by Vikki Patis
‘Tea?’ I offer.
‘There’s no milk,’ Mum says. ‘The milkman didn’t come.’
‘Oh, you should’ve said. I would have brought some from work.’ I smile apologetically at Kez. ‘Unless you take it black?’
‘I’m fine, thanks,’ she says, opening her briefcase and taking out some papers. I notice that she has a northern accent, Birmingham maybe? ‘I don’t really drink tea.’
‘Don’t drink tea?’ Mum scoffs as I sit in the chair beside her. ‘Well, what nonsense.’
‘Mum,’ I scold.
‘Don’t you Mum me, young lady.’
‘Right,’ Kez says, smiling brightly. ‘Jean, it’s very nice to meet you. I’m Kez.’ Mum tuts in response. ‘What I wanted to do today was get an idea of what kind of help you need. Liv?’ She turns to me.
‘Yes, right. Well, Mum had an… episode, recently, which resulted in a trip to A&E.’ Mum tuts again. ‘She was diagnosed with early-onset dementia about eighteen months ago now, and it does seem to be getting worse.’
‘Who’s she, the cat’s mother?’ Mum says too loudly. ‘I am here, you know.’
‘I know,’ I say through gritted teeth. ‘Her mobility isn’t great either, getting up and down the stairs is an issue, so I’ve been wondering whether to turn one of the downstairs rooms into a bedroom.’
‘You’ll do no such thing,’ Mum snaps. ‘I’m perfectly fine as I am.’
I ignore her and continue. ‘She fell down the stairs a few weeks ago, hurt her hip. I’m worried that next time she might seriously injure herself.’
‘I’ll seriously injure you in a minute,’ she mutters.
‘Right,’ Kez says, making a note. ‘And what about day-to-day activities? Washing, dressing, that kind of thing? Does she need help in and out of the bath?’
‘I certainly do not,’ Mum says, glaring at her. ‘Am I speaking Japanese? I do not need any help, from any of you.’ She crosses her arms, reminding me of Paige when she was a toddler and having a stubborn moment. ‘What I would like is to be left in peace.’
‘We’d just be here to give you a hand, Jean,’ Kez says gently. ‘With whatever you need. I understand your daughter does your cooking? That’s something we can help out with.’
‘I suppose you only eat foreign muck as well,’ Mum says, and I throw her a look. ‘Don’t you look at me like that, young lady. There’s nothing wrong with liking British food.’
‘Sorry,’ I begin, but Mum tuts loudly.
‘Don’t apologise for me either. This is my house and I’ll say what I like.’
Kez’s smile is becoming strained. ‘We’d cook whatever you like,’ she says. ‘Do the shopping for you too, and some cleaning, laundry. Anything to make your life a bit more comfortable.’
‘I’d need some morphine for that,’ Mum says crossly. ‘Not a cheese and pickle bloody sandwich.’
I sigh. ‘Perhaps a tour?’ I suggest, and Kez nods somewhat eagerly.
I take her through to the kitchen, noticing the pile of washing-up and grimacing. ‘She can’t do much herself,’ I say. ‘Or she often forgets to do things. Like the washing-up.’
Kez smiles at me. ‘It looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you,’ she says.
‘She’s not easy to deal with,’ I admit. ‘But she’s my mum.’
She places a hand on my arm, and I feel ridiculously grateful for her kindness. ‘Don’t worry,’ she says. ‘We’re here now.’
47
Izzy
That week, Izzy sits with Katie’s friends at lunch. They lounge on the field on top of blazers laid out like blankets, plucking blades of grass absent-mindedly. She tries hard to remember everything the girls tell her – whose parents are still together, where they all live, whether they have any siblings – while also trying to be the new-and-improved Izzy, who has interesting things to say and is funny and smart. They try to ask her about her old school and her friends, but she is vague, waving their questions away and asking more about them. Deflecting. She finds that she is quite good at it.
On Saturday, the doorbell rings just as Izzy is pulling on her socks. Her hair is still wet, the gel forming a cast around the curls which she will scrunch out later. She runs downstairs and pulls open the door, where Katie is waiting, her arms laden down with bags and a large square box. Pink ribbon is looped around her wrist, three balloons trailing behind her as she enters the house.
