by Alex Brown
Then, double-checking the paperwork on the clipboard, Grace saw that the unit belonged to a Mrs Constance di Donato and the last payment had been made by cheque over two years ago. The final cheque had been for a whole year’s rental payments, making Mrs di Donato now one year in arrears, which was far longer than they usually waited before opening an abandoned unit. Grace made a mental note to mention it to Larry, as she wondered if there was a special reason for letting the payments lapse for so long. She flicked on through the rest of the paperwork. There were copies of the three letters that Larry had sent to the address they had for Mrs Donato in London; all of them had been returned, unopened, with ‘Not known at this address’ handwritten on the envelopes in large, flamboyant letters. Grace had to be sure they could show they had tried to contact Mrs Donato several times before she touched anything and started sorting through the items.
She didn’t know anything about antiques, but even she could see that the ornate French Louis XV style dressing table with its carved cabriole legs and marble top was of significant value. Not to mention the large leather jewellery case on top of it. Moving further into the unit, Grace gasped again as she lifted a dust sheet to reveal an exquisite silk chaise longue with a petrol blue peacock-patterned fabric that had been placed at a jaunty angle over in a corner. A clothes rail ran the length of one wall with at least twenty, maybe thirty, sparkly evening gowns hanging neatly on satin padded hangers. Each gown was carefully tucked inside its own transparent plastic protective cover. A mink coat was draped around a mannequin, presumably to help keep the coat’s shape, Grace figured, remembering how the costume staff in the theatres where she had danced had used this trick too. Stacked in one of the other corners were four old-fashioned brown utility suitcases, and next to them were three expensive-looking leather handbags – Italian design by the looks of them, as one had the famous gold Gucci badge on the front. A selection of paintings had been carefully placed behind the chaise longue, with a large oval-shaped rose-print hatbox beside them on the carpet.
Grace lifted the lid of the hatbox and drew in the nostalgic aroma of musty paper as she peeped inside to see a collection of old magazines. Variety. Britannia and Eve. Dated 1938 and through to 1941, 1942, and so on, she noticed, carefully sorting through the pile. In jaunty, faded primary colours there were pictures of women wearing headscarves and dungarees like the Land Girls did during the Second World War. Another cover, dated 1950, was much more glamorous, with a woman wearing a ball gown and holding a champagne glass. A faded brown envelope was tucked down the side and contained a handful of dried pink rose petals. Grace turned the envelope over and saw Glorious day, Portofino – 1955 handwritten on the back.
Grace could feel her spirits rising, and couldn’t wait to get started on cataloguing the contents of storage unit number 28. But where to start? She felt like a child in a sweet shop, elated and overwhelmed by the mesmerising selection of goodies on display. Smiling to herself, she stepped towards the suitcases, figuring this would be the best place to begin as there might be some paperwork in one of them with an address of a relative or a friend they could contact – there was no way Larry could just dispose of these items without them trying hard to find Mrs Donato. But as Grace reached out her hands to release the two brass clasps of the suitcase that was sitting on top of the pile, her mobile rang in the back pocket of her jeans.
‘Where are you?’ her sister, Bernie, demanded on opening the conversation, and making Grace bristle.
‘At work,’ she stated, in an equally cursory tone.
‘Well, you need to get home right away. I’ve just had Mum on the phone. She was put through via the switchboard, so I had to come out early from eating my lunch in the staff restaurant especially to deal with her …’ Grace was sure she heard Bernie tut with frustration, which made her bristling intensify. She crossed her free arm across her body as if to soothe herself. ‘And she was crying—’
‘Crying?’ Grace interjected, panic starting to trickle through her, as it was unlike Cora to cry. In fact, Grace wasn’t sure she had ever seen her mother cry. Not even when their gentle, kind dad, had died. Cora had said, ‘It was your father’s time to pass.’ And that was that. No more emotion required.
‘Yes. That’s right,’ Bernie kept on. ‘Crying. Sobbing she was, so hard she could barely get her words out. Took me ages to calm her down. Apparently, you rushed off so quickly after your own lunch break that she didn’t even get a chance to use the commode. So now she’s had an accident and feels really dreadful about it.’
