"Hello, mother." He moved his hand as if he was going to wave, but changed his mind and plunged it through his already messy hair. "Nice new surveillance system," he nodded to where we could see a small monitor mounted on the wall beside her desk. "Do all your guests get harassed if they don't immediately come inside?"
"You're not a guest." Her voice never stopped being smooth and business-like, it was a skill I usually envied, but not at that moment. "This is your home."
"No it's not," he replied with a fierceness that surprised me.
There was an ugly pause during which I shifted awkwardly and the pair of Sinclairs stared each other down. Then Elliot shook his head in a sort of disgusted amusement. "So is that it?" He asked. "You've seen me now, can I go find Nan?"
She inclined her head in acquiescence, but then said, "Don't make this a drama, Elliot. She doesn't have long left, let her go peacefully."
"If you knew anything about your own damn mother you'd know that peace is the last thing she'd want," Elliot snapped and I saw he'd gone another shade greyer and his fists were clenched as he turned to leave.
Mrs Sinclair released a delicate little sigh and I swear, if she'd been the type, she would have rolled her eyes as she went back to tapping away at her laptop. I watched her for a moment, but beyond very vague annoyance at the interruption, she seemed totally unconcerned by the less than warm encounter with her only child. How sad was that?
"Just so you know," Elliot said, stopping so suddenly in the doorway that, as I turned to follow him, I only very narrowly avoided smacking straight into his back, "Rox is going to stay here."
I was? This was news to me.
Instinct told me to object, if not about staying at the Sinclair house, then at least about the invitation that had come out sounding more like an imprisonment. For pretty much the first time ever, though, common sense took over and I closed my mouth against my opposition. My mum's flat was over half an hour away, half an hour that might become crucial if...No, for once in my life, the big house was exactly where I wanted to be.
"Of course," Mrs Sinclair said distractedly, "have her mother make up one of the back bedrooms."
"Thank you," I forced the words out as I knew I should, and then we were escaping back out into the corridor.
The relief I felt as the door closed behind us was false; the worst was yet to come.
----------
So this was it, no more distractions or excuses.
It made no sense, but Elliot had to acknowledge he was both desperate to see Nan and wanted nothing more than to never face her again at the same time. Rox's words from the night before came back to him and he felt his shoulders stiffen. Man or mouse, what was it going to be?
Right, so where was Nan? Where would they have put her?
"The guest bedroom on the ground floor?"
Elliot looked round at Rox, knowing he hadn't spoken out loud, but that she'd answered his question anyway.
"Yeah," he managed to say and then, seeing how terrified she looked, he tried to send her a reassuring smile. Judging by her expression, he'd only succeeded in sort of scrunching his face up a bit. Well, at least he'd made an attempt.
As he set off for the room she'd suggested, he could feel Rox trailing behind him as she had all through this horrible day. With the exception of when she'd jumped in front of him in his mum's study, that was. That'd been quite something.
He knew he didn't deserve it after what had happened the night before, but it felt good having Rox with him. That was why he was glad she hadn't argued about staying in the big house. Sure, he honestly believed that she would want to be near Nan, but he knew some of his motivation in arranging for her to stay close had been purely selfish.
And then they were in front of yet another closed door and he felt his stomach curdle with fear. Rox was right, he was a bloody mouse; he might as well have grown whiskers and started gnawing on some cheese.
He stood there trying to talk himself into manning up, a mission not helped as he felt Rox's comforting presence at his right shoulder start to withdraw.
"You should go in first; I'll give you some time-" She stopped talking abruptly and he realised it was because he'd made a grab for her and now held her hand in a fierce grip. "Or I'll just come in with you now," she finished in a rush of expelled breath. "So..." he felt her fingers clench tighter around his, "all prepped to have your heart ripped out?"
"No."
"Me neither."
But she opened the door anyway.
Chapter 10 – The Shadow and the Morbid wet T-Shirt Competition
As soon as I opened the door the smell of disinfectant and unhappiness hit me in a wave. My heart started thumping and I felt a strange shot of adrenaline tingle through my body. I was going into flight mode, I vaguely realised. I just wanted to run away.
