‘I see.’ Dr Penrose studied his notes again.
‘Can I see her now, please?’ Dad looked so pitiful my heart went out to him.
My much loved father, who had never wavered in his love for his wife, even when her dementia made her behave abominably towards him: what did it matter if he’d proactively and prematurely ended her life? If he had managed to give her a bit of extra morphine, or withheld her blood-thinning medication — was it really all that bad?
Mum’s life had been in name only. Her enjoyment of life, her quality of life, her ability to do anything more than the basic functions of food in and food out, had long departed. And even those functions were involuntary, since she had to be fed all her meals and was completely incontinent.
The doctor looked at his watch and stood to go. ‘I’ll have to rush. I’m due at public in twenty minutes and it’s a half-hour drive.’ He turned to Dad. ‘Yes, you can see her now, Mr Rushmore. Mrs Small, would you mind taking him?’
‘Certainly, doctor.’ She gave Dad a questioning look.
Dr Penrose scribbled a few notes on the form, signed it and handed it over to Mrs Small, then took his leave.
‘The doctor clearly takes your word for it,’ I heard her mutter as she ushered Dad out of the room. Silently, she led us along the corridor and across the courtyard to the Camellia Wing.
‘I’ll leave you here,’ she said stiffly as we approached the door to Mum’s room. ‘Just press the buzzer if you need anyone. There’s someone on duty in the nurses’ station.’
I let Dad go in first but followed close behind, vigilant for his reaction. But I couldn’t see anything untoward, not even a flicker of guilt or remorse. He approached the bed tentatively, holding out his hand then taking her lifeless hand in his, stroking the back of it with his thumb, clasping the underside with his other hand. He took the chair beside her and spoke softly.
‘Ah, Colleen, my love. I hope you are at peace now.’
I felt a tear trickle down my cheek. Mum looked more at peace now than she had in the last few fraught years. The anxiety she’d shown over almost everything she did, the worrisome inquisition of every visitor, the anger and frustration, the tension, the physical blows she’d rained on Dad, were all forgotten, all smoothed away in her expression of absolute tranquillity and calm. She even appeared younger and better looking. Mum was never a beauty, but her features were finer and her face looked more like the mother I used to know before dementia took the real Colleen away from us.
I walked round to the other side of the bed and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Bye, Mum,’ I whispered.
We sat there for a while, Dad and I. I lost track of the time, deep in thought about the days when Mum ruled the roost and how important she’d been in my early development, in giving me the values I held to today. ‘Do unto others …’ she’d say time and again when one of us kids was trying to beat the living daylights out of the other. She’d dragged us along to church on Sundays until we were old enough to uphold agnosticism; she’d made us eat our vegetables and polish off all our dinner for fear the starving children in Africa would jump through the window and steal it from us; and she’d watched over us while we did our homework and completed our household chores.
If I’d managed to be even half the mother she’d been to us, I’d be a lot better mother than I am now, I chastised myself severely.
‘You were always good to her, Penny,’ Dad said, reaching across her and taking my hand. ‘She wasn’t able to express her gratitude these past couple of years, but she really appreciated how you would always pop in to see us and keep in touch.’
‘Thanks Dad. That means a lot.’ I squeezed his hand with both of mine, catching his eye. He was looking at me strangely, as if he wanted to tell me something but didn’t know how to begin.
‘What is it, Dad? Is there something I should know?’
He looked away. ‘Och no, lassie, I don’t want to trouble you.’
‘You can tell me. I won’t tell anyone.’
He looked at me and opened his mouth, but obviously thought better of it and turned away.
‘Dad?’
Silence.
‘Dad.’ I looked at the door to make sure no one was there, then went over and shut it. ‘Did you and Mum have one of those pacts? You know, where you each promise not to prolong the other’s life, and maybe even help them end it?’
His eyes met mine, fixing me with a piercingly clear gaze.
‘That’s the second time you’ve asked me. Why do you keep asking?’
‘Nothing. I don’t know …’
His eyes remained fixed on mine. ‘Well, let’s leave it at that then.’
