Homes and Hearths in Little Woodford

by Catherine Jones

Gordon sat by his mother’s bedside and stared at her battered face. Apparently, from what Dot could gather from the scene when she’d arrived – the rucked up rug, the broken china, the tray – his mother must have been carrying her supper tray into the sitting room when she’d tripped, gone headlong, probably catching her head on a footstool on the way down. She was now conscious but confused and concussed. Gordon wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not that she’d been out cold for so long. At least it would have stopped her from feeling frightened and alone. On the other hand, a blow to the head for someone of her age was no trivial matter. Actually, it would be no trivial matter for someone young and fit. The bruising was monstrous with her left eye swollen shut, the eyelid and her forehead were a livid red. The nurses had told him that it would soon go black, purple and shades of mauve and she’d have a ‘bobby-dazzler of a black eye’. Her right arm, which rested on the bedcovers, was encased in a blue-bandaged plaster cast and under the covers her ankle was strapped up too because of a sprain. Beside the bed a monitor beeped with each heartbeat. She’d had an MRI scan and the results had been encouraging – or rather, nothing sinister had been detected. She’d emerged into consciousness just before he’d arrived at the hospital but they’d given her a fair bit of sedation and pain relief while they’d set her wrist and now she was sleeping. Gordon had been told that when she woke up, they were going to subject her to a battery of tests to ascertain that no lasting damage had been done. Providing that was the case, the prognosis was, despite appearances, quite good and, he’d been told by the medics, if no untoward complications surfaced as she recovered his mother was expected to make a good return to full health.

  ‘But,’ the female doctor had said, ‘whether or not your mother can return to independent living is another matter. You’ve said that’ll be what she’ll want, but whether or not she’ll be capable…’

  ‘Good luck trying to persuade her otherwise,’ said Gordon.

  ‘I agree. There are strategies we can put in place to aid this but it’ll only be a temporary solution. And we’ll need to get an occupational therapist to assess her ability to perform simple tasks.’

  Gordon nodded. That made sense. ‘And if she can’t?’

  ‘Then we’re going to have to persuade her that she’ll need long-term assistance.’

  ‘She won’t like it.’

  ‘If she can’t make a cup of tea, or climb the stairs, there will be no alternative. Naturally, she could get a stair lift installed and employ a carer but there will come a time when even those measures won’t be enough.’

  And then what? wondered Gordon.

  His stomach rumbled and brought him back to the present. His breakfast had been interrupted and now it was after two o’clock. No wonder he felt hungry. Of course, he was sure that the instant he left his mother’s bedside she’d wake up but the canteen wasn’t that far away and he only needed to grab a sandwich. He’d be there and back in a matter of minutes.

  He pushed his chair back and got to his feet. What with the drive and now sitting still for a couple of hours, he felt stiff. He eased his back and stretched before he made his way to the nurses’ station.

  ‘Just going to get a bite to eat,’ he told them. ‘Back in a tick.’ And while he was away from the ward, he’d phone Max. He’d promised to phone her on arrival but until now there hadn’t really been a suitable moment.

  Gordon headed down a long corridor which led towards reception and the canteen. Off it was a door into a sunny and sheltered courtyard garden. Gordon went into the fresh air, glad to be away from the smell of antiseptic and disinfectant, the incessant bleeps of the machinery and monitors and the incoherent rant of a dementia patient in a side ward.

  He swiped his screen and pressed the phone icon.

  ‘How is she?’ said Max as soon as she answered.

  ‘She’s got a broken wrist and a very badly sprained ankle and concussion plus what are going to be some shocking bruises but assuming she doesn’t pick up any infections they are expecting her to make a full recovery.’

  ‘How long will that take?’

  ‘They wouldn’t commit themselves. Old bones take a long time to knit. Two months at least, probably considerably more.’

  ‘Oh, Lordy, she won’t like that.’

  ‘No, and the worst of it is, with an arm and a leg out of action she can’t possibly look after herself at all. She needs help for every aspect of her personal care.’

  There was a silence as Maxine took in the implications. ‘So, she’s going to be in hospital for some time.’

  ‘Or a nursing home.’

  ‘Having nurses do everything for her.’

