Homes and Hearths in Little Woodford

by Catherine Jones

  ‘And what are those when they are at home?’

  Before Steven could answer Marcus came gingerly down the ladder. ‘Thought I’d better see for myself how the land lies,’ he said as he joined them.

  ‘I was just saying to Abi how we need to put some support under these beams. There doesn’t seem to be much holding up the ground floor. Once those are in place I can retro-fit some proper support but I don’t want to do anything with the rest of the house till this is sound. I need to know what’s going on with the beams and all.’ He shone the torch at the nearest beam and had a good look at it then touched the edge of it with his finger and thumb. A chunk of wood crumbled like ash. He didn’t have to say anything. He went further into the cellar to see what else he could find.

  Abi turned and stared at Marcus in horror. ‘Shit,’ she whispered.

  ‘Shit, indeed,’ he echoed.

  ‘I don’t think we should tell Mum and Dad about this either. Not till we know exactly what’s going on.’

  ‘We can’t keep it from them.’

  ‘We can and we will. We said we’d only be with them for a couple of weeks, remember and then Steve said it might be more like six weeks and now this! If they think it’s going to be a lot longer, they may get stroppy and insist we rent something.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Do you want to risk it?’

  Marcus sighed. ‘Maybe you’re right.’

  ‘There’s no maybe about it.’

  14

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Anthea, her voice trembling and weak, ‘but I don’t want to stay here another minute.’ The left-hand side of her face was still one massive multicoloured bruise but the swelling had largely subsided so at least her eye was fully open now. But the livid shades of her injuries were still a shocking contrast to her snow-white hair even though they were no longer black and purple but mauve and an unpleasant shade of ochre.

  ‘Mum, you’ve got to. The nurses know what’s best for you—’ He was about to expand on the comment but his mother interrupted.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Gordon. I doubt if the nurses know what would be best for a pet hamster let alone a ward full of old people with complex needs. There isn’t one who looks as if she’s old enough to have left school and why can’t they understand that I’m not sweetie or dearie but Mrs Larkham. They’ve got absolutely no respect for their elders and betters and they talk to me as if I’m ga-ga and the food is a disgrace and there’s never a moment of peace on this wretched ward…’ She stopped and a tear ran down her face. ‘I’m sorry, Gordon, but I just want to go home.’

  ‘I think we both know that going home isn’t going to be possible for a while and I think you’re being a bit hard on the nurses,’ said Gordon, but he couldn’t bring himself to disagree with all his mother’s other points. ‘But until your arm and your ankle have healed there is no way you can manage on your own. And, anyway, the nurses are still worried that until you’re stronger you might be susceptible to some sort of infection.’

  ‘I’m not stupid and I know my limitations,’ snapped Anthea. She shut her eyes as if by doing that she could shut out the ghastly implications of her situation. After a couple of seconds, she opened them again and lasered her son. ‘And this is the worst place for staying infection-free if you ask me. God knows what bugs and diseases are rife here. You hear such awful stories about Escherichia coli and necrotising fasciitis—’ She saw her son’s slightly startled look. ‘You’re surprised I know these things? That I understand what they are? Gordon, just because I am old doesn’t mean I’ve lost my ability to read a newspaper.’

  ‘No, Mother, of course not.’

  She sighed. ‘So what are you going to do about it?’

  What indeed? The occupational therapist had said that independent living was completely out of the question for at least two months and then would it really be possible for her to move back into her old home? A nursing home might provide a solution but the chances of finding a suitable one with a vacancy in the immediate future seemed a very long shot. If she wasn’t going to accept staying in hospital and moving to a nursing home wasn’t on the cards, there was only one other option – his house. Anthea, living with him and Maxine? Jeez – on top of having Abi and Marcus? The trouble was, apart from wanting to be horribly selfish, there was no reason why he and Maxine should refuse. They had the space, they were both retired, they were both fit and healthy and they could afford visits from professional carers to help out. But it would be inconvenient, a tie, and they would have to be responsible for the rest of Anthea’s care on a daily basis. But what alternative was there?