After a moment, he turned back to Mum and stroked her cheek. ‘Goodbye, Colleen,’ he said softly, then stood. ‘Come on, Penny, it’s time to go.’
As we drove home, I asked Dad about making arrangements for the funeral. Was he happy for me to call Andy and get him to collect Mum’s body? And did he want Mum to lie at home with us or visit her at the funeral home?
‘Yes, of course, get your friend Andy along,’ he said, ‘and get him to keep Colleen at the funeral home. I don’t think I’m up to having her at your place.’
‘What about the service Dad? Do you know what you want? Or what Mum wanted?’
‘Everything’s written down. Your mother and I worked that out a long time ago. Your mother was …’
He trailed off. I didn’t interrupt his thoughts.
• • •
Adam had thoughtfully brought home enough Indian takeaways for all of us so I reheated them and gave some to Dad, though he hardly touched his. I sat next to Dad on the sofa, picking at the lamb kofta, while I wrote a list of who I needed to phone and what I had to do to organise the funeral.
First up I called the funeral home and asked to be put through to Andy. When he answered he apologised for his heavy panting: the call had been put through to his mobile and he was at the gym, working off some left-over pastries he’d polished off. He offered his condolences at Mum’s passing and said he’d call in at St Joan’s after he’d showered and changed. He also promised he’d come to see us at home in the morning to go through the arrangements for the service.
‘Your parents’ lawyer sent all this through some time ago, so we have it all in writing …’
‘Did he? When did he do that?’ I looked across at Dad but he wasn’t listening. He was leafing through an old photo album from when he and Mum were first married.
‘Oh, about a year ago, I think. I can check if you like.’
‘No, no need to do that.’
After I put the phone down, I sat for a while watching Dad as he turned the pages over and over, stopping at the nice ones of Mum and gently touching her image. It brought it home to me: whatever he’d done — if he had in fact done anything at all — was clearly born out of a deep love and affection.
After a few minutes I gave up tormenting myself with the ‘what ifs’ and pushed myself wearily up from the couch.
‘Cup of tea, Dad?’
‘That would be nice.’
I picked up his mostly untouched dinner and tipped some of it into Tigger’s bowl, whereupon the greedy spaniel scoffed it and wagged his tail for more.
‘You can have the rest for your dinner tomorrow,’ I said, tidying it away in a plastic container in the fridge.
While I was making the tea I tried calling Simon, but only got his voicemail, both at home and on his mobile. Then I remembered he had a science forum that night and wouldn’t be home until late. I gave Dad his cup of tea then set about the emotionally exhausting task of telling family and friends, starting with my brother Mikey, in Australia. Damien, one of his sons answered. His voice had broken, which took me by surprise — the last time I’d seen him, he’d been a blond curlyhaired toddler. Then I spoke to Mikey’s wife Jenn. Mikey was out, she said, still at work. Of course, I’d forgotten about the time difference. I told her the news anyway and asked her to pass it on.
Tea wasn’t strong enough to fortify me sufficiently for calling Steph, but I decided it was too early in the proceedings to resort to alcohol. I needed to remain sober for at least the next twenty-four hours; the time for strong liquor would come when Stephanie was actually here.
When I finally got through to her at the resort, she took it surprisingly calmly. The relaxing spa treatments must have done the trick, because instead of one of her usual overdramatic reactions, she simply sighed and said, ‘Well, I suppose it was for the best.’
However, the dramatics soon arose when it came to whether she was going to be home in time for the funeral.
‘You’ll just have to put it off,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘This is a retreat, you know, not a holiday resort. The nearest airport is two hours’ drive, and there are only two flights out a week.’
I could have jumped down the phone and throttled her. Stephanie always managed to be as far away as possible whenever I really needed her.
‘Well, get a helicopter then,’ I snapped. ‘Or we’ll have to go ahead without you.’
Well, that set her off. Eventually, as usual, I gave in. My big sister always wins.
‘Okay, okay, we’ll put the funeral off till next Thursday then. I’ll get Andy to pump her full of embalming fluid so she doesn’t go off.’
