Head Over Heels

by Felicity Price

  I could see Steve calculating whether this would work for him. ‘But the car club …’

  ‘I know. But surely …’

  ‘How about he comes to me Sunday to Thursday and you have him the rest of the week?’

  ‘What about me?’ Adam chipped in. ‘Do I get a say in what happens to me?’

  ‘Not when you’ve shown you’re not to be trusted,’ Steve barked. ‘You’ve had your way up to now about where you stay and what you do with your time and look where it’s got you.’

  Adam looked at his feet.

  ‘Look,’ Steve continued more peaceably, ‘I think it’s time for a bit of what they call tough love. Your whole career hangs in the balance here, Adam, and we’ve all got to work together to pull you back from the brink and help set you back on the right path. But it’ll only work if we do it together, okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Good.’ Steve looked at his watch. ‘I’ve got to get back to work. But how about I come around tomorrow afternoon, since it’s Saturday, and we can talk this through. Okay, Penny?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Okay, Adam?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Good. I’ll be around at two. I’ll see you then.’ He pulled his keys out of his pocket, opened the car door and drove off, giving us a brief wave as he departed.

  I turned to Adam. ‘Well, I suppose you’ve finished for the day now. You’d better go and pick up Granddad.’

  ‘Yeah. I’ll get my things and go.’

  I went to give him a hug. He looked down, embarrassed.

  ‘No matter what, I love you, Adam,’ I said, embracing him anyway.

  He squirmed, looking around to see if anyone had noticed. He relaxed a bit when he realised there was clearly no one there.

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’ He gave me a quick pat on the head and took off towards his class block.

  ‘I’ll be home just after six. I’ll see you then,’ I called after him. He waved and turned away again, his awkward teenage gait making him look as if his limbs didn’t belong to his body.

  Watching him go, I walked over to my car and inserted the key in the lock, resting my arm on the car roof. Long after he disappeared from view I continued staring at the spot where he’d last been, feeling a wave of guilt so bad I could have fallen to my knees and cried with shame.

  Steve was quite right, I had ignored Adam’s computer fetish these past months. I had taken the easy way out and left him to his own devices. I should have been more vigilant. I should have made sure he was studying for his exams and doing his homework. I should have taken the computer out of his room and locked it away in the back shed. I would certainly do that now, but now was almost too late. I’d let him down, my baby boy, just as I’d failed to stop Charlotte from falling for the wiles of a man wielding power and authority over her. There was no doubt about it; I was the outright winner of the Bad Mother of the Year Award for dereliction of duty in letting her teenagers run completely off the rails.

  I could imagine what Steve would have to say about that, if he knew. The explosion I’d just witnessed over Adam’s behaviour was nothing compared to the nuclear bomb that would have been unleashed if Steve had found out that not only had Charlotte been impregnated by her lecturer but had gone ahead with an abortion without ever telling him.

  I should have gained Charlotte’s confidence earlier. I knew she was chasing after one of her lecturers. I knew it was wrong. I shouldn’t have let her brush me aside. And I knew all along it was wrong for Adam to spend night after night glued to his computer screen. I shouldn’t have let a few grunts and rolled eyes put me off.

  I opened the door and slumped into the car seat. Rosie’s clock told me it was almost four. I had to get back to work.

  That’s when I realised the extent of my problem.

  I was supposed to be at work.

  I was supposed to be looking after Adam.

  I was supposed to be helping Charlotte convalesce at home.

  And I was probably supposed to be taking Dad to see his lawyer and helping him through this tough time with Mum. Not to mention nursing Simon, who was clearly still ill.

  There were so many things I should be doing at any one time that I just wasn’t managing to do any of them properly. In fact, the more I tried to do, the worse mess I seemed to get into and the more people got hacked off with me.

  I seem to be spending most of my life trying to be all things to all people and disappointing everybody.

  Whoever said women can do everything must have been a man. Because I’d tried and I’d failed miserably. My attempts at multitasking, at keeping six balls in the air at one time, had resulted at best in half-completed tasks and, at worst, complete disaster.