  Gordon sighed. ‘Mother, what do you suggest? The options are few. It’s here or,’ he paused, ‘my place. Is that what you want? If it is, we’d need to sort out some professional care but Max and I will have to fill in the rest of the day – you know, in case you need it…’ He let the implications of all that that entailed sink in.

  Anthea lay back on her pillows and shut her eyes. ‘And what does Maxine say? I’ve no doubt you’ve been talking about me to her.’

  ‘Mum, she’s as worried about you as everyone else is.’

  ‘That didn’t answer my question.’ She opened her eyes and stared at her son. ‘Let’s face it, you won’t be coping with… my needs. Not that I’d want you to. Apart from anything else, it isn’t a man’s work.’

  Gordon nearly laughed. It was OK for his wife to demean herself and help another adult get on and off the loo but it wasn’t OK for her son to do it.

  ‘To be honest, Mum, Maxine was concerned about how you would feel about it more than anything else.’

  His mother snorted. ‘As, during the last two weeks, I haven’t encountered a single soul who has had the least regard for my feelings, I find it a shock to find that anyone still cares one jot.’

  Gordon rolled his eyes. ‘Does that include me?’

  ‘You’re my son, you don’t count.’

  Wasn’t that the truth. Although he knew she hadn’t meant it quite like that – at least he hoped she hadn’t. One could never be quite sure.

  ‘But if Maxine does agree to look after you… I mean…?’

  ‘Would I cope with her helping me to the loo?’ Anthea shut her eyes again. ‘I survived the Blitz, I can cope with most things. It won’t be worse than what’s on offer now.’

  Gordon wasn’t expecting his mother to show undiluted gratitude but reckoned it might be for the best if he gave Maxine an expurgated version of her mother-in-law’s comments.

  ‘I’ll talk to Maxine again and I’ll have a word with the nurses; see what they say about when they think you’ll be fit enough to leave, providing there is a proper support mechanism. But, as Max isn’t trained at all, they mightn’t be in favour. All I’m saying is, I wouldn’t hold my breath.’

  ‘I don’t want to hold my breath, I want you to just get on and do it. Am I making myself clear?’

  Abundantly.

  *

  Maxine was setting out the community centre for another meeting of her art club. She had lowered the screen and was adjusting the lens on her projector till the photograph of a lake was pin sharp. It was a great picture; the sparkling water was surrounded by mountains, above which was a sky half-covered by towering thunderclouds while the other half was clear blue. In the foreground was a meadow filled with wild flowers and some spectacular contrasts of light and shadow. Maxine had taken the photo herself some years previously when she and Gordon had been on a holiday in the Swiss Alps and she’d used it a couple of times since as a basis for some water colours she’d done. She thought her class might enjoy interpreting the scene in paints too.

  However, her mind wasn’t fully on preparing the room. Gordon had told her that Anthea felt she could cope with Maxine looking after her in conjunction with professional carers. She’d tried to find a silver lining to that particular cloud – like the ones in the photograph – but she’d failed horribly. She didn’t mind the idea of cutting up Anthea�
��s food and helping her to eat, or looking after her on a general level but there was no guarantee that all of Anthea’s personal needs would be covered when a carer was in the house. She’d coped with babies and nappies and then potties because it was all part of motherhood and joys had far exceeded the (literally) shitty bits. But this was going to be a completely different challenge which wouldn’t be made easier by Anthea’s formidable and somewhat tetchy outlook on life. Plus, there was the fact that, by no stretch of the imagination could their relationship be called close. Gordon was her only son and from the start Maxine had been aware that Anthea was unlikely to find any woman good enough for him but Maxine – dear God! An art student – was not what Anthea had had in mind at all as a suitable life-partner for him. She’d even, at the wedding, confided in one of Gordon’s aunts, a confidence overheard and passed on by Max’s best friend, that she gave the marriage ‘five years at best’. Naturally, it hadn’t helped matters. Not that she’d ever told Gordon about his mother’s doubts. And even though they had celebrated their ruby wedding anniversary some years previously, Maxine thought that Anthea continued to harbour a faint hope that there was still time for Gordon to find a more suitable partner.

