“Mum, you go and put your feet up. I’ll put the shopping away and make us a brew.” Pamela Hetherington watched as her mother Mabel shuffled gingerly into the lounge. With a deep sigh, she eased back into a large armchair and kicked off her shoes. “I’m whacked. Shopping does me in, hurry up with that tea Pamela, I’m spitting feathers here.”
Ten minutes later the pair were settled in their cosy lounge, sipping hot tea from two china cups.
Mabel gave Pamela a sidewards glance, “Look, do you know what college course Parsons is doing, you know, like what that Johnson woman told us at Myrtle’s wake?”
Pamela’s eyes shot up at the mention of Rob Parsons, “I’ve no idea, probably howtobeatwatology.”
“Pamela! Language, remember I’m still your mother.” Pamela blushed, “Sorry Mum, it’s just the mention of his name makes my blood boil.”
Mabel leaned down and pulled out a glossy looking brochure from her large shopping bag. “Well, I thought you might like to do one, you know, a college course or something. So, I got you this from the library.”
She handed the brochure to Pamela.
“You did what?”
Pamela stared at the cover. ‘The Open University – Courses and Qualifications.’ She glanced inside, carefully studying the list of courses from Arts and Humanities to Sports and Fitness.
“Oh, I don’t know mum, I haven’t done any school work for ages. I’m not sure I could concentrate.”
Mabel looked firmly into Pamela’s eyes, “You were a very clever girl, all the teachers said so. You’d breeze one of these courses. I mean you don’t want to stay as just an office clerk at Morton’s for ever, do you?”
Pamela took a deep sip of tea. She placed the brochure carefully on the table. “I don’t know mum; I’ll have a think.”
Mabel, smiling, drained her cup.
© Graham Crisp