Miranda comes out of the kitchen. ‘Hello again, Katie. Let me take that off you.’ She slides a hand under the box and takes it from Katie. ‘I bet I know what this is,’ she says with a wink. ‘I’ll pop it in the fridge.’
‘Thanks,’ Izzy says quickly. ‘And thanks again for letting us, you know, take over the house.’
‘We won’t wreck it,’ Katie adds. ‘And I’ll personally clean up.’
‘I’ll hold you to that,’ Miranda says with a laugh. She turns towards the kitchen and the girls follow. ‘I’ve cleared the table, so just set up however you like. Any bottles for the fridge?’
Katie glances at Izzy, who grins. ‘Don’t worry, they’ve said it’s okay to have a few drinks.’
‘Can I live with you please?’ Katie says as she opens one of the bags and pulls out three bottles of white wine followed by a two-litre bottle of lemonade. ‘My dad barely lets me have a shandy at Christmas.’
‘We’d prefer it if Izzy did her drinking supervised,’ Miranda says, slotting the drinks into the fridge door. ‘Rather than on park benches where she’s more vulnerable. Besides, we all did it. Even your dad.’ She winks. ‘Right, I’ll just be upstairs. Shout if you need me.’
Katie grins at Miranda’s retreating back. ‘I like her,’ she says quietly. ‘You really lucked out here.’
Izzy opens a cupboard and pulls out two large bowls. ‘I know. My mum isn’t half as cool.’
‘Will you stay here? After you’ve finished school?’
The question surprises Izzy. ‘I haven’t really thought about it,’ she says honestly. ‘Maybe. I’m not sure what I want to do when school’s over.’
‘Come travelling with me!’ Katie says, unrolling a tablecloth with HAPPY BIRTHDAY in multicoloured letters and throwing it over the table. ‘I’ve got it all planned out. Australia, New Zealand, Thailand. Ooh and Bali, there’s a turtle sanctuary in Bali that I’m dying to volunteer at.’
‘Sounds great,’ Izzy says, though she isn’t sure she wants to go travelling. She’d like to see more of the world, but the idea of being so far away for such a long time makes her nervous. What if something happened and she couldn’t get home? What if she lost her passport, or spent all her money? What if a virus swept across the globe, or deadly fires broke out across the continent, trapping her in a country far from home? She shivers, pushes the thought away.
‘Right,’ Izzy says, after she and Katie have poured crisps into bowls, arranging them on the table. ‘Shall we get ready?’
Upstairs, Izzy lets Katie do her make-up, watching as she is transformed in the mirror. A memory flashes into her mind, a memory of another girl’s fingers holding an eyeshadow brush, her hand resting on Izzy’s cheek as she moved the brush in circular motions, blending it out. A faint smile when she caught Izzy looking at her, cheeks pink.
‘You have flecks of gold in your eyes,’ the other girl said. ‘Did you know?’
‘Did I poke you in the eye?’ Katie asks, snapping Izzy back to the present. ‘You flinched.’
‘Oh. No, you didn’t.’ She pushes the memory away. ‘Am I done?’
‘Almost.’ Katie rifles through the make-up bag, coming up with the lipstick she’d bought for Izzy in town and popping the lid off. ‘Just the finishing touches,’ she says, carefully applying the lipstick before reaching out for a setting spray. ‘Close your eyes!’ Izzy obeys, feels the cool mist settle over her skin. ‘Et voilà!’
Izzy opens her eyes and turns towards the mirror. ‘Thanks,’ she says, a smile spreading across her face. ‘I love it. I wish I was as
good at make-up as you.’
‘Well you’ve transformed my hair, Isabelle Bennett,’ Katie says, flicking her hair over her shoulder and grinning. ‘I’m so glad I met you.’
‘Me too,’ Izzy says, and she means it. She hasn’t had a friend like Katie in a long time, not since…
The doorbell rings and Katie squeals. ‘Party time!’
They race each other down the stairs like six-year-olds, giggling as Katie slips on the bottom step and only just manages to stay upright by grabbing the banister. Izzy pulls open the door, realising at that moment that she doesn’t know who is coming, who Katie has invited. ‘No boys,’ was all her father said when she asked him if she could have a party. ‘And we’re going to be here.’
‘Upstairs,’ Miranda had clarified with a smile. ‘In reach, but out of earshot.’
