by Mia Dolan
Rosa Brooks smiled. ‘I am getting old. There is nothing you can do about it. Anyway, the condition is only temporary. The doctor told me so.’
They were sitting across from each other in the two winged armchairs placed either side of the fireplace where the old range chugged and spluttered like an ailing donkey.
Rosa Brooks was using the poker to dislodge some clinker from the fire bed. All her attention appeared to be fixed on it, as though her illness was nothing at all to worry about. But Marcie knew better.
Reaching across, she touched the papery thin skin of her grandmother’s hand.
‘Gran, I know you’re lying. Dad told me it’s serious. He told me that you’re going blind. He said the doctor called him and told him you have diabetes.’
Rosa stiffened in her chair. Old she might be, but she was still resolute.
‘Your father does not come here often enough to know anything. He even thinks his wife is divorcing him. The fool! As long as he sends her money, she will do nothing of the sort. Besides, they had a Catholic wedding. They cannot divorce.’
Marcie shook her head. She did wonder if her father had been talking rubbish about Babs wanting a divorce. He always liked to play for sympathy with her. It helped counter the guilt he was feeling because he rarely came back to Sheppey and, when he did, all he and his wife Babs did was argue and fight. There was also the matter of his girlfriends, of course, though that was something Marcie made no mention of.
Sitting very still, she stared into her grandmother’s face, seemingly without her knowing. The two dark eyes she’d known all her life were not nearly as bright as they had been. The film of a double cataract misted them both.
The sound of Joanna chuckling caused a smile to cross the old face.
‘Joanna is growing fast,’ said her grandmother, smiling in the general direction of where Marcie’s daughter was sitting on the floor, drawing. ‘See how pretty she looks in that pink dress.’
Marcie felt as though her heart would break. She’d overheard her grandmother asking Garth what colour dress Joanna was wearing and he’d told her.
At present Garth was sitting next to Joanna. Her grandmother could not possibly see her great-granddaughter.
Marcie held back the tears. She’d cried enough of them of late, mostly when she was in bed alone at night, unable to sleep, unable to face the dreams that might come.
The fact was that she had to accept that things were much worse than her father had stated. Her grandmother was virtually blind, but was managing to find her way around the house and do all the things she had always done purely because she was familiar with her surroundings.
The family had never been the sort who touch and hug at the drop of a hat, but that was what Marcie did now. Reaching across she took the bony hand of her grandmother into her own then hugged her grandmother’s head before cupping her cheek in her hand.
‘Gran,’ she said softly. ‘That’s Garth you can see. He’s sitting between you and Joanna.’
It wasn’t easy, but she effectively controlled the trembling of her voice. If her grandmother was being strong then she had to be the same.
Rosa Brooks hesitated before jerking her chin in a short, swift nod. ‘So you know. Then that is it. There is nothing to be done.’
‘What did the doctor say?’
‘He said that I am old.’
‘Doctor Sangster must have said more than that.’
‘Not Doctor Sangster. He is dead. He died last week from liver failure. A young West Indian doctor has taken his place. He’s a good man but he says that there is nothing he can do.’
Marcie sat back in her chair not able to believe how helpless she felt. The feeling was short-lived. She refused to believe that there was nothing that could be done. The everlasting hope of youth took over.
‘There must be something. Why don’t you see another doctor? If this one is only young . . .’
Her grandmother shook her head. Again, her voice was very gentle. ‘There is a time for all things, Marcie. I am not afraid. I have my faith. Besides, I know that your grandfather is waiting for me on the other side. We talk a lot more now and he visits me in my sleep. Do you know that when we meet we are young again? Is not that the most wonderful thing? Everything we were together we will be again.’
Her face shone. For one solitary moment it seemed that the wrinkles were smoothed out and that her flesh was firm and young again.
Feeling as though she were choking on her tongue, Marcie swallowed a sob and brushed away a tear. What she marvelled at most of all was the look on her grandmother’s face. Her face was glowing. She wanted to cherish the hope that her grandmother’s condition was improving, but deep down she knew it was not so.