  ‘Evening, Maxine,’ said Olivia as she entered the hall.

  Max jumped.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I thought I’d come early so we could have a bit of a catch-up. I so enjoyed our chat a few weeks ago.’

  ‘Yes, it was lovely. I did too. And you didn’t really startle me – I was miles away.’

  ‘A penny for them, then.’

  Maxine shook her head. ‘I need a lot more than that.’

  Olivia put her sketch pad down on a nearby table. ‘That sounds ominous. Anthea or Abi?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘Has Anthea had complications after her fall? I mean, when I heard she’d spent an entire night on the floor of her house with a broken arm… at her age… Goodness she must be incredibly tough to have survived that.’

  ‘No, no complications but I’ve just heard she wants to finish her recovery and her convalescence at mine.’

  ‘But you’ve got Abi and her partner. Or are they moving out soon? How’s their house coming on?’

  Maxine shut her eyes and shook her head. ‘I have no idea. All I know is they have got a builder in and work has started. They promised they’d only be living with us for a fortnight but that’s almost up and there’s no mention of significant progress at the house, so I can’t see that time scale being stuck to at all. Of course I may be doing them and their builder a disservice but…’ She sighed heavily. ‘I love my family, I do, but I don’t want them all under my roof. Despite your brilliant advice on wrangling boomerang children I’ve failed epically with Abi and now I’ll probably have Anthea to deal with too.’ She gazed at Olivia. ‘I’m dreading it.’

  ‘When’s she arriving?’

  ‘Gordon thinks he’ll be able to spring her early next week. That’s if the consultant OKs it. She’s been there for almost two weeks so I imagine they’ll be glad of the bed. And she’s not developed pneumonia, or any other possible set-backs that someone of eighty-three who has had such a traumatic accident might expect, so I imagine the NHS will be only too glad to hand her over to the care of some willing relations.’

  ‘I think you’re a saint.’

  Maxine sighed. ‘Not really. I think dutiful daughter-in-law is about all I deserve as an accolade.’

  ‘Anytime you want a shoulder to cry on – I’m here. I mean it.’

  The door crashed open and a gang of other art club members thundered through, all chatting excitedly about their on-going art projects and then ooh-ing over the picture projected onto the screen.

  Maxine gave Olivia’s arm an appreciative squeeze before she nailed on a professional smile and greeted the newcomers.

  15

  Abi wandered down from the spare bedroom and into the kitchen dressed in a rather fetching silk dressing gown. The kitchen was filled with evening sunshine, a radio burbled on the windowsill and her mother was busy preparing the evening meal.

  ‘I feel better for that shower,’ she told her mother, who was chopping onions.

  ‘Do you, dear? That’s nice. How’s the work going?’

  ‘It would be going quicker if Steven hadn’t taken the weekend off.’

  ‘Darling, I think you’re being a little unreasonable – he’s allowed that much, surely.’

  ‘Marcus and I kept going.’

  ‘You’re very dedicated, but you’re still on gardening leave and it’s your garden you’re sorting out.’

  ‘Was that meant to be funny?’

  ‘Not really. Anyway, Steven’s back on the job now so…?’

  ‘So things are progressing.’

  ‘Does that mean that you’ll be able to move in soon?’

  ‘Steven’s not able to give us a date yet.’

  Maxine looked at her daughter because she had a deep-seated feeling that she wasn’t being told the whole truth. ‘What sort of kitchen are you going for?’

  ‘Something plain and classic.’

  ‘Have you ordered it yet?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘So, the two weeks…? Which was up today…’

  ‘Oh, Mum, it was only an estimate. So, we’re going to be a bit over. It’ll be lovely when it’s finished.’

  Maxine didn’t dare ask how much a bit over would amount to, and she could hardly throw them onto the street now the fortnight was up. ‘Any news on the flat?’

