Screwtop Thompson

5. Once in a Blue Moon

My mother’s house was under siege. One chill Friday evening in November I arrived to find the entire neighbourhood in a state of high alert. The police had blocked the street at both ends. A helicopter was circling overhead, and there were snipers hidden in the garden.

“Get down!” they hissed, when I approached.

“It’s OK,” I replied. “I’ve been on this case right from the beginning.”

After a couple of routine questions they directed me to the officer in command. He was a harassed-looking individual, sheltering with the rest of his men behind an armoured car. The guys were at a complete loss as to what to do next. They stood around, drinking coffee from paper cups, and waiting for something to happen. When I joined them I received no more than a cursory glance.

“Would you like me to talk to her?” I offered.

“Be my guest,” said the chief. “When all this is over I’m handing in my badge. After that I’ll be back on traffic duties. For good.”

He got on his radio and ordered the helicopter to move away. Then I ducked beneath a chequered tape bearing the words POLICE LINE: DO NOT CROSS.

To tell the truth I had scant idea what to expect. It was a while since I’d last called on my mother, having been fully occupied with work and so forth. The usual story. There was no excuse for my neglect, and as I crossed the garden towards the darkened dwelling I felt more than a little uneasy. A heavy silence lay about the place. The only disturbance was the humming of the power generators somewhere behind me. In the cold autumn air I could feel the heat of the searchlights on the back of my neck. There was nowhere to hide.

The commander had given me a loud-hailer. Now I raised it to my lips, spoke into the mouthpiece, and heard a staccato voice ricochet through the night.

“Alright, Mother!” it rasped. “I’m going to count to three, and then I want you to come outside with your hands held high above your head.”

I lowered the loud-hailer and waited. From the house there came not a sound. Its blank windows seemed to stare down at me as I stood all alone in my mother’s garden. I tried again.

“Can you hear me, Mother?!”

To the rear of me I could sense growing restlessness. I knew it wouldn’t be too long before the police became impatient and began to resort to less subtle methods. This was my last chance.

“Mother?”

The quiet was shattered as an upper window exploded into smithereens. Then the barrel of a gun appeared, and behind it, my mother’s face.

“Whaddyawant?!” she hollered.

It was a good question, and I realised I needed to think carefully before I answered. What I really wanted, of course, was to be able to converse with my mother as I had done in the past. Countless times the two of us had sat in her living room, exchanging remarks about the weather while we shared tea and buns. The clock on the shelf would tick resolutely round for half an hour or so, and then I’d take my leave and all would be well. Her tone this evening, however, suggested that circumstances had changed. I was in danger of being viewed as a representative of the besieging forces. Therefore I required an angle.

“We were wondering,” I said, addressing her once more through the loud-hailer. “We were wondering what you were doing at Christmas?”

“Who wants to know?” she demanded.

“Just about everybody,” I replied.

A blaze of gunfire told me my mother was in no mood for quips. Nonetheless, as the noise faded away, she offered what seemed like an olive branch.

“You can come in for a few minutes,” she announced. “But make sure there’s no funny business.”

An instant later she’d withdrawn the gun and vanished from sight.

“I’m going in,” I called back to the police chief. “Wish me luck.”

“You’ll need it,” came his answer as I headed for the front door. To my surprise it was off the latch, swinging open at the lightest touch. I stepped into the gloom of the hallway and was grabbed roughly from behind. Then I was frisked for weapons before being led inside.

“Sit there,” said my mother, indicating a hard wooden chair. “And I’ll go and put the kettle on.”

I did as I was told. My seat was not comfortable, but I thought it would be unwise to comment on the fact. From the kitchen I heard reassuring domestic noises. Meanwhile, I glanced around the room I was in. It had been stripped of all but the barest necessities. On the table lay a large pile of used banknotes. I was still gazing at them when my mother came back.

“You planning on doing some wallpapering?” I enquired.

She levelled the gun at me.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll cut the crap.”

“Alright,” I said. “Sorry.”

“Now what’s all this about Christmas?”

“The thing is,” I answered. “We thought you might like to come to us this year.”

“Why should I?”

“Because you deserve a break.”

“I don’t know why you’re so concerned all of a sudden,” she said. “You only call on me once in a blue moon.”

“And how often do you call on me?” I countered.

“As often as not,” she replied.

“Well then.”

“Well then nothing.”

Her new-found bluntness left me lost for words, and there followed an awkward hiatus in our conversation. Fortunately, I was saved by the kettle, its forlorn whistle calling away my reticent host. While she was gone I went to the window and peered through the slats of the blind. I saw immediately that the security cordon had been withdrawn by some thirty metres, which struck me as a sensible precaution. From this vantage point I could also see the full extent of my mother’s scorched earth policy. When I’d crossed her garden a little earlier I’d been too preoccupied to notice the conspicuous absence of plant life. Gone were the neat flowerbeds which in previous years would have been full of biennials, recently transferred from the greenhouse. This structure now lay in ruins, while the lawn had become nothing more than a wilderness. Even the line of poplars that ran along the boundary fence had been felled, allowing a fresh breeze to blow in from the west.

When my mother returned she was bearing a fully laden tea tray.

“Oh,” I said. “You shouldn’t have bothered.”

“I know I shouldn’t,” she replied. “But you don’t look as if you’ve been fed properly since the last time you were here.”

“Yes, well, I’ve been busy.”

“So have I.”

Something in her voice made me glance up, and I knew I was soon to discover what this was all about.

“Don’t look so startled,” she said. “I’ve done nothing illegal.”

“What is it then?” I asked.

She smiled. “Remember when you said I ought to get out more?”

“Yes?”

“Well, I’ve been getting out more. A lot more.”

“That’s good.”

“And I’ve realised I’ve been letting life pass me by for far too long. I saw that all the niceties and the considerate deeds had come to nothing, so I decided to make a few changes. First I went to the bank and took out all my money. There it is on the table. They didn’t like giving it back, but they had no choice. Then I closed my accounts at the butcher’s, the hairdresser’s, and the garden centre. Not much, I know, but it’s turned me into a free woman. I owe nobody nothing, and I can do whatever I like, whenever I like.”

“And the gun?”

“The gun’s only for ornamental purposes.”

“So it’s a replica, is it?”

“No,” she said. “It’s real.”

♦

I ate my sandwiches and drank my tea. Then I nodded towards the street outside. “Looks as if you’ve been attracting attention. Maybe you need to cool it a little bit.”

“I know, I know,” my mother conceded. “The Feds haven’t got used to me yet, so they tend to drop by from time to time. After a couple of hours they usually lose interest and disperse.” She went to the window and looked out. “They’ve stuck around a little longer than usual this evening, but they’ll be gone by midnight.”

“And then you’ll go to bed, will you?”

“Maybe,” she answered. “Or then again I might go out on patrol.”

I took a deep breath.

“OK,” I said at length. “If that’s what you want to do it’s fine by me. I’ll try to call round more often. And the invitation for Christmas still stands, of course.”

My mother thought for a moment. “Tell you what,” she said. “You can come here this year if you like.”

“Thanks,” I replied. “If you’re sure it won’t be too much trouble.”

“I’m quite sure.”

“Alright then.”

I buttoned my coat and prepared to leave.

“Just one thing though,” she added. “You’ll have to bring your own tree.”