It was business as usual.Mrs. Elizabeth Friar, otherwise known in the family as Simon’s Granny, collected Simon from kindergarten; it was what she always did without fail, every single Wednesday afternoon.

When she arrived that afternoon he was playing in the sandpit with Garry. They had just finished building a flyover and their play was getting wilder and wilder, as they made their toy cars leap higher and higher and land further and further away. Elizabeth came through the gate just as the game was reaching a noisy climax.

When Simon caught sight of her the look that came into his eyes clearly said:
‘No, not now Granny, we’re having fun!'
She shook her head gently but decisively and with a faint smile she said:
‘Yes, Simon, we’ve got to go home now.’
‘NO!’
She took hold of him firmly, pulled him out of the sandpit and brushed him down, saying:
‘The sand will still be here tomorrow, Simon.’
Then kicking her shin he screeched:
‘I wanted Daddy to come!’
Granny winced, rubbed her shin and sighed:
‘Simon, we’ve got a bus to catch.’

Bus was the magic word! Grabbing her hand they set off. Granny understood dawdling and simple pleasures like snails, bottle tops and puddles. It had rained heavily that day and there were puddles galore. Forgetting the bus she let him wade and splash through each and every one of them:
‘What else are Wellingtons for? Enjoy!’
So he enjoyed. Then damp but happy they drove home. After helping him change his togs they sat down together on the sofa sipping hot chocolate and eating the buns that she had brought with her. Afterwards they sang nursery rhymes and she read him ‘Jack and the beanstalk’. Then when Jeremy his father walked in she looked at her watch and said:
‘Well that’s that Simon, you’re a good boy. Now I’m going to love you and leave you.'

She went out in the hall, put on her coat, picked up her bag, went out of the front door and hurried down the street.

The following Wednesday Garry and Simon spent the whole afternoon playing in the sandpit until Gary’s mother collected him. By this time the six other children left in the playground were intent on colonizing Mars. Simon offered to join their crew, but there was no room for a seventh astronaut. That peeved him no end, so grabbing the nearest tricycle he set off to sabotage their project.

Brenda, who was on duty that afternoon, was just about to tear him off a strip when the phone rang:
‘No, he’s still here.’
‘No, we haven’t heard anything from your mother. We assumed it was business as usual.’
‘Oh, dear that’s odd! No answer?’
‘You’ll be along to collect him then?’
‘A few minutes after 5 will be ok.’

For the first time ever he was the last child to be collected. Brenda kept him amused with a video and an ice-lolly, until well after 5, when his mother finally arrived. She was out of breath, sweating and flustered.
‘I’m so sorry! I can’t imagine what’s happened! She’s never let us down before. I’ve rung her number no end of times this afternoon.’
‘When did you last speak to her?’
‘She rang me last Wednesday morning.’
‘Not since?’
‘No, I’ve been so busy.’
‘Weren’t you worried not hearing from her?’
‘Not really, I could see she was on Messenger, so…no.’
‘Well, don’t worry! There must be a reasonable explanation’. Brenda said, as she ushered them out of the door.

She could just as easily have said that Granny had scored the last seat on the space shuttle to Mars.

Simon’s Granny was gone.

Over now to Simon’s father Jeremy who can relate the next episode of this story!

'Susan was out of her friggin mind when I came home from work that evening; red eyes, running mascara and the whole caboodle. Honest to God I’d never seen her like that before! When I finally got the story out of her I was gob smashed. Until then I’d thought the old girl was every bit as reliable as Big Ben. So after grabbing a bite to eat I went round to her flat to see if she was lying in a pool of blood or something equally revolting.

The only snag was we didn’t have her key.

When I got there it was dark. I rang the bell, pounded the door and shouted through the letter-box; no reply. In desperation I finally resorted to asking the neighbors whether they had her key or had seen her recently. Nobody remembered seeing her for a long time and nobody had a key. So I called a locksmith who promised to come immediately.

Settling myself down on the steps outside her flat I chewed my finger nails until he arrived an hour afterwards. Ten minutes and an exorbitant bill for his services later I entered the flat.

