Coming of Age (Monologue)

Gloria is 38, divorced and living alone in a two-bedroomed council flat. It is early morning and she is sitting in an armchair, her hands clamped around a mug of coffee, a newspaper across her lap. She is still in her dressing gown.

It’s his 21st tomorrow. Of course, nobody will mention it if I don’t. They all think I’ve come to terms with him being gone. They probably imagine that I’ve managed to blank it out and that I’m just getting on with my life. No more awkward clearing of throats before they ask ‘Don’t suppose you’ve heard anything from Matthew then, Glo?’ These days, if I happen to bring his name into the conversation, they look uncomfortable and change the subject. Like it’s taboo, or something. Can’t I talk about my own son without them getting embarrassed? I get the feeling I’m expected to have got over it by now. As if that’s even possible when there are times I still can’t believe what’s happened — even after four years.

She sighs, shakes her head slowly and takes a sip from her mug.

Everyone said he’d be back. Give him time, they said. So I did. Even the Police Officer I spoke to on the phone that night said I shouldn’t get myself worked up. Lots of teenagers run off — go missing for a day or two and then turn up when they’re hungry and they’ve run out of money.

He was just seventeen and he’d gone out with his friends for the evening. At least, that’s what he said. Nothing unusual in that. But he didn’t come home that night. Having worried and fretted myself into a state, I eventually discovered a note in his room saying he was going to live with someone called Suzanne. He said he still loved me and that I shouldn’t worry about him.

He had mentioned her before but I hadn’t paid too much attention. Then I found a photograph on the floor under his bed. He probably didn’t know he’d dropped it. It must be her — I can’t think who else it might be — and she’s obviously a lot older than him. Late twenties if she’s a day. Quite pretty, too, if I’m honest. But I can’t help hating her for taking him away from me like that — stealing my boy — because he was still a boy and she shouldn’t have enticed him away.

Pause

What sort of a woman does that? A cruel, selfish one I’d guess. Someone with no pity in her and no idea of the bond between a mother and her only son. She wasn’t even thinking about him — how guilty he would feel just walking out like that with no warning. No consideration.

It’s not as if he didn’t know how much he means to me — how much I gave up for him when his father cleared off and I had to cope on my own. He was a good kid and hardly ever any trouble. Worth all the sacrifices — the sort of things a mother gives up willingly — and I never had any regrets up until that night.

Pause

I didn’t suspect a thing at the time. Nothing tipped me off that he was planning to go. I suppose I was preoccupied and maybe I seemed a bit distant. I had a lot on my mind at the time. Money was tight and I had a hard job making ends meet. It was almost impossible to keep on top of the bills and he probably thought I wouldn’t be very easy to talk to. Guessed I’d be against the idea of him having a relationship with a much older woman. That I wouldn’t listen to his point of view and maybe there’d be a row. And he may well have been right because I wouldn’t have liked the idea one bit. I still don’t, to be honest.

Or perhaps he wanted to talk but couldn’t find the right moment to bring it up. And, to be fair, I was always complaining that I was dog-tired. Always falling asleep in front of the tele as soon as we’d finished our tea. But at least he could have said something. He should have told me that he had decided to move out — just let me know he wouldn’t be back. What could I have done to stop him? But at least I wouldn’t have panicked and thought my worst nightmare had come true. I was terrified he’d had an accident or been mugged and was lying dead somewhere. It sounds hysterical, I know, but I was practically out of my mind with worry.

She takes another swallow of coffee and stares into the mug for a moment.

He had always been so good about getting back by eleven. Often, his key would be in the lock as the hall clock started to strike and then he’d come through into the living room, where I’d been dozing and missing chunks of the programmes I’d intended watching. Then we’d have a hot drink together before going to bed. That night, I’d startled awake at eleven o’clock, looked at my watch and waited. I was sure he would be home any minute.

By quarter past, I was convinced something was wrong and I started to feel sick with worry. I got ready for bed, all the time listening out for the sound of his key and the creak of the door as he tried to creep in quietly. I paced from room to room, working myself up into a state as the minutes ticked by. I got dressed again, thinking I’d walk down to the corner of the shopping parade and look for him, but then I thought he might try to phone while I was out or there might be some news. It would be bad news, I was sure of it. My hands are even shaking now, just remembering it.

