As our parents age, is it even logical for us to want to pick and choose the times we spend with them, gauging the event’s enjoyment from our own perspective rather than our parents’? I’m ashamed that my decisions in relation to them are so calculated but, if you were questioning my self-centred nature at all, just pull Jeff aside at the next book event and ask his thoughts on the subject.
Is it ever possible to love our parents unconditionally, as they seem to love us? When I’m pretending to tie my shoelaces instead of helping Mum remove her elephant shackles with a high-powered metal grinder the AFP have flown in specifically for the task, does she still love me unconditionally?
* * *
As we head along Lambs Valley Road, I know we’ve already been past our destination but I ease my foot off the accelerator again to keep admiring the lovely scenery – it’s more beautiful than I remember and I want my parents to drink it in too.
‘What does the address on the wine say, Mum?’ I ask.
Mum reads the address out loud.
‘Oh I think that’s back the other way,’ I say. ‘Let me get to the cul de sac so I can turn around there. We’ll just drop the wine off and then we can be on our way.’
The cunning plan is coming along nicely.
Attention Twilight Waters Residents:
Please note the use of personal ‘ghetto blasters’ has now been banned.
Thank You,
Management
TEN
Rage against the Machine(s)
I’ve now turned the car around and as we near the house on Lambs Valley Road the smell of devon consumes us. It seems one of us could not wait for lunch. Dad puts a sandwich triangle in his mouth and moans with delight.
‘We really can’t wait to show you the property at Gloucester. The estate agent has left keys out to open the gates so we can show you around,’ I say instead of complaining about the unappealing fug now causing me to open the window.
‘Then he said if you want to go inside the cottage with the rose garden this afternoon, he’ll open it up for us,’ Jeff adds.
I glance in the rear-view mirror to gauge Mum’s reaction but she’s looking out at the rolling hills. The prospect of us moving so far away from her clearly breaks her heart, but she’s playing the stoic. I wonder if she’s plotting to change our minds or hoping that the property we’re going to see is a major disappointment and clearly not right for us.
‘Is there a window down?’ Dad asks grumpily. ‘That’s killing my ears!’
When we pull into the driveway of the house, my stomach rumbles, and were it not for the very un-vegan-friendly filling and off-putting smell I might be tempted to ask Dad for a bite of his sandwich. Maybe it’s butterflies in my belly anticipating the announcement we’re about to surprise them with. I turn to the back and ask, ‘Mum what does the name on the box say?’
‘Um,’ Mum focuses her eyes on the typed address label and reads aloud: ‘Missus H Nee-hass? Neuhaus?’
‘Want me to read it for you, Jude?’ Dad asks. He isn’t helping much with my dramatic lead-up.
‘I think that’s German,’ I say.
‘Yeah,’ Jeff adds. ‘Her first name is Helga.’
‘Hmm . . .’ I say, then feed the line to them. ‘Helga New House . . . Helga’s New House!’
‘What?’ Dad says, but this time it’s from disbelief, not deafness.
‘Are you serious?’ Mum says a-flutter.
‘Yep! We signed the contracts a few days ago!’ Jeff says with a wide grin across his lovely face.
‘This is where we’re moving to! Only twenty minutes from your house!’
‘You can’t be serious!’ Dad says, tears brimming his eyes. ‘You little —’
‘What about Gloucester?’ Mum says, testing the water just in case she’s dreaming.
‘All a lie!’ Jeff says triumphantly. ‘We just wanted to have you on! We move here in February.’
By now, both of my parents have tears streaming down their faces. Mum may have been refusing to budge house, but if I needed proof of just how upsetting a potential move away from them would have been, I am getting it now.
‘How about that, Jude?’ I say. ‘You can stop worrying now!’
‘Do you really mean it?’ Mum tests us yet again.
‘Yes, Jude! Come on, let’s get out!’
As usual, Mum forgets how high the car is, and falls to her feet with a thud, accompanied by a loud grunt. Jeff once bought her a step ladder to get in and out of the car, but it was requisitioned some months back for a building project of his own and disappeared. I leap out of the car and leave Dad to his rocking ejection.
Eventually the two of them are standing by our sides. We don’t have the keys or permission to enter the property, but we’d been biting back our excitement over Christmas and just had to share it with them as soon as all the celebration was done.
‘You can’t really see the house from here,’ Jeff says. ‘But we’re up there near the base of that mountain. The driveway is about a kilometre long. Here, we got you a copy of the sales brochure.’
