by Jo Verity
There was a tap on the back door. It was Flora, who had come straight from work. ‘Hi, Uncle Steve.’ She kissed her uncle and mother. ‘I wasn’t sure how difficult things were here and I wanted to be sure to catch Mum. Haven’t seen you for ages,’ she said to Steven.
Frank came downstairs when he heard Flora’s voice. ‘She’s dozing,’ he said. They sat in the kitchen, talking about anything but what was happening in the room above, perching on the edges of the hard chairs, as if they might need to rush upstairs at any second. ‘How’s that young man of yours?’ Frank asked his granddaughter. Anna was surprised to learn that Luke was a regular caller. ‘He’s a bit gormless but I have to admit, I like him.’ The photos of Seren went around the table but he passed them on without comment.
Anna went up to see if Dorothy needed anything. She was more than a little relieved to discover that seeing another woman in her mother’s bed, under the bedspread that her mother had made, didn’t upset her at all. Dorothy was awake and she beckoned Anna towards her.
‘Can I get you anything?’ asked Anna. ‘Dad’ll be up in a minute.’
The old lady held out her hand. When Anna took it in hers, it felt cold and papery. The lumpy veins and arteries looked like roads on a map, blue motorways and red trunk roads. The old lady’s rings clinked together and it was only the swollen knuckles that kept them from slipping off.
She gave a little cough, to clear her throat. ‘I think we could have been good friends, you and I.’ Each sentence required an enormous effort. ‘There’s something I must tell you.’ She lay with her eyes closed, her hand resting in Anna’s. In short phrases, and with many pauses for breath, she unravelled the mystery of her relationship with Frank Hill.
They had come to know each other through a day-class at the library and, over the months, he had confided in her, telling her of the crippling guilt that he’d felt when Nancy had died so suddenly. There had been no warning and he’d had no opportunity to care for her, as she had spent all their married life caring for him and putting his welfare first. He felt he had been denied that final act of love. Dorothy, in return, had revealed to Frank that her cancer had come back and she had only months to live. ‘You see, he needed to look after someone. We got on well. I fitted the bill. Does that make sense?’
Anna raised the skeletal hand to her lips. ‘Yes. And it’s so like him. He’s such a stickler for doing things properly. Thank you.’
Frank came up from the garden carrying a vase of cream roses. He put it on the dressing table, where Dorothy could see the near-perfect blooms if she opened her eyes. Their scent almost disguised the stale smell of the sickroom. Anna kissed her father and he signalled that she should leave them.
Steven was getting twitchy. Elaine had tracked him down and phoned to remind him that they were going out to eat. ‘Better get off. I’ll ring tomorrow. You’ll still be here?’ She nodded. She wanted time to think about what Dorothy had told her, before sharing it with anyone.
She heated the cottage pie and took some up to her father. Flora stayed for supper and they ate in the kitchen, leaving the back door open to catch the evening breeze after the hot day.
‘Poor Flora. We haven’t done anything at all to celebrate your engagement. It’s been lost in the rush. What with the baby and now this.’
Flora smiled. ‘Don’t worry, Mum. We don’t want to make a big thing of it. Anyway, this business with Sally has made it a bit tricky. I keep meaning to ask, has Brendan been in touch with Maddy, at all?’
‘Not as far as I know.’
‘And Taliesin?’
‘He wrote to me about a week after Madeleine came back to Pen Craig. He wanted to check that she was OK.’ Anna paused. ‘I’ve spoken to him a few times since. I had to let him know about Seren.’
‘Oh, Mum. Does Maddy know?’ Flora shook her head and sighed. ‘You mustn’t go behind her back, Mum. She’ll be furious if she finds out.’
‘But I think he really does care about her.’
‘They’ll have to sort it out themselves. This isn’t a teenage tiff. It’s not something that you can fix.’
‘But it’s my fault. I was the one who told her that Brendan had come to find her.’
‘He’d have found his way to her somehow. And he had to be told about the baby. But you must tell her about Taliesin.’
