by Gillian Best
She spat the words out.
‘Has he seen a doctor?’
‘He won’t go and there’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t make him do anything.’
‘I could’ve tried, I could’ve helped.’
‘Do what, exactly? A name doesn’t change a thing.’
‘But people would be more understanding.’
‘No, they won’t. He’s frightening. He breaks my heart. I walk through town and I know people are staring. I can feel it. In the butcher, in the chemist. At the post office, at the library. Henry does most of the shopping now. I can’t stand the shame.’
She ducked underwater again, and stayed down for longer this time. I watched the air bubbles slowly make their way to the surface.
When it was time for me to leave I didn’t know what to do. I stood at the front door, my bag by my side. I considered calling it off, phoning my office in Australia and telling them I would be another week, saying that things were not good, not okay, that my parents needed my help.
But my mum wrapped her arms around me and said, ‘I’m glad you came. To see the sea.’
She kissed my cheek and I could smell the sea on her skin. Nothing was okay, but she was still herself.
My father sat in his chair, sleeping.
‘You’ll let us know,’ I said.
‘Of course.’
I knew she wouldn’t. I knew it couldn’t happen across so many miles, so much distance. That it was not her way to ask for help.
The taxi tooted its horn and she walked with me down to the street and we stood there awkwardly until the driver’s impatience was palpable. I hugged her again and held on longer than usual.
‘Now,’ she said pulling away. ‘That’s enough. You’d best get going or you’ll miss your train.’
She opened the door and I put my case in the boot.
‘Okay then,’ I said.
But I didn’t get in the taxi. I couldn’t. As we stood on the street I regretted spending all those years away and knew I had been undeserving of her. I searched for something that would keep me with her for another minute.
‘It’s still flowering?’ I asked, pointing to the myrtle bush.
‘It’s been with me since the beginning, it’s a hardy thing.’
‘The beginning of what?’
‘Have I never told you?’ She ran her hand along its branches. ‘The day your father proposed, he didn’t have an engagement ring.’
‘He what?’
She waved her hands as though to stop me.
‘He did but it got lost. So he gave me a sprig of myrtle. The day after that, I went down to the seaside with my trowel and dug a bit of it up. I put it in a pot on my windowsill, facing the sea. After we were married and we bought this house…’ She looked away and took a deep breath. ‘I planted it the day after we moved in, when your father was at work.’
Just before she went back inside the house she leaned in close and whispered, ‘You always know how to find me, don’t you?’
I shook my head, confused.
She winked and I got it. She would be where she had always been.
Growing Up
‘We have to do something,’ Harriet said as she helped me drag my case into her flat. ‘Because this is not going to solve itself.’
‘Most people answer the door with a hi, Harry,’ I said.
‘We’ve done hi.’
My sister and her family had lived here for nearly eight years and this was the first time I had crossed the threshold. I hadn’t come to visit, not even once. Visiting was a thing we meant to do but never got round to.
My case safely wedged in the narrow entranceway in front of a pile of shoes, Harriet shouted, ‘We’re going out.’
She pushed past me and I stood there, wondering if I should at least go in and say hello.
‘You coming?’ she called from the stairwell, so I shut the door behind myself and ran down the stairs to catch her up. The same way I’d done when we were children.
I followed her through the streets and alleyways and everything was completely different than it had been when I lived here. Back then, Bethnal Green had been rough as old boots, but it had softened in the intervening years and now there were cafés and gastropubs mixed in with the betting shops and off-licences.
We reached the high street and walked past a Tesco Metro crowded with after work shoppers, queuing to buy ready meals. None of them carried plastic baskets, everything they were buying could be held in two hands: instant curry, bottles of wine. Enough for one, and an evening in. A few doors down, she grabbed me by the elbow and dragged me inside a pub that looked like every other pub in a newly gentrified city. It could have been anywhere in hipster London, or Sydney: reclaimed wood floors, artfully peeling wallpaper, and an ironic picture of the Queen lording it over the locally made microbrews and wood-fired pizzas.
She took a seat by the window while I got the drinks in.
I set the pints on the table and she reached for hers quickly, as though she had been waiting all day for it.
‘Bad luck,’ I said as I hung my coat over the back of the chair. ‘We need a toast.’
She glared at me.
‘Harry, please.’
She set the glass back on the table and I thought. It needed to set the tone.
‘To the sea,’ I said.
She rolled her eyes. ‘Really?’
I nodded.
‘To the fucking sea.’
We clinked glasses and drank.
‘It’s good to see you,’ I said.
‘How were they?’
‘Okay. Dad calmed down a bit after you guys left. No more walkabouts.’
‘I don’t know why he was so upset when I was there, it’s not like I brought Iris.’
‘I don’t think he was upset, just stressed out.’
‘It’s called Alzheimer’s.’ Her leg bounced up and down under the table, threatening to jostle the drinks.
I sighed. ‘Giving it a name makes it real.’
‘It is real.’
‘He doesn’t care what you call it,’ I said.