I had expected the worst, but what awaited me was beyond my comprehension. Apart from the heavy, amber-colored, velvet curtains the flat was totally empty. I went from one room to the other and there was not the slightest relic of human habitation. The kitchen cupboards were bare and the fridge door stood ajar.

So I relocked the door and went home with load of unanswered questions:
Why had she debunked and when?
What had she done with all her junk?
Why hadn’t she told us that she was going to move?
Where was she?
What the hell was the old hag up to?
How’s Susan going to take all this?


In the mean time Susan had pulled herself together. She had rung round all the hospitals, reasoning that if her mum had had a stroke or gone stark, raving mad in the street, the hospital might not know whom to get in touch with. She might not have had our telephone number and address in her handbag. By the time I came home, Susan had already eliminated that possibility. She had even packed Simon off to bed.

When I told her about the state of the flat she went berserk again.
'I don’t understand, I don’t understand what’s got into her.
How can she do this to me?
Where’s her sense of duty?
Doesn’t she understand what she’s doing to Simon? Wednesday afternoons are tops for him; he loves his Wednesday bus rides and buns.
She’s got no sense of responsibility - She knows how we rely on her.
What the hell am I saying? She wouldn’t do it! She’s been abducted and murdered. They ransacked the flat. Anything could have happened!
Jerry go and report this to the police immediately!’

So I went round to the police station. The policeman on duty took down all the details and promised to get in touch with me immediately they had any news. They never did, even though we rang them every day, for weeks and weeks and weeks.

In the end I went down to the police station again and demanded to speak to the chief constable.
I was ushered into her office.

The chief constable was a stately, gray haired, bespectacled woman probably in her mid-sixties. Ensconced behind a mahogany desk she was studying a thick file, presumably including information about my mother-in-law.
‘Am I right in thinking that you are less than satisfied with the way we are handling this case?’
‘Yes, something like that!’
‘She’s missing, but we have no evidence of foul play. Was she senile?'
‘No.’
‘Have you got in touch with her friends, her social network?’
‘Friends? Network? She believed in keeping herself to herself.’
‘Lonely?’
‘No idea.’
‘How often did you see her?’
‘Every Wednesday, when she picked our little boy up from kindergarten.’
‘What about the other six and a half days of the week? Where did she go? Whom did she see? What was she interested in?’
‘No idea! We didn’t really talk very much. Not that we were at loggerheads, but not on the same wavelength.’
‘ Did she have a man-friend?’
‘Do me a favor! The good lady’s 63 and she’s got a face like the back of a bus. Do you honestly think that any man…?’
‘Not exactly a mine of information, are you?’
I shrugged my shoulders.
‘Safer to keep your mother-in-law at arms length isn’t it? I never stuck my nose into her business and she returned the compliment.’
‘That’s what she’s probably doing now; happily minding her own business. A disappearing act like this is not a crime. Quite a few of our so-called missing persons just want to get away from their loving families so they can make a fresh start. One of these days she might find the time to send you a card saying that she’s minding her own business in peace and quiet. If we hear anything we’ll let you know. Really we’ll

let you know.
We’ll

call you.’

After weeks of humming and hawing about confidentiality the housing association, pensions department and the bank confirmed that:
She had given up the tenancy of her flat.
Her pension was still being paid into the bank and that their client Mrs. Elizabeth Friar had been withdrawing money at regular intervals.
When I asked where she was living, they clammed up; confidentiality is confidentiality.

Well at least we knew that she was in the land of the living and that for whims and fancies beyond any sane person’s comprehension she did not want anything to do with us.

Did I care? Well apart from feeling thoroughly pissed off on Susan’s behalf, it was a relief not having to look at her ugly mug every friggin Wednesday afternoon!'


Susan and Jeremy soon found a solution to their Wednesday problem; an expensive solution, but a solution.

Esmeralda was a chronically out of pocket teenager who never looked a gift horse in the mouth. Seen from Simon’s point of view she was a mixed blessing. She did not do dawdling, puddles, snails, buns or nursery rhymes. Neither did she take it too kindly if he kicked her shins. On the other hand Esmeralda allowed him to watch as many cartoons as he wanted and she always brought him a bag of gobstoppers. So when they got home Esmeralda would first put on a video and then clutching her cell phone she would plop down beside him on the sofa. Thus mesmerized by the video and with his mouth fully occupied, she would spend the afternoon keeping tags on her friends. As soon as she heard Jeremy’s key in the lock Esmeralda was always rearing to go. All she needed was to grab her coat, pocket her pay and skedaddle!