‘But—’
‘No buts, Grace. You can’t just leave her like that. She’ll get sore and then likely get an infection or whatever, and you’ll never forgive yourself if that happens.’ Grace swallowed hard as she tried to formulate a response. ‘Are you still there?’ Bernie barked a few seconds later, and Grace could hear office noise now in the background.
‘Yes,’ she managed in a dejected voice, her earlier elation on seeing Mrs Donato’s belongings having suddenly vanished, not to mention her feelings of guilt and confusion. She hadn’t rushed off, and she was sure she had asked Cora if she needed to use the commode, but had been told off for fussing …
‘Look, I have to go. But sort Mum out and let me know later, OK? Oh, hold on.’ The instruction was so swift and fleeting that Grace automatically acquiesced. ‘If you take a seat over there, someone will be with you shortly,’ she heard Bernie say in a far nicer voice, and then, ‘I really do need to go, Grace. I’m just so busy. I’ve a queue of people who all need my help and …’ Grace wasn’t listening any more; all she could think about was something she had read online last night at around midnight as she stood waiting for the microwave to ping time on Cora’s request for a mug of warm milk with a sprinkle of nutmeg on top. The article was about people being busy being busy and so somehow managing to fill their time, regardless of their actual workload, and thereby convincing themselves they were busier than everyone else … she figured that Bernie must be one of those ‘busy’ people.
‘I’m busy too,’ Grace uttered, but wasn’t heard as the line went dead. Seems Bernie had gone back to being too busy to be bothered by troublesome phone calls from their bedbound mother.
Grace turned and left Mrs Donato’s glorious unit 28 behind for another day. Monday to be exact, seeing as today was Friday! The disappointment of having to wait three days to go through the contents was crushing, but at least she had something nice to look forward to now … or maybe I could come into work tomorrow? Just to take a peek inside one of those suitcases? Or I could take the one on the top of the pile home to make a start? But Grace knew this could never happen as there was no way Larry would allow her to remove one of Mrs Donato’s suitcases from the storage company’s premises – he was very fastidious about things like that and rightly took pride in looking after his customer’s belongings as if they were his own. Plus Grace knew that her mother would never agree to her leaving her home alone over the weekend. And Bernie was right … she couldn’t leave Cora lying in a wet bed, so there was nothing for it, Grace would have to go home now. And strip and then remake her mother’s bed, for a second time today.
So after closing the door behind her and securing the padlock back in place, Grace put the clipboard on to the trolley and braced herself to face Larry and Betty to explain that, not only had she turned up late this morning … but that she was now going to have to let them down again and go home early.
‘Babe, why do you even bother working at that storage place?’ Phil moaned, pushing his bushy beard towards Grace’s left cheek. They were sitting side by side on the Dralon sofa in the lounge below Cora’s bedroom having a film night. Breakfast At Tiffany’s. Grace had seen it a million times before but when Phil had said it was her turn to choose, she hadn’t hesitated, keen to rekindle some of the glamorous Hollywood magic she had felt on entering unit 28 on Friday.
It was Sunday evening and she had thought about Mrs Constance di Donato and her beautiful vi
ntage belongings all weekend. Even her name sounded sophisticated and glamorous, and Grace couldn’t wait to get to work tomorrow to find out more about the woman she imagined lived the kind of life that she had only seen in films and read about in those lifestyle magazines. It was exciting and intriguing.
Grace had even decided to put Cora’s breakfast of toast, cereal, a little jug of milk and some fresh-fruit salad with a flask of hot tea on a tray like they did in hotels. If she left it all ready on the table by her bed, then Cora could have it whenever she liked after her morning routine of bed bath and selecting her TV programmes for the day. This way, Grace could get off to work on time for a change, instead of having to wait around while her mother ate … usually very, very, very slowly as she complained through every mouthful! A genius plan, and Grace didn’t know why she had never thought to do this before now. In fact, she had done a lot of thinking over the weekend, and talking too – she had called Bernie to ‘let her know’ how their mother was … as per the instruction in the telephone conversation on Friday afternoon, and to moot the idea of them setting up a care rota for Cora.