  I’d been a dead loss at work all week; my children were both in trouble; my father was behaving strangely; my mother was slowly deteriorating; my life was in a mess.

  My world seemed to be crumbling around me. Everything that could go wrong had gone wrong, which was actually some small consolation. At least things couldn’t get any worse.

  I was so down in the dumps I nearly didn’t go back to work but that constant niggle at my elbow called guilt made me go by the office to pick up my stuff so I could finish off my work over the weekend.

  ‘You up for a drink after work?’ Ginny asked when I arrived up the stairs. ‘Tracey’s gone home to feed her three boys, but Nicky and I are having a quick one down the road at Bar One. I’ve got to be at an awards dinner at seven so it will be quick.’

  ‘Not tonight, sorry, no,’ I said. ‘I’m going to take all this home,’ I indicated my desk full of papers, ‘and set to work. I’m feeling so bad I haven’t done half the things I need to, so I’m staying in tonight to get it done.’

  ‘Goodness, that’s so not like you on a Friday night. You’re usually the first to suggest an end-of-week wind-down drink. Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure. I’ll catch up on my messages and then I’ll be on my way.’

  ‘Suit yourself then. I’ll see you Monday.’

  ‘Bye, Ginny.’

  I dumped my bag on the floor and restarted my laptop, picking off the list of phone messages Tracey had stuck to the keyboard. There were two people I needed to phone now; the others could wait until Monday. I made the calls then made several more, chasing up suppliers, while opening up my inbox: seventeen new messages, of which six were reasonably urgent. I surprised myself with my level of efficiency, dealing with each one in its turn and handling all the issues raised.

  Just under an hour later I was ready to log off and pack up when my mobile rang. I rummaged round in my bag to find it and saw the number was St Joan’s.

  ‘Ms Rushmore? Is that you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh, thank goodness I’ve got you. It’s Mrs Small speaking, from St Joan’s.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Small. How’s Mum? Is everything okay?’

  ‘Well no, not really,’ she said hesitantly. ‘You see, your Dad just left. I tried to catch him, but he’d gone off in the car with his grandson. And we’ve just found your mother in her room.’ She coughed and the pause lengthened. ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but your mother has passed away.’

  Chapter 32

  ‘Mum’s dead?’ I suddenly found I needed to sit down. I staggered over to my chair and flopped down on it, my legs like jelly. After all this time worrying about her and about the immense drain she’d become on Dad and our family, I couldn’t believe she’d finally gone.

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid so. Could you please bring your father back when you come? The doctor would very much like to have a word with him.’

  I found myself over by the window, staring blankly at the street below where a trail of office workers were either making their way home for the weekend or filling the many bars lining our trendy little street. They all seemed so purposeful, so keen to get somewhere, so sure of their chosen path.

  By comparison, I was rooted to the spot, unable to go anywher
e, my mind completely numb except for one thought revolving round and round in it: Dad must have done it!

  It all added up: Dad had talked about wishing Mum was dead; he’d been acting very strangely recently, especially this week; he’d been fiddling with her medication, I was sure of it; he’d gone to see the lawyer this very morning. Then there was the final piece of evidence: he’d only just left the room when it was discovered Mum was dead.

  ‘Fuck!’ I said out loud, still staring down at the street. Then I turned back to my desk and cried, ‘What the fuck am I going to do?’

  My desk didn’t have an answer. I didn’t have an answer. I started swivelling madly around on my chair, trying to grind out a solution. But there was no blinding flash of light, no magical voice telling me what to do — just dizziness from going round and round so fast.

  I thought of phoning Stephanie, but realised it was far too soon. I needed to get to St Joan’s with Dad, just like the redoubtable Mrs Small had said, and find out what had happened before I phoned Stephanie or there’d be histrionics at a decibel level previously unheard at her tranquil spa resort.

  I thought of phoning Dad’s lawyer, but the kind old gentleman would undoubtedly have gone home to his doting wife. My lawyer was most likely parked up in one of the many bars on the street below, ogling the passing parade of dolly birds who flocked to the area every Thursday and Friday night to try to catch themselves one of the many legal eagles preying on the young and restless.

