When my mum picks up my WhatsApp video call, she’s on the beach. As we chat, I watch her take small sips from a wet can of lager, dodging the hairy men in budgie smugglers who try to pass behind her. Inevitably, I’ll spend most of our conversation staring at her earlobe, since she’ll press the phone against her head in order to hear my various life updates over the screeching sound of holidaymakers frolicking in the shallow water. If the connection’s good enough, I might be able to make out her excitement about the pink bikini she’s just bought, or get the gossip from the local scuba shop, with its dramas that are more exciting than a soap opera’s.
My two younger brothers and I are in that strange limbo period between being ex-teenagers and actual responsible grown-ups
Along with my action-man stepdad, my mum decided to up sticks and head to Malta seven years ago.
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