“Hello, darling,” she said. I thought I heard a hiss of static, or perhaps the malign buzz of strip lighting and another noise,
something that sounded a bit like the clanging of bolts being drawn. “Hello, Mummy,” I whispered.
I could hear chewing. “Are you eating?” I said. She exhaled, and then there was an awful honking sound,
like a cat trying to cough up a furball, followed by a moist splat.
“Chewing tobacco,” she said dismissively. “Ghastly stuff—I’d advise against it, darling.”
“Mummy, I’m hardly likely to try chewing tobacco, am I?” “I suppose not,” she said. “You never were very adventurous.
Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, though. I indulged in some paan now and again, back when I lived in Lahore.
As I’d told Raymond, Mummy has lived in Mumbai, Tashkent, São Paulo and Taipei.
She’s trekked in the Sarawak jungle and climbed Mount Toubkal.
She’s had an audience with the Dalai Lama in Kathmandu and taken afternoon tea with a maharaja in Jaipur.
And that’s just for starters. There was some more throat clearing—the chewing tobacco had clearly taken its toll.
I took advantage of the opening. “Mummy, I wanted to ask you something.
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