  ‘That’s the long and the short of it.’

  ‘Your poor mum. It’s her idea of hell.’

  ‘Not that she knows this yet. She was unconscious when she arrived and what with the pain relief and one thing and another she’s not really with it yet. In fact, right now she’s asleep which is why I’ve had a chance to pop out and phone you. Anyway, there’s nothing much I can do except sit with her till she surfaces and then try and comfort her while she comes to terms with everything and what her immediate future is going to be like.’

  ‘Poor Anthea. She’s going to hate it. No matter how sensitive the nurses are she’ll be so unhappy.’

  ‘But she’ll have no choice. With one hand completely out of action feeding herself will be tricky and as for doing anything else…’

  ‘Just ghastly. But I’m sure you’ll be wonderful with her. If anyone will be able to get her to come to terms with the situation it’ll be you. One thing Gordon, your mum is going to have to think about moving out of that house.’

  ‘And I don’t think this is the moment to mention it. Maybe when she’s better.’ He’d come to the same conclusion himself but it was a conversation he was dreading and certainly one he couldn’t face on top of telling his mother that every aspect of her personal care, every single and intimate aspect, was going to be administered by nurses for the foreseeable future. ‘How’s the move going?’

  ‘They’re due here shortly. Getting the stuff in the van took longer than they thought and then the M25 played up… Abi didn’t sound best pleased when I phoned her to tell her about Granny. But,’ she added hastily so Gordon didn’t get the wrong impression, ‘it was the delays, not Granny she was irritated with. She was hugely sorry to hear what had happened and said she and Marcus will visit her just as soon as they can. Not this weekend, obviously but soon. She said to give Granny oodles of love.’

  ‘I’ll pass the message on. I’m off to get a bite of lunch now and I’ll ring you again later today.’

  *

  Marcus drove the van onto the driveway of their soon-to-be temporary home, hauled on the hand brake and killed the engine. It ticked as it cooled.

  ‘At last,’ said Abi. ‘We should have been here in time for lunch and now it’s gone two.’ She flicked the handle, pushed open the door and a waft of warm spring air, laden with birdsong, whooshed into the cab. She stretched, undid her seat belt and jumped down to the ground. ‘And no Dad to help us carry the stuff.’

  ‘It’s not his fault,’ said Marcus. ‘Your poor grandmother.’

  ‘I know, it’s just she couldn’t have picked a worse time.’ Abi kicked at a stone on the driveway before she marched up to the front door and rang the bell. ‘Well, we finally made it,’ she said to her mum before she swooped in to give her a kiss on the cheek. ‘Nightmare journey. I don’t suppose there’s a cup of tea available before we start unloading.’

  ‘Of course. Come in the pair of you. Have you had lunch? Would you like a sandwich? I wasn’t sure if you’d grabbed something on the way.’

  Abi turned to Marcus who was following her into the hall. ‘Mum’s offering a sarnie.’

  ‘That’d be lovely, Maxine. We’ve been on the go since the early hours.’

  ‘What are you planning to put in it?’ said Abi.

  ‘Cheese?’

  ‘I
s that it?’

  ‘I might be able to find something more exciting. I’ll have a look.’ Maxine went to the kitchen and began opening cupboard doors while Abi filled the kettle and plugged it in. ‘So, what’s with Granny?’

  Maxine filled her in on the details, as much as she knew them.

  ‘I pity the poor nurse who tries to wipe her bum,’ said Abi.

  ‘Yes, well… Anyway, let’s not talk about that side of things,’ said her mother.

  ‘Stop being such a prude, Mum. It’s a fact, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, but Granny Anthea would no more like us discussing her personal hygiene than she’s going to like someone having to help her with it. She’s a very proud old lady and from a generation where bodily functions simply weren’t discussed.’

  Abi sniffed. ‘It’s not going to make the situation go away, though, is it?’

  Max found a tin of tuna at the back of a cupboard and fell upon it. ‘Ta-dah,’ she said as she brandished it.

  ‘Err… we’re vegetarian, remember.’

  ‘Of course, silly me. Well then, it’ll have to be cheese after all.’