She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. ‘It’s a fact, not open to interpretation or opinion.’
‘Harry,’ I said. ‘It was hard to leave them, all alone like that.’
‘She can’t take care of him when it gets worse.’
‘If,’ I said.
‘When,’ she corrected, leaning forward. ‘It doesn’t get better.’
‘There have to be treatments, tablets, something.’
‘I think we’re past that point. Most of what’s available is for early onset. Which would’ve been, what? Years ago?’
I looked at the foam on the head of my beer as it if were able to tell me my future.
I leaned forward, my sleeves soaking up a bit of spilt beer as I rested my elbows on the table. ‘Harry, do you ever feel like we’ve just abandoned them? Like we could’ve been much better children, been more involved, that sort of thing?’
She shook her head. ‘If they wanted help they could’ve asked for it.’
‘Don’t you feel bad?’
‘For not being around or for what’s happening?’
‘Both.’
She pointed to herself. ‘They kicked me out—’
‘Dad kicked you out.’
‘Mum didn’t do anything to stop him. So I don’t feel bad about not being around, I wasn’t wanted. But do I hate that this is happening to them? Of course I do.’ She took a long drink of her pint. ‘But we’re past the point of no return with Dad.’
‘Since when did you become the expert?’
‘Since Iris’ father.’
‘What?’
She nodded. ‘At first, it was little things. Like, he couldn’t remember the word spaghetti. He could describe it, but he couldn’t find the word. Then other things. Telling Ashley that he’d invited people round for dinner, people he was vague about, like, couldn’t give a name, but so
rt of described them. She’d guess they were the old neighbours who’d moved away decades before.’
‘I’m so sorry. Poor Iris.’
‘It’s hard. He doesn’t remember who she is, or who Ashley is even. It was two years ago this spring that they moved him into a care home. He deteriorated pretty fast after that.’
‘I don’t want that for Dad.’
‘Too bad, it’s happening.’ She drank. ‘He died this autumn just gone. And you know what? It was a relief. It was horrible, watching him disintegrate.’
‘Were they close?’
Harriet nodded. ‘Very.’
‘Are we?’
‘Are we what?’
‘Close.’
She looked at her nearly empty glass. ‘You’re the one who moved to Australia.’
‘This is nice. We should do this more often.’
‘You’re moving back to the land of grey and gloom?’
I shifted in my seat. ‘What do you want to do?’
‘We need to get him into a care home.’
I shook my head. ‘They’ll never agree to that.’
She leaned across the table. ‘There is going to come a time when they won’t have that luxury.’
‘What about a nurse? Someone who’ll come help Mum out.’
‘Iain,’ she said, looking at me sternly. ‘He’s going to wander off more. His personality is going to change. He’s not going to remember who anyone is. Even Mum. He won’t be able to eat, or bathe.’ She looked at her empty glass. ‘He won’t be able to use the toilet on his own.’
I felt sick.
‘We can’t force him. We can’t force either of them to do anything,’ I said.
She stood up quickly. ‘Fine. You don’t want to help, that’s fine. Go back to Australia. Pretend nothing’s wrong here.’
She stormed out and I didn’t follow her. The pub was quiet and I wanted some time to think on my own, so I got another beer.
The last night I saw her before I moved halfway across the world had started off well. We met for dinner, her choice, at one of the curry houses on Brick Lane. She insisted on the location and on paying. We had ordered way too much and laughed when everything arrived on the table: five metal dishes of similar non-descript greasy brown-ish sauce with lumps of meat and veg. It had been a Friday night and since we were near the City, the restaurant had been crowded with young bankers, like me, all loosening their ties preparing themselves for a weekend of debauchery and abandon before the brutal weekday regime began anew Monday morning.
We’d eaten it all and the waiter had ensured our glasses were never empty. It had had all the makings of a great night.
After dinner, we’d found a nearby pub with a free table in the window.
‘You’re brave,’ she had told me. ‘To move so far away.’
Harriet had this tone where she could be pointed and joking simultaneously and even though I knew that, it was still unsettling. Sometimes it was hard to tell where you stood with her.
‘If I don’t like it, I can always come back.’
‘You won’t,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Why would you?’ A man in an Arsenal jersey stumbled into her and spilled half his pint on her jeans. She glared at him and I thought I heard her mutter, ‘Fuckwit,’ under her breath.
‘What could you possibly miss?’ she said. ‘You’ll be raking it in, women in bikinis throwing themselves at you.’
‘The miserable weather, miserable food, miserable company,’ I said, jokingly.
‘Yeah, miserable company. They won’t have that in Oz.’ Her expression said it all, cautious smile creeping over her face, eyes crinkling at the sides the way they did when she was up to something.
‘Harry,’ I said. ‘Joking.’
‘I know,’ she said.
But I wasn’t sure. She took her jacket and went outside to mooch a cigarette off someone and I watched her pace back and forth in the road.
When she came back, I got us another round of drinks. I set them on the table and she smiled.
