by Cathy Glass
She looked at her father. ‘Why don’t you sit down, Dad?’ she asked softly.
He nodded. Evelyn took the chair from the desk and set it next to Gran beside the bed. ‘I’ll leave you to chat with Mum,’ she said, ‘while I go to the kitchen to see Mrs Saunders about lunch. I take it you will be staying for lunch?’
The mention of lunch in the sick room where Grandpa lay so ill seemed grotesquely out of place, but again Mandy supposed Evelyn had had time to adjust in the five days since she’d brought Grandpa home from hospital, and of course they had to eat.
Mandy looked at her father, who gave a vague shrug.
‘Yes, please,’ she said.
Evelyn nodded and, straightening the sheets on the bed, went out of the study, closing the door behind her.
Mandy hovered for a moment at the end of the bed, unsure of what to do or say, and then sat in one of the two brown leather armchairs at the other end of the room. It was a large study, big enough to retain the armchairs, desk, coffee table, filing cabinet, and a free-standing bookshelf even with the addition of the two single beds. Grandpa was in the bed in front of her while Gran’s nightdress lay neatly folded on the pillow of the other bed, which was against the opposite wall. Her grandparents had lived in a bungalow for as long as she could remember and Mandy knew that although Gran could still manage stairs with her arthritis it was a struggle. Mandy had no idea what the study had looked like before the furniture had been arranged to accommodate the beds, nor did she have any recollection of ever having been in it. But that was hardly surprising, she told herself, for Sarah and she wouldn’t have been encouraged to play in the study, and in all likelihood had probably been banned from it.
Mandy looked at her father and Gran sitting beside the bed watching Grandpa. All that could be heard was the sound of Grandpa’s laboured breathing, the breaths deeper than normal breaths, with more time in between; exaggerated, she thought, as though each breath was a statement of living that shouldn’t be ignored or taken for granted.
‘How’s Jean?’ Gran asked her father quietly after a moment. ‘She didn’t come with you?’
‘No. She sends her love, and apologies. She’ll visit next time.’
‘Don’t worry, Ray,’ Gran said. ‘I understand. I’m glad you felt you could come. When Evelyn first suggested Dad and I came here to stay I was worried you wouldn’t visit. Evelyn said she would phone you and make it all right. It would have been dreadful if you hadn’t visited and been able to say goodbye to your father –’ She stopped as her voice broke.
Her father took her hand between his and patted it reassuringly. ‘It’s OK between Evelyn and me now, Mum. Honestly.’
Mandy looked at them. What Gran had just said – her worry that the past would stop her father from visiting – was the most she’d ever said in front of her about ‘the situation’. First her father had referred to it earlier, and now Gran. She wondered when someone was eventually going to tell her what had happened all those years before. At twenty-three she was able to deal with a skeleton or two in the family closet. She was beginning to resent her exclusion. She doubted that whatever had happened could be that horrendous, not in their family. They were squeaky clean. And Mandy now wondered, as she had before, if it had anything to do with her mother and Uncle John – Sarah’s father. As children Sarah and she had giggled that they seemed to like each very much and always kissed each other hello and goodbye on the mouth rather than the cheek.
Her thoughts were broken by a change in Grandpa’s breathing. His breaths had suddenly become shorter, and then the next didn’t come. She sat upright, senses alert. There was a short rasp followed by a dry cough. ‘He’s waking,’ Gran said.
Mandy rose and crossed to the bed where she stood next to her father. They looked at Grandpa and his eyes slowly opened. Turning his head towards them, he smiled. His eyes were moist from sleep and his skin was so pale and thin it was almost translucent. Mandy could see the effort it took for him to speak. ‘Hello,’ he said, his voice catching. ‘Good to see you. Can you get me some water, please?’
‘Of course, Dad,’ her father said, patting his shoulder.
‘It’s on the desk,’ Gran said to Mandy.
Mandy crossed to the desk where a silver tray with a water jug was at one end, away from the laptop, printer and phone. On the tray, beside the covered jug, were a glass and a plastic feeding beaker.