Life was waiting to be lived and on Wednesday evenings she had the where withal to live it.


Leading busy but well regulated lives Susan and Jeremy soon got over the shock of Granny’s departure. With the Wednesday problem out of the way the only thing that niggled them was that unsolvable enigma: what had she been getting up to?

The following year they went on holiday to St. Tropez. They booked a luxury flat overlooking the harbor on one side and well-tended gardens on the other. Simon was delighted by the children’s pool in the grounds. Susan and Jeremy were even more delighted when they discovered that there was a supervised play group every morning where Simon could make friends.

Those mornings were bliss for Susan and Jeremy! It was a pleasure to stroll along by the harbor, where they could admire the luxury yachts and rub shoulders with the smart, the rich and the influential.

One Tuesday morning after shopping for a few delicacies at the market in the Place des Lices they stopped at a café for an aperitif. The waiter took their order and they sat back watching the world go by. It was a few minutes before they noticed that on the opposite side of the street was yet another pavement café, in which the clientele was elegant, and self-confidently very gay.

Delicately raising her eyebrows Susan whispered:
' Goodness, what a mixed crowd!'
'You can say that again! There do seem to be a lot of those types here; must have something to do with their economic clout; they don’t have any kids to feed, clothe and service.’
Jeremy pursed his lips and frowned before continuing:
'Not that I have anything against them, of course. I’m broad-minded, live and let live, but why on earth do they have to display themselves? Just look at those two over there.'
'Where?'
'There, the lovey-dovey lesbian couple!'
'Oh, yes they’re holding hands and looking deep into each other’s eyes, Oh, oh, oh isn’t it touching? Definitely not spring chickens, either.' She sniggered.
'The one facing this way must be the butch, don’t you think so Sue?'
'Oh, yes, must be. Judging from what we can see of her better half she is really chic. They’re calling the waiter now. We’ll get a better view when they get up to leave.'

After paying the bill the couple walked hand in hand across the terrace and started to cross the street. As they did so Susan uttered a cry of disbelief and horror.

The Butch’s better half was her mother. However she was no longer the frumpy, gray haired, stout Granny figure with a face like the back of a bus. At least a stone lighter she was dressed in an emerald green sundress and high-heeled sandals. Her hair was elegantly styled and auburn. With regard to her face; well after all, it was only Jeremy who had likened it to a back of a bus, so let us take that remark with a pinch of salt.


Elizabeth and her companion were so preoccupied with each other and deep in conversation, that it seemed they would pass by the table where Jeremy and Susan were sitting without even noticing them. Before Jeremy had a chance to stop her Susan jumped up from her chair, dashed forward and grabbing her mother’s arm hissed loudly:
'Mum, MUM fancy meeting you here!'
Elizabeth stopped dead and turned to face her daughter. She paled and smiled uncertainly but continued holding her companion’s hand.
'Susan! Vera, this is Susan – Susan – Vera.'
Outraged by the banality of this conventional response Susan raised her other hand and was about to slap her mother’s face, when Vera pushed her way in between them.
'P—off, VERA. I’ve got a bone to pick with my mother!' Screeched Susan.
‘Whether I decide to do that, depends on two things: you behaving in a civilized way and Elizabeth deciding whether I should to stay or go! If you even attempt to lay a finger on your mother again, I’ll call the nearest gendarme. Understood?'
Jeremy by now had joined the group, and putting his arm round Susan’s shoulder said:
‘Calm down Sue, everybody’s looking at us! The last thing we want is for someone to call the police.’
Vera nodded as if in agreement then she turned to Elizabeth:
‘What would you like me to do?’
'I’ll join you later at the flat.'
'Sure you’ll be ok?'
'Sure.'
Squeezing Elizabeth’s hand affectionately, she flashed a threatening look at Susan.Then she set off down the street without any further ado.'

