Yorkshire Writers' Lunch

“You look really pretty, Mummy.”     Mummy gives me a big squeeze. “Well, thank you darling,” she says. “I wanted to look nice for your birthday.” She leans back and smiles at me. “How does it feel to be ten?”     I think about this for a bit. To be honest I don’t really feel any different to how I felt yesterday but I know that I am, somehow. “I feel very grown-up, I think.”     Mummy laughs. “My little man,” she says. “It’s good to know I have you to look after me.”     “Just while Daddy’s away,” I say. She stops laughing and looks at me for a long time.     “Yes, dear,” she says after a bit. “Just while Daddy’s away.”       “Tell me what he’s doing again.”     “Oh Gilly, I’ve told you so many times.” She turns away from me.     “But Mummy, it’s my birthday and I want to hear about Daddy.”     Without looking at me, she says, “Ok then, just this one time and no more ok?”     “Ok,” I say, bringing my knees up under my chin. I love this story. Mummy starts, as alw

You hope that after seven years inside, people might forget, but not around here. I was barely out when the taunting started.  People staring in the street, fingers pointing, whispers and jeers. Mothers holding their children to them, as I passed, as though I might harm them just by looking at them. Shopkeepers ignoring me, until I stopped going in and had to drive two miles just to get bread and milk.     The people at AA understood.  Barry had been through it and Dervla. They said keep your head down, keep sober, time is a great healer and people will see that you’ve changed. Bernie has always served me at the chip shop though. I don’t usually go in on a Friday night, but it’s my 30th birthday today and even though no one knows or cares, I want to mark the occasion somehow. Just as Bernie is about to take my order, the local kingpin Jez and three of his cronies stumble in, beer cans in their hands, push me to one side and begin shouting their orders at Bernie. His chubby face bre

Lizzie and her husband step out of the church and I just manage to hide from view by crouching behind a hedge. She looks just like her mum did on our wedding day.  She giggles as friends and family throw confetti and her husband leads her by the hand to their car. He brushes some stray confetti out of her hair and I sense that she hasn’t done badly at all. Before I can suppress it, a smile creeps onto my face.  Their car moves off and my hand grips the Polaroid in my pocket. At least I got one photo – one memory to keep. That’s more than I deserve.       Family and friends make their way out of the churchyard. Joanna turns around and I can’t tell whether she’s looking at me or the church doors. I remain still and try to read her expression but she turns again and hurries to join the others. She was never one to linger. Once her mind was set about the car accident, she made sure I lost everything and everyone. Who could blame her, the way I behaved in the aftermath? My thoughts a

Knock, knock, knock. “Gilbert......Gilbert, it’s Annie. Are you there?”     I am there - lying in bed, eyes tightly shut, hoping that Annie will give up and go away for a while. It’s my birthday - one of those milestone ones, which someone always wants to mark, but not me. I need time to prepare, to face the day. I can sense Annie is still there. I picture her head leaning against the door, listening. So I stay still, holding my breath, my heart pounding in my head. She is whispering, probably to Molly. I can hear them shuffle away. I can breathe.     Today I am 80. I tried to hide it, but there’s no hiding anything at The Elms Residential Home. I don’t mind being 80. I just don’t want the questions from others, and the memories creeping in, reminding me of my regrets. You can’t hide from your memories though, and by letting anyone in, even a little, you can’t avoid the questions either.     I am happy, here, at The Elms. We are lucky that most of us have our faculties about us