She holds her mug in one hand and lifts the other to eye level to witness it trembling.

So I just sat around waiting and jumping at every sound from the street. After three hours I just couldn’t stand it any longer and phoned the local Police. Well, the phone kept on ringing but I hung on until someone answered. Doesn’t give you a lot of confidence when they don’t pick it up fairly smartish. As if someone would phone them at two in the morning if it wasn’t important.

She snorts and shakes her head, takes a sip from the mug.

Anyhow, I spoke to this copper about Matthew not getting home. He sounded young and a bit vague — like he had something else on his mind. He told me it was too soon for Matthew to be considered a missing person. That statistics suggested he’d turn up in a day or so. Typical teenage behaviour. I tried to argue that Matthew wasn’t like that but I could tell he wasn’t going to be any real help. Waste of time, but I thanked him anyway. Force of habit.

I stayed up all night, clutching at straws and hoping for a simple explanation. Like maybe he’d got stuck somewhere — a mate’s car had broken down and they’d had to walk or hitch a lift. Anything to keep from imagining crashes and ambulances and hospital beds. Or worse.

I kept the tele on quietly, just for the company. They have a strange mix of programmes on between midnight and the early morning news. I sort of half- watched a film — an old black and white gangster movie with some young woman who screamed a lot, then I switched to a documentary about fish that wasn’t so hard on my nerves. That night remains so clear in my memory. But then I guess I’ve gone over it often enough since.

She sighs heavily, gets to her feet and walks to the window.

The post should be here soon. I still get the odd thing addressed to him, but of course I can’t forward anything. I don’t open his mail. I just keep it all, in case he gets in touch. There’s quite a bundle but I don’t expect there’s anything really important. Mostly junk advertising, charity appeals and prize draws. Never anything to get excited about. I’ve long ago stopped hoping for a card or letter from him. Out of sight, out of mind. It’s like I don’t exist for him any more.

She takes her wrist watch from her dressing gown pocket and squints at it.

Better get ready for work, I suppose. Don’t really want to go in but I’d better
show willing. Doris won’t be too happy if I don’t show up. What with them short
staffed and everything, and it being a delivery day.

Fade to black.

It’s evening, Gloria is slumped in her chair, dressed in a plain black skirt and white blouse, her black court shoes kicked off and lying on the floor. She keeps closing her eyes and swallowing, before trying to focus on the envelopes on her lap.

God, it’s been a real pig of a day! Doris was in an impossible mood. Being promoted to deputy manageress has really gone to her head and, with Kate on holiday, she’s had the chance to throw her weight around. It’s been do this, do that, do the other — she hasn’t let up all day. She even upset Mrs. Roberts by complaining one of the bins hadn’t been emptied so I wouldn’t be surprised if we
don’t end up doing our own cleaning. What’s the betting I get landed with it. Dogsbody incorporated, that’s what I am. It’s about time I found myself another job. To top it all, I had to do the refill on the greetings card section and the new line included a load of 21st birthday cards. I tried to get out of it but Doris insisted it needed to be done immediately. I had good personal reasons, I told her, for not wanting to do it. She threw up her hands and did her usual hissy fit. Just for once,
she could’ve actually put some stock out herself. It wouldn’t hurt her. At least, not as much as it hurt me having to arrange them on the display stand and all the time thinking that I wish there was a way I could send one to Matthew. I was determined not to let Doris see I was crying. She would only have made an issue out of it and I would have felt even worse. Insensitive cow.

She will keep banging on about her Toby and his three A levels and how he’s the first one in her family to go to college and how proud she is. I suppose I should be more tolerant. Looking back, I probably went on a bit when Matthew got offered a place at Art school just on the strength of an interview and the exhibition pieces in his portfolio. I was that chuffed. Funny, he didn’t seem too
impressed — it was like he’d already made up his mind that he wouldn’t get accepted. Seemed more enthusiastic about his weekend job down the local garage running errands, doing all the odd jobs no one else wanted to do and coming home covered in grease and god knows what. And all for three quid an hour. I told him I would make the money up if he went to college and worked hard. I’d do overtime and give him an allowance so he could buy his CDs and video games. Plus whatever else teenage boys spend their money on. But he said I needed to spend more on myself and less on him. Probably felt a bit guilty, seeing as what he had planned to do.

