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Since I am nature part of her Mistake (“I was a mother by the age of sixteen, divorced at twenty-one”), this leaves me in an unusual position: I am also her nature redeemer, the reassurance that her life has not in fact been wasted. My future successes will be hers, and people will say to me, “Your mother was a clever woman. She gave up a lot for you.” Or so she hopes. Actually, I'm in a bit of a mess. When Nan walked in on me and Paul Bentham having sex yesterday afternoon she didn't say a word. She's surprisingly nature mobile, despite the bag. The colostomy was done dog's years ago, pre-me, to get rid of galloping cancer. “The Queen Mother has one, you know!” the consultant had shouted. “Ooh. Swanky,” replied Nan, impressed. “Well, Ivy Seddon reckons Cliff Richard has one, an' he dances about all over.” I thought she might let it slip that evening while we were watching Coronation Street.
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