She looked relieved. “Thank God for that, hen,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting tears in my kitchen today!”
“Aye, it’s usually your cooking that makes me cry, Ma,” Raymond said, and she laughed quietly.
I cleared my throat. “Your question took me unawares, Mrs. Gibbons,” I said.
“I never knew my father, and I know nothing about him, not even his name.
Mummy is currently... let’s just say she’s hors de combat.
I received blank looks from both of themI was clearly not among Francophones.
I don’t ever see her, she’s... inaccessible,” I explained.
We communicate once a week, but...” “Of course—that would make anyone sad, love, of course it would,
she said, nodding sympathetically. “Everyone needs their mum now and again, doesn’t matter how old they are.”
“On the contrary,” I said, “if anything, weekly contact is too much for me.
Mummy and I—we’re... well, it’s complicated...”
Mrs. Gibbons nodded sympathetically, wanting me to continue. I, on the other hand, knew that it was time to stop.
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