Luke arrived to collect Flora. Anna enquired about Sally and he gave her a contact number. ‘She’s staying with someone she knows from the University until she can find a flat. I’m sure she’d love to see you while you’re here, if you can spare the time. I warned her that you were pretty tied up here.’
After they’d gone, she had a cool bath and went to bed, lying on top of the covers, listening to her father’s voice in the room next door. His words were indistinct but it sounded as if he were reciting poetry.
21
The café hadn’t changed much since their last visit a couple of years ago and Sally was waiting for her at the table near the window. They filled the first awkward moments with news of Frank and Dorothy. Anna thought her friend looked tired. Her hair could have done with a wash and there was more than a touch of grey showing at the roots.
‘I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about meeting.’ Sally scraped the froth from the inside of her coffee cup.
‘Don’t be daft.’
‘I don’t want to make things difficult for you. Bill’s sure to ask if you’ve seen me.’
‘I’ll tell him the truth. He knows you’re in touch with Luke, doesn’t he?’
‘Yes. But he knows I’d tell you stuff that I wouldn’t tell Luke.’
‘Stuff?’
‘Stuff. Things.’
‘Is there stuff? Are there things?’
‘Not really. Not any more. The Tim thing was never going to last.’
Sally’s confidence and composure had slipped and her clothes weren’t quite right. The linen shirt was more creased than was fashionable, her nail varnish, chipped. She looked defeated.
She’d just moved into a flat near the centre of Bristol. The University had offered her some lecturing work and she had nearly completed her latest book. Most of her savings had gone towards the purchase of Pen Craig but royalties on the other books she’d written provided a steady, if modest, income and she was managing.
‘I’m delighted about Luke and Flora, aren’t you? Can you believe they’ve finally got it together? Did they tell you how it started? It was when they couldn’t get to us at Christmas and were stuck in that motel. I can’t believe we didn’t latch on.’
Anna had heard the story several times but didn’t interrupt. Sally asked about the baby and, although babies weren’t her thing, showed genuine interest in the photographs. ‘Why on earth did Maddy leave Taliesin? I only met him that once but he seemed such a nice man. Gentle and interesting. Quite unusual.’
Sally had moved out before Brendan had turned up. She’d missed the Irish charmer. Anna, wanting to divulge a confidence and, in so doing, demonstrate her trust and friendship, revealed that Brendan was Seren’s father. Sally’s eyes filled with tears when she heard how Taliesin had offered to stand by Maddy. ‘Christ. I’m going soft. And I’m the last person to advise her to go for the nice guy and the happy ending, aren’t I?’
‘It’ll be OK if you were to change your mind, Sal. Everyone’s allowed to make a mistake. Bill’s so unhappy. He’s just sitting there, waiting for you to come back.’
Why on earth had she said that? After the first few miserable days, he’d never looked back. He’d reorganised the house to his liking. He’d made the kitchen muddled and cosy and had taken to sleeping in the spare room. His cooking wasn’t elaborate but he was enlarging his repertoire. He had plenty of friends on hand to advise him or feed him. Only the week before, he’d cooked quite a presentable meal for them all. In fact Bill was going from strength to strength.
‘Is he? He hasn’t made much effort to get in touch. There are hundreds of ways he could track me down. Through Luke
for a start.’
‘He wants to give you time. And space.’ That ridiculous phrase again. ‘He loves you so much. All he wants is for you to be happy.’
‘He’s told you that?’
‘Not in so many words.’ She didn’t want to sound as if Bill was confiding his feelings to all and sundry and she changed tack. ‘More to the point, how d’you feel about him?’
‘Confused. It’s hard to imagine spending the rest of my life on my own. But, now I’ve made the break, it would be crazy to weaken just because I’m feeling a bit lonely. It’ll be a lot easier when I get a work rhythm going.’
