THE EMOTION VAMPIRE

Monday - I was confident in Jo, she’s sweet and positive with boundless energy.  So, I didn’t see a problem when Mother invited herself down for a whole five days.  It was time Jo met her and I was convinced she’d survive.  My work as a systems engineer is paramount, it takes me round the country and involves long hours; I couldn’t take time off to spend with Mother.
“Don’t worry,” said Jo smiling, “I’ll take her round Hampshire.  It’ll be fun!”
Mother arrived on the train from Scotland, her face pale and drawn, her hooded eyes dull.  She dawdled through the door, without complimenting our new house or introducing herself to Jo.
“Such a long journey,” she complained, “you live so far away.  Somebody sat in my reserved seat.  I had to stand for ages.  The train was so noisy.”
Mother’s moaning washed over me like toddler’s prattle.  Jo, on the other hand, sympathised.  She made Mother a lovely meal, Mother took one spoonful, pulled a face and pushed the rest of it round her plate.  This didn’t surprise me as Mother doesn’t eat, but Jo was disappointed.

Tuesday - I returned from work to find Mother looking a little better, she was complaining of course, about the amount of litter in Portsmouth docks and the customer service in the restaurant, apparently they’d had to wait ages, but there was a little more colour in her cheeks.  Jo’s smile was rather strained, her welcome home kiss brief.  “It’s been a long day,” she whispered.

“How did it go?”
“Oh, it was fun,” but her voice lacked conviction.

Wednesday - Jo took me aside.  “I’m not feeling too well,” she stated, “I think I’m coming down with something.  Is there any way, you can take some time off?  I need to rest at home.”

“I’m sorry, love, but I’m really busy,” I answered, “just send Mother off on her own tomorrow.”
“I can’t do that, it’ll spoil her trip,” Jo replied gamely, “I’ll manage.  It’s strange she doesn’t eat anything.”
“She doesn’t need to,” I remarked as I went through to the sitting room, Mother had overcome her listlessness of earlier days, she was sitting upright, examining a purchase she’d made.  Apparently they’d trailed round shop after shop at West Quays looking for a particular jumper in a specific size.  After hours and hours, they’d found it.  “I think I’ll take it back tomorrow,” she complained, “the wool isn’t very soft.”
Jo shot her a very nasty look and I was surprised, it just wasn’t like her.

Thursday - Jo stood in the hallway, as I came through the door.  “I can’t do it!”

“What do you mean?”  I stared at her pale face, there were dark shadows under her eyes.
“She’s draining the life out of me!  The constant moaning, I can’t stand it!  I’m going to say something, I really am!”
“Don’t you like my mother?” I asked.
She gave me an anguished look; “I want to.”
“Try harder,” I advised and went through to the living room.  Mother was looking so well, glowing cheeks, bright eyes.  Jo was doing a great job, if only she could hold on for just for one more day.

Friday - Mother greeted me in the hall.  She was brimming with cheerfulness and positivity; “It’s been a fine enough day,” she smiled, “we went round the New Forest.  It’s so pretty.  Shame about those manky, scraggy ponies.”

In the sitting room, Jo was lying on the couch, she didn’t want to eat and could barely speak.  I left her to it and shared a takeaway with Mother.  The next day, Mother returned home in a whirl of energy, leaving me with Jo, who like all my previous girlfriends, has changed, from a lively, positive, energetic person into a negative, moaning old bag.  I am so disappointed in her.