the madison review
“When will my mum be home?” he says. “Your mum?” “She lives here.” “No, I don’t think so. I live here alone now.” She mustn’t complain. The man says, “I’ve come all the way from America to visit my mum.” “That’s quite a long way, isn’t it?” He counts the stages of his journey on his thumb and fingers. “First, the plane. Second, the train from Gatwick Airport. Third, leave the train, and cross the street to the bus station. Fourth, the number 53 bus stops a hundred yards from here. I used to ride it all the time when I was a boy.” His safe arrival pleases him. Alice can tell. He says, “I grew up in this house. You forget some things as you get older, but not your childhood home, or how to get there.” Alice doesn’t ride the bus any more. Last year, when she took a taxi to the shops, she woke up in hospital. The man’s not listening to her thoughts. He’s still insisting it’s his mother’s house. He must be lost. He’s saying, “Mum’s changed most of the furniture since I was last here, but it’s her house all right. I can tell you the layout of the rooms upstairs without even looking. There’s three bedrooms, aren’t there?” Alice tries to remember. “There’s my mum’s bedroom,” he says, “at the far end of the landing, with the bathroom en suite. Then the guest room. I expect that’s your room now. Opposite the guest room’s the second bathroom, with a shower not a bath. Then there’s the airing cupboard. And, at the other end of the landing, there’s the room my dad slept in after his snoring got too much for Mum. I’m right, aren’t I?” The rooms sound familiar, but the people are all wrong. Alice isn’t sure of much these days, but she’s certain her husband didn’t snore. He used to fart, though. Like a gunshot. The man says, “My mum’s not ill or anything, is she? I mean, she’s not in hospital? You’d tell me, wouldn’t you, if that’s why she’s not here?” Alice says, “I don’t think your mother’s ill.”
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