‘Use the beaker, love,’ Gran said. ‘He can’t manage a glass any more. It spills down his front.’
Mandy glanced over and saw the shock on her father’s face – that Grandpa could no longer drink from a glass but was reliant on what looked like an adult version of a toddler’s training cup. She took the lid off the beaker and poured the water, then snapped the lid on and carried it to the bed.
‘Evelyn usually gives it to him,’ Gran said anxiously. ‘I can’t lift his head.’
Mandy glanced at her father, wondering if he wanted to help Grandpa with the drink, but he shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what was required.
‘Grandpa, shall I hold the beaker?’ Mandy asked, leaning forward so she was in his line of vision.
He gave a small nod. Her father eased back his chair so she could get closer to the bed. Leaning over, she wriggled her left hand under the top pillow and slowly eased Grandpa forward and upright. His dry, lined lips closed around the funnel of the feeding beaker. Mandy gradually tilted it as he sucked and then swallowed. He took three sips and collapsed back, exhausted. Mandy lowered the pillow and moved to one side.
It took a moment for him to gather his strength again to speak. ‘I’m pleased you came,’ he said slowly, forming each word separately and with effort. ‘I’m not very good at present. Have you spoken to Evelyn and John?’
‘Yes, Dad,’ her father said. ‘I’ve seen Evelyn and everything is fine.’
Grandpa smiled, reassured, and allowed his eyes to slowly close. Mandy watched as his hand came from under the sheet, searching for his son’s hand. Her father took it in his and his mouth quivered as he fought back emotion. Men in her family rarely showed their feelings; it wasn’t considered the ‘manly’ thing to do. It was more than Mandy could bear to watch her father and Grandpa exposed and their emotion raw. Thank goodness we came, she thought. Thank goodness Dad was able to surrender his pride and take the opportunity to see his father at his sister’s house.
‘Is Jean with you?’ Grandpa asked as Gran had done, his eyes still closed.
‘No, Dad. She sends her love. She’ll come next time.’
‘If there is a next time. I’m very tired, Ray, and the pain is getting worse.’ It was said without self-pity, but Mandy saw her father flinch.
‘Are you in pain now?’ he asked, sitting forward and still holding his father’s hand.
Grandpa shook his head.
‘The nurse gave him something,’ Gran said. ‘But it wears off too quickly.’
‘You shouldn’t have to suffer in this day and age,’ her father said. ‘I’ll speak to Evelyn and we’ll have a word with the doctor.’
Grandpa nodded, but his eyes stayed closed. Then his breathing slowed and deepened as he drifted once more into sleep. Her father eased the bedclothes up round his neck with a tenderness Mandy found exceptionally touching. He stood. ‘I’m going to the bathroom,’ he said and Mandy knew it was to hide his emotion.
‘Will you tell Evelyn that Dad has taken some water?’ Gran called after him. ‘She’ll be pleased. It’s a good sign, isn’t it?’
He nodded without saying anything, unable to give Gran the false hope she desperately sought. Glancing pointedly at Mandy, he left the room. Mandy moved into the chair her father had vacated, next to Gran and beside the bed. She looked at Grandpa, his chest rising and falling beneath the sheet as his laboured breathing once more filled the air. Until now he’d always appeared much younger than his eighty-five years, but now his illness had aged him enormously. Mandy found it almost impossible to equate the upright, agile person th
at had been her grandpa a few weeks ago with the shell of a man before her now, who hadn’t even the strength to raise his head for a drink.
‘It is a good sign, isn’t it?’ Gran said again. ‘Water is good for you. You can do without food, but not water.’
Mandy gave the same non-committal nod her father had done, feeling the same reluctance to fuel what was obviously an unrealistic hope. She wondered if the seriousness of Grandpa’s condition had been explained to Gran. Had the doctors, Evelyn or John said that her husband wouldn’t be getting better; if so, had she accepted it?
‘So tell me about your painting,’ Gran suddenly said, her voice lightening as she changed the subject. ‘Have you finished that masterpiece yet? I want to be the first to see it.’
