too hot for the old boy and then we laugh as she suggests he could have ridden in his basket with a straw hat and some sunglasses, or better still a flying helmet, silk scarf and goggles, like Snoopy and the Red Baron, I quip. The girls behind the counter are used to our laughter and madness and bring me my usual pot of very strong English, breakfast tea. Felicities niece, Rosie, pops in to say hello, but declines my offer of coffee and tells us that her mum, Joy, thinks it is too hot for market. Felicity tells her that Melissa is due at eleven, with Ruby, Felicity's granddaughter, we all laugh, as Melissa's eleven o'clock usually means eleven thirty. Shortly afterwards, we are joined by Rosemary and moments later by Jill, who I haven't seen for weeks, accompanied by her son. He is a very fit, tanned and lean looking individual, perhaps a little younger than I am. Like his mother, he is an architect, but lives in Sydney and is over on holiday visiting his mum. Jill is also tall and slim and well into her eighties, the last time I saw her she was regaining her hearing after stopping taking the medication she had been prescribed after a TIA, which made her deaf. "I would rather be dead than not be able to talk to my family and friends," she explained. Jill, Rosemary and Felicity exchange gossip, while I chat to Jill's son, who is a keen kayaking fan, and this explains his physique. Half past eleven arrives with no sign of Melissa and Jill and her son leave, Rosemary follows them to the market and I can tell that Felicity is getting agitated, so I ring her daughter, only to reach her voice mail, where I leave a message and then start to text her, just as she arrives, accompanied by Ruby and another woman, who it turns out is an old school friend from years ago. Melissa is wearing a low cut summer dress and showing perhaps a little too much cleavage for her mother's taste and duly receives the force of her pent up anger, at being kept waiting too long. I try to mediate between them, suggesting that we all have lunch together, but alas it is no use, and Felicity asks to be taken home. I tell Melissa that I will accompany her mother, and guide her trilator to the door and then walk her back to Albert Terrace. She has spent almost two hours looking forward to seeing her daughter and granddaughter and now the day is soured for them both by this altercation, which is a regular phenomenon. Once we get back to Albert Terrace and I have settled Felicity into her chair, we have a chat, she is hurt by the apparent lack of care and concern shown by her daughter, whom, she claims, ought to know that she has been waiting at the Poppy Seed since ten and was bound to get tired. I concede she has a point, but the problem seems to me to be more the fact that each of them talks to the other as one would to a child, and this provokes anger. I ask Felicity if she has ever read Eric Berne's book on transactional analysis, she used to work in a psychiatric hospital and eventually remembers the Parent-Adult-Child model that he used. "It seems to me that if you spoke to each other as equal adults, a lot of your problems with Melissa would be resolved", I suggest, now she has calmed down, she can see the point and wants to ring her daughter straight away, but I suggest they need time to let things settle and ought to arrange a time, with just the two of them, to really talk things through. I propose that I act as a mediator and suggest this to Melissa, who I get on with well and Felicity readily agrees. When I make my way back to the Poppy Seed, they have already left and so I walk round the market, hoping to see them, stopping to buy some fresh broad beans and more salad, as I go. There is no sign of them, so I repair to the micro pub and let Ian recommend a half pint of Great Newsome bitter and then sit and drink it with an elderly chap called Frank, who is in his eighties. Frank tells me he has had to put his wife, who has advanced dementia, into full time care, as he was no longer able to cope and he is having a drink before going to see her. I tell him about my cousin Irene and then we chat for half an hour, before he has to leave. I decide to ring Melissa, as the fall out with her mum has clearly distressed both of them. She answers straight away and tells me she is on her way to meet someone, but is in Boots the chemists, down Toll Gavel, which is less than a hundred yards away. I persuade her to wait for me and walk quickly through Saturday Market, to find her wiping away perfume from her wrist, that she had just tried and decided she didn't like. We find a quiet corner in the store and I relay the conversation I have had with her mother and suggest that it would be worth trying, just to treat each other as adults. Melissa sees the point straight away, thanks me, says she will ring her mum later to arrange this and then gives me a kiss on the cheek by way of a thank you. I make my way back to my bike, which is still parked at the Poppy Seed, load my shopping into the basket and then pedal home. I hope my intervention does some good, only time will tell. Back home Normy is waiting for me, his tail wagging furiously in anticipation of lunch. After feeding him and making myself a pot of tea, I repair to the garden, move the reclining chair into the shade and then settle down to read my book. It is just too hot to do much else, and so I read the last two hundred pages of "The Facts of Life", finishing the book at around half past eight, with a break for dinner at six. Lamb steak, with onion gravy, new potatoes and fresh broad beans in a butter and garlic sauce. Gino and Jackie should be back from Sardinia by now, I hope the break has refreshed and renewed them both. I will ring them tomorrow. To bed for ten.