The Girl in the Mirror

by Cathy Glass

  Mandy stared at it and felt a cold tingle run up her spine. Without even their pants on, she and Sarah were playing in the garden of this house on what was clearly a hot summer’s day. The two of them had obviously stripped off to run under the sprinkler – it could be seen watering the lawn in the background. Sarah and she were apparently unaware the photograph was being taken. Sarah was in the background, on the far side of the sprinkler, while she, the subject, was in the foreground. On the left of the screen were three ‘thumbnail’ pictures of photographs John had already viewed in the same folder. She looked closer. Obviously taken at the same time, she and Sarah were naked in all of them. The top one showed Sarah and her holding hands and running though the spray; the next showed them trying to catch the spray. The third showed them throwing a brightly coloured ball through the jet of water with John laughing in the background. In all of them Sarah and she were playing unselfconsciously and oblivious to their nakedness as young children are. The counter on the toolbar showed the open photo was the fourth out of a set of sixty.

  A sharp intake of breath came from the bed behind her and Grandpa stirred in his sleep. Mandy took a step back, away from the laptop, and stared at her image. Family photographs? She supposed they must be, but couldn’t remember them being taken or ever having been shown them. Who else had been present? John was in the background. Who had taken the photograph? Evelyn? Her father? And while there was nothing wrong in John reminiscing over a family album, Mandy felt deeply uncomfortable that he had been doing so – viewing her naked – in a semi-darkened room, while she slept in the chair beside him. It didn’t feel right and something told her it wasn’t right, not at all.

  Thirteen

  Mandy continued to stare at the screen, willing the coloured flying boxes of the screensaver to reappear. It was embarrassing enough to have stumbled on the photographs, it would be even worse if John returned and found her looking at them. The setting on the timer for the screensaver could be anything from one minute to sixty; she’d set the one on her laptop to five minutes, but obviously had no idea what John had set his to. A couple of minutes had already passed. How much longer before the screensaver timed in and the photo disappeared? And how long before John finished rinsing the bottle in the cloakroom and returned?

  Another minute passed. Mandy stared at the screen as her heart thumped loudly and the image persisted. Then she heard a movement in the hall outside and quickly snapped shut the lid on the laptop. She sat back in the armchair; having to admit to shutting his laptop was preferable to him coming in and seeing, and then her having to explain. Grandpa stirred in his sleep and a second later the door opened and John came in. He had the clean urine bottle tucked under his arm and a mug in each hand.

  ‘Thought you might like a tea,’ he said, pushing the door to with his foot. His eyes immediately went to the laptop.

  ‘Sorry, I brushed against it, and the lid shut. I hope I haven’t lost your work.’ The lie sounded pathetic even to her.

  He placed the two mugs on the coffee table beside the laptop, and then returned the urine bottle to beside the bed. ‘No harm done,’ he said lightly. ‘Closing the lid doesn’t lose the information.’ Which Mandy knew. She also knew that when John lifted the lid again, the last open document, i.e. the photograph, not the screensaver, would reappear. Why she didn’t simply admit to what she’d done she wasn’t sure, for she hadn’t been prying; she had stumbled on the photographs by accident. It was more to do with the embarrassment of him seeing her naked, albeit as a child, together with the persisting feeling that it wasn’t proper for a man to be storing pictures on his laptop of his niece without her clothes on.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, picking up her mug of tea. She took a sip and looked across the room at the slow-moving red bubbles of the lava lamp. Out of the corner of her eye she could see John sipping his tea, elbows resting on the arms of the chair, and making no attempt to open his laptop. Grandpa’s deep and laboured breathing once more filled the air, signalling he had again lapsed into heavy unconscious sleep. Mandy continued drinking her tea until the silence became uncomfortable and she had to break it. ‘I walked into the village while you were at work,’ she said with forced casualness.

  John nodded and took another gulp of tea. ‘Yes, Evelyn said.’

  ‘I needed a few things, and some exercise.’ She paused. ‘We used to go to that store a lot when I stayed here. It was strange going back. It’s hardly changed at all.’