  I phoned home. Charlotte answered, sounding a little down.

  ‘Hi honey. Are you okay?’

  ‘Yeah, Mum, of course. I’m fine,’ she said impatiently. ‘You worry too much.’

  I bit my tongue. I felt like saying that was because she’d given me a helluva lot to worry about.

  ‘Is Dad there? Is he home yet?’

  ‘Yeah, Granddad and Adam just got home a minute ago. I’ll get Granddad. Hang on a minute.’

  There was a long pause while I could hear her flipflopping down the stairs.

  ‘Hello, Penny?’ Dad came on the line.

  ‘Yes, it’s me. I just wanted to make sure you were home. Look, can you wait there. I’ll be home in half an hour at the most, hopefully less. I need to talk to you. Don’t go anywhere, okay?’

  ‘Sure, lassie, for sure I’ll be right here. Why would I want to go anywhere?’

  I listened for any innuendo in his voice, any hint he might have been up to something. But he sounded just the same old Dad I’d always known. I began to hate myself for considering even for a moment that he could have been a murderer. Surely my gentle, kind father wouldn’t hurt a fly.

  I threw all my work things in my laptop bag, though heaven knows when I’d get a chance to look at them now, turned off all the lights and the air-con, checked the windows, locked the doors and took off as fast as my stilettos would let me down to the basement to Rosie. She started first pop and I eased her out of the garage into the crowded street and towards home.

  Luck was on my side: a combination of green lights and no snarl-ups on the on-ramp meant I was home in twenty minutes. Dad and Adam were studying takeaway menus, debating whether to have Thai or Indian from up the road.

  Tigger arrived at the same moment I did, flinging himself at me as if he hadn’t seen me for weeks.

  ‘Yes, the dog’s fed,’ Adam said before I’d had a chance to ask.

  ‘That dog deserves an Oscar. You’d think he hadn’t been fed for a week,’ Dad said.

  Adam held the menus out in front of me. ‘What do you want, Mum?’

  ‘Nothing yet.’ I took the folder gently off him and laid it on the bench. ‘Look, something’s happened. We’re going to have to put dinner off for a bit.’

  Adam looked at me as if his life force was being forcibly removed.

  ‘What’s the trouble, lassie? Anything I can help with?’

  I looked sharply at Dad. Did he know what was coming? His face was poker passive.

  ‘You go get Charlotte,’ I said to Adam.

  ‘A family conference. Oh dear,’ Adam said, then looked chastened. ‘You’re not going to tell Charlotte about my …’

  ‘No, this has nothing to do with you.’ Adam looked relieved. ‘Go on, get Charlotte down and we’ll all go into the lounge and sit down.’

  ‘I know, it’s Charlotte. Charlotte’s in trouble too!’

  ‘No, it’s not Charlotte,’ I said. ‘Come on, the sooner you’re all sitting down, the sooner we can talk about it.’

  Adam scooted off and was back in no time, with Charlotte close behind. Dad sat in his usual chair next to the telly and switched off the news — quite something for him to miss his second favourite programme after Coronation Street. They all sat in a row looking at me expectantly. Dad, I noticed, looked a little more passive than the others, a little more knowing. Or maybe I was imagining things. Maybe I’d been watching too many episodes of CSI.

  ‘I had a call from St Joan’s just as I was leaving work,’ I said. ‘They said you’d only just left, Dad.’ I studied him closely, waiting for a sign, a flicker of guilt, of fear.

  He nodded, waiting for me to go on. His face was impassive.

  ‘They told me that Mum had passed away.’

  ‘Oh no, poor Nana,’ Charlotte cried.

  ‘When did she die?’ Adam asked.

  ‘I don’t know. I suppose it must have been just after Granddad left.’

  I kept my eyes fixed on him, but all I could see was a picture of grief and sadness. I pushed aside my suspicions, went over and sat beside him on the arm of his chair. ‘I’m sorry Dad. This must be hard for you to take.’