She assumes Katie has stuck to the no boys rule, and grins at the girls standing on the doorstep. Chloe and Maddie smile back at her, and Steph and Cara let out a cheer from behind them.
‘Happy birthday!’ they chorus, and Izzy grins back, standing aside to let them in.
‘Follow me,’ Katie says, sashaying down the hall towards the kitchen. Izzy follows behind, suddenly shy. She doesn’t know the other girls well enough yet, and she is anxious to make a good impression. To not make a fool of herself.
Katie is fiddling on her phone while the others sit down on the large sofas, dropping their bags at their feet.
‘I love your house, Izzy,’ Chloe says, looking around the room. ‘It looks like something from a magazine!’
‘Oh, it’s all Miranda,’ Izzy says, tucking her hair behind her ear. ‘She has good taste.’
Steph gets up and opens the fridge door to put a bottle of Coke inside. She smiles when she notices Izzy looking at her. ‘I’ve got a match tomorrow,’ she says with a shrug. ‘I’ve tried doing it hung-over before, not a good look.’
‘Match?’
‘Steph plays football,’ Cara supplies. ‘I used to, until I broke my ankle when I was fourteen.’ She pulls a face.
‘You were better than me,’ Steph says, sitting down beside her. ‘Always scored, every single match.’
‘Yeah.’ Cara grins. ‘I was, wasn’t I?’
Music starts playing from the speakers and Katie claps her hands together. ‘Right! Shall we order pizza?’
‘Erm, is that even a question?’ Chloe says, laughing. ‘Pepperoni for me, please.’
‘I’ll share with you,’ Maddie says. ‘Can we get stuffed crust?’
‘Obviously!’ Katie says, typing on her phone. ‘Cara?’
‘Ham and pineapple.’
‘Eurgh!’ Maddie exclaims. ‘That should be illegal.’
‘One pepperoni, one ham and pineapple. Steph?’
‘Margherita,’ she says. ‘With vegan cheese.’
‘Well that’s even worse,’ Maddie mutters, and Steph elbows her.
‘One vegan margherita,’ Katie says as she taps at her phone. She looks up at Izzy. ‘And what’s the birthday girl having?’
‘Oh, just a margherita please,’ Izzy says. ‘Can we get garlic bread too?’
‘I like your style,’ Cara says. ‘Get a few.’
A few moments later, Katie pockets her phone, the pizzas ordered. She gets up from her seat and opens the fridge, pulling out two bottles of wine. ‘Let’s get this party started then, shall we?’
48
Liv
Despite Mum’s protests, and her attitude towards Kez during that initial visit, I feel better knowing that someone else will be taking on the burden of her care. I spend the weekend moving furniture from her bedroom downstairs, Maggie and her husband Paul helping since I couldn’t get Seb out of bed. At least I know where he is now. At least he hasn’t snuck out of the house in the middle of the night again.
I pop in to see Mum again before work on Monday, wanting to be there when the carer arrives, but a car is already in the drive. I let myself in and am immediately greeted with the sound of something smashing against the tiles. I hurry through to the kitchen to see Mum standing on a chair, a plate in her hands, another lying in pieces on the floor beneath her. The carer, Anna, is in the doorway, one hand pressed to her throat.
‘What on earth are you doing?’ I cry, squeezing past her.
‘I will not have strangers in my house,’ Mum says. ‘Get rid of her now, Paige, or I will smash every piece of crockery in this cupboard.’
I try not to react to the use of my daughter’s name. ‘Mum, put the plate down,’ I say, taking a step towards her. ‘Anna is just here to help.’
‘She’s here to rob me. She wants my money, but she shan’t have it.’
What money? I think but don’t say. ‘She doesn’t want anything. She’s a carer. Remember what we discussed last week?’ I’ve said the wrong thing, drawing attention to the fact that she doesn’t remember. She drops the plate she’s holding and I jump back to avoid the shards.
‘I can go,’ Anna says quietly, and I turn, annoyed. Has she never dealt with someone like this before? Surely her company cares for many people with dementia all the time. Or is my mother a new level of cantankerous?
‘No, no,’ I say. ‘I’ll get her down. She’ll get used to things soon enough.’ I turn back to Mum. ‘Right, come on now. Let’s get down and have a nice cup of tea.’
Mum blinks, then looks down at the mess below her. ‘Oh dear,’ she says, and I just manage to move forward quick enough to catch her as she tries to get down from the chair.