"Hi there."
An incredibly good looking blonde guy bustled out from the en-suite with a jug of water and smiled at us with bright, white teeth. I wondered for a moment if I was hallucinating, he was like something from another world, a shiny, pretty world that surely didn't have Nans with strokes.
"I'm Chase," he explained when Elliot and I stared uncomprehendingly at him. "Your Nan's nurse."
Elliot glanced down at me as if for confirmation and I managed a feeble shrug. "Don't look at me," I mumbled, "I only recognise his back view."
Chase had obviously spent enough time with Nan for this sort of remark to in no way faze him, and he turned without comment to set the jug he'd been carrying down on a bedside table. It was natural for my eyes to follow this movement, which was the unfortunate, cowardly way I ended up looking at the giant, hospital-grade bed upon which a frail creature was propped.
At first I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. It wasn't Nan, that was blatantly obvious. This person, if person she could be called, was little more than a shadow against the white sheets. Her skin was crêpey and grey, and the only sign of life was a strange fluttering of her hands and the painfully loud rattle of her breathing.
Elliot's hand pressed painfully into mine telling me he'd seen this poor stranger too and I was about to turn around and tell him that there'd been some mistake, that that wasn't, couldn't, be Nan, when common sense reared its ugly head. Who else was it going to be?
"Fuckin' hell," Elliot breathed in horror and I nodded jerkily; he'd summed the situation up perfectly.
Did the body really self-destruct this quickly? How was it possible that Nan had gone from extolling the virtues of pubic topiary to me less than a week ago to this shaking, rasping...corpse?
"Her hands," we were both hanging back, but Elliot seemed to have the use of his voice where mine had disappeared, "are they supposed to move like that? Is she in pain?"
Chase turned to look at this alternate universe Nan, and then back at us, his expression sympathetic. "She's on the maximum morphine I can give her."
"So is that a yes?" Elliot demanded and I gave his hand a little tug of dismay. It wasn't the nurse guy's fault that Nan had had a stroke, and, besides, he'd been here for her when neither Elliot nor I had been. I felt we owed him for that.
"Can she hear us?" I finally managed to peel my tongue from the roof of my mouth and Elliot seemed to recede beside me. Maybe only one of us could make a stand at a time. "I know people say that coma sufferers can hear stuff, but does that count for, um, doped up stroke victims?" I was deliberately blunt, speaking in a way Nan would've enjoyed just in case she could hear me.
"Yes, I think so." Chase leant down to check the IV that ran down into a needle in Nan's hand and then straightened to add, "Studies show that touch helps pain levels too."
Elliot and I exchanged quick looks and then wordlessly separated, going round to either side of the bed where there were a couple of pointedly positioned chairs.
I sank into the seat and then, hesitantly, reached forward and picked up Nan's left hand, cradling it between both of mine. Whilst Nan had never been averse to grabbing me, or any pa
ssing stranger, up into a bone-crunching hug, this timid contact felt somehow more personal. I felt the tremors of what I, horrifyingly, now knew to be pain and started to rub her desiccated skin in what I hoped was a soothing manner.
It wasn't that surprising that I hadn't recognised Nan when I'd first come in the room as, now I came to think about it, I'd never really been able to focus on what she actually looked like. She'd always worn clothes and jewellery that were a riot of colour, and makeup that even a drag queen would probably have considered a bit OTT. These decorations had camouflaged her real looks; she was the Lady Gaga of the geriatric world.
Seeing her now, her body stretched out beneath the sheets, I realised she was actually quite short, like her daughter. Her personality was so huge I realised she'd tricked me into thinking she was much bigger and, sort of invincible. It was a hell of a way to find out I was wrong.
I searched her then, trying to find something familiar in amongst the painfully foreign, and my eyes landed on her nails. Here at least things were as they should be; they were perfectly shaped and painted a vivid, flamingo pink. It was maybe equivalent to an ostrich supposedly sticking its head in the sand when it sensed danger, but I focused on these tips as if their existence could make everything alright again.