  Abi rolled her eyes. ‘And supper?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I’ve got some Quorn. I was going to make a shepherd’s pie.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said as the kettle came to a boil.

  Maxine got out the bread and butter and began to put together the promised sandwiches, leaving Abi to make the tea.

  ‘I shall have this,’ said Marcus, ‘and then make a start on the van. The sooner we get it unloaded the sooner we can go back to London and start making the flat presentable.’

  ‘Actually, it’s not that bad,’ said Abi as she got the milk out of the fridge. ‘Just a couple of walls that need a lick of paint but the carpets are in good nick and I don’t think there’s much else to be done other than give it a good clean.’

  ‘That’s good, darling,’ said Maxine, ‘because, as I don’t have a car, it’ll be difficult for me to get to yours and lend a hand.’

  ‘You could come with us in the van.’

  ‘I could but then I wouldn’t be able to get back later tonight and I am not going to sleep on your floor. Not at my age.’

  Abi rolled her eyes again. ‘I said, didn’t I Marcus, that Granny couldn’t have picked a worse time to go arse over tit? We’ll just have to manage as best we can.’

  11

  Ryan opened the door of the pub for Amy and followed her to the bar.

  ‘Evening,’ said Ella, the new barmaid. ‘What can I get you?’

  ‘A pint of bitter and a large white wine, please,’ said Ryan.

  ‘Chardonnay, white Rioja or Cab Sauv?’

  ‘Chardonnay, please,’ said Amy. ‘You’re new, ain’t you? I’m Amy and this is Ryan.’

  ‘Ella,’ said Ella as she pulled the beer pump for Ryan’s bitter. ‘Yes, started here a week or so ago. Still getting used to it all. I’m only doing a few shifts a week – just enough for Belinda to keep on top of the admin and the books. Who knew there was so much involved in running a pub?’ She turned to get the wine bottle out of the fridge and poured a large measure into a glass. ‘There you go, nine fifty, please.’ She passed the two drinks through the pump handles and took the money in return.

  ‘She seems nice,’ said Amy as she and Ryan headed for an empty table in the corner. ‘Pretty too.’

  ‘Was she?’ asked Ryan. ‘Can’t say I noticed.’

  Amy punched his arm lightly. ‘You fibber. Don’t give me that. And I don’t know why your eyes were popping out of your head – she’s far too old for you.’

  ‘Is she?’

  ‘Trust me, lots of crow’s feet.’

  ‘Didn’t notice those either.’

  ‘Was that ’cos you were staring at her tits?’

  ‘I was not. Anyway, how could you think that when the most beautiful woman in Little Woodford is right here with me.’

  ‘Give over.’ But Amy looked smug, nevertheless and gave Ryan a kiss on the cheek to show she forgave him.

  ‘Wotcha, Ryan. Can I join you or am I interrupting?’

  Ryan looked up. ‘Steven. Nice to see you, mate. Haven’t seen you for an age.’ He stood up to shake his old friend’s hand. ‘It must be months.’

  ‘Probably. Last year, maybe?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘Hey,’ said Amy. ‘Ain’t you going to introduce me?’

  ‘Sorry, yes of course. Amy this is Steven. Steven, Amy. Steven and I went to school together.’

  ‘What? To the comp here.’

  ‘No, the one in Cattebury.’

  ‘I didn’t know that’s where you went to school.’

  ‘You never asked,’ said Ryan.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Amy, standing up and holding out her hand. ‘Nice to meet you, Steven.’

  Steven gave her a firm handshake and Amy winced.

  ‘Blimey,’ she said as she rubbed her knuckles. ‘What do you do for a living? Break rocks with your bare hands?’

  ‘Kind of,’ said Steven. ‘I’m a builder.’

  ‘Cool,’ said Amy. ‘That’s a well useful job. Not that I need one but if I ever get to move into anything that’s bigger than my rabbit hutch I might. Not that that’s likely.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Ryan. ‘Never say never. There’s always a chance that we might need somewhere larger.’

  Steven flicked a glance between the pair of them. ‘Is there something you’re not telling me, Ryan?’

  ‘Not really. Ames and I are an item. I moved in with her a few weeks back.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Amy, ‘and if he keeps letching after that new barmaid he’ll be moving out again, and all.’

