by Pat Young
She scuttled back to her chair, puffing with the effort. Apart from a few snores, and the carers’ voices in the distance, it was quiet.
‘Ah, peace,’ she sighed. ‘Perfect peace.’
‘You are awful, Ruby,’ said Molly, chuckling. ‘You’ll get us into trouble.’
‘What are they going to do, Molly? Throw us out?’ Ruby cackled. ‘Now, what were you saying, Jinty?’
‘I was asking when last you saw your Tommy? I haven’t seen any of my lot for weeks, you know.’
‘Now, that’s not true, Jinty,’ interrupted Molly, in her school-teacher voice. ‘You had a whole lot of visitors at the weekend, don’t you remember? Your granddaughter brought her new baby. You had photos taken of the four generations.’
‘So I did. I remember now. Bonnie wee thing. What was her name again?’
‘Cody, like Buffalo Bill, remember?’
‘Funny name that for a wee lassie,’ said Ruby. ‘Remember when folk gave their kiddies decent names?’
‘Like mine?’ asked Molly, ‘Mary Matilda Frances?’
‘At least they named you Molly, not Fanny.’
The three old ladies laughed until Jinty said, ‘Oh no, I think I’ve had a wee accident.’
Ruby and Molly looked at each other and laughed till they had to wipe the tears from their cheeks.
‘Anyway,’ said Ruby, dabbing at her eyes, ‘to answer your question. I last saw my son, Thomas Ignatious Terence, now there’s a fine name for you, a fortnight ago. And he only stayed ten minutes. Long enough to brag about his work. How he put this one in his place and gave that one a final warning.’
‘You were a bit nasty to him, Ruby. I heard you,’ said Molly, who never missed a trick.
‘Och, no wonder. He’s a pompous, pious, wee bully. Always was. Used to pick on his brother Archie something terrible. Biting and scratching like a wild animal. Behind my back, of course. Then he’d give me that butter-wouldn’t-melt look and say, “He started it.” He was a year younger than Archie, but he always had to be top dog. From the day and hour he came into the house. How I rue that day.’
Jinty asked, ‘Does Archie ever come to see you, Ruby?’
‘Jinty!’ Molly scolded, ‘you know Archie doesn’t come. Ruby told you.’
‘It’s alright, Molly. I don’t mind telling her again.’ She turned to face her friend. ‘My Archie, that precious, darling boy, was taken from me. Far, far too soon.’
‘Oh, so you won’t see him this weekend?’
Molly and Ruby gave each other a sad smile and shook their heads. ‘Probably not. But you never know’, said Ruby. ‘At our age, Jinty, you never know.’
***
CHAPTER 35
Sheila peeled the price tag off the ‘floral bouquet’ she had picked up from the forecourt of the filling station and rang Briargrove’s doorbell. While she waited for someone to come and open the glass security door, she patted her grey wig, keen to reassure herself it wasn’t going to slide off half-way through her visit.
A large, overweight woman trudged down the hall towards her. The look on her face did not say welcome. Nor did her mouth when she finally opened the door. ‘Yes? What you want?’
‘Hello, I’ve brought some flowers for the residents.’
The woman reached out for them, ‘I take.’
Sheila held on to the stems. ‘I usually stay for a little visit.’
‘You have badge?’
Sheila hadn’t thought of that. She laughed a tinkle of surprise at such a suggestion. ‘Oh no, dear. I’m from the Church. We don’t need to wear a badge to do the Lord’s work.’
Sheila gave an imperious wave of her arm, brushing the confused woman aside, and swept through the doorway. ‘But I do understand that you will want to take a note of my name for your records. My name is Violet McNish. That’s McNish of the Perthshire McNishes, but I was born and brought up in Glasgow. Kelvinside, of course.’
The care assistant closed the door and backed away down the hall. Sheila pursued her, chattering like a budgie. ‘Would you like me to spell McNish for you? That’s capital m, small c, no space, capital n.’ The woman turned her back on Sheila and hurried out of sight.
Sheila peeped into the lounge, trying to ignore the conflicting smells of urine and air freshener. The room was busy but there were only two old biddies sitting in the bay of the window, almost hidden by the high backs of their geriatric chairs. Ruby was one of them.
Sheila reminded herself how important it was to remember her name was Violet.
‘Hello, ladies. I’m Violet. I’ve brought you some flowers from the church.’
Ruby looked at her. ‘Were you not here last week?’
‘No, no, no. I was away my holidays last week. Up at Crieff, at the Hydro, for the weekend. Oh, it’s very posh. Have you ever been?’
‘What did she say?’ asked Jinty.
‘Jinty’s lost her hearing aid,’ explained Ruby. Without it she’s as deaf as a post and twice as daft.’
‘Good job she can’t hear you then, my dear.’
Ruby took the gentle reprimand and acknowledged it with a toothless grin. She covered her mouth with her hand and muttered through her fingers. ‘I forgot to put my teeth in this morning and that Fati’s too lazy to get them for me. Did she let you in? You couldn’t miss her. An arse big enough for a solar eclipse.’
Sheila tried her hardest not to laugh but couldn’t keep her smile under control. This wee woman’s son spent half his life issuing lists of politically correct terms, reminding his staff what they could and couldn’t say and here she was, utterly outrageous and hilarious.
