Leaving the beach, he walked up to the house and let himself in. He locked the door behind him, then drew the curtains downstairs before making his way up the old staircase. When he reached the landing, her roars told him she knew he was there well before he opened her bedroom door.
‘Is that you, you selfish little shit? Back to mind your ailing mother? Not before time. The prodigal son returns, let’s all thank the heavens.’
Part of him didn’t even want to look at her, wanted to just shut her up once and for all – but he knew that it was at testing times that a person’s true character proved itself.
‘I see you haven’t lost any of your charm while I was away, Mother.’
‘No thanks to you. Off on your little holiday while I’m cooped up in this hellhole like some bloody prisoner. Is that stupid cow gone?’
‘Mrs Flood?’
‘Of course Mrs Flood, how many stupid cows are there? Nobody gives a shit about me, not you, not anyone – least of all that awful bloody woman. Give me my pills. The cow hates me, you know. Hates me, hates me, hates me. Are you listening? I’m telling you, they’re all the same, bastards, fucking bastards the lot of them. Do you hear me?’
‘I hear you.’
‘They’re all swine, worse than swine, and you’re no better. Give me my pills.’
‘Not just yet.’
‘I haven’t had any. I don’t care what the old bat said. I remember more than she does, you know.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’
‘Where did you sneak off to anyway while I was dying in my bed? Give me the pills, will you? Come on, there’s a good boy.’
‘I was meeting old friends.’
‘Lucky you. Friends? What friends? Some cheap tart was it? Is that cow still here?’
‘Mrs Flood left an hour ago. It’s just you and me now, Mother.’
‘Good, good, that’s good. We were always good together, you and I, blood is thicker than water, a cut above the rest of them, we always were.
‘I met an old friend of yours. Bishop Antonio.’
‘I don’t know any Bishop Antonio. Why won’t you give me my pills?’
‘You don’t need them. Not yet. We don’t want to blur the mind too soon, do we?’
‘I’m tired, why are you talking about that damned man?’
‘You brought him up.’
‘No I didn’t … I don’t remember.’
‘Two weeks ago, before I left.’
‘Two weeks is a lifetime when you’re dying. Give me the pills, will you? Don’t be cruel.’ Her eyes were pleading, narrowing into slits. ‘Oh, but I forgot, you like being cruel, don’t you? Makes you feel big, doesn’t it, picking on an old, defenceless woman? You’re no better than the rest of them, taking advantage. Some loving son you are.’
‘He was asking for you, Antonio, wanting to know how my mother, the old hag, was getting along.’
‘There’s a place in hell for people like him, and you.’
He watched, disgusted, as a line of spittle settled on her top lip. ‘Fancy visiting it?’
He crossed the room to her swiftly and she gasped at the sudden pain. ‘Stop pulling my hair. It hurts. Get away!’
‘It’s supposed to hurt. Antonio was very generous with his information, Mother, filled me in on a lot of missing gaps.’
‘He was always a mouth, the slimy bastard. Stop at my hair, stop this instant! You can’t make me say anything. I’m not afraid of the likes of you.’
‘Can’t I? How’s this?’ Grabbing her dried-out grey ponytail, he pulled her head so far back, the bones in her neck creaked in response. ‘Here, look in the mirror, Mother, see how ugly you are.’ He took up her hand mirror with the ivory handle from the side table and turned it towards her.
‘He told me a little story, Mother. It was all about you. You like being the centre of the story, don’t you? You always did. You’re not looking, Mother, open your eyes. Not a pretty picture, is it? They say a mirror cannot lie, but you can. Can’t you? You lie better than anyone.’
Letting go of her hair, he walked over to the window and yanked up the bottom sash so he could breathe in the evening air. The outside seemed as humid as her bedroom, a heavy veil of smothering. He watched shadows engulf the garden, thinking he could hear the leaves of the elderberry trees swaying. His indignation rose as she continued to chide.
Out of nowhere, she began to laugh, loudly and hysterically. ‘Got you all riled up, son, has it? All excited about your young tramp? Or maybe you liked Antonio more? He always said there was something not right about you, silly sneaky little boy. You are a sneak, aren’t you? Like a snake crawling around in the dark, slither, slither, slither, snake, snake, snake.’
‘Shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you.’