Bernie had actually gasped out loud on realising that Grace was implying the rota would be shared between the four of them! And then said she might be able to manage a contribution to pay for a professional carer to ‘give you a break, Grace, if that’s what you really need.’ Grace had then tried her other sister, Sinead, who – to be fair – had acknowledged that Grace ‘pulled the short straw when it comes to looking after Mum, and I wish there was more I could do but it’s so difficult with me being so far away these days.’ Grace had pointed out that Chelmsford in Essex wasn’t really that far away. A weekend, or even just a Saturday here and there was manageable, surely? And it really would make a great deal of difference to Grace to have a few hours to herself. She was in desperate need of a haircut and some new clothes, or even just the chance to visit the library or browse the chunky yarn section of the craft shop a few streets away. Plus she fancied trying a salted caramel smoothie in the pop-up bar that had opened up. It had been months since her counsellor had set these activities for her to accomplish on her own, and she hadn’t made any progress whatsoever on them yet.
But the call with Sinead had somehow moved on to her offering to chip in for a private carer too, or ‘better still, get on to the council, Grace, and see if they can send someone round for free. My neighbour has a woman who comes in three times a day to help out. And it’s all paid for by us taxpayers. Just make the call!’
Grace had tried to point out that it wasn’t as simple as all that – there were forms to fill in and assessments to be carried out and Cora would never allow a stranger inside the house for all that in any case. There had been no end of recriminations from Cora for that one time Grace had managed to get the care assistant from social services to come and show her how to lift her mother and see to her basic needs. As soon as she had left, Cora had gone on strike and refused to even hold the handle on the hoist for days after that. But Sinead had breezily suggested if Grace found someone Mum liked then it would be ‘absolutely fine’, before ending the call because her Waitrose delivery driver was lugging her shopping through to the utility room and it would be rude not to give him a hand.
Lastly, Grace had spoken to her brother, Mikey, the hedge-fund manager, who in his usual fashion had got straight to the point: ‘Stick her in a home and be done with it, Grace! I can’t be hearing all this crap about her not wanting strangers in the house – did she ever give a toss about what we wanted when we were kids?’ Silence. ‘No, we did as we were bloody well told or a whack around the head and no dinner was the punishment. That woman is a bully, and believe me I know what I’m talking about: I deal with them all day, every day, and the sooner you wake up and realise that, Grace, the better. Now, if you call my PA, Annabel, on Monday, I’m sure she’ll sort you out with a list of half-decent places you can visit. Just pick one. A cheap one. And make them come and collect her if you have to. I’ll pay for it all and recoup my losses when we flog her house. Annabel will probably go with you if you’re still getting in a state about going out on your own. Or if you just want a second opinion! You know, to make sure the staff aren’t slapping the old dears around like you see on those undercover documentary programmes on the telly. Mind you, what goes around comes around, so it would serve Cora right to get a taste of her own medicine!’
Grace had hung up at that point. Frustrated and weary. She could just imagine the look on her mother’s face if she selected a care home for her, a cheap one at that. Then bundled her off there without so much as a conversation about it, let alone without seeking her consent, which she knew would never be given. Deep down Grace also knew that she was scared of her mother. Scared of her rages and scared of what she would do or say to hurt her if she ever turned on her … and that is exactly how Cora would see it if Grace did what Mikey suggested. A betrayal.
But Grace was decided on one thing … if her siblings weren’t going to help out, then she was going to help herself and implement a few more changes to make her own life a little bit easier … like encouraging Cora to manage her bed bath, for starters. Grace knew that her mother was perfectly able to sit up in bed by herself, and she could rub the edge of a coin over a scratchcard too, so surely she could utilise that hand action and replace the coin with a flannel and move it over her own body? This would give Grace a precious extra ten minutes or so to go towards doing all the other things that had to be sorted before she was able to leave for work each morning. It was only a small change, but it was a start at least. A small step towards taking back the life that she used to have and that had got lost along the way. Along with her dancing career … her dreams and aspirations of being blissfully happily married to Matthew, with perhaps a cherub-cheeked child of her own – but that had all vanished on that terrible day when she caught Matthew cavorting with the Perky Yoga One.
