Flash tale #1 - "Good To Know"

It’s the day before we leave. We see my Mum for dinner, same as we do every Sunday.

After tonight, it’ll be different. We’ll be two hours away. No more nipping over for a cup of tea. No more popping in for a chat. So I expected some recriminations as we eat. She made me my favourite; scampi and chips, Vienetta for pudding, but with a perfect menu, Mum was sure to turn on the waterworks.

It’s like I’m losing a piece of me!

It’s not like I’m getting any younger!

There’s none of that. If anything, Mum’s decidedly chipper, the night before her only child moving away. I’m not complaining. I should be grateful; she’s come to terms with what’s happening. And really, what did she think? That I’d be living down the street forever?

Carole was right.

Your mum will work it out. It’s either make peace with it or see even less of you. She’s a pragmatist.

Pragmatic Mum. And Pragmatic wife as well; we’ve spent the last year going back and forth about starting a family, and last month I told her I didn’t want kids. For a week, she barely spoke to me, and then she tells me she’s worked it out, got a new job in a new town, that we can make a fresh start, enjoy our lives together. She even laughed as she told me; It’s not like I was looking forward to changing nappies!

After the cheesecake, Mum serves coffee in the sitting room. She even brings out a tin of Quality Street, like it’s Christmas. I help myself to a couple of the coconut eclairs; they’ve always been my favourite. Something to chew on as Mum brings out an old photo album.

“Couldn’t resist,” Mum says with a grin, sitting down on the settee, and I’ve got her on my left and Carole on my right.

“Mum,” I protest, as the first baby photo is revealed. “Do you have to?”

She laughs. “I don’t know if Carole’s even seen these! Besides, maybe you want to take some with you.”

“I don’t think- “

“You were a chunky so and so,” says Carole, and she’s poring over the prints. She pokes me in the ribs. “Chunky monkey.”

“I was just a baby,” I say, feeling defensive. So what if I was a fat baby? Is that a good sign? I look at the photos, and I think the same thing when I look at photos like this. Babies are boring. Lying in a cot, sitting on a blanket, eating some mush, being carried around. Babies don’t do anything; they just eat and poop and sleep.

Mum backs me up. “Just puppy fat.” She unwraps one of the gold chocolates, a Toffee Deluxe. “When he started primary one, he was one of the skinniest boys in his class.” She sighs. “All that running around. You never sat still!”

“Good to know,” says Carole. I watch as she digs around the Quality Street tin. I know what she’s looking for, Strawberry Delight. It’s the only one she likes.

“What does that mean?” I ask.

My wife shrugs. She finds the chocolate, unwraps and puts it into her mouth.

Mum turns the page of the album, and now it’s me as a toddler. Sure enough, I do seem to be always doing something. Pedaling the little blue trike, laughing on the swings at the park, and just looking so pleased to be on my own two feet.

Yes, more interesting times, when you’re a toddler. Still just a baby though, really. I point at a picture of me racing around at the beach with a red bucket and spade’ I look around three years old but all I’ve got on is a nappy. “Crikey, Mum, when did you potty train me?” I laugh. “You didn’t send me to school in nappies, I hope.”

It’s just a joke. I know that didn’t happen. But I do wonder all the same, what’s a normal age to stop wearing nappies?

“Of course not,” Mum says. She points at a photo of me in my bedroom. “There’s your potty, right there.”

I look at the picture, and as soon as I do, I remember the blue potty seat. I blush, even though there’s nothing for me to be embarrassed about. It’s just a potty after all, every little kid has to learn sometime. “I remember…there were cars on the front.”

Mum pats my leg and says warmly, “That’s right! Oh, I would point to the cars, and you’d say, ‘beep-beep’, and I’d say, ‘Beep-beep Danny, Time to make your tinkles for Mummy!”

I feel my face go as red as the foil chocolate wrapper in Carole’s hand.

“Of course there are those Pull-ups these days,” Mum says blandly. “So you’ll be fine.”

“Good to know,” Carole replies mildly, but is there a trace of excitement underneath?

I close the album and stare at my wife. “There, you said it again. What do you mean?”

She bites her lip, the way she always does when she’s fighting hard to hold onto a secret; a terrific surprise.

That’s when I lose my breath.

I gasp as the room suddenly spins around me. “Oh!” I hold onto the two women, grabbing onto arms and legs. “Help!”

“It’s okay,” says Mum. “Don’t worry Dan, you’ll be fine.”

“We got you, sweetie,” says Carole. “It’ll be over in a jiffy.”

I groan, my body runs hot and cold at the same time. I’m shrinking, and I’m sure this is the end of me, the couch cushions will swallow me up and I’ll be lost forever.

It’s a silly idea. But so is the fact that Carole and Mum are now bigger, looming over.

So silly for Mum to pat my head and say, “He did take a while to potty-train, but I didn’t mind. He was such a good little boy. I know you’re going to love him to bits.”

I cry out, but my voice is a shrill whine, it’s an indignant squeak. I sound silly, I sound like I can’t be responsible for any of this.

Silliest of all is the look on my wife’s face as she puts her arms around me and grins. “Beep-beep, Danny! Beep-beep!”

THE END