Free Wilderness by Roddy Doyle Page A

but she didn’t know why.
    She helped her mother. She took the milk jug off
    the tray and held it up while her mother took the tray
    away, and leaned it against one of the table legs. She
    put the jug on her mother’s side. She’d been going to
    order coffee. It would have looked better than the
    cardboard cup of Coke she had in front of her. Coke
    for breakfast was childish and not the way Gráinne
    wanted to be. But she’d thought that coffee might
    make her feel sick.
    She felt a bit sick already.
    She was being like a kid. She was thinking like a kid.
    Maybe that was what happened, when you were
    with your mother. You felt like a kid. She didn’t know.
    She didn’t like it. Her arms felt rubbery. She knew
    she’d spill the Coke. She wanted to get up and leave.
    She wanted to turn the table over, to get it done with.
    To spill it all – all over her mother.
    But she didn’t. She didn’t feel that way.
    It was like a fight. A fight going on inside her.
    â€œIt’s changed,” said her mother.
    â€œWhat’s changed?” said Gráinne.
    She was pleased with the way she said it.
    â€œDublin,” said her mother.
    â€œBut you only got here,” said Gráinne.
    She felt the anger; she swallowed it back. She
    didn’t want it to wreck the day – and everything. She
    knew she couldn’t stop being angry. But she wanted
    to be in charge of it. And she didn’t really feel angry
     now.
    â€œI know,” said her mother. “I’m being a bit stupid. It’s just, I haven’t been here all these years and –”
    Gráinne resisted. She didn’t say, “I know.”
    â€œAnd,” said her mother. “It’s just, it hits you
    immediately. The changes.”
    She stopped stirring the sugar into her coffee. She
    tapped the saucer with the spoon, once, twice. Gráinne watched her pick up the coffee.
    â€œEven this,” said her mother.
    She held up the cup.
    â€œYou couldn’t get a proper cup of coffee when I –”
    She stopped.
    â€œWhat?” said Gráinne. She didn’t say, “Ran away,” or
    â€œDeserted me”. She didn’t exhale loudly.
    â€œWhen I lived here,” said her mother.
    She looked at Gráinne for a while, properly.
    â€œSorry,” she said.
    She took a sip from her cup. She took the cup away.
    â€œI suppose everything we say – or at least I say – will
    be a bit of a minefield. Do you know what I mean?”
    Gráinne nodded.
    â€œBut,” said her mother, “it’s true. You couldn’t get a
    good cup of coffee. This is lovely.”
    She said “lovely” the Irish way. Gráinne drank some
    of her Coke. It calmed her down, the cold. It spread
    through her.
    Her mother was looking at her again.
    â€œTell me a bit about yourself, Gráinne,” she said.
    â€œNo,” said Gráinne.
    Her mother looked shocked, and suddenly like a
    mother.
    â€œI don’t want to,” said Gráinne. “That’s just crap. It’s
    like a crap film.”
    Her mother still looked shocked.
    â€œI could say the same thing to you,” said Gráinne. “Tell me about yourself. It’s horrible.”
    â€œWell, you know,” said her mother. “You’ve actually
    told me quite a lot about yourself, just there.”
    Gráinne wanted to lean across and hit her. She
    thought she was being clever. But Gráinne only
    wanted to be honest. She wanted this woman to
    listen, to what she was saying and what she was going
    to say. Not what she thought Gráinne was saying.
    She’d no right. She didn’t know Gráinne.
    Gráinne stopped herself.
    She wanted to know this woman. She really did.
    She had to stay calm. She tried to do it.
    â€œYou’ll find out what I’m like,” she said.
    She shrugged.
    â€œYou’re right,” said her mother. “But do you mind