‘I work at the storage company because I enjoy my job and because Larry and Betty are so kind,’ Grace answered, bringing her thoughts back to Phil and his beard, which was now burrowing into the side of her neck and making her skin all irritated and itchy.
‘But you could do yourself a favour and just pack it in,’ he suggested.
‘Why would I do that?’
‘Well, it’s not like you need the money or it’s a proper career or anything! Not when you’re all set up here.’ Phil paused burrowing and glanced around the room. ‘If you play your cards right, this house will be yours one day. And you must get a fair whack in benefits and stuff, what with you being your mum’s carer. You might even get more if you didn’t work and looked after her full time.’
‘I don’t, actually. And I do need the money. Plus the house will probably be split between all four of us …’ Grace leant forward to reach another slice of pizza.
‘What?’ Phil said, aghast. ‘But that’s not fair. Surely it should be all yours seeing as you are the one doing all the work, and saving the rest of them a fortune on care-home costs? When my nan was old and had to go into a home, my dad sold her house to pay for it so there was no money left for any of us.’ Grace could see that Phil had given her mother’s care needs a great deal of thought …
‘Anyway, let’s enjoy the film while we can before Mum needs me upstairs,’ Grace said, keen to move the conversation on. Phil lifted his arm away from around her shoulders and swivelled his body on the sofa until he was facing her.
‘How about I need you upstairs?’ he grinned, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively as he picked a stray curl of red hair away from her face. ‘Come on, Gracie … bet your mum is fast asleep by now. She’s probably snoring.’ And he pressed pause on the TV remote control to cock an ear up to the ceiling, as if to prove his point. Grace swallowed her mouthful of pizza and looked at Phil. She did fancy him but, to be honest, she really didn’t feel like going to bed with him right now. She was exhausted, and with her mother in the bedroom next door of their tiny terrace house where the walls were paper
thin … well, it just didn’t feel right.
‘Not tonight, Phil. It’s late and I have work in the morning. And I’m tired, I was up again with Mum last night and—’
‘You see! There you go again …’ Phil sat back and folded his arms like a petulant child.
‘What do you mean?’ Grace asked tentatively. She really wasn’t in the mood for this kind of conversation.
‘Well, I thought we had sorted all this out and agreed we would put each other first for a change, instead of you always putting your mother first. I even let you pick the film!’
‘I’m doing my best, Phil.’
‘Are you? You know, I reckon you don’t even want to put me first.’
‘Of course I do.’ Grace heard her voice jump up an octave. ‘But I can’t just not bother with my mother … what would become of her if I just did whatever I liked and wasn’t around to care for her?’ She cringed as the sense of déjà vu shot through her, for she was certain she had said the exact same words to Matthew shortly before she had found him in bed with another woman. ‘My mother can barely even move on her own, so she’d end up dying of hunger,’ she added, bleakly, desperate to make some kind of sense of the situation she was in now, and with no way out anytime soon that she could see.
‘Doubt it! The size of her,’ Phil muttered as he drained the last of a can of beer.
‘Pardon?’
‘Nothing. Only joking.’ He marshalled a swift smile on to his face before carrying on with, ‘I know you can’t just “not bother” with her and I wasn’t suggesting you abandon her or anything. But you could get someone else in to look after her. It doesn’t have to be you all the time. Anyone would think you like being the only one she can count on …’
Grace sighed and decided to fast-forward the next part of her plan to make her own life easier, and because in all honestly she really didn’t have the energy to argue with him or explain the situation any more than she already had done, umpteen times. And she could see the way the relationship was going, only this time it was worse as she was actually living with her mother. Back when Matthew had started complaining about Cora’s demands she had mostly been visiting and helping her out of an evening and at weekends. In addition to the late-night phone calls, of course. Sooner or later, Phil would have enough and find someone else too, just like Matthew had, and she really couldn’t put herself through all that again.