Mandy gave a small, dismissive laugh. ‘No, not yet, but I promise you’ll be the first to see it, if and when it happens.’
‘You mean when, not if,’ Gran said.
Somehow, in the strange intimacy of the sick room, with Grandpa’s laboured breathing as a backdrop, Mandy now found herself able to share her thoughts and frustrations with Gran in a way she couldn’t with her parents or even Adam. ‘You see, Gran,’ she began, ‘I think I’ve got the equivalent of writer’s block. It’s nearly eight months since I stopped work to paint and I haven’t painted anything. I might just as well give up the idea and return to work. When I had little time and I was under pressure, the ideas seemed to pour out. I painted at weekends and some evenings after work. Now I have all the time in the world I can’t do anything. I’ve lost confidence. I haven’t a single thought in my head.’
‘Like me then.’ Gran smiled, lightly touching her arm. ‘But, Mandy, the main thing is you tried, love. That’s so important. Even if nothing comes of it you had a go. And you know Grandpa’s favourite saying?’
Mandy frowned questioningly. ‘I don’t. He’s got lots of sayings. Which one?’
Gran paused, looked at Grandpa as though bringing him into the conversation, and then quoted: ‘“It is better to have tried and failed, than never to have tried at all.”’ She looked again at Mandy, and there were tears forming in her eyes. ‘Don’t give up on your dreams, love. Stay with them or you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. I’m sure you’re talented, and I know when you find the right subject you’ll be able to paint. Then it will be from your heart and the painting will be perfect.’
Five
As her father returned from the cloakroom Mandy said she would go. ‘It’s down the hall to the right,’ he said, pointing to the front of the house. ‘And your aunt said lunch is about to be served in the dining room. Apparently they always have lunch at this time,’ he added, ‘while Dad sleeps.’
‘OK, I’ll join you there,’ she said and left the study.
Mandy knew exactly where the cloakroom was without her father giving directions. It was reassuring that she remembered, but hardly surprising, given the number of times she must have used the downstairs toilet when she’d stayed as a child. Down to the end of the hall, turn right, and she knew the door marked ‘Cloakroom’ would be set in a recess on her left. It was a large room, she remembered, far larger that their toilet downstairs at home. In addition to the loo and washbasin, there had been a dressing table and matching chair, and another recess like a walk-in wardrobe where the coats and outdoor shoes were stored.
Eyes down, deep in thought, and concentrating on the pattern of the inlaid wooden floor, Mandy turned the corner. She stopped with a small cry of alarm. ‘I’m sorry,’ she exclaimed, flustered. ‘Sorry, I didn’t see you.’ She took a step back and looked at the man she’d just walked into. He was smiling at her, finding it amusing.
‘Hello, Mandy,’ he said, in a voice that she’d not heard for a long time. ‘Good to see you again. How are you?’
She looked at him, heard his voice and then her silence, and knew he had heard her silence too – the hesitation before she recognized him. ‘Uncle John. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were in the house. Evelyn didn’t say.’
He laughed indulgently. ‘Didn’t she? I was having a lie-down upstairs. I was up all night with Grandpa. How are you?’
‘I’m fine,’ she said, embarrassed she’d not immediately remembered him. He’d been like a second father to her when she’d stayed as a child but he’d changed dramatically since she’d last seen him and was nothing like the man in the one photo she had of him – playing with her and Sarah on the swings. He was obviously ten years older, but he’d put on weight and his face seemed wider, more jowly. What was left of his previous black hair was now grey. Only his voice had remained more or less the same.
‘You’re looking good, Mandy,’ he said, flashing the smile she remembered from her childhood. ‘I’d have recognized you anywhere.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, still embarrassed. ‘And you.’
He laughed. ‘I don’t think so but it’s nice of you to say so.’ His eyes held her until, uncomfortable, she looked away. ‘Anyway, it’s good to see you again,’ he said. ‘I understand lunch is ready.’
‘Yes, I’ll be there shortly.’ She stepped past him and into the cloakroom.