  ‘I wasn’t.’

  ‘Says you. Anyway, Steven, why don’t you join us?’

  ‘Cheers.’ He put his pint on the table and hooked a chair out with his foot.

  ‘What brings you to this pub,’ asked Ryan. ‘I’ve not seen you in here before.’

  ‘Moved back, haven’t I? I used to have a gaff on the far side of Cattebury, but I never liked it as much as I did here and when me and the missus split up it seemed a good moment to make a new start.’

  ‘Sorry to hear that,’ said Ryan.

  ‘What? That me and Clare split or that I’ve moved here?’

  ‘Daft bugger – that you’ve moved back obviously.’

  ‘Git.’ But it was said with a broad grin. ‘Still fighting fires, Ry?’

  Ryan nodded and sipped his drink. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I dunno, how you do it. Don’t you get fed up with working shifts and risking your neck?’

  ‘That’s rich coming from someone who works on building sites. They’re right up there in the list of the dodgiest workplaces on the planet.’

  ‘And that’s rich coming from someone who goes into burning buildings,’ countered Steven.

  ‘Look,’ said Amy, fed up with being ignored, ‘which of you has got the most macho job doesn’t matter. It’s not a contest.’

  ‘It’s all right, Amy. We fought when we were at school,’ said Ryan.

  ‘Friendly rivalry.’ The pair grinned at each other.

  ‘And who won the most?’ asked Amy.

  ‘I did,’ said both men in unison.

  Amy shook her head and rolled her eyes. ‘What are you building right now, Steven?’

  ‘I’ve got a job on that new estate near the station. I’m building a conservatory. Those houses are well titchy and as soon as people move in, they want an extension.’

  ‘Them houses are all right. My mum lives in one.’

  ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ said Steven, backtracking. ‘They’re nice houses but for people with kids at home, or expecting more kids, there’s not a lot of space.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right, I suppose. I clean for a woman whose daughter moved back unexpected, like. She’s moved out again now but I know she found it tricky with everyone living on top of each other.’

  ‘Exactly. Anyway, once this conservatory
is done, I’m hoping to get a job renovating a cottage – well, it’s called a cottage but it’s pretty blooming big. The trouble is, it’ll be good money but I’m not sure I want it.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ asked Ryan.

  ‘Because I’m not sure what I’ll find when I start ripping back the old plaster and panelling and the couple want me to give them a fixed price. I’ve told them I can’t work like that. Supposing there’s dry rot, or rising damp or something structural? They seem to think it’s just a question of fitting a new kitchen and a couple of bathrooms and giving the place a coat of paint but I’ve been in this trade long enough to know that things are rarely that straightforward.’

  ‘And you’ve told them that?’ said Ryan.

  ‘Yeah, but they don’t want to listen. I mean, what would I know? Only been a builder for twenty years but they’re convinced they know better. I’ve told them they won’t find a builder in the country who’d take on a job like that for a fixed price. Apparently, they’re thinking about the price I quoted for the cosmetic stuff – the bathrooms and the kitchen and the paint and everything. I’ve told them we’d have to come to an agreement if I found anything else and they’re thinking about that too. I mean, I can’t foot the bill if I find they need a new roof. It’s their responsibility, not mine, but they don’t seem to see it like that.’

  ‘Good luck with that,’ said Amy.

  ‘Cheers,’ said Steven raising his glass. ‘If I take the job on, I might need it.’

  *

  The next morning Maxine wandered down the garden to look at her studio and sighed. Chock-a-block. The boxes and furniture filled it so completely that some of the things were actually pressed against the windows. Ryan and Amy had assured Maxine it wouldn’t be for long as they’d ferried the stuff from the van.

  ‘We’re going to be completing shortly and the building work shouldn’t take long,’ Abi had said in response to Maxine’s query about how long her studio was likely to be out of action.

  ‘Have you actually got a builder yet?’ Maxine had asked. She’d spotted the glance exchanged between the pair.

  ‘We’ve got some quotes,’ said Abi.

  ‘We just need to come to an agreement about contingencies,’ Marcus added.