Balloon

Her 50th birthday.

She’s spent it alone.

More than half her life already lived. And nothing to show for it.

She had envisioned a different life.

A husband. Children. Love. Laughter. The noisy chaos of family.

When she found herself pregnant and alone at seventeen - her parents wiping her hands of her when she insisted she wanted to keep the baby; the father wanting nothing to do with their child or with her - she postponed her plans. Her boy needed her.

But she needed him more as it turned out. For when he arrived she found her purpose.

For a long time they were a tight, self contained unit - she and her boy. She revelled in it. She didn’t need anyone else.

The husband, the house brimming with kids never happened. But she was content.

Then her son started pulling away.

She was not ready.

The more she held on, the more he rebelled, the further he went.

Until…

Here she is. All alone on her landmark birthday.

‘What are you doing to celebrate?’ the checkout ladies at the branch of Asda where she is manager asked. She had started working there part time when her boy started school. And there she’s stayed.

She’s comfortable there. Not too close to anyone. But familiar faces every day. A job she can do blind folded.

‘Oh nothing much,’ she said breezily.

‘You must do something to mark it. It’s a big one,’ they said.

She bought a balloon, advertising in cheery rainbow script: 50 today.

Now she goes into her small patch of garden.

The grass is brown. Tired. Like her.

She snips the string off the balloon. A gust of air and up it goes.

She watches it soar. Higher and higher, away from her. Until it’s just a dot, made fuzzy by her tears.

She will not hold things too dear. Not anymore. She’s learned her lesson.

A bit too late...

When was the last time she heard from her son?

She can’t recall.

He used to call regularly when he first left. But she kept asking, ‘When are you coming back?’ Saying, ‘I miss you son.’

The calls dwindled.

As for visiting, well…

She was hoping he’d call today. She hasn’t changed her number.

The balloon has disappeared now. The sky clear and cloudless.

The same sky that angles over her son.

A knock at the door.

It will be Edna from next door with flowers. Her neighbour never forgets. Bless her.

She opens the door to a stranger.

Tall.

Well built.

Bearded.

Beloved.

He draws her into a hug.

His smell is the same.

‘Happy birthday, Mum.’

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