  ‘The estate agent says there have been a number of viewings and someone wants a second look. At least if we flog that we can dump the bridging loan.’ She went over to the window and looked out. ‘One day our garden will look as nice as yours.’

  ‘It probably will. You and Marcus are working very hard on it.’

  Abi flicked off the radio.

  ‘I was listening to that,’ protested Maxine.

  ‘No, you’re not, you are talking to me.’ She turned and leant against the sink and saw her mother take a swig from a glass by her elbow. ‘Not gin already, Mum. It’s only half six.’

  ‘Your dad and I often have a drink about now.’ Maxine, defiantly, took another swig. ‘Sometimes we have a second.’

  ‘And then wine with your supper. And you went to the pub on Saturday. Without dad.’

  ‘I met friends there. It’s not illegal – or it wasn’t the last time I checked.’

  Abi took a couple of paces and leaned on the table. ‘You do know about the government guidelines, don’t you?’

  Maxine laid her knife on the chopping board. ‘Yes, I do. I am also an adult.’

  ‘I know but just think about what all this booze could be doing to your health.’

  ‘You make me sound as if I am a borderline alcoholic.’

  ‘If the cap fits.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Abi. I will not be spoken to like this by my own child.’

  ‘I think, you’re the one being childish by being so irresponsible.’

  Maxine took a deep breath. ‘I’m not going to be lectured about my drinking habits.’

  ‘It wasn’t a lecture; I’m trying to be helpful. I was simply pointing out that maybe the pair of you ought to cut back a bit on the booze.’

  ‘Really?’ Maxine drained her glass and glared at her daughter. ‘Well, while you are in the mood for being helpful, why don’t you lay the table?’

  ‘Now you want to punish me, is that it? Mum, I’m knackered. Have you any idea just how hard Marcus and I worked today?’

  ‘Like I sat around and did nothing.’

  ‘This is getting silly and I don’t want to row with you. I’m going to watch the news.’

  Abi went through to the sitting room and switched on the TV. Back in the kitchen, Maxine reached for the gin bottle.

  *

  The next morning, Anthea sat on the edge of her hospital bed while Gordon crouched beside her and eased her slippers onto her feet.
He felt her wince when he put the slipper over her sprained ankle.

  ‘Comfy?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  ‘And everything is packed?’

  ‘I didn’t bring much. It was hardly a luxury break.’

  ‘Right, let’s get you into this wheelchair and start making tracks for home.’

  Anthea tottered slightly when she got on to her good foot but Gordon had tight hold of her and lowered her safely into the chair.

  ‘I hate this.’ She tapped the arm rest with her plastered arm. ‘It makes me look like a complete invalid.’

  ‘Mum, you’ve got a broken wrist, a badly sprained ankle, a severe concussion and you’ve now got a face that looks as if you went head to head with Henry Cooper.’

  Her bruises were faded but still apparent, particularly around her left eye. The glancing blow from the corner of the footstool had left its mark.

  ‘I hope no one thinks I’ve been mugged.’

  ‘Would that be worse than them knowing you tripped over a rug?’

  ‘I don’t want to be classed as a victim.’

  Gordon was at a loss to follow the logic so busied himself with collecting her small suitcase of personal effects and checking that the bedside locker was completely empty. ‘All set?’ he said cheerily.

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  Gordon wheeled his mother past the nurses’ station.

  ‘Bye, Anth,’ said one of the nurses.

  ‘It’s Mrs Larkham,’ she snapped back.

  ‘Of course it is, dearie.’

  Gordon increased his pace.

  ‘I have never been so pleased to get away from anywhere in my entire life,’ said Anthea as they headed for the main entrance and the car park. ‘Now, you’re sure you’ve locked my house up properly and emptied the fridge.’

  ‘Yes, Mother. And Dot’s going to go in and collect the post to forward on to you and water the plants and her husband will cut the grass and keep an eye on things. Everything is sorted and you’re not to worry.’

  Anthea sniffed.

  Gordon knew that despite the fact he was over sixty, she still didn’t trust him to be able to carry out her instructions any more than she had when he’d been about twelve.