Sleeping space was clearly limited in the flat, so being small of frame my mum opted for Ol’ Faithful the Chesterfield. Meanwhile my aunt plumped for the futon in the girls’ room. Each not as uncomfortable as they may first appear. Ol’ Faithful is a remarkably restful couch. I’ve lost track of the amount of evenings I’ve drifted off into its antique leather whilst watching my favourite shows. Whilst Francesca and I spent a year using the futon as our main bed when we moved into our first unfurnished flat in what seemed like a million years ago.
After a couple of days my mum’s health deteriorates. She complains of shortness of breath, and her movements become laboured. I’m used to her being poorly, desensitised even. My mother has never truly enjoyed good health starting with the removal of a lung as a child due to TB. Later in her life, doctors had advised her not to have me for fear that the trauma of the pregnancy would kill her. However, she went ahead, and here I was 490 months later. I had grown up with her bronchitis, crippling migraines, gall bladder removal, Sjoegren’s syndrome and other associated maladies, but despite all this I believed her to be a strong woman, and I was glad that she was there despite the feeling that it was going to take more than a motherly ‘kiss it better’ and an elastoplast to fix my problem.

A few days later my mum took a turn for the worse. Her breathing is even shallower, moving exhausts her, and she has pains in her chest and back. An appointment is swiftly made at my doctors’ surgery across the road, and my aunt goes across with her. At around the same time Craig, my DS, calls around to see how I’m getting on. Half an hour or so later my mum returns and announces that the doctor wants her admitted immediately to Kingston Hospital, and that her intentions were to pack an overnight bag then call a taxi. Craig steps forward and volunteers to take her to the hospital in his unmarked police car. Initially she declines afraid that she would take him away from his duties. However, being of ‘good heart’, Craig won’t take ‘no’ for an answer and eventually she accepts his offer.
Later, I was to discover that my mum and aunt had tried to force £20 on Craig for his ‘trouble’. Craig had had to remind them that he had driven them to the hospital as a favour, and to make sure my mother got there swiftly and safely due to the immediate health concerns and not for profit. I laughed so much imagining Craig’s face when they tried to force a gratuity on him. Craig as straight as they come locked in a ‘war of attrition’ similar to a hapless priest having tea forced on him by Father Ted’s Mrs Doyle, “Oh go on, go on, go on, ahh you will, you will, you will (and on, and on) .” Priceless.