‘Ee-ww, Penny, that’s so gross!’
‘Well somebody has to face reality,’ I said sarcastically. ‘It’s all very well for you, lying about on massage tables and practising your feng shui or whatever. I’m the one who has to deal with the practicalities back home while you enjoy yourself.’
‘It’s not as easy as you might imagine,’ she said sotto voce. ‘Marcus is being really difficult. I could well be coming back alone.’
‘Oh?’
‘I can’t talk right now — he’s out on the veranda, he might hear.’
‘Oh.’
She spoke normally again. ‘I’d better go. I’ll see you Wednesday night.’ Then she hissed: ‘With or without my husband.’
With that typically dramatic finale, she was gone.
After that, phoning my firstborn, Josh, was comparatively straightforward. Josh had been an easy child from the beginning, and has rarely caused me to lose any sleep. He breezed through school and university and now seemed to be breezing through the UK.
He’d been in London so long he hadn’t seen his grandmother deteriorate over the past year, so the news came as a bit of a surprise, but distance in time and miles made it less of a blow. He said he’d like to come home for the funeral.
‘Do you need a hand with the fare?’ I asked.
‘No, I’m fine, Mum. I’ve got plenty of money. I told you, I’ve been on a good salary since I started at the insurance broker’s.’
‘How soon do you think you’ll be able to get here? The funeral service is going to be on Thursday.’
‘I should be able to get a flight out Monday night. I’ll have to tell my boss, but it shouldn’t be a problem getting a week off.’
‘A week? Will that be long enough to get over here and back again?’
‘Mu-um, the jet age began decades ago. People can fly to the moon and back faster than that. Don’t worry. I’ll email you and let you know when I’m coming.’
Next on the list was Steve. I’d briefly considered asking Charlotte to tell her father, but knew it would have to be my job, much as I disliked calling him. Luckily he answered, saving me the unpleasant alternative of talking to Jacinta. He was surprisingly kind and thoughtful, offering to help with the arrangements — even financially, which really knocked me out.
I was consulting my list of calls to make when Adam came in and hovered by the door.
‘Hi honey.’ I waited for him to say something. He shuffled uncomfortably.
‘I need you to give me a hand,’ he said at last. ‘I’ve packed up my computer and it’s all ready to go down to the shed like you said.’
‘That’s very good of you.’ I stood and went to give him a hug, which for once he accepted without shrinking away. ‘Thank you. But let’s do it in the morning when it’s light.’
‘It’s out in the hall though.’
‘Oh.’
‘I wanted to get it out of my room. I don’t want to look at it.’
‘Oh, I see.’ I sighed. ‘Come on then, let’s get it downstairs. Maybe we can leave it by the back door until the morning.’
‘Yeah, that would work.’
So he carried the box and I carried the screen and keyboard and we manoeuvred our way down the stairs, nearly tripping over an excited Tigger, who wanted to race us down. We deposited it all at the back door ready to make the trip to the shed in the morning when we could see where we were going.
‘Thanks Mum,’ he said.
‘I suppose it’s too late for you to tackle your study now?’
‘I’ve been into it already,’ he smiled. ‘Don’t worry, Mum. I got the message. I’ll pull my finger out, like Dad said.’ He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out his cellphone. ‘Here, you can take charge of that until exams are over, too.’
‘That’s the spirit,’ I said, smiling back at him warmly. I went to give him another hug.
‘Don’t push it, Mum. Once a night is enough.’ He took off back upstairs.
I collapsed on the sofa and decided it wasn’t too late to try Simon again. Zak answered and there were several loud thumps, like doors banging shut, before the phone was passed on to Simon.
‘Hi, how’s things?’ he said cheerfully.
‘Oh, so-so,’ I said, trying to muster a matching cheerfulness but failing miserably. I told him about Mum, struggling to keep from crying. It had been easy with Stephanie and Josh and Jenn, but Simon sounded so sympathetic, so caring, I started to go all mushy.
‘Would you like me to come around now?’ he asked.