It didn't of course, everything remained awful. Nan's hand in mine still twitched.
Remembering that Chase had suggested Nan could hear us, and feeling abandoned by a suddenly mute Elliot, I leant forward to murmur, "Hi, Nan."
After that I found myself completely stumped. What the hell was I supposed to say? I knew any sort of mindless chit-chat about the weather would only increase her pain levels, after all. I'd previously thought that trying to make conversation with someone I'd just met at a party was stressful. Now I knew trying to think of something interesting enough to take away the hurt someone you loved was feeling was infinitely worse.
"I know it can be pressuring trying to think of something to say." Chase had obviously been through this before, and he smiled encouragingly at me as I looked to him for help. "Maybe just tell her about some of the things you've done recently. I'm going to step out and heat up my lunch," he held up a plastic container as proof, "but I'll be nearby if you need me."
He turned to leave and I smiled feebly as I saw the way his trousers moulded around a truly beautifully sculpted behind.
"You weren't kidding about him," I murmured to Nan as the door clicked closed behind Chase. "He could be an underwear model."
I paused, and realised I was waiting for an appropriately inappropriate response from her. Obviously, none was forthcoming and I sighed. A one sided conversation was going to be very difficult to keep up, especially when I was so used to not being able to get a word in edgeways when Nan was about. I looked across at Elliot for help and saw that he appeared to have turned into one of those creepy people who stood around in public places pretending to be a statue for money. So it was up to me.
In the next second, with absolute surety, I knew what I needed to do. It was going to hurt like hell, but if it helped Nan in any small way then it would be worth it. I took a deep breath.
"And speaking of scrumptious derrieres," I said in a forced attempt to sound jolly, "guess what your grandson said to me last night?"
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Elliot slowly raise his head and eye me warily. I needed him for this to work, but he hadn't seemed to have caught on, so I forged on without him.
"He said I have a nice arse." Something twinged in my chest at the memory of that moment and what had come after, but I ignored it. Despite my words, this wasn't about me and Elliot. To that end, I tipped my head down and added conspiratorially, "I know you'll think that that's the best kind of flattery you can get so you'll be pleased to know that I thoroughly thanked him for the compliment."
"Rox, you don't need to do this." Elliot had obviously found his voice again, it was just a shame he wasn't putting it to better use. I did have to do this, and I glared at him for chiming in so unhelpfully.
"I kissed him," my face flooded with heat, but I was sure I'd sensed a slight lessening in the trembling of Nan's hands. "Just grabbed him and went for it. He's a good kisser too. I bet he's told you that himself before, but I can now corroborate. Not too slobbery and not too dry; he was just right."
"Don't sell yourself short." I don't know if Elliot had felt the change in Nan as well, but when I looked up, it was to see that his face was set, as I imagined mine was, in a determined line. Good, he'd caught on. "A good kiss is a two way thing."
"That's so sweet of you," I said sarcastically. "Are you counting, Nan? That's two compliments now and, my, aren't they swoon-worthy?"
"We know the nice arse one was at least, you practically fainted down into my lap when I gave it to you." He stared past me to the blank wall behind my head as he continued the banter, a sure sign, as if another was needed, that this wasn't one of our usual spats. Usually he seemed to take great delight in holding my gaze and watching me squirm.
"I tripped!" I was proud that my objection held a credible amount of genuine indignation.
"Yeah, so you say." He tapped Nan on the shoulder as if to get her attention. "You should've seen her, Nan, she practically launched herself at me."
"Just be thankful it wasn't your neck I was aiming for," I said witheringly, keeping up my rhythmic stroking of Nan's hand, although whether that was to comfort her or me was debatable. "Because, and let me make this clear, Sinclair, one good kiss, and, OK, it was a good kiss, does not make up for years of you being such a pain."
"You're delusional," he scoffed. "I was nothing but sweet and courteous to you growing up."
"Sweet? Courteous? You stole the neighbour's ride-on mower, sheared rude words into his lawn and then said that I'd told you to!"
