The Rewards Of Motherhood

Jeanette Stafford

I woke to the plop..., plop..., plop..., of raindrops dripping off the windowsill and opened the curtains to leaden sky teeming with rain. After breakfast I splashed along the tarmac to the paper shop, trouser hems sopping up the wet. Newspaper front cover reads: Lehman Collapse Sends Shockwaves Around the World. It seems incredible that one of America's oldest financial institutions could go under so suddenly and I wonder how far the ripples will reach.

The house is dull and cold and damp so I go to the shopping centre for some free heat and artificial sunshine, the only type I'm likely to get today. I read recently that most people in the West of Scotland are at risk of vitamin D deficiency because of the lack of sunshine. Since we've hardly seen the sun since July, this does not surprise me.

At the shopping centre I discover that the credit crunch has hit here too and both the camera shop and Woolworths have closed. With today's news I wonder how many more will follow.

I spend two hours trekking around the shops in search of small boxes to post mementos to Mum's friends and relations, but don't find what I need. I can't get away from the rain even in this hermetically sealed atmosphere as every shop assistant I encounter says what a terrible day it is.

It is still teeming when I leave and I need headlights and windscreen wipers all the way as I drive through rain and spray to Mum's house. I am not surprised that the gardener has not turned up to cut the grass. I water the house plants, a pointless exercise as I will probably throw them out soon, check the post and collect a few items before locking up again.

As I approach the undertaker's I remember that I had arranged to collect something. I might as well do it now so I park the car and splash through the raging torrent pouring down the gutter. The undertaker hands me a plain grey carrier bag and I am surprised at the weight of the contents, considering Mum's now diminished circumstances. With the bag stowed safely on the passenger seat I close the car door but can't reach the driver's side at first because the main road is so busy. I wait for a gap in the traffic, glad of the rain to disguise my tears.

As soon as I drive off I realise that I am going the wrong way. I intended to grant Mum's final wish by returning her to her own house, even if it's too late for her to know. I don't have time to turn around, so I drive home and leave Mum in the car, deciding to take her to her own house later.

When I enter the kitchen I discover that Maggie has been home unexpectedly and wonder why. There is a message from her on the answer machine, clearly annoyed that I was not there to respond to her request for a lift home. I find a note telling me that she slipped and fell in a puddle at school and had to change. There's a pile of mud-caked clothes beside the note asking me to wash them. I oblige, knowing that there is no way of getting them dry for tomorrow.

I prepare dinner and Beth comes home, thoroughly disgruntled by the soaking she has endured but delighted with her newly purchased lab coat and dissection kit. She is now officially a student of Glasgow University Medical School and shows me the matriculation card to prove it.

Since the downpour has not abated and the younger child is already annoyed with me, I try to mitigate my maternal shortcomings by collecting her from school. I am just worrying that I might have missed her when she appears with her friend and two very grateful teenagers shake their umbrellas and climb into the car, immediately causing the windows to steam up.

At 6pm I listen to the news headlines on the radio. 'Another extraordinary day on the money markets with shares down by a third and one of the USA's leading insurance companies given 24 hours to save itself. The Bank of England has announced another increase in inflation. HBOS saw its share value drop by 40% today and its shares are down a total of 75% since the start of the year.'

I think about my husband's job, his pension and our savings and I wonder whether life as we know it is about to end. I find it strangely comforting that Mum doesn't have to worry about such things any more.

I serve dinner, moulding the mashed potato on the younger child's plate carefully and filling the crater with mince in the hope that she will eat it. I'm very proud of my creativity but realise that it might not be appreciated. It isn't. She could have laughed and eaten it anyway but instead she throws her usual dinner-time tantrum and demands to know why I'm treating her like a two year old.

After dinner I take her to her saxophone lesson. I don't mention the contents of the carrier bag on the back seat of the car and she doesn't ask. I drop her off and head for Mum's house again. It is almost dark when I get there and still pouring with rain. I open the front door, collect the bag from the car and take it inside. I'm not sure where to put it so I take it upstairs. Leaving it in the wardrobe or the chest of drawers seems undignified so I place it on Mum's bed. The contents of the urn make a gruesome rattle as I prop it against her pillow.

I return to the car and set off along dark, rain drenched streets to collect my daughter, tears overflowing once more. The radio is playing 'Eleanor Rigby'.