  ‘No. We order our groceries online now and have them delivered. Did you see Mrs Pryce?’

  Mandy was surprised by his directness; perhaps it was only Evelyn who’d had the argument with the former housekeeper.

  ‘Yes. I recognized her straight away but she didn’t recognize me. Not surprising really, after all this time. Why’s she working there? She always seemed so happy here.’

  John rubbed his thumb around the rim of the mug, and then flashed her a sideways glance: ‘Didn’t she tell you, Mandy?’

  ‘No.’

  He gave a small, dismissive shrug. ‘I guess she just wanted a change. She’d been with us a very long time.’ And Mandy knew for certain he was lying. Something in his tone and the casualness of his reply, together with Mrs Pryce’s reaction, told her this was not the reason, but she also knew he wouldn’t tell her what the real reason was.

  Without saying anything further he finished his tea, set his mug on the coffee table, and then picked up his laptop and left the study. When he returned five minutes later and lifted the lid to resume work, her photograph had gone and a half-composed email filled the screen. That he had left the room to close the file added to her feeling of disquiet – as though he had something to hide. But to bring up the subject now would turn it into an issue, she thought, and it wasn’t the time or place. Later, if her feelings of unease persisted, she would work out what to say and ask him about the photograph.

  Her gaze once more drifted to the red bubbles of moving light on the far side of the room as Grandpa’s drawn-out breaths filled the air. It was now nearly 2.30 a.m. and she felt the long hours before dawn stretch ahead. She thought of Adam and bitterly regretted the way they’d parted on their last night together. While he’d forgiven her, now they were apart she felt her rejection of him even more and could have kicked herself for being so cold. How she now longed for the warmth and security of his arms around her; his straightforward and uncomplicated manner. He was a good, kind person who said what he thought and kept his word. There was no side to him, no hidden agenda. Not many would have put up with her blowing hot and cold – wanting to make love one moment but not the next. Were all women like this? She wondered. She’d no idea; it wasn’t something she’d ever felt comfortable discussing with her friends.

  As happened before when there was no conversation in the study Mandy found herself absently counting off the seconds of Grandpa’s laboured breathing. The breaths – too long apart, which began and ended with small rasps – seemed to be taking more and more effort. She doubted she would ever forget the sound of his breathing and the long silences between. She was sure the gaps were growing longer; unnaturally long, she thought, as though each breath could be his last. Was that what happened in the end? Was that how life ended? One long breath and then nothing – the moment of death? Was that it, or did the person say something or cry out? Mandy had never been with anyone who had died, but had heard stories about the dying waking at the end and experiencing a moment of lucidity just before they passed away. Her mother had told her of a very old aunt who, unconscious for a week, had suddenly sat up in bed at the moment of death and, reaching out her hand, had said: ‘I’m ready now. I’m coming with you,’ as though someone had been sent to meet her. Mandy’s mother had found comfort in this – proof there was an afterlife, but Mandy wasn’t sure. For someone with no religious faith, it would be a terrific leap to view death as anything other than the depressing finality she now accepted it to be.

  Grandpa’s breathing faltered for a sec
ond before he cried out – an agonized howl that struck terror into her soul. She was already out of the chair and by the bed when the second cry came. John was at the bed-head. Taking hold of Grandpa’s shoulders he began massaging them as he had the night before. ‘We’re here, Dad,’ he reassured him. ‘The pain will pass.’

  Mandy took one of Grandpa’s hands in hers and stroked the back. It felt cold and clammy, and too smooth, almost like gloss paper. When the next anguished cry came, his face contorted and his hand clutched hers so tightly his nails dug into her flesh. ‘Grandpa, it’s Mandy,’ she said urgently, but he was oblivious. His back arched and he shrieked again. She looked at John and saw her own fear reflected.

  ‘It’s all right, Dad. We’re here,’ John tried to soothe him.

  Mandy knew the pain was worse than it had been the night before, and she was sure it hadn’t peaked yet. The medication had worn off and Grandpa was being forced into consciousness by the agony. It was horrifying, humiliating, and out of control. His back arched and his eyes screwed shut as his face contorted, but his words were clear and unmistakable: ‘No more. I want to die. Help me to die, please, John!’