He did make eye contact then and, for a fleeting moment, I saw a tiny spark of actual amusement before it was extinguished by our situation.
"I only said that to get a rise out of you, you were the prissiest 12 year old I'd ever met; I thought it would do you good. Besides, I knew no-one would believe me. Not what happened, by the way, when you broke that vase and hid the pieces in my room."
OK, that had been a direct hit and I glared across at him. "I assumed you wouldn't get in trouble," I said stiffly.
"She assumed wrong," he said in a stage whisper to Nan. "Mum called the police and was going to have me charged with criminal damage as ‘a lesson in responsibility'."
Another veneer of guilt was added to the layers already squeezing my chest and my voice was brittle as I said, "I owned up and I told you at the time I was sorry."
It wasn't a pleasant memory, in fact it was one I'd pretty much buried in order to continue to think I was blameless in the way Elliot and I had interacted growing up. When I'd broken the antique vase, pretty much the only decorative item of note in the whole house, during my third week working for the Sinclair's, I'd been terrified. I was convinced both Mum and I were going to lose our jobs through that one moment of careless dusting and so I'd panicked.
I'd thought if Elliot's parents thought he'd broken the vase it wouldn't be a big deal. He was the golden boy, after all, the one I always saw girls swooning over and boys sucking up to. His parents, I'd assumed, must actually, deep down have been part of the 'Elliot can do no wrong' club. Boy, had I been wrong.
"Don't worry." Elliot made a big show of shrugging unconcernedly. "I put it into my therapy file for when I'm older and the fact that my parents don't love me starts to bother me."
"What a coincidence, I put that in my 'rich people are crazy' therapy file, the one that has a subsection called 'and out to ruin my life'. Boy has that got thick recently." I was the pointiest of pointed and Elliot raised his eyebrows across the bed at me.
"You think us having sex was a 'crazy rich people out to ruin your life' trick? Rox, we had sex; you have a nice arse and I'm a guy who appreciates that kind of thing, there's really no conspiracy to it."
He wa
s off script, way off script and venturing into 'don't go there' territory. I was sure it was helping Nan, but I felt like I was slowly unravelling.
Gathering up my pride with what felt like a super-human effort, I managed to say snarkily, "Well if that isn't the biggest load of monkey turd I've ever heard then I don't know what is. This whole thing has been the exact definition of conspiracy." I felt my shoulders start to shake with the strain of our charade and it was through clenched teeth that I added, "Don't worry, though, I've come up with my own theory about what happened that night. I'm pretty sure I've figured it all out."
Elliot started and Nan may as well not have been in the room as he blurted out, "You have? You are?"
"Yes," I said firmly, "but you know what, Sinclair? I'm going to give you a little taste of your own medicine and not tell you. It's so much more fun that way, isn't it?"
"If you say so."
"And I'm back!" Chase sashayed back through the door, his upbeat tone faltering as he took in the vibe of the room.
Clearly a professional, however, he didn't mention that Elliot and I were sporting identical glittering eyes and flushed cheeks, and instead came straight over to check on Nan. I scooted back to give him room, folding my arms tightly across my chest as his presence punctured what was left of the 'this is just a normal Rox and Elliot argument' illusion.
Chase's troubled expression faded as he felt Nan's pulse and lifted her wrist to look at the, now barely discernible, twitches. "Nice work, guys," he said approvingly. "She's resting pretty peacefully now."
"Great." I felt like something inside had cracked, a vital something that had been holding back a whole wall of terrified grief. With this proclamation that we'd soothed some of Nan's distress, I could almost hear the last of my resolve being ripped apart and I jumped to my feet. "I have to...uh...excuse me."
And I ran from the room, bolting like I'd wanted to since I'd first seen what was left of my hero.
I barrelled down the corridor, wanting to be far, far away from Nan's room when I finally let loose. I needed to howl and scream and vent, but I wouldn't let myself go until I knew for sure some conscious part of Nan's damaged brain wouldn't be able to hear me.
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