When I eventually got round to checking, I found most of his stuff had gone and the drawers and cupboards were almost empty. He must have taken it a bit at a time and I just hadn’t noticed it going. I could kick myself now.

Gloria looks down at the pile of post on her lap and flicks through the envelopes. She extracts a large blue one and scrutinizes the handwriting.

This one’s addressed to him. Don’t recognise the handwriting and it’s obviously a birthday card. Talk about rubbing salt in the wound. I just haven’t a clue what to do with it. Should I open it or not? Whoever sent it must think he’s still living here so they can’t be in touch with him. Sometimes, I could really have a go at him for dumping all this on me. It’s true what they say about teenagers — totally thoughtless and self-centred the whole lot of ’em! And yet I really believed he was different. Guess I was just as blind as most mothers are. Perhaps I didn’t know him at all.

Gloria teases the flap of the envelope and it lifts easily.

Huh! Hardly sealed down at all. Surprised it didn’t come unstuck in the mail. Probably won’t do any harm to have a peek and see who it’s from. Who’s to now, anyway?

She reads the card and draws in a deep breath.

Well, there’s a surprise! It’s from Gary. Must be the Gary Waters from school that he was best friends with. I never imagined those two would have parted company. They were like brothers — thick as thieves, as my mother used to say. And there’s a phone number, too. He even says for Matthew to get in touch if he’d like to. It’s a shame I can’t let him know. I wonder what happened to make them fall out. That girlfriend of his, I shouldn’t wonder. Perhaps I should phone Gary — tell him how things are and see what I can find out. It’s hard to know what to do.

Or maybe I’ll leave it for a while and have forty winks first — I’m totally pooped. Today has really worn me out. Doris is in for a nice surprise because I’m going to phone in sick in the morning. There’s no way I can face dealing with her all day tomorrow — I don’t trust myself to keep a civil tongue. Better to avoid all that stress and stay indoors on my own. Have a quiet time with just my memories for company. Yes, I think that’s what I’ll do.

Gloria nods emphatically and closes her eyes. Fade to black.

Gloria is sitting at her dressing table brushing her hair. She is humming to herself.

I tried that number but Gary wasn’t picking up. I’ve left a message with his answering service but I doubt he’ll phone back. Unless he’s curious, of course. I only said Matthew was away at present. Anyway, I won’t hold my breath.

I thought I might go out for a while — pop down the local and see who’s in. A change of scene and a gossip might stop me brooding for a bit. Could go in the chippy, too. Save me bothering to get myself some tea. I hate eating on my own and it’s not worth all the hassle just cooking for one.

I popped in Matthew’s room just now and one of the posters on the wall caught my eye. It’s an advert for Harlequin — the local radio station — and it’s given me an idea. He used to have the radio on a lot and I’ve been trying to remember the name of the DJ he always listened to — I think it was Mickey someone-or- other. It was a late night show — he used to listen to it in bed. Anyway, I thought I might see if I can get a request played for his birthday. I’ll tell them he’s a regular listener and, if he still is, he might hear the dedication. Anyway, I’ll tune in later , when I get back, and see if they give out the phone number. I’m glad I thought of it. I feel almost cheerful now.

She flourishes a lipstick, quickly colours her mouth a fuchsia pink and adjusts a bra strap before standing and walking from the room. Fade to black.

Gloria is sitting up in bed, twiddling with the dial on the radio resting on the duvet beside her. There is the whine of static interspersed with faint blasts of pop music and foreign voices as she searches the waveband. Eventually, she finds the station she’s after and relaxes back against the pillows.

Well, this evening’s been a bit of a disaster. I went in the pub and walked straight up to the bar and ordered a glass of red wine, not noticing that Sheila and Jack from three doors down were sitting in the corner. She’s never been what you might call a good neighbour — only ever bangs on my door when she wants to borrow something — so I wasn’t too thrilled when she came up and tapped my
arm and asked if I’d like to join them. I felt really awkward. I thanked her but, on the spur of the moment, said I was waiting for someone. ‘Well, come and wait with us,’ she said and picked up my glass and carried it over to their table.