They discussed the wedding. Flora and Luke were talking about getting married as soon as possible. Having known each other all their lives, there was no need for a long engagement. They wanted the whole affair to be low key and were going to organise it themselves. ‘The only snag is that Luke really wants Emily to be there. They spoke last week, so at least she knows what’s going on.’
‘Where is she now?’
‘Nepal. I never thought I’d have to look at an atlas to locate my daughter. She might as well be on the moon but there’s no point in worrying, is there?’ It was obvious that Sally did not believe her own pronouncement.
‘Maddy thinks we ought to throw an engagement party for them, at the house. They could invite as many people as they wanted. We’re hardly short of space. The young ones could bring tents. A party might cheer us all up. What d’you think?’ She waited but when Sally didn’t reply she added, ‘But there’s absolutely no point if you don’t come.’
‘It was Maddy’s idea, you said?’
‘Yes. The engagement got completely overlooked when Seren was born and she probably feels responsible. Mind you, I think she’d like the opportunity to show off her daughter.’
‘Let me think about that, will you?’ Finally she asked about the others. ‘Is Celia still following Jenny round like a dog? Ironic when you think how bitchy Jenny could be about her. Dare I mention the swimming pool?’
They said their goodbyes, promising to speak before the week was out.
Anna left the car park and joined the Friday afternoon crawl of traffic back to Bath. What sort of an evening would Sally have? Was she in touch with any of her old workmates? Now that term had finished, the academics would all be heading off for extended holidays. Sally could be in for a miserable summer.
The house was cool and quiet. Her father was in the kitchen, listening to the Test Match on the radio and staring out of the window, as if the teams were playing on the back lawn. When they’d put it to him that he should buy a small television set for the kitchen, they might have been suggesting that he take drugs. And the notion of installing a satellite dish, to increase his choice of programmes, was unthinkable. ‘It’s the thin end of the wedge,’ he protested.
Anna wasn’t sure if he was aware of her arrival and spoke gently, not to startle him. ‘How are we doing?’
‘Losing.’
‘And how’s Dorothy?’
‘Losing, too. She was sleeping when I went up five minutes ago.’
‘You go and put your feet up, Dad, and I’ll bring you a sandwich. You look exhausted.’
By the time she took a tray into the sitting room, he was asleep, the radio still on.
There wasn’t much for her to do around the house. The nurse, the carer and the cleaner were all efficient. The garden was a little neglected but Frank’s gardener was due back from his holiday and was going to put in a full day next week.
When she phoned Tom, he assured her that everything was running smoothly at home, too, ‘So stay as long as you need to. No point in rushing back. We’re managing fine.’
By the following afternoon, she’d more or less run out of things to do. Frank had everything he needed and it was clear that he would not allow the burden of care to be taken from him. Flora and Luke were in London visiting friends. Steven and Elaine were unavailable. There was no real reason for her to stay.
When she was ready to leave, Frank was up in the bedroom. Dorothy’s eyes were shut and he was holding her hand, squeezing it gently, and reading the paper.
‘Thanks for coming, love.’
‘I’ll be back again soon.’
‘Best not make any promises.’
She ran through a reminder, ‘I’ve left some portions of casserole in the freezer and the rest of the cakes…’
‘…are in the cake tin.’ He smiled.
The traffic was remarkably quiet for a summer Saturday. All the caravans and camper vans were on the other carriageway, heading south to Devon and Cornwall. She switched on the car radio and drove twenty miles without absorbing a single word, still thinking about her father, steadfastly doing what he had set out to do. She was a little unnerved when she noticed that the petrol gauge was entering the red zone, something she’d forgotten to check before leaving Bath. She was relieved, therefore, when, almost immediately, she saw the sign for the service station and took the slip lane off the motorway.
She filled the tank, then decided a black coffee was what she needed. Was she hungry or not? And if she were, did she fancy something sweet or savoury? Everything in the stainless steel trays smelled the same, the food sitting either in a pool of fat or a puddle of water. Although the cafeteria wasn’t busy, a queue of people had formed behind her, panicking her into ordering sausage and chips and a cup of coffee.
