Trying to understand why a mother leaves: part I
But first, a coffee...
FADE IN:
INT. CAFÉ – DAY
A MOTHER and her adult DAUGHTER sit at a café table. A WAITER finishes taking their order and returns to the counter.
The daughter slides her napkin off the table and holds it in her hands, folding it and unfolding it.
THE MOTHER: So, how’s work?
THE DAUGHTER: It’s good. I’ve been freelancing for the last couple of years. I work four days a week. Get to take the occasional whole month off.
THE MOTHER: Alright for some.
THE DAUGHTER: And what are you doing now?
THE MOTHER: I was at a boy’s boarding school for a bit, as a matron, looking after them. They were good boys.
THE DAUGHTER (smiling): Wow, OK. That’s different.
THE MOTHER: I’m back to nursing now. The work was a bit too physical. You’re expected to carry around all sorts of heavy things, bags of washing, back-breaking, really.
THE DAUGHTER: I see.
THE MOTHER: I didn’t think that was going to be part of it. I just enjoyed looking after the boys.
She smiles to herself.
THE MOTHER: How’s Steve?
THE DAUGHTER: He’s good. They’re both good. They’re doing up the house at the moment. It’s going to be really nice.
THE MOTHER: Yes. We still text.
There’s an awkward pause for a moment.
THE DAUGHTER: Yeah, I—
The waiter arrives with two hot chocolates, sets them down and leaves.
The mother straightens up and stirs her drink.
THE MOTHER: So what did you want to talk to me about, then? You said we should talk.
The daughter wipes her palms on the napkin.
THE DAUGHTER: Yeah, so, I just thought… we’ve never actually had an adult conversation. As in, we’ve never talked about everything that happened. Whenever we’ve met up, it’s been small talk and catch-ups. But when everything happened, when you left, we never really talked about it.
The mother watches her drink and doesn’t move.
THE DAUGHTER: I suppose I was a teenager and… I’m not here to grill you or anything. I just wanted to understand, talk woman to woman, I suppose.
The mother looks at her.
THE MOTHER: Well, what do you want to know?
THE DAUGHTER: Well… err, right, I suppose I should start by saying I know the real reason you left. And I don’t know if you know that.
THE MOTHER: What do you know?
THE DAUGHTER: About the affairs.
THE MOTHER (not a flinch): Right.
The daughter rubs her hands again on the napkin while she speaks.
THE DAUGHTER: And I guess I just have a lot of questions. Why…I mean, what led you to feeling that you had to leave? I appreciate it’s a big question. I didn’t invite you here to have a go or interrogate you. I just want to understand what happened. You told us it was this mutual decision between you and Dad to split up.
THE MOTHER: It was.
THE DAUGHTER: But… how can that be—
THE MOTHER: It was a mutual decision. We decided together to split up.
THE DAUGHTER: Like, before, or…?
THE MOTHER: I had a mother who wouldn’t let me do anything. She wouldn’t let me go to university.
THE DAUGHTER (gently): I know.
THE MOTHER: I couldn’t stay out late. “You’ve got to come back and look after me.”
THE DAUGHTER: What about all her brothers that lived with you?
THE MOTHER: It didn’t matter. I had to be home. It was all very controlling.
THE DAUGHTER: So, what are you saying? You felt controlled at home with us too?
The mother considers this for a moment.
THE MOTHER: Yeah.
THE DAUGHTER: What…was Dad controlling?
The mother pauses to consider this too.
THE MOTHER: No.
The daughter sits back in her chair.
THE DAUGHTER: But you felt trapped?
THE MOTHER: Right.
There’s another silence. A tension.
THE DAUGHTER: OK… OK. I guess, I can see how you get to that.
The daughter winces slightly, at herself. She puts the napkin back on the table.
THE DAUGHTER: Can I ask… did you actually want to have children?
THE MOTHER: Yes. I wanted to have two, so Steve wouldn’t be an only child like I was.
The mother casually sips her hot chocolate. The daughter is frozen for a few seconds, watching her mother.
THE DAUGHTER: But.. did you actually want to have children, though?
The mother sets down her drink and looks at her daughter.
THE MOTHER: I wanted to have two, so Steve wouldn’t be an only child like I was.
They look at each other. A stand off.
The daughter looks away.
THE DAUGHTER: OK.
She takes a long breath out.
THE DAUGHTER: Right. And then when you left, you said to Dad, “I’ve done my bit. It’s my time now.” Is that right? That’s what you said, wasn’t it?
THE MOTHER: I said that, yes.
The daughter waits. The mother watches her.
THE DAUGHTER: “I’ve done my bit.” I just… do you know how that sounds? To your kids? Does any of that make sense?
The mother looks at her blankly.
THE DAUGHTER: Do you understand why it can feel, to me and Steve, like you don’t care? Fifteen, sixteen years since you left and we never split weekends or even Christmasses. These weekly texts of “Hope you’re well.” You’ve never called.
THE MOTHER (quickly): Well you never call me.
Another pause.
THE DAUGHTER: But you’re the—
THE WAITER: How is everything, ladies? Can I get you anything else?
THE DAUGHTER: We’re fine, thank you.
