Mark Brown

Posted in Unspecified
EMPTY SPACE


MMy key still fits.  I haven't been back here since my mother died.

The house is small, everything close together, staircase shallow.  The kitchen is a tiny galley, window looking out onto neat lawn.  Everything is clean.

Squatting, I open cupboard doors that hang at awkward angles.  Inside, tins of economy baked beans, marrowfat peas, corned beef.  Strong lager cans gleam brassily.  There is nothing else.

 The rest of the house is the same.  Silently and carefully, a cold wind has stolen everything, carrying away a lifetime's ornaments and keepsakes.

Sitting in my mother's chair, nervously waiting, the mantelpiece by me is empty.

My Dad arrives, the sound of familiar ritual:  Keys on shelf, coat shaken out and hung, slippers on.

Standing before me, his face is shaved raw, hair combed to thinness.  Hugging me, he is corded wire and creaking wood, smelling of alcohol and snowy air.

Watching television, we sit on the edge of our seats silently drinking from cans.

The next morning he will give me half an hour to sort through our family photos before binning them.

There's no point in them cluttering up the place, he will say.

I will save all that I can.



Mark Brown is former editor of www.ABCtales.com.  He lives in south-east London.  He doesn't write as much as he should.  He likes tea. Email him.  

I turned up the photo on flickr and found to my surprise it was by online acquaintance Daveybot, architect and  Palimpsestrian. Daveybot keeps a fine photo-ish blog here.
My own mother's funeral was on Friday. It pissed down in a very funereal way, but was as appropriate a ceremony as I could wish for. The standard-issue Crematorium organist came up afterwards and said she'd read that Observer piece (the one linked to below) and remembered it, despite the fact it was years ago now.

There are other stories in the bustling in the queue, but as Mark had sent it as an immediate response to the news about my mother,  I thought I'd put his up first.

10:24 AM - 31/12/2006 - post comment


What words would do?

Bizarrely, after the views I championed earlier, I find myself facing the same dilemma when it comes to consider what can or should be said about a piece resounding with two other people's real-life pain. So I'll settle for observing, Mark, that I was deeply moved by the quiet, dignified grief of your piece; and equally moved by William's brave and wholly appropriate decision to post it. I hope the New Year brings you both happier memories.

Tanya Murray - 10:00 PM - 31/12/2006


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