Izzy and her Mother again

(Keeping going with Port Brokeferry. Here's Izzy and her mother again)

SOMETIMES IZZY’S MOTHER

Sometimes Izzy’s mother does not know where she is. She recognises the post office but thinks it is in another time. A time before when there was not grey in her hair and the space she was in smelled of cologne, and Izzy was a slip of a girl who skipped through every day, as children do, and Izzy’s father still delivered the mail.

Today is one of those days. Today Izzy’s mother called Sharon by another name. Sharon from the Victoria Hotel, dressed the same as her own mother was once, something the same, and her hair tied back the same, too. Izzy’s mother asked Sharon how it was with young Struan, and she winked at Sharon like they were sharing a secret. But that was years back, when Ina McAllister made eyes at the newly promoted hotel porter, Struan Courtald, and they were seen out walking together of an evening and it would only be a matter of time, the people said. And today Izzy’s mother mistook Sharon for Ina.

Sharon smiled and blushed a little. She looked at the watch on her wrist as though she was checking the time – though she was not – and she said that Mr Struan Courtald was a gentle man.

Today Izzy’s mother scolded her daughter for being still in the shop long after the school bell had rung. The Balfour Bell, she called it. And shouldn’t Izzy be dressed different? Smarter than she was, and a tie around her neck and her shoes polished? And had she done her homework the night before and where was her bag of books and pens and rulers?

Izzy quietly explained that she was not in school today and she patted her mother’s arm and asked her if she wanted a cup of tea.

And Izzy’s mother sorted the mail, today she did, just like before. Some of the names were different and she called to Izzy for an explanation. Izzy did not know what she should say, so she made up stories of new people in Port Brokeferry, and who they were and what they were doing there.

Izzy’s mother shook her head. She shrugged and went on with her sorting, for it would not do for the mail to be delivered late. There was another reason, too. Izzy could see her mother looking for a letter from a boy called Johannes, or a small parcel from a place called Ursulaplatz, Koln. Izzy could see a small sadness in her mother, something in her eyes. And Izzy felt sorry that today there was nothing from that German boy.

With all the mail sorted Izzy’s mother filled the post-bag so everything was ready. The bag was heavy today, she said to Blair, though she called him by Izzy’s father’s name and she kissed Blair’s cheek once and laid the flat palm of one hand on his chest, just where his heart was. And she told him to do a good job.

Blair understood. He cleared his throat as if he might say something, but he kept a silence.

Sometimes Izzy’s mother does not know where she is, does not see that the world has turned and years have slid under her feet. And at the end of those out-of-time days Izzy’s mother is tired and she takes to her bed early and Izzy knows her mother will sleep sound on those nights.