The service station felt like a calm backwater and she had drifted in here to escape the concealed currents and treacherous rocks that were tossing her around. Everyone else appeared to be sailing along merrily. Tom was as happy as Larry, protecting Maddy and Seren from … whatever. Flora and Luke were having a whale of a time in London, planning their future together. Her father was assuaging his guilt and helping Dorothy through the process of death. And here she was, eating sausage and chips just off the northbound carriageway of the M5.
On the way back to the car she passed the entrance to the Travel Lodge. The banners festooned along the fence proclaimed that rooms were only £42.50 a night. Something (she would never be able to explain what it was) drew her through the automatic doors and, before she knew it, a pleasant young woman behind the featureless reception desk was swiping her card and booking her in.
It was the first time that she had ever been in a hotel room on her own. This one was clean, blue and anonymous, air-freshener tainting the lifeless air. Without question, every one of the eighty rooms would be exactly the same. The window overlooked the petrol filling station and, despite double-glazing, she could hear the grumble of the traffic on the motorway beyond. The double bed looked suggestive, almost pornographic, in its threadbare anonymity.
The digital readout on the television showed seven thirty-four. At home Tom and Maddy would be preparing supper. Seren should be asleep in her carrycot after her bath. The setting sun would be glancing in through their bedroom window, striking the wall above the head of their bed.
She sat on the edge of the bath and removed the flimsy plastic beaker from its hygienic packaging. The tap water tasted of chlorine but she was desperate for a drink after the salty sausages. Was she having some kind of a breakdown? Didn’t things like that come on gradually, over weeks and months? She’d been fine when she left Bath, less than three hours ago. Was she showing off? Attention seeking? That sort of thing was for delinquent teenagers, not grandmothers.
She stripped off her clothes, tossing them out of the bathroom onto the worn carpet. Taking the miniature bottle of bath foam, she stepped under the shower and pulled the curtain around. Once she had mastered the controls, she let the steaming water cascade over her. The stream of water straightened her curls and her wet hair stuck to her back, stretching down to her shoulder blades. She turned this way and that, letting the hot water run across her shoulders and down her body, the warmth and the sound of it inducing a state of near trance. It was five past eight when she switched the water off.
Four white towels hung over the chrome rail. They were
harsh from constant laundering but she liked the sensation as they sand-papered her skin dry. She used all four, abandoning them in a damp heap on the slippery tiles. She left the bathroom and sat naked, absolutely motionless, on the edge of the bed, until droplets of water, now cold, dripped from her hair onto her warm thighs and startled her.
She sorted out a change of clothes and repacked her bag then she pulled back the bedcover and rumpled the bed, punching her fists into the pillows. Finally she wrote ‘Fuck Fuck Fuck’ in the condensation on the bathroom mirror, watching droplets of water from the multiple obscenity racing down the glass.
There was a pay phone in the foyer of the Travel Lodge and Tom answered after the third ring. She explained that she was on her way home and had stopped for a rest and something to eat.
‘Take your time, love. No rush. I thought you might stay another night,’ he said. ‘How is she?’
‘Slipping away. Dad’s amazing. There wasn’t much I could do.’
She rejoined the motorway.
There was still a trace of blue-green in the night sky as she drove up the lane. Tom was sitting on the wall outside the back door, softly strumming his guitar. The sound of laughter and music came from the summerhouse. ‘Another party?’ she asked, kissing his cheek.
‘Christopher’s got some friends staying. They were getting a bit loud, so Peter chucked them out of the house.’
‘Everything OK here?’
‘Fine. Fine. How about you? You look tired.’
‘I am. Where’s Madeleine? In bed?’
‘With that lot.’ He pointed towards the summerhouse. ‘I knew it wouldn’t last.’
‘What?’
‘The devoted mother thing.’
‘She deserves an hour or two off, don’t you think?’
‘Hmmm.’ He didn’t sound convinced. ‘Why’s your hair damp?’
‘Sweat. It’s stifling in the car.’ The lie came easily.