‘My legs ache,’ said Rosa Brooks. ‘Can you dish up the dinner?’
Marcie said that she would. ‘Can you manage Joanna and Aran?’
‘I would love to. Joanna. Come here where I can see you.’
‘I’ll get Garth to dig up a few carrots while I cut a cabbage.’
‘They’ll be the last before the frost gets them,’ her grandmother called after her.
Marcie told Garth that she was dealing with dinner and they went out to the garden together. ‘My grandmother’s legs are aching. The cold isn’t good for her,’ she explained.
Garth nodded stoically. ‘Auntie Rosa doesn’t like walking any more.’
‘She’s getting old, Garth,’ Marcie said gently.
‘And she hit her toe. That hurts a lot.’
‘She stumbled, did she?’ Marcie remarked. It was perfectly understandable. Her grandmother’s failing eyesight meant that she was bound to be bumping into things.
‘It bled,’ said Garth.
‘Oh dear. Did she put a plaster on it?’ Marcie was always careful to speak to him as though he were a child so he could understand better.
Garth had no conception of lying so always told the truth regardless of the implications.
‘Not a plaster,’ he said with great vehemence. ‘It wouldn’t be big enough. A bandage! That’s what she did. But it’s not crusty yet. It stinks.’
Marcie frowned. What did he mean by crusty? ‘It sounds horrible.’
‘It’s true,’ he said and looked at her in a way that made her feel she’d misjudged him. ‘It smells bad. And sometimes she gets dizzy and doesn’t know where she is. And sometimes she’s asleep for ages.’
The warmth of the kitchen welcomed them back in from the garden where a mist was rolling in from the sea and crisping the air.
Marcie thought about what Garth had said as she ran the tap water to swill off the vegetables. ‘Does she sleep for long?’ She said it quietly so that her grandmother wouldn’t hear.
Garth nodded and dropped his voice to suit. ‘Sometimes I can’t wake her up.’
Marcie looked over her shoulder to see if her grandmother had heard what they were saying. Apparently not. She was totally absorbed in entertaining the children.
Marcie listened to her grandmother telling some wonderful tale about castles, fairies and goblins. Joanna was all rapt attention. As she watched, Marcie came to an instant decision. Tomorrow, by hook or by crook, she was taking her grandmother to the doctor. Asking her what was wrong would achieve nothing. Her grandmother was beginning to subvert the truth. No. She had to persuade her to go to the doctor and to let her go too. It wouldn’t be easy, but it had to be done. Marcie wanted the truth about her grandmother’s health and knew she wouldn’t get it from the woman herself.
The following day she offered to take her shopping.
Her grandmother protested at first. ‘There is not much that I need.’
‘Bread? Milk? Bear in mind that Aran and Joanna are going to want milk. Joanna can have cow’s milk. Aran needs another tin of Cow and Gate.’
Seeing as it seemed she was the one in need of shopping, her grandmother gave in. The truth was that she’d brought a spare tin of Cow and Gate with her, but an extra tin wouldn’t come amis
s.
‘You can push – if you don’t mind that is.’
Of course her grandmother wouldn’t mind!
With Aran and Joanna crammed into the pushchair, she allowed her grandmother to push whilst she walked to one side keeping a firm grip on the handle. Garth opted to stay at home and do some drawing.
It suited Marcie fine. She had a plan. Rosa Brooks was concentrating on pushing the pushchair so it wasn’t too hard to alter course to the doctor’s surgery. With a pang of foreboding, Marcie noticed her grandmother limping.
She was careful to go slowly, directing the pushchair away from the shops and towards the surgery.
‘Are we changing direction?’ her grandmother asked.
‘No. We’re going exactly where I intended to go,’ quipped Marcie without really giving away that they were headed for the surgery.
‘We’re here,’ said Marcie pushing open one of the wide double doors.
Her grandmother looked panic stricken. ‘This is not the fishmonger! I wanted fish for Friday!’
Marcie managed to guide her into the reception area.
‘The doctor promised he would see us the minute we got here.’ Marcie clung tightly but gently to her grandmother’s arm, knowing that given half the chance she’d dig in her heels and refuse to move.