THE MOTHER: You have my address. I always said you could pop down.
THE DAUGHTER (voice rising): I was fourteen, fifteen. All my other friends whose parents split up, the parents worked it out between them. It wasn’t my job. To organise every single time the three of us met for lunch. It’s like it wasn’t even a conversation between you and Dad. You just checked out.
The daughter pauses, checks herself.
THE DAUGHTER (quietly): And that’s fine if that’s what you wanted. I’m just trying to understand. Understand where you’re coming from. We don’t talk. It’s weird. I move back here and, what, a week later, it turns out you’re in town, having lunch round the corner from my flat and you don’t even text me. I hadn’t seen you for two years.
THE MOTHER: I didn’t know where we were going for lunch. Sue drove. I just turned up.
THE DAUGHTER: But you got there and you had my address and you knew I was round the corner and you—
The daughter cuts herself off and sits back in her chair. The mother watches her.
THE DAUGHTER: It’s fine. I’m not having a go.
The mother sips her drink. The daughter sips hers too.
THE DAUGHTER: But do you understand what I’m saying?, though? Any of it?
THE MOTHER: I do. And I’m… I’m sorry.
The daughter holds this moment.
THE DAUGHTER: Thank you.
THE MOTHER: It’s just my mum and… oh did I tell you I’ve got arthritis now?
THE DAUGHTER: Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. Is it painful?
THE MOTHER: Yeah. But all part of getting older.
THE DAUGHTER: Well, yes, that’s also why I wanted to talk.
THE MOTHER: I won’t be going into a care home when I’m old. That’s for damn sure. Absolutely not.
THE DAUGHTER: OK. So what—
THE MOTHER: I’ve spent enough time in there. I’ve seen what they’re like.
THE DAUGHTER: OK.
THE MOTHER: When the time comes, well, let’s just say, you know, I’m a nurse, I’ve got plenty of drugs. My neighbours always check in on me if I haven’t put my blinds up in a couple of days.
THE DAUGHTER: Wait, what?
THE MOTHER: Yep.
THE DAUGHTER: I…
THE MOTHER: My choice, how I want to leave.
THE DAUGHTER: Right. You know I’m a Samaritan, right?
THE MOTHER: Very admirable.
THE DAUGHTER: Have you ever talked to anyone about.. Anything? Everything?
THE MOTHER: What do you mean?
THE DAUGHTER: You know, professionals, everything with your mum and—
THE MOTHER: There’s nothing to talk about. I don’t believe in therapy and all that. Nonsense. It doesn’t change anything. What’s the point?
THE DAUGHTER: Talking does help, though. I’m literally a Samaritan.
THE MOTHER: I remember in my nurses training, they said, would you like to be a psychiatric nurse or would you like to be a midwife? And I thought, haha, absolutely not the first one. God, can you imagine it?
THE MOTHER (puts on a mocking voice): “Hello, dear? How are you feeling today?”
THE MOTHER: I couldn’t bear it. Those fake smiles.
THE DAUGHTER: Right. You know, I’m having counselling at the moment, actually.
THE MOTHER: Right.
Another silence.
THE DAUGHTER: Nothing? No? OK.
The waiter walks past.
THE DAUGHTER: Can we get the bill please?
EXT. CAR PARK – CONTINUED
The mother and daughter stand by a car.
THE MOTHER: This is mine. I’ve had it for a few years now. I suppose you can just walk home since you’re only over there.
THE DAUGHTER: Exactly. Yeah. It’s nice being on the high street.
THE MOTHER (smirking slightly): So, am I allowed to text you again?
The daughter pauses and blinks.
THE DAUGHTER (sincerely): Of course. I only asked to stop because it felt like you were just ticking a box on a Saturday morning. That’s why I wanted to meet for coffee. To talk this all through.
The mother looks at her blankly.
THE DAUGHTER: What I’ll say is… text me if you want to text me. I’m not going to tell you when or what time. When you want to talk to me, just talk to me. If you want to know how I’m doing, ask. And if you don’t want to know, well, I understand.
THE MOTHER: Right.
They hover.
THE MOTHER: So… can we hug?
THE DAUGHTER (gently): Of course we can.
They hug. They’re both a little teary-eyed.
They let go and look away from each other.
THE DAUGHTER: Thank you for coming up.
THE MOTHER (brightly): Well, thank you for inviting me. Shouldn’t be too long to get home. Only took me an hour.
THE DAUGHTER: OK.
THE DAUGHTER: Bye then.
THE MOTHER: Bye.
The mother gets in her car and drives away.
The daughter waves and walks away.
SUBTITLES: She never hears from her again.
FADE TO BLACK.
Thanks for reading. Read Part II here.
Ally x
A thought provoking article. ,Denial, lack of empathy and compassion, heartless, and strange behaviour amongst other things. And then blanked. A “commitment to duty” had to be completed to ensure she complied with some strange reasoning to be like her mother was completed. Bizarre but not really unsurprising from ‘ the Mother’.
You have created a great life for yourself, fought the many battles and won, and still winning any that come your way. Everything you are is what she should have been but wasn’t. Be proud.