​

 

 

 

 

 

​

 

 

It was difficult for Mary Finnegan to pin-point when her eldest son, John changed.  She still pictured him as a little lost boy who was always in trouble, who was always in fights.  Now he had become …

 

*

**

… a snob.

 

*

**

 

She had for years recognised that he was embarrassed by her because she was gaudy and upfront.  Mary only showed these traits when protecting her two sons – John and Tommy.  Although John had now become Jonathan. 

 

That was not the name on his birth certificate.

 

In the dark times of the night, she had worried frantically about paying bills, about making sure her sons would have decent school uniforms and would therefore not be laughed at.

 

John ensured that he was never laughed at.  Tommy just laughed at life and at himself.  Such was his nature.  Every weekend Tommy and his wife Josie brought the grandkids around.  Josie was the odd one out amongst them.  She was the only one without bright red hair.  Tommy often joked about it – his little family of carrot tops.  Tommy always loved to see his mother and Mary always loved to see him, even though she knew deep inside that he was not her favourite, and she knew deep inside that this was wrong.

 

But Tommy came every weekend.

 

*

**

 

Mary knew that she would see John this weekend, the first weekend in four months, because it was Mothering Sunday.  Usually, he did not make the effort to see her.  John was too busy with his own accountancy firm and with his own family. There were occasional visits to her home but they never went anywhere else.  Mary knew that John was ashamed to be seen with her.  John would never entertain being seen together in public in case he ran into clients or associates from the golf club.

 

He could not call them friends.

 

Tommy and Josie and the little carrot tops took her to a Sunday Carvery every weekend and it was her world.  They couldn’t come round this Sunday because John was making the gesture.  Tommy did not need to make a gesture.

 

*

**

 

Mother’s Day is about giving.  Mary knew from John’s demeanour that something was amiss.  The day was not going to be about giving.

 

Well not for John.

 

John was always distant but today he was even more so.  John had left his wife Margaret and their two sons at home.  Mary often asked after them but could not remember the last time she had seen her grandchildren.  The ones that were not carrot topped.

 

Margaret had always been quoted as being John’s first love but Mary knew that this was not the case.

 

Money was John’s first love.

 

*

**

 

… and now he didn’t have any.

 

And who do you turn to in times of need?

 

The person you always need, if you had only realised.

 

*

**

​

It wasn’t just the disgrace of needing money, it was the disgrace of failure, of not winning.  His company was sinking, as was his reputation.

 

Mary only saw her little boy in front of her.  Eventually he had needed her.

 

*

**

 

Over the years Mary had invested her life in him and now John wanted her to invest in him financially.

 

Over the years Mary had tolerated John’s embarrassment of her.  This Mothering Sunday Mary becomes brave as she had done many years ago at a parent’s evening at school.  Mary tells John how embarrassed she has been at his behaviour, how she has tolerated his false accent, his false associates, his pretentiousness; she has tolerated the history that he has invented for himself which has not included herself or his brother.

 

On Mothering Sunday Mary Finnegan summoned up all her courage, her bravery to tell the truth to a son who she had tolerated all her life.  She too had performed a balancing act. 

 

Toleration and Love.

 

Balancing acts that all mothers achieve.

 

*

**

 

She moved to the other side of the room and opened a sideboard drawer.

 

 

 

 

Mary Finnegan took out her chequebook and pen.

 

​

​