‘No, really, I’ll be okay. I’ve got lists to write and people to phone and so much to do.’
‘Penny, Penny, you shouldn’t take everything on yourself. You’re not the only family member, you know.’
‘I might as well be. Stephanie and Mikey are both in different countries.’
‘Well, what about your dad? He’d probably like to be involved.’
‘I guess. But he’s so upset, I don’t like to ask him.’
‘Is there anything I can do? Would you like me to tell the girls in the office?’
‘No, I can …’
‘Now, Penny, I just said you can’t do everything.’
‘But I’ve got to go into work on Monday.’
‘Think about it for a minute. You don’t have to do that.’
‘But …’
‘Look, I won’t tell them anything about when you’re coming in, okay? I’ll just tell them you’ll play it by ear. But it’s one less thing for you to do.’
‘Okay then, yes please. That would be nice. Perhaps you could give Tracey a call and she can tell the others.’ I reeled off her mobile number.
‘Consider it done.’
Simon promised to come around in the late afternoon the next day, after the funeral director had been, and make me a cup of tea — or something stronger.
‘I haven’t been up to much lately. I haven’t even been able to enjoy a beer,’ he said. ‘But I think I’ve finally shaken this stomach bug. And I’ve really missed you. Maybe I can take you away from your crazy family for the evening.’
I’d hardly put the phone down when it rang again. It was Mikey.
‘Hey, Penny, I’m sorry to hear about Mum. Are you okay?’
I bit back a smart retort. Mikey hadn’t once phoned to ask how Mum was or whether he could help. Not once in two years. My younger brother had always been adept at slipping away without doing the chores when we were kids and it seems nothing had changed now we were all grown up.
‘Yes, I’m okay,’ I sighed.
‘I’ve been talking to Jenn and she agrees we should all come over for the funeral. We haven’t seen you in ages and it’
s about time we all caught up. What are Steph’s plans?’
‘She can’t get here till Wednesday night — she’s holed up in some spa in the middle of nowhere and reckons she won’t be able to get back before then.’
Mikey roared with laughter. ‘That’s so typical,’ he guffawed. ‘Stranded in a luxury resort! That’s so like our Stephanie.’
I had to laugh, despite myself. ‘I know.’
‘Remember how good she was at getting out of doing the dishes?’
‘Do I ever! And you were pretty good at it, too, as I remember. I reckon I did them all by myself most nights.’
‘No way, I was right there beside you. Most of the time, anyway.’
‘Hmm, maybe. Anyway, it’ll be good to see you again, Mikey. And Jenn too. What about the boys?’
‘Yup, we’re all coming. Don’t worry, I’ll book us into a motel nearby and we’ll get a rental car so you won’t have to worry about us at all.’
‘Just as well,’ I said. ‘We’re going to be full up. Josh is coming home from England, and Adam and Charlotte are still at home — well, most of the time,’ I added, recalling that Adam was supposed to be spending half the week at his father’s from now on.
‘It’ll be one big family reunion,’ Mikey said happily. ‘Mum would have been pleased.’
I put the phone down and stretched out on the sofa on my back, staring up at the ceiling. It was true: Mum would have been pleased, if she’d been with us. But she hadn’t really been with us, in her mind anyway, for a long time.
‘How are you doing, lassie? Would you like another cup of tea?’ Dad had come into the lounge and was making for the kitchen.
‘Yes please, Dad.’
What is it about funerals and family crises that makes you put the jug on all the time? I figured there would be many, many more cups of tea over the next few days.
‘Josh is coming home, and Stephanie, and Mikey,’ I said, sitting up. ‘Is there anyone you want me to phone?’
‘Not really,’ he said, coming to get my cup. ‘Most of our friends are dead already. Except for a couple of the chaps at St Joan’s who I used to play bowls with, and they’ll know by now anyway.’ He picked up the cup and headed for the kitchen. ‘I’ll have a look at Mum’s old address book. There’ll probably be a few people in there. But it can wait till the morning. Besides, they all look at the death notices every day. I expect they’ll see it in the paper on Monday.’
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