  He took my proffered hand and gave it a squeeze. I could feel his hand shaking. Then he let go and fumbled around in his pocket for a handkerchief, pulling out a great white square of linen and wiping away a tear in the corner of his eye.

  ‘How did she look when you saw her, Granddad? Was she really ill or something?’ Adam had all the inquisitiveness and insensitivity of youth.

  Dad didn’t say anything for a bit, just dabbed at his eyes. Then he looked at Adam and said quietly, ‘She looked the same as usual, lad, the same as usual. She was lying there in her bed, half asleep. She wasn’t saying anything, none of that mumbling she used to do. Just lying there, kind of peaceful. I held her hand for a long time without her brushing me away. I kept on holding it until it was time to go.’ He put the handkerchief up to his eyes again, held it there for a moment then stood and went over to the bookshelf where there was a photo of him and Mum together before Mum started to lose her marbles. He picked it up and held it close to his face, just staring at it.

  ‘The thing is,’ I said, reluctant to break his reverie, ‘Mrs Small wants us to go down to St Joan’s right away. There’ll be formalities, I imagine, things to sign, questions to answer.’

  Still no reaction from Dad.

  ‘Dad, did you hear me? We have to go back to St Joan’s.’

  He looked up from the photo, his teary eyes trying to focus on me.

  ‘Yes, I heard. We’d better go then.’ He put the photo back on the shelf and started towards the door.

  ‘You two are probably better off here. Dad will have to sort out the formalities and it could take a while. You can see her later on if you want to.’

  Charlotte looked horrified. That’s when I realised she’d never seen a dead body before. She had no concept of having the body at home before the funeral and the thought clearly repulsed her.

  I made a mental note to have a word to my funeral director client Andy. He’d know what I should say to the kids facing their first bereavement, and whether Charlotte would be able to handle having the body at home. In fact, I’d probably have to call Andy to organise the funeral. Mum and Dad had sorted both their funeral arrangements with his firm a long time ago, well before Mum got sick, as their lawyer had recommended. Now it made me wonder what else they’d planned. The thought that they might have had one of those end-of-life pacts niggled away at me still
.

  But I needed to focus on getting Dad back to St Joan’s.

  ‘You guys can get the takeaways. It’s just down the road, you can walk, no trouble.’

  For once they didn’t complain. Mum’s death had muted them both.

  Chapter 33

  Mrs Small was hovering in the foyer of St Joan’s, obviously waiting for us to arrive.

  ‘I’m sorry for your loss, Mr Rushmore.’

  Dad didn’t answer, just stood there looking anxious and a little lost.

  ‘Please, come with me,’ she said, shepherding us into her office. ‘Take a seat. I’ll get the doctor.’

  She arrived back moments later with a young doctor who looked not that much older than Charlotte.

  ‘This is Dr Penrose.’ She smiled at him and he shook our hands. ‘Dr Penrose is our locum this evening. He has been attending to your wife, Mr Rushmore.’

  ‘Oh, can I see her now, Dr Penrose?’

  ‘Not just yet.’

  Dr Penrose sat next to Dad and started asking questions about how Mum had been when Dad had last seen her. Had he noticed anything unusual, had he given her anything to eat or drink while he was with her? Uh-oh, I thought, here we go.

  ‘No,’ Dad said. ‘No, only a few sips of tea when the girl brought it round at three o’clock. I’d only just arrived, you see, I was late, and …’

  ‘Was there anything else? Did you give her anything else?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What about anyone else? Did anyone else come in?’

  ‘No, I was the only one with her all afternoon. Nobody came in at all. Not even one of the staff.’

  ‘I see.’ Dr Penrose consulted his clipboard of notes. ‘I have a comment here from one of the aides that she saw Mrs Rushmore just after four and she looked just fine. Are you absolutely sure nobody came in?’

  My heart was sinking slowly towards my boots. It looked as if the youthful Dr Penrose was more worldly-wise than he appeared — as if he was setting a trap for my father and he was falling right into it.

  ‘I don’t remember anyone coming in. But I did pop out for a bit to go to the … er, you know, and to get a breath of fresh air.’