Craning her neck whilst wrestling with the push chair, door and grandmother, she caught the receptionist’s attention. Old Doctor Sangster had never had a receptionist. Like most old-time doctors of his generation, he had let his own patients in and out. His more modern replacement had changed things a great deal.
‘Oh! It’s Mrs Brooks,’ said the receptionist with a welcoming smile.
Rosa Brooks stopped in her tracks. ‘Why have you brought me here?’ she demanded of her granddaughter.
The receptionist looked both amused and impressed that Marcie was attempting to do so many things at once. They exchanged a knowing look. Everyone knew that Rosa Brooks was of independent spirit.
‘Let me help you,’ said the pleasant-faced young woman, coming out from behind her high reception desk.
‘I do not need to see the doctor,’ Rosa protested. Her eyes might be bad, but Marcie could read what she was thinking. Her grandmother was angry – very angry.
‘He’s very keen to see you,’ said the receptionist to Rosa Brooks as though totally unaware of her resistance. She turned to Marcie. ‘Do go in, Mrs Jones. I’ll take care of the children for you.’
‘Gran. You have to see the doctor about your toe.’
‘Toe?’ she exclaimed accusingly. ‘There is nothing the matter with my toe.’
This was never going to be easy, but Marcie was determined. Even if it meant telling a lie, she was going to get something done here.
Cupping her hand over her mouth, she whispered in her grandmother’s ear.
‘Gran, it’s not healing and because it’s not healing it’s beginning to smell.’
Marcie’s grandmother took a backwards step and looked shocked. Recovering quickly she glared at her granddaughter accusingly. ‘I do not need you to come in with me.’
‘Well, I am.’ Marcie was determined. ‘You’ve taken care of me all my life, Gran. Now it’s time for me to take care of you. So don’t argue.’
In the past Rosa might have protested more vehemently, but she was weaker than she had been. Marcie winced on feeling the fragile arm beneath the black tweed coat her grandmother was wearing. It was as though there was no flesh, only bones barely covered by skin.
‘Marcie. Please. You do not understand. I can take care of this myself. I do not wish to be pulled around like a piece of meat on a slab.’
‘This is a doctor you’re seeing, not a butcher.’
The weak pleading of her grandmother’s voice tore at her heart, but she was determined to get to the bottom of this. There was some truth in her saying that her grandmother’s injured toe was beginning to smell. What was wrong? She had to know.
The doctor had sad brown eyes and coffee-coloured skin. His smile was warm and so was his voice as he steered her grandmother to a comfortable chair. ‘I am so very pleased to see you, Mrs Brooks. You should come in and see me more often.’
‘I would not wish to waste your time,’ Rosa responded indignantly. ‘You would not be doing that, Mrs Brooks. I like to keep my eye on senior patients. I think that is only wise.’
Rosa Brooks was having none of it. ‘I am not sure I agree.’
‘Please, Mrs Brooks. Let me be the judge of that.’
Placing his hand on her shoulder, he pressed her gently down onto the seat at the side of his desk.
‘Now,’ he said, still smiling and brimming with the professional confidence of a young man keen to do his stuff. ‘Your granddaughter tells me that you hit your toe and it’s not healing as it should. Is that right?’
‘It is nothing,’ said Rosa in a resolute manner, one hand waving at him as though he were a fly and should leave her alone. ‘I used herbs but not the right ones. I can take care of it myself.’
‘I think I can do better,’ said the young doctor, his smile undimmed. At the same time his eyes met Marcie’s over her grandmother’s head. She saw the concern there and knew instantly that he was aware of the blindness and that the problem with her grandmother’s toe was somehow attached to it.
The doctor placed a chair for Marcie beside that of her grandmother. ‘Please. Take a seat, Mrs Jones.’
Marcie thanked him. Knowing her grandmother wasn’t best pleased, she slid a sidelong look in her direction. The walnut-brown face had set like sun-dried clay, criss-crossed with cracks. Marcie was thankful that the jet-black eyes were staring straight ahead, the strong little chin trembling.
