Free The Reunion by R J Gould Page B

until an uncle got drunk one Christmas
and relayed what had happened in lurid detail to the full extended family. Later,
upstairs in Charlotte’s bedroom and now far removed from the tragedy of the
event, they had laughed at the irony. He was rushed off his feet well enough,
but he wouldn’t have expected to be off his feet for ever more.
    David was approaching the Junction 18 exit to Daventry,
just a few minutes away from the turnoff onto the M6. He was making excellent
progress and might be able to get home by early evening if he could escape
within a timeframe that wouldn’t offend his mother.
    Her intense bitterness had taken root from the time of
his father’s death, only later did he appreciate that the circumstances of it were
the cause. Living alone in the same house she never made an attempt to
socialise beyond the family, with few friends or interests to keep her
occupied. Bearing in mind the betrayal by her own husband, how would she react
to Jane’s infidelity? He would need to choose his words carefully.
    David drove onto the M6. Even at this horrendous motorway
merging point it was devoid of congestion.
    He’d decided long ago that he didn’t much like his
mother. After all these years there was still a pang of guilt about his escape
to university because he could have carried on living at home and commuted to
Birmingham or Warwick or even Aston. But how much of the guilt was justified
and how much was fostered by his mother’s words? There was always that hint of admonishment
in her tone when he visited, implying insufficient interest in her well-being. And
the truth was the more she behaved like that, the more he backed away.
    He reached Junction 4 at Lichfield to be confronted by the
flashing lights of an overhead sign alerting drivers to reduce speed to 50 mph.
This was superfluous because ahead there was a complete standstill. He braked
sharply. He was less than ten miles from his destination and it was anybody’s
guess how long it would take.
    It was Jane who had first made him aware of his mother’s
deviousness and she refused to tolerate such behaviour.
    “Are you sure it’s not too much bother visiting me? Have
you got the time?” his mother would ask Jane during a telephone call.
    “You’re right, we are busy this weekend. That’s very
understanding, Glenda, we appreciate it. Perhaps some time next month,” came
Jane’s reply, smiling broadly and giving David a thumbs up sign. Jane did have
a nice smile and he would miss it.
    The traffic was moving again and David edged past a stationary
lorry on the middle lane with its warning lights flashing. While studying Maths
at university there had been a lecture on how traffic congestion occurred even
when there hadn’t been an accident. It was something to do with declining rates
of acceleration, he recalled. Partial differentiation was needed for the
calculation. He cast his mind back to the manic lecturer with wild ginger hair
and thick black plastic spectacle frames. He wrote formulae at great speed on a
blackboard covering the full width of the auditorium. He had a high pitched
squeaky voice that students imitated at the pub. David tried to remember the
maths but it was way beyond him now.
    Once past the lorry the congestion ceased and soon he was
turning off the motorway and embarking on the last short stretch of journey. A
flutter of nervousness rose in his stomach as he pulled into the street with
its two lines of solid Edwardian houses. He stepped out of the car and picked
up the bunch of dusty pink roses he’d bought at the garage when filling up.
    He rang the bell and heard the shuffling movement towards
the front door before it was opened. “Hello mother, some flowers,” he said with
an encouraging smile as he held them out in front of him.
    She frowned as she took hold of them. “Flowers, what am I
going to do with them? You needn’t have bothered.”
    Here we go again, David thought. He contemplated
snatching them back but