I assumed this helped her ingratiate herself with her fellow residents, or, perhaps, with the staff. It may simply have been to amuse herself.
She’s very good at accents, but then she’s a woman with a broad range of gifts.
I was poised, en garde, for this conversation, as one always had to be with her. She was a formidable adversary.
Perhaps it was foolhardy, but I made the first move. “It’s only been a week, I know, but it feels like an age since we last spoke, Mummy.
I’ve been so busy with work, and—She cut across me, nice as pie on this occasion, switching her accent to match mine.
That voice; I remembered it from childhood, heard it still in my nightmares. “I know what you mean, darling,” she said.
She spoke quickly. “Look, I can’t talk for long. Tell me about your week. What have you been doing?”
I told her that I had attended a concert, mentioned the leaving do at work. I told her absolutely nothing else.
As soon as I heard her voice, I felt that familiar, creeping dread.
I’d been so looking forward to sharing my news, dropping it at her feet like a dog retrieving a game bird peppered with shot.
Now I couldn’t shake the thought that she would pick it up and, with brutal calm, simply tear it to shreds.
“Oh a concert, that sounds marvelous—I’ve always been fond of music.
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