This is a true story about how people totally fail to understand each other. Last year a mother in her late 60s was tired and in bad form. She seemed to be reading the papers wistfully, looking at things and sighing. She had four children aged between 19 and 25. She had been a cheerful, capable widow for many years and they didn't like seeing her like this. So they had a council of war.
For Easter they would give her a treat. Between them they would be able to spend £100. They listened more carefully to the kind of things she sighed over. There was a bit of a sigh over a microwave but also the fear expressed that it might be difficult to get used to at her time of life. There was a semi-sigh over a mother-of-the-bride outfit in lemon, it looked so spring-like, but there weren't any weddings in the offing so that wasn't really on. There was quite a deep sigh about a big tub of planted flowers but that was followed by the realisation that if it was put outside the house, the flowers would be picked by passersby.
The heaviest sigh of all was thought to be brought on by the mention of Spring Breaks, the mysterious advertisement in code which said "2B/B ID", meaning two bed and breakfasts and one dinner.
"Imagine doing that for Easter, instead of bending down and basting a lamb in a hot oven," she would say, exhaling a long and exhausted breath of envy.
So that was it, then. She was going to be given a Spring Break.
They worked out where she should go - not too far away because it would be tiring, not too near because then it wouldn't be a holiday. A place by the sea? Or a lake? Or shopping? Would they look for entertainment at night or the sound of the rooks in the trees?
They had enormous pleasure looking through all that was on offer. And they found the perfect place which would be £80 for 2B/B ID. But then, of course, that was based on two people sharing and who would go with their mother?
They could hardly ask a friend of their mother's to go and tell her to pay for herself. But they wouldn't have the money to pay for the friend's 2B/B ID as well. So would one of them go with their mother?
At this point the huge communal goodwill began to fall apart. The one aged 25 was in a complicated emotional situation which had to be sorted out and preferably as far away from their mother as possible. The one of 19 said she'd love a holiday in the place but she had the least money of all so the others would have to pay for it. The remaining two children were boys and thought they couldn't share a room with their mother.
And the lovely Easter break looked as if it was fading away far on the horizon. By chance at that time there was a competition on the radio where the prize was exactly that - a weekend away - so they were all able to discuss it in the abstract. Marvellous cosmic questions like suppose one won that, who would one take and where would one go? And their mother sighed and said that the likes of them would never win it because it meant answering questions about what year some song was in the hit parade. How could they enter for a thing like that, they didn't have a chance.
But just suppose we won, they said, through slitted eyes and gritted teeth trying to get a ruling. Any ruling. Information on what she might like.
Well, suppose she won then she would add £20 or £30 of her own money to it and she'd go on her own. She'd pay the single room supplement.
They looked at her astounded. Their mother alone in a hotel!
She said that yes, definitely, if it were all free and not costing anyone anything then she'd love to be there on her own. There'd be no pleasing anybody else, she could have her breakfast as soon as the dining room opened. She could go to bed in the afternoon and watch television. She could draw as many people on her as she wanted without other people giving out to her and telling her to keep her head down.
She would be an object of interest, a woman in late middle age on her own. Nobody would know she had a close, caring family at home. They would think she was a loner and they would ask her to join them. She would learn all about their lives and circumstances, moody daughters, difficult sons-in-law and over-educated grandchildren. She would insist on buying small rounds of drinks when appropriate and if she met a similarly enthusiastic lady companion she might even try out both the jacuzzi and the sauna.
So with some anxious misgivings about packing a woman off on her own to a hotel, they booked it for her and presented the package triumphantly. And of course once it became a reality, she sighed even more. She had been very brave talking about her independence when she thought there was no chance of ever having to do it. Once it was actually on the cards, she felt totally different.
Tactfully, she wondered whether they could they get their money back and if they would be deeply offended if she didn't take them up on it. But she saw their faces and she knew the sacrifice they had made for her, so she decided to go.
All over Easter last year they worried about her. They had interfered too much in her life, tried to dictate a form of happiness that they thought she would enjoy. They felt as guilty as hell. They steeled themselves not to telephone her; they tried not to think of a lonely, frightened mother imprisoned in a bedroom. Never would they do anything like this again. They could hardly wait for the weekend to end.
And then she came back. She told them she had a wonderful time. She met lovely people and had very good food, a great rest and a nice change. But the awkward thing now is that they don't know whether to believe her or not. She could have had a great time there without any of them, which slightly annoys them, or she could have had a wretched time but won't admit it - and that thought annoys them more.
She's not too specific about the names of any of the people she met. There are no holiday snaps. The actual chronology of it all is a little vague and yet they don't want to debrief her in Gestapo mode about how she spent every hour of the day.
They have all seen the coded messages appearing again in the papers this year: 2B/B ID.
Would she love one or is she terrified they're going to give her another one?
They don't know. They'll never know, unless she reads this paper and writes to tell me.