  ‘I’ll call the nurse,’ John said. ‘He’ll give you an injection to stop the pain.’

  ‘No. I want an end. Once and for all.’ Then his whole body suddenly jolted as though an electric current had passed through, and he began to retch.

  Mandy grabbed the plastic bucket from beside the chair as John turned him on to his side. She held the bucket beneath his chin as his body stiffened and he retched, over and over again. First saliva trickled from his open mouth and then a thick brown liquid shot into the bucket. It smelt foul and Mandy felt her own stomach contract.

  ‘Christ!’ John said. ‘What’s that? He hasn’t eaten for a week.’ Mandy glanced in the bucket and then looked away. It was disgusting.

  John kept his hands on Grandpa’s shoulder, steadying him on his side as he retched again. Mouth open, his whole body caught in the act of vomiting, like a dog. The smell coming from the bucket and also from his mouth was putrid, more like excrement than vomit. His retching peaked, and more of the disgusting brown liquid shot into the bucket. Then he let out a loud groan and his body went limp. Mandy swallowed the bile rising in her throat.

  John gently laid him flat on his back. ‘Can you get him some water, Mandy,’ he said quietly, clearly shocked.

  Placing the bucket to one side, she fetched the beaker of water from the tray on the desk, and also a tissue. She wiped away the brown saliva from Grandpa’s lips. John slid his hands under Grandpa’s shoulders and eased him off the pillows as she tipped the beaker to his lips. Veins stood out on his neck where he had been retching, and thread veins had broken across his nose and cheeks, making his skin look purple. His dry, lined lips closed around the beaker, but his eyes stayed shut. He took a sip and with great effort swallowed. Then his head dropped back, exhausted.

  ‘Would you like another sip?’ Mandy asked softly.

  There was a faint: ‘No.’

  She stayed by the bed. Although Grandpa’s eyes were closed and his body was still, from the lightness of his breathing she knew he was still conscious. John was very pale – until now he’d been in control, able to ease Grandpa through the pain, but this last attack had left him powerless to help, and he was visibly shaken. Now the pain had peaked Mandy hoped Grandpa would drift into unconsciousness as he had done the night before. They watched and waited. He stirred and tried to say something, although his eyes remained closed. ‘Sorry, Dad?’ John asked gently, lowering his head closer to Grandpa’s mouth.

  ‘John?’ he groaned.

  ‘Yes, I’m here. So is Mandy.’

  ‘Mum and Dad visited today,’ Mandy said quickly. ‘They send their love.’

  Grandpa nodded. ‘John?’ he said again, struggling to tilt his head in the direction of John’s voice.

  ‘Yes, Dad?’

  ‘I need you to promise me…’ he began, his voice slow and rasping, each word punctuated by a breath. ‘I want you to promise me…if it gets any worse…you’ll end it…for me. I can’t do it…or I would.’ His eyes briefly opened and he squinted in John’s direction, trying to focus, before they closed again. Mandy saw John’s look of horror. It had been said rationally with a detachment and seriousness that was almost cold.

  ‘I’ll phone the nurse to make you more comfortable,’ John said, moving away from the bed.

  ‘No,’ Grandpa cried. John stopped and looked at him, surprised by the strength in his voice. ‘Please, John, I need you to promise,’ he rasped, struggling for breath and trying to open his eyes. ‘This might be my last chance to ask. For the love of God, and the sake of my wife and family, please end it for me.’ He desperately tried to raise his head but failed and collapsed back on to the pillow with a groan.

  Mandy saw John flinch. How could he give such an undertaking? Yet after the agony he had just witnessed…‘I understand,’ John breathed after a moment. Then, more strongly: ‘I promise I won’t let you suffer.’

  A small smile seemed to flicker across Grandpa’s lips and then his face relaxed and his breathing slowly deepened as he once more lapsed into unconsciousness. Leaving the end of the bed John picked up the bucket. ‘I’ll get rid of this,’ he said, and left the room.