‘It’s exciting. I’m really pleased for you, thrilled even. Great adventure and all that, right?’
‘I’ll miss you,’ I said, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. She drew it away but I managed to touch her fingers.
‘No you won’t. We hardly see each other.’
‘You can visit.’
‘Yeah, sure. Let you get settled first.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Harry,’ I said.
She downed half her pint and slammed her hands on the table. ‘Actually, you know what’s wrong? This is a terrible send-off. God-awful. We need shots.’ She lurched through the crowd, elbowing her way to the front of the queue.
A few moments later she slammed two shots of whisky on the table. ‘Cheers!’ She tapped the bottom of her glass on the top of mine and drank.
‘You’re not drinking?’ she accused.
I tipped my glass toward her and drank.
‘Wouldn’t want people thinking I didn’t give my little brother a proper send-off.’
Even though that evening was over fifteen years ago, it was still clear in my memory. After Harry stormed off home to her wife, I stayed in the pub on my own thinking about coming home. It seemed like something I ought to do, which didn’t make it any more appealing. The difference for me between working in Oz or back here was minimal: I was tied to my desk, and rarely went out. What difference would it make if I did it here or there? What good could I do here anyway? Mum and Dad didn’t want any help, and Harry and I would just argue over what to do anyhow. The best thing I could do was pay for it all.
I finished my drink, and while I walked the short way back to the flat, I wondered if that’s why Harry had called in the first place, guessing that my involvement would be kept at a distance. And though it hurt, it was accurate. My biggest contribution would be financial.
When I got back to her flat everyone was sitting down to dinner.
‘Just in time,’ Iris said.
I sat in the only empty chair, next to Myrtle and next to my sister who wouldn’t look at me. Iris dished up salad and lentil stew and I wondered what I’d just walked into.
‘Thanks,’ I said.
The sound of cutlery on crockery passed as dinner conversation. Harriet glared at her plate and Myrtle was distracted by her phone, which left Iris as the only person who appeared willing to participate in anything like a family dinner.
I took a bite of the stew, which could only be described as “healthy”. ‘Delicious,’ I said.
‘I’m glad you like it,’ she replied. ‘How was your train journey?’
I nodded. ‘Yeah, good.’
Myrtle’s phone beeped and buzzed, and her face which was cast in an unsettling shade of blue from the screen, lit up.
‘Put that away,’ Harriet said.
‘Why?’ Myrtle asked.
‘Because it’s rude. And dinner is the only time during the day that we’re all together as a family,’ Harriet said.
‘No one was talking,’ Myrtle said.
‘That’s not the point.’
‘How was your day, Myrtle?’ I asked, hoping to cut the tension.
‘Fine.’
‘Your Uncle, who never comes to visit, would probably like to hear more than that,’ Harriet said.
I wasn’t sure who she was angrier with, her daughter or me.
Myrtle looked up. ‘It’s a new game,’ she said, holding her screen out so I could see.
‘I asked you to put that away,’ Harriet said.
Myrtle ignored her. ‘I’m on level three.’
‘Wait till you get to level five. Black holes.’
‘What? How do you know that?’
I shrugged. ‘I may have played it.’
Harriet snatched the phone away from her. ‘No phones at the table. That’s the rule.’
‘Leave it, Harry,’ Iris said.
&n
bsp; ‘Do you want her to grow up like that? Thinking a computer game is more important than her family?’
‘She doesn’t think that,’ Iris said.
‘Doesn’t she?’
‘Well,’ Iris said. ‘It’s because of her that we know how ill your parents are.’
The room went into a deep freeze. I waited for my sister to explode but if she did it was internal. Everyone focused on eating and not drawing any attention to themselves, until Harriet gave up the charade and sulked off into the living room with the bottle of wine.
‘I’m sorry about that,’ Iris said, after Harriet had left.
I shook my head. ‘Don’t apologise. I did grow up with her.’
I looked up and saw Myrtle fighting back a grin.
‘Sweetheart,’ Iris said. ‘Why don’t you go to your room and get started on your homework.’
Myrtle cleared the table and I heard her loading the dishes into the dishwasher.
‘She’s fantastic,’ I said to Iris.
‘She is.’ Iris said. She swirled the remaining wine around in her glass. ‘What about you? Any cousins on the horizon for her?’
I looked at the table, blushing. ‘I’m not really seeing anyone right now.’
‘Do you really just spend all your time in the office?’
‘No, I mean, last month we had a BBQ.’
‘We?’
‘The company, it was for clients, but it was social.’
‘Did you talk about anything not work related?’
‘Sure,’ I said.
‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but what’s the point of living in a different country if you never leave your office?’
She said it delicately, and I knew it wasn’t an attack, but that didn’t keep it from feeling that way.
‘I don’t know. What’s the point in coming home?’
‘Your family needs you.’
‘They need my bank account.’
Iris gave me a strange look. ‘We need a chance, Iain. We want to get to know you.’