Susan couldn’t quite forget on this day her past,her bumpy journey of intellectual discovery as it were.On the one hand,she had become like an Apollo spacecraft propelled to the glittering prizes of Oxbridge on the cusp of landing her first job as a BBC drama researcher,but still she longed for the bosom of her mum in the old flat,the crack of the Irish humour that defined her childhood.These people that she had rubbed shoulders with these years were ,like her,the future movers and shakers of British society,the captains of Industry the people that would make things happen.As she got ready for her first morning at White city,the home of BBC radio,she had the words of her mum ringing in her ears,”You might one day meet that nice Ray Moore,or Alan Freeman,and oh ,our Susan,heaven forbid,yoU might meet Terry,Oh Susan,think of that ,you meeting Terry Wogan”.As the words of her mother of mine rattled around inside her ,it was all she could do to hold back the tears as the memories of her mum came flooding back .She couldn’t help them,they were her water this morning.As she had a funny tummy,probably brought on by not listening to Sally and Ben about London water,she wiped her mascara away and looked at herself in the mirror,It was quite surreal,because she had set up her mirror in the same way as it had been when she had been home in the flat,Wether it had been conscious,but now that she was a women of the world,with her first proper Job,she had chosen to occupy her bedroom in a symbolic way ,but as a grown women.It acted as a security blanket for her ,a way to exist in her way,in her memories.
She pulled herself together,sipped her tea,made with too much sugarand milk really,but it had always been done like that for her mother of mine and she would continue the tradition.
Her flat was in Barnet ,a few stops always from the white city,but Ben had known the area,it was safe,and Sally had helped her get some furniture and things and it was good and the neighbours seemed fine,if a little too citified for her.She was early really,but so eager to please.As she left the flat,she turned the radio down,never switching it off ,as if to do that might mean that she would switch her memory off forever and she couldn’t ever do that.No one ,except Ben and Sally ever fully got that she truly had to keep her mother of mine alive.Everyone had moved in,on including Peter,her childhood sweetheart ,but she was determined to live her life the way she must.
Walking to the underground station,thoughts of who she might glimpse passed through her mind and she had kept one of her mums special notebooks to insert all the autographs of her mums idols,and it would be a memorial to her mum as well as a living testimony that when she wrote her first play ,people would know that she had an ancestry ,an Irish ancestry.
It was 7:15 in the morning,Ray Moore would be finishing up his show and Terry would be preparing for his .
To be continued.