‘Come on,’ I say gently. ‘Watch your step. Anna, can you take Mum into the living room for me while I clean up?’
She nods, taking her arm and leading her down the hall. To my surprise, Mum goes quietly, and I let out a sigh at the mess on the floor. What if this doesn’t work? What if she needs twenty-four-hour care? She’d never agree to go into a home, that much I know, but what other option is there?
I try to push the thoughts out of my mind as I sweep up the fragments, wrapping them in newspaper and stuffing the bundle in the bin. I fill the kettle and make two cups of tea, and take them into the living room where Mum is sitting quietly in her chair.
‘I didn’t know how you take it,’ I say to Anna, placing the mugs on the table. ‘I’ve put milk in.’
‘Oh, that’s fine,’ she says, smiling. She looks relieved now that Mum is no longer smashing things up, more in control. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’ve got to get to work,’ I say, glancing worriedly at Mum. ‘Will you be all right?’
She looks at me, her eyes unfocused. ‘Where’s Sebastian?’ she asks. The question surprises me; she doesn’t often remember his existence.
‘He’s at school. Working hard for his exams.’
She reaches out then, her fingers gripping my wrist. ‘Don’t let him hurt her,’ she says urgently. ‘You can’t let him hurt her, Olivia. Not again.’
My shift goes by in a daze, the same monotony of serving customers and refilling the shelves. Sean is off, thank goodness, so I don’t have to look at his sour face. I’m still annoyed at the way he spoke to me when he gave me a warning, the jumped-up little git. I stack the newspapers outside, staring without reading the words until one headline jumps out at me. POLICE ISSUE WITNESS APPEAL AFTER HERTFORD BURGLARY LEFT TEENAGE GIRL INJURED. The picture accompanying the text is grainy, two hooded figures entering a house, but something strikes me as familiar.
‘Liv?’ Tina’s voice startles me. ‘Can you give me a hand please?’
I nod, put the newspaper down and go back inside, the image forgotten for the duration of my shift.
My phone rings just as I’m leaving. ‘Hey, stranger!’ Jackie chirps. ‘Long time, no see.’
I try to think of the last time I saw her. Jackie and I met at the mother-and-baby group on the estate – though I suppose they’ll be called something different these days. She had a daughter, Tania, around the same age as Paige, who is now living in Birmingham where she works at a refuge. I feel a pang at t
he realisation that Tania is living a life Paige could have had, with a good job and prospects and a future. Everything that was ripped away from her.
‘Hi,’ I say. ‘Sorry, I know, life! How are you?’
We chat as I walk home, arranging to meet this evening for a drink in town. I haven’t been out properly in ages, and I feel excited as I wash my hair and put on make-up. I need to make more time for myself, but with work and Seb and Mum, the days just seem to fly past. I frown as I pluck a grey hair from my scalp. When was the last time I had my roots done? Or my hair cut, for that matter? I used to go down to Jackie’s salon every so often, taking advantage of her hefty discount. I shake myself. Plenty of time for all of that. Tonight is about catching up with an old friend.
I go downstairs to find Seb in the living room, scrolling through his phone. He doesn’t look as if he’s showered today.
‘Hi, love,’ I say, and he looks up.
‘You look nice.’
I smile. ‘Thanks. I’m going out with Jackie in a bit. Have you eaten?’
He shakes his head. ‘Won’t you be having dinner out?’
I pause, thinking of the money left in my account. ‘No, not this time. Plenty of food in the fridge. I can make something when I get back.’
‘Oh, Nan,’ he says, rummaging around in his pocket and pulling out his wallet. ‘Have dinner with your friend. You deserve it.’ He pulls out two twenty-pound notes and holds them out to me.
I stare at them. ‘Where did you get that?’
‘Odd jobs, you know.’ He shrugs, but he doesn’t meet my eyes. ‘Take it.’
I do, unable to speak, unwilling to ask him again. I turn once more to look at him before I leave, noticing his flattened hair at the back, the way he is hunched over as if in pain. Mum’s words float into my mind. Don’t let him hurt her. Not again.
49
Seb
He sits on the sofa, thinking of Izzy’s mum, the look of surprise on her face when she realised who he was. Would she report him for not being at school? But he cannot find it in himself to care.