  Mandy turned from the bed as a bubble of oil in the lamp elongated and stretched to the limit. As she looked, the top broke away and, forming a bubble of its own, floated free. Behind her Grandpa’s breathing reluctantly continued.

  Fourteen

  After that night Mandy felt there was an unspoken pact between John and her that whatever happened with Grandpa in the study stayed there and would never be spoken of – now or in the future. When Evelyn came into the study at 6.30 a.m. the following morning, washed and dressed, and asked what sort of night Grandpa had had, John said, ‘Restless,’ and Mandy agreed. When Gran arrived downstairs at 8.45, helped by Evelyn, John had gone for a lie-down, so Mandy repeated the half-truth. ‘Not too good,’ she said, ‘although he did wake briefly. I was able to tell him Mum and Dad had visited.’ Which pleased Gran and made her a little bit happier.

  After breakfast with its silver tureens arranged along the sideboard in the morning room, Mandy showered and changed. She was on her way to the study when Evelyn intercepted her. ‘Mandy, I was wondering if you could do me a favour?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Gran could do with some more clothes from home. Could you run her over to the bungalow to get what she needs? You could take my car.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Mandy said, feeling that far from it being a favour for Evelyn she would be grateful for a change of scenery and also to spend some time alone with Gran.

  She went with Evelyn into the study where Evelyn told Gran of the proposed outing. Gran glanced anxiously at Grandpa. ‘Don’t worry,’ Evelyn reassured her. ‘He’ll be fine. You won’t be long.’

  While Evelyn fetched Gran’s shoes and coat Mandy checked her phone. She answered the two texts – one from a friend and one from Adam – and then pressed to return her father’s missed call.

  ‘Just wondered if there was any change?’ he said. He was at his office desk.

  ‘No, not really. He had a restless night, but he is comfortable now.’ There was no point in worrying her father further by telling the truth. ‘Gran’s here. I’m taking her to get some things from home. Would you like to speak to her?’

  ‘Yes, please. We’ll be over again on Sunday.’

  Mandy passed her mobile to Gran. ‘Hello, Ray,’ she said, and then, unused to mobiles, took the phone from her ear to speak into the microphone. ‘Pardon?’ she said, having missed Ray’s reply.

  Mandy smiled and repositioned the phone to Gran’s ear and they spoke for a few minutes.

  ‘Incredible,’ she said when she’d finished and returned the phone to Mandy. ‘What will they think of next!’

  ‘We could buy you a mobile,’ Mandy said. ‘I’d teach you how to use it.
It isn’t difficult.’

  ‘We’ll see. Will’s got one, he knows what to do.’ She smiled wistfully.

  Fifteen minutes later Gran was sitting beside her in Evelyn’s Fiat, an automatic that was very easy to drive. They were five minutes into the twenty-minute journey and Mandy thought Gran was appreciating the outing as much as she was. She was very alert, looking out of her side window and making comments on the passing scenery. Mandy recognized that while Gran would never have complained about all the time she spent with Grandpa, first going to the hospital and then in the study-cum-sick room, clearly her life had narrowed too.

  A couple of minutes later Mandy decided it was a good opportunity to ask about Mrs Pryce. ‘I recognized Mrs Pryce straight away yesterday. But she didn’t recognize me.’

  ‘Well, it’s been a long time since she last saw you,’ Gran said, still looking out of her window. ‘You’ve changed a lot.’

  ‘Ten years,’ Mandy agreed. ‘Do you still see her?’

  ‘Occasionally. I used to see her at the Women’s Institute, but I haven’t been this year.’

  Mandy smiled to herself: she could picture Mrs Pryce and Gran swapping recipes and flower arranging or whatever they did at their WI meetings. ‘The village shop hasn’t changed either,’ Mandy said, glancing at her. ‘Why doesn’t Evelyn use it now?’

  ‘Not sure,’ Gran said with a small shrug. ‘She used to walk the dog into the village and pop in the store. Perhaps Evelyn’s feeling her age, like me. She doesn’t walk into the village. They order a lot of their stuff on the computer now.’