I was seething — really cross. But I think I hid it well. Then that annoying husband of hers started asking all sorts of questions like ‘How’s yer love life then, Glo? Got yerself a new bloke yet? ’ I resisted the urge to snap at him but it was an effort. I informed him I was doing just fine and that he shouldn’t worry himself on my account. Stupid sod couldn’t take the hint, of course, and wouldn’t drop the subject. Wanted to know if I ever saw anything of ‘good old dependable Kevin’. Sheila just laughed like a drain, which egged Jack on. He kept digging while she knocked back her double G & T. I told them I hadn’t even clapped eyes on Kevin for months. It wasn’t any of their business, but I didn’t actually say that.

As soon as I could, I changed the subject to holidays — always a good one because they have a timeshare in Malta and grab any opportunity to brag about it. I just let their chatter flow over me and the wine helped. I let Jack buy me two more glasses — let him pay for the fact that the pair of them were boring me rigid. I was starting to feel quite mellow when, quite by chance, Kevin walked in. No one was more surprised to see him than I was but Sheila and Jack probably jumped to the conclusion that it was him I’d been waiting for. So, as it happened, things got a bit embarrassing.

Sheila called out and waved him over before I had a chance to say anything. ‘Hi Kevin — long time no see. Come and join us!’ He swung round and the expression on his face told me enough. He hesitated and looked uncomfortable seeing me. Not surprising, really. The last time we spoke had ended in a row. Nothing very dramatic, but things were said that couldn’t be unsaid and we both
knew it was the finish. He had proposed and I had turned him down. Gently as I could, but firmly. He’d wanted to know why. Typical bloke — he just couldn’t accept rejection without demanding a full explanation. Got really shirty and it was at that stage the fur started to fly. He blamed Matthew because he’d guessed the lad had never been that keen on our relationship. Which, I have to say, was pretty near the truth . Matthew avoided him and seldom made the effort to be sociable. To give Kevin his due, he did try to be pleasant but he tended to overdo it. Some of those horribly strained conversations had made me squirm. Of course, I should have known right away that there was no future for us as a family. There was no way I could upset Matthew by having a relationship with someone he really didn’t like. He’s far too important to me. And it did occur to me that he was
jealous and didn’t want Kevin to get a share of my attention. It turned out that Kevin was jealous of Matthew, too. He as good as said so at the end. Quite a speech, it was. ‘That son of yours always comes first with you, Glo. You think the bloody sun shines out of him. You always put him first and I know I’d always be playing second fiddle all the while he’s at home. But he won’t stay at home for ever. Mark my words, he’ll up and go when he’s ready and not give a monkey’s how you feel about it. He’ll leave you without a backward glance. Then you’ll be on your own.’

Since that night, I’ve had plenty of time to wonder if it gave Kevin any satisfaction to find out that his prediction was bang on the nail.

With obvious reluctance, Kevin began walking over and I got up and went to intercept him. Mainly it was an attempt to head off Sheila — who I knew was bound to put her foot in it.

‘How are you?’ I said. I felt odd — a bit nervous after so long. ‘Oh, fine — well, y’know — not so bad. You?’ He looked that unsure of himself I almost laughed. Then he glanced around the pub. ‘I’m supposed to be meeting someone’ he said. I pulled a face and nodded. ‘Right.’ We looked at each other and I just couldn’t think of anything else to say. Then Sheila piped up with ‘Are you gonna get a round in then, Kev?’ ‘Pretend you haven’t heard her. I have to go, anyway,’ I said quietly. ‘Glo,’ he began and then stopped, his face solemn and concerned, his hand on my sleeve, ‘have you heard anything from him?’ The breath caught like a hard knot in my throat and I shook my head. ‘No’ I admitted, not needing to remind him that his prediction had come true.

I was about to make for the door when this well-built blonde woman barged in on us. ‘Who’s this, then?’ she demanded, pointing at me and staring at poor Kevin. He shrank and looked about as guilty as any man could as she grabbed his arm away, glared at me and said ‘do excuse us’ in a very sarcastic voice. Then she marched him to the other side of the room. I could feel eyes on me and didn’t look over to where Sheila and Jack were sitting, no doubt enjoying the floor show.

I went in the Ladies for a few minutes and prayed Sheila, or even worse the large blonde, wouldn’t follow me in. By the time I came out, the pub had filled up a bit and I was able to leave without anyone noticing.

