I ran, screaming towards the lake, yelling out for you to turn round. Perhaps you knew that danger was nearby but you were so happy waving at me that you dropped the oars into the water. As I watched on in horror, they slipped away, into the deep.

You were asleep when I awoke from the nightmare. There was a strange stillness in the room. My mouth was parched from alcohol and dehydration. I slid from the bed, slipped on my clothes and fumbled in the dark for my car keys.

As I pulled the door closed behind me, something warm rubbed against my legs and made me jump. I banged my head against the stairwell and tried to muffle the screams.

Outside in the half-light I ran for my car, zapping it open before I collapsed onto the driver’s seat. I made sure to lock all the doors.

58

Arthur

The residents of the old people’s home where my mother was now living, sat in a circle, glued to threadbare armchairs with wooden armrests. Frail slippers covered gnarled feet which swung rhythmically back and forth. Heads lolled.

‘Come out, come out wherever you are?’ Mother squawked when she spotted me coming through the swing doors.

I don’t remember when she lost her front teeth and she was unrecognisable from the sex siren of my youth. She staggered towards me in her threadbare fluffy-back mules and tugged at my sleeve.

‘Is Ted with you?’ she asked, directing me from the room with a relentless grip. A rancid smell of age and urine pervaded the room. Muffled moans seeped through from behind closed doors.

Mother led me into a small conservatory with a Perspex roof and a whirring overhead fan. The latter defused the stench outwards towards the perimeter of the room. On the other side of locked windows were unkempt gardens struggling under the weight of invading weeds. A red pull chain hung down for emergencies; death and such like. My mother yanked it victoriously and pushed me down onto a cane sofa.

‘We’ll have two cups of tea,’ she demanded from a young nurse, ‘and biscuits too. This is my son, Arthur, by the way.’

The nurse’s smile was weary. As she trudged away, I noticed the sensible lace-up shoes which emphasised her thick ankles.

‘Come out, come out, wherever you are? Don’t you remember?’ Mother wouldn’t stop. This had been her favourite chant when I was hiding in the loft space. She thought it was funny.

Her ageing ugliness left me cold. Years of maternal adoration dissipated into thin air. The absence of front teeth meant that she hissed when she spoke and, with every word, jets of saliva spurted onto her blouse. I had to lean backwards to avoid the deluge.