Elizabeth frowned and said very firmly:
'You have a bone to pick with me Susan. Pick it if you like, but Jeremy can go off and amuse himself whilst you’re at it.'
'You owe us both an explanation.'
'Susan, I owe you very little and Jeremy even less. Blood is thicker than water, or at least that’s what I’ve been brainwashed in to thinking; so I’ll give you a chance to pick your bone. Yes or no?'
'Yes, then.'
'Goodbye Jeremy I hope for both our sakes we never meet again.'
Jeremy shocked into silence gazed at his wife as if appealing for her permission.
'Go on Jeremy this does not look as though it will take very long. Go fetch Simon; I’ll see you both later.'
Jeremy beat his retreat.
'Anything you have to say Susan can be said here and now. We’ll go and sit at the table where you were sitting before.'
Silently Susan followed her mother to the table and the two women sat confronting each other.
'Well, Susan?'
'You let us down! You underhand, crafty bitch, you let us down. We needed you. Simon needed you. You’re his Granny and you let him down. He valued those Wednesday afternoons.'
'Really if I was so valuable, how come you only had time for me on Wednesday afternoons?
Nothing to say? Let me tell you why, because apart from my childminding skills I was persona non grata – not smart enough, not interesting enough, too much of a reminder of your humble origins. You never asked me what I did, whom I saw and whether I had any needs, did you? This measly weekly ration of time with my only grandson was crumbs from a rich man’s table. With lots of time on my hands I began pondering about my life in general and asking myself a lot of questions. What if I had done this instead of that? Supposing I had listened to my own heart instead of keeping to the straight and narrow? Why did I sit at home brooding when everybody else was doing their own thing?'
'You could have told me!'
'Oh really? The only time you rang me was when you wanted to bitch about somebody or something! When I rang you, you were too busy to talk. I’ll ring you later on this week, when I’ve got time: you’d say. How often did you get time, Susan? How could you be sure that I was still alive and kicking when you did not hear from me for days at a time? Oh, I forget, you could always check up on me by seeing whether I was on-line, couldn’t you? I click therefore I am!'
'You could have told me.'
'If I had said what I am saying now, I would have lost those Wednesday afternoons.
One day I got up early and went into town. I pottered a bit, I shopped a bit and then I decided to eat lunch at the ‘Scarlet Pimpernel’ It was crowded, so the only available seat was at a table where another person was already seated. That person was Vera and we got into conversation. At that time she was a stranger in town; being an industrial chemist from the States, who had been seconded to a Copenhagen firm, she was glad to be able to talk to somebody with local knowledge. We spent the rest of the day together.

The next day she invited me out to dinner. For the first time for many, many years I was with somebody who actually was interested in me and my opinions. We became friends and later on, as you have probably gathered, lovers. Now, I could not have told you that, could I? Admit it Susan, if sex and the over-sixties seems kinky when it’s between a man and a woman, how would you describe it, when it is between two elderly men or between two elderly women? When you didn’t have time to share every day things with you how could I share something like this? Besides it was and is my business.

When Vera told me that she would soon have to go back to L.A. again and that she wanted me to go with her, I didn’t know what to do. I thought it through very carefully and decided to follow my heart. Simon was fast reaching the age when he'd understand that Granny was just one of a succession of childminders. Brenda was much more important to him than I was. By the way, where is Simon this morning?'
'At the holiday camp’s playgroup.'
'Nothing like a busman’s holiday, is there Susan? 48 weeks a year at the kindergarten, then at a holiday camp playgroup in the summer holidays. But, then that’s none of my business, is it? '
'No, it’s none of your business, as it happens!'
'Agreed! You owe me no explanations. I owe you no explanations. When I chose Vera I cut and tied my own umbilical cord.'

'Susan, I must go, let me pay for your drinks. Believe it or not I loved you, still do in my own way, but the time was ripe to say goodbye.'

Then dropping a twenty euro note on the table Elizabeth got up and with a nonchalant wave of her hand walked out of their lives.

© Betty Chatterjee 2010. All rights reserved

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 01.01.2010

Alle Rechte vorbehalten