It was raining and I hadn’t got an umbrella. There was a queue in the chip shop so I went in the Chinese instead and got a takeaway. The young chap at the counter recognised me. ‘Aren’t you Matthew’s mum?’ he asked as he handed me my change. I nodded and managed a damp smile. ‘How’s he getting on?’ I tried hard not to show it, but that caught me. ‘Oh, he’s OK thanks.’ I scooped the coins into my purse and felt my eyes start to prickle. “Tell him Ricky was asking” he
said. I nodded again and fumbled for the door.

I got soaked getting back. The sweet and sour was lukewarm by then and didn’t look very appetising so most of it ended up in the bin. I made four rounds of toast and smothered it with cream cheese. Then I polished off the last of the cherry cake. Comfort eating, I guess you’d call it.

Pause. She cocks her head and listens to an announcement on the radio, grabs a notepad
and pen from the bedside cabinet and writes something down.

Good. I thought they’d give the phone number sooner or later. I’ll ring them in a minute and ask them to do a birthday dedication for tomorrow. Perhaps they’d play one of his favourites — Queen’s ‘Another One Bites The Dust.’ Or there was another song of theirs he really liked — something about bicycles. I can’t quite remember but the DJ’s bound to know it.

Matthew loved his music. Used to sit in his room for hours with the headphones on. Even did his homework listening to it. Beats me how he could concentrate with all that pounding away at his eardrums. I bought him a Hi Fi system for his 16th and he was over the moon. It’s still in his room — didn’t take it with him. Still, I expect his girlfriend already has one and they’re no doubt sharing it along with everything else. But he took the new trainers I’d only just bought him — and the David Beckham football shirt. I got them down the market — knocked off, no doubt, but a lot cheaper than on the High street. I didn’t let on where they came from because it seemed so important to him that his ‘gear’, as he called it, came from the same place that his mates got theirs. Me, I’m all for a bargain but youngsters seem more impressed with the shop names and the labels. Funny, that.

I don’t know what I would have bought him for his 21st. I guess it would have depended on what he asked for. And whether I could afford it, of course. But I have a bit saved up — the best part of two thousand pounds in the building society. So it was there if he came back or got in touch. I had to be prepared, just in case. I’ll try that number now.

She taps in the number, hears the engaged signal and, sighing, puts the receiver down.

I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised it’s busy. But it’s early yet and I’m not going to work in the morning so I’ll just keep redialling ’til I get through.

She leans down and picks a bulky photo album off the bedside rug and places it on her lap,
smoothing the protective cellophane cover before opening it.

I’ve got loads of photos of him — right from when he was only an hour or two old. Polaroids taken in the maternity unit. And lots of baby and toddler snaps. It’s the only way to remember all the different stages. When he got his first tooth. When he started crawling. His first steps. It’s all in here. I must have spent a fortune on film and processing. No digital cameras back then. I had some done at a proper portrait studio. They were expensive but they did a really good job. I had two of them enlarged and framed. They were hanging in the living room until the last time we had it redecorated. Then he didn’t want me to put them back up. Said he was fed up with looking at himself and I should buy a couple of modern prints. So I did. I bought some Spanish dancers that I quite liked. Got the pair in a sale marked down to half price. The colours are nice and bright and match the curtains. But I would rather have had the photos of him back on the wall. Once I accepted that he’d left home, I thought about putting them back up. But I never did.

Pause. Gloria turns the pages slowly. Her voice wobbles a little as she continues.

There’s all his school photos, too. He hated those, but most kids seem to. Can’t see why, really. He was a good looking boy and very photogenic. Not so many once he got older. A few holiday snaps and some taken at birthday parties and Christmas. And there’s hardly any of us together. But it was nearly always me taking the shot.

She closes the album carefully.

Wonder if anyone will take his photo tomorrow. Record the event. I always imagined we’d have a big party for him. I thought his 21st would be special. But you don’t see the ‘key of the door’ thing so much these days. Besides, they can do most things at eighteen. He probably did most of his celebrating then.

Pause

I’ll try that number again. See if I can get a message to him. Just so he knows I haven’t forgotten. As if I could.

She lifts the receiver to her ear and presses the redial.

Fade to black.