‘Now,’ he said, looking directly into Rosa’s face. ‘Will you let me take your shoe off?’
‘You may if you wish, but, as I have already told you, I will heal it with herbs. It is just a deep cut that is taking a little longer than usual to heal. It is because of the cold weather.’
The doctor’s amused expression turned slightly more serious. ‘As I have already intimated, Mrs Brooks, I think you should let me be the best judge of that. That’s what the National Health Service pays me for. Please allow me to earn my keep.’ He said it with a light laugh, but it was obvious from her grandmother’s expression that she wasn’t finding this funny at all.
Marcie marvelled at how secretive her grandmother had been about her toe. If Garth had not told her about it, she would not have known.
The doctor cradled her grandmother’s foot in one hand and began to undo the bandage with the other.
Marcie leaned forwards, her frown deepening and her nose wrinkling as more and more of the bandage was undone. The smell was terrible – like rotting meat. She covered her nose and mouth with one hand, wincing on seeing the blackened, suppurating toe.
He looked at Marcie, then back at her grandmother. His smile had disappeared completely. ‘Can you smell it, Mrs Brooks?’
Her grandmother stared at him silently for a moment before answering. ‘Yes.’
‘It’s badly infected.’
‘Yes.’
Marcie had heard old men talking about terrible injuries during the Great War of 1914 to 1918 and of how legs and arms had had to be sawn off, the smell indicating that saving the limb was hopeless.
The young doctor put it into words. ‘Gangrene,’ said the doctor. ‘That’s what this is.’
‘Is it serious?’ Marcie asked.
His glance held a bucketful of sympathy. He nodded. ‘In certain circumstances it is. Some people are susceptible to it and some people cannot fully recover from it without an amputation being carried out.’
‘You can tell her,’ Marcie’s grandmother said suddenly.
‘Seeing as I have your permission, then I will,’ said the doctor. ‘When an injury such as this occurs to people with diabetes, it rarely heals unless it is very minor indeed. I think you were already aware what it was, weren’t you, Mrs Brooks?’
>
Rosa Brooks was surprisingly placid, apparently unmoved by what he was telling her. ‘Yes, but it is of no consequence. I am dying day by day, doctor – as we all are. I am old. I have had my time, and please do not look at me as someone to be pitied. I may not be able to see but I can tell you are. I’m an old woman whose flesh is rotting and eyesight is failing. I was not always like this. I was a baby once, a child and a young woman – a beautiful young woman I might add.’
‘I am sure you were,’ the doctor replied, his manner polite and not at all condescending. ‘Time levels us all, Mrs Brooks. I can’t promise anything, but I will do my best. You’re an intelligent woman and I will treat you with the respect you deserve. I will tell you the truth. The toe will have to come off.’
Rosa nodded.
Marcie sat silently shocked. Both the doctor and her grandmother were being so matter of fact about this. She was the one who didn’t want to accept this.
‘Just her toe?’
‘Hopefully it will be only the toe that has to come off. I’m not sure we can do anything about your eyes,’ the doctor added.
‘What’s affected my grandmother’s sight?’ Marcie asked him. ‘Is that also to do with diabetes?’
He nodded.
‘Stop fussing, Marcie. I can manage without them,’ snapped her grandmother.
Marcie sighed. Rosa Brooks was strong-willed and even though her physical strength was ebbing away, her will was as strong as ever. And she was proud. She would always be proud.
The doctor seemed to be doing his best not to look sad. ‘It’s partly her diabetes but she also has cataracts. It won’t be long before we can deal with them very effectively with modern medicine, but that’s not your grandmother’s problem. The vessels at the back of her eyes have been damaged by her diabetes; it’s called glaucoma.’
Marcie’s head was reeling. How could so many bad things be happening to her? First, Michael being arrested for murder, and now, her grandmother not only going blind but in need of an amputation. Only a toe, she reminded herself, and couldn’t help saying it out loud.
She put her arm around her grandmother and hugged her tightly. ‘Only a toe. Thank goodness for that. I suppose it could be a lot worse.’