297. Normal people (4)

I am all excited. And with good reasons too. The new sink is in place and one side of the kitchen is brand new. The other side is the same as it's been for the last 20 years. I think it is good for the morale: before: look left and despair, after: look right and rejoice. I can go through this little simple routine in the morning before going to work ...

But there is more to it: the new washing machine is in place too. So when everyone has left and downstairs is quiet, I put on a wash. The tablecloth from lunch - which was soiled even before pudding was served - Miss Organiser in tip-top shape passed the gravy boat to Baby, who, exhausted after a weekend of camp-fires and mud-fights (please don't ask) let it spill onto the white - pristine, believe it or not - tablecloth.

I did not make any comments to Baby. I was pleased! The soiled tablecloth and I were ready to star in a televised advert: before: gigantic greasy brown stain on the table cloth, after: table cloth ready for the next teenage table manners disaster.

So here I am, marvelling at modern technology, sitting on the tiles, watching the table cloth go round and round in the brand new machine. I can see it very well because the new machine has a light shining inside the drum. 

'This is not ecological.' Baby says. 'This man in the shop never told us about that. Is that light going to stay on? I mean, do you really need to see dirty laundry tumbling round and round?'

I am mesmerised and so keeping silent, sitting on the cold tiles. Soon I will be going Ommmmm.

'MUM!' She screams. 'Turn the light off.'

The thing is, you can not turn the light off. Baby gets annoyed when I am in a meditative mood and so she leaves grumbling stuff to herself.

Ralph (the dog) comes and sits next to me and we both watch the blue light shining onto the tumbling soiled tablecloth. I am close to achieve a complete meditative state when my husband's voice brings me back to the physical world.

'Are you all right? ... What's going on? ... just let me know: are you all right?'

I look up towards my husband and he turns the speaker of his phone on, pointing at it, with the this-is-a-crisis-moment look on his face.

Thought the speaker Muddy-Boots is ranting and raving, the way she does but she is also howling, screaming, crying and shouting all at the same time and none of what she is saying is making any sense to us. We are both starting to be worried. Something must have happened. 

'You don't understand! I nearly died! I nearly got killed. Here. Now. Look! I coud have died!'

We look at each other.

'And the Penny is smashed! Look! I could have died. IN FACT I NEARLY DIED I AM SO LUCKY TO BE ALIVE.'

I pull myself away from the washing machine as my husband takes the speaker off. He speaks to her in that calming soothing voice of his and I, feeling suddenly terribly useless go and make some tea. When it is poured my husband says to me.

'It's all right. She's ok. Just a big fright.'

Riding home on her Penny (a small very fast skate-board which belonged to Baby) after a hand-ball match, a car drove at high speed towards her. She jumped off onto the pavement just as the car drove over the skateboard, smashing it to bits.

A photo appeared on my husband's phone.

'This could have been me' dramatically added as a caption under the picture of the Penny board broken into three pieces. Then an other message 'Pierre and Louis are pampering me so dont worry'. The feeling of being useless again ... I turn to see my washing machine and its calming blue light and regular movement.