Closing the door behind her, Mandy slid the bolt. She leant with her back against the door, her heart pounding and thoughts racing. It had been a shock bumping into Uncle John like that – not only the suddenness of coming round the corner and walking straight into him, but actually seeing him again. Why hadn’t Evelyn said he was in the house – warned her? Perhaps it had slipped her mind, but then again there was no reason for Evelyn to warn her – she didn’t know there was anything to warn her about. Only Sarah had known, and she wouldn’t have told her mother. It was their secret, just theirs; they had sworn on their lives. For in the instant Mandy had recognized John she’d also remembered the crush she’d had on him. Going on thirteen and at the onset of puberty, she’d confided her crush in Sarah, who then admitted to having a crush on her uncle – Mandy’s father. They’d been convinced they were the only ones to have these feelings for older men and that if anyone had discovered they found their uncles attractive they would have been locked up and ostracized for good.
Mandy leant with her back against the cloakroom door. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. John, middle-aged, overweight and balding, once the object of her desire! How could she? How could she and Sarah? It seemed ludicrous now. But there was something else – something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, that was making her legs tremble and heart pound. Something that lurked in the shadows of her mind, another, separate reason for her panic. Something that challenged her explanation that it was the shock of bumping into John and remembering her crush that had made her so uncomfortable and embarrassed. Half remembered and then forgotten, a feeling rather than a thought, similar to when she’d first seen the house: as though she had something to be frightened of but couldn’t remember what.
Heaving herself away from the door Mandy crossed to the washbasin and turned on the tap. She splashed cold water over her burning cheeks and then patted her face dry on the hand-towel. The cloakroom looked different from how she’d remembered it – possibly the colour scheme had changed, for the dressing table and chair seemed the same, as did the door to the walk-in wardrobe. Perhaps it was the passage of time and the fact she was now taller that made the room look different? With a small sigh, she reined in her thoughts, used the toilet and then rinsed her hands. She checked her face in the mirror and left the cloakroom.
In the hall the chink of cutlery and china could be heard coming from the dining room at the end of the hall, but there was no conversation.
‘It’s a buffet, help yourself,’ Evelyn said cheerily as Mandy entered the dining room. Evelyn was seated at the far side of the long oak dining table which was covered with platters and serving bowls of food. ‘Mrs Saunders will get you something to drink.’
‘Just water, please,’ Mandy said to the housekeeper, who was waiting by the sideboard, and sat in the chair left vacant next to her father.
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She was on the opposite side of the table to Evelyn and Gran, with John to her right at the head of the table. She kept her gaze away from John. So too did her father, she thought. He was concentrating on the table just in front of his plate, looking most uncomfortable. It seemed ridiculously formal for lunch, and the atmosphere was strained with them all together. Mandy looked at the array of cold meats, new potatoes, quiches and salads, and regretted agreeing to lunch; a sandwich on their laps would have been far more appropriate.
‘Quite a spread, isn’t it?’ Gran said dryly, glancing at her from across the table. ‘I told Evelyn not to go to so much trouble.’
‘We have to eat, Mum,’ Evelyn chided. ‘And it’s no trouble. Help yourself, Mandy.’
Mandy smiled and accepted the platter of quiche Evelyn passed to her. Using one of the silver servers she carefully cut a slice and placed it in the centre of her large gleaming white plate, hoping it would fill up space. Mrs Saunders brought her a glass of water and then moved a salad bowl to within reach. ‘Thank you,’ Mandy said, and without much enthusiasm took a helping of green salad. She rarely ate much so early in the day; it was only 12.15, and despite not having had breakfast she wasn’t hungry. The formality of the setting – upright on their high-back dining chairs and Mrs Saunders hovering ready to assist – certainly didn’t help. Indeed it seemed somewhat bizarre, almost grotesque, she thought, that as Grandpa lay desperately ill and barely able to sip water two rooms away they were in here facing a feast. Mandy took a couple of mouthfuls of quiche, drank some water, and then began toying with the salad.