‘What did she say?’ asked Jinty.
Ruby leaned towards Sheila and said, ‘Ignore her and she’ll go to sleep. When her mouth falls open, you can pinch her false teeth for me.’
Sheila was horrified till Ruby burst into a rasping laugh. The old woman’s eyes were sparkling with mischief. This visit might turn out to be fun.
‘Pull up a chair,’ said Ruby. ‘I’m delighted to have a visitor. Molly’s not feeling well. She’s in her bed. She’s the only one in here I can talk to. The rest are away with the fairies. Look at them.’
When Sheila looked round she saw the fat woman who had let her in hovering in the doorway, watching. Suddenly Ruby started to sing in a loud, demented voice.
The care assistant came over and said to Sheila, ‘Maybe you go now?’
Unsure what to do, Sheila started to rise. Ruby grabbed her arm, shrieking, ‘No. No.’
Sheila turned to the carer and used Violet’s know-all voice. ‘I understand it often soothes patients with dementia to have someone sit with them, and I know you folks are terribly busy. Perhaps I should stay. Would that be a help?’ She flashed her best Mother Teresa smile. The woman shrugged and left. When she’d gone, Sheila said, ‘What was all that about?’
‘I can’t stand the sight of that woman. When she’s on duty, I pretend to be doo-lally. It works a treat, every time. She’s so stupid, that one, she’d ask the price in a pound shop.’ Ruby chortled. ‘Stay and have a wee blether, please.’ she said. ‘I’m Ruby Smeaton, by the way. What church did you say you’re from?’
Sheila thought it best to avoid answering so she asked, ‘Oh, are you a church member yourself?’
That seemed to do the trick. Ruby was off on a rant. Sheila had a feeling the old lady enjoyed a good rant.
‘I used to be a good Catholic, but I’ve no patience with religion these days. It’s the root of all evil. Look at history and you’ll see that. And the most pious are the worst, if you ask me. Hypocrites, every one of them. Priests listening to other folk confessing impure thoughts and abusing altar boys right, left and centre. If’s that’s not evil, I don’t know what is.’
‘I agree, that was shocking. It will take a long time for the Catholic church to recover.’
‘It certainly will. I can’t stand hypocrisy. I might be a rude old bitch, but at least I’ll be rude to your face.’
To Sheila’s delight, Ruby hunched her body into an obsequious parody, clasped her hands in prayer, and started to recite, ‘That I am here afore thy sight, for gifts an’ grace. A burning and a shining light to a’ this place.’
Clearly there was nothing doo-lally about Ruby Smeaton. The two women laughed.
‘You should meet my son. Now, there’s a Holy Willie if ever there was one. Never misses mass. And spends his working life making other folk’s a misery. Then he comes in here bragging to me. How powerful he is. How many departments he runs. How the councillors love the way he keeps his staff in line.’
‘That’s a terrible way to speak about your own son, Mrs Smeaton. I’m sure he’s not as bad as that.’ Sheila was struggling to keep her face straight and longed for a distraction.
As if to oblige, Jinty suddenly took an enormous snoring breath. Her lower jaw dropped as she exhaled, displaying a set of dentures that would have fitted a horse. Ruby nodded towards her friend and gave Sheila a wicked grin. ‘Quick, get me her teeth.’
When they’d stopped giggling like schoolgirls, Ruby said, ‘I’ll tell you two things about my son, Tommy. One - he’s every bit as bad as he sounds and Two - he’s not my son.’
‘Sorry, you’ve lost me.’
‘I had only one son, Archie. He was named after my father. As sweet-natured a boy as ever walked the earth. He had eyes like a summer sky and hair the colour of ripe barley.’ The old lady’s eyes were misty.
‘He sounds like a darling.’
‘He was a perfect boy. I was enchanted from the day he was born. Couldn’t believe I’d been blessed with such a wee cherub.’
Sheila waited, sensing there was drama to come.
‘Then, when Archie was a few months old, my sister told us she was pregnant. Now, in those days it wasn’t a case of parading around with your bare belly sticking out. Girls didn’t get handed a council flat and a fancy pram. There was a stigma attached to unmarried mothers, especially Catholic girls.’
‘What happened?’
‘Well you see, our Pearl was the brainy one. A great future ahead of her. So my mother cooked up a plan. Sent her to the nuns till the baby was born. Then Billy and I took him in. And off she went. To the university. Not a care in the world.’
‘Did the wee boy know about his real mum?’
‘Oh aye. She was supposed to take him when she qualified. Never happened. Then it was “when she’s had a chance to get settled in her own place”. That never happened either.’
‘So he was abandoned twice?’
Ruby bristled. ‘I’d hardly say he was abandoned. Billy and I brought him up as our own.’
‘But he knew?’
Ruby nodded.
‘What happened to your sister?’
‘Haven’t set eyes on her for forty years. She lives in a luxury retirement village in Arizona. In a condo-min-ium, whatever that is. I get a Christmas card. And a photocopy of a bragging letter.’
‘I hate those,’ said Sheila, ‘especially the ones that don’t even add a handwritten line asking “How are you?”. I call them the annual trumpet, as in blow your own. The ones I get are usually full of news about little Tamsin’s ballet and Benjamin’s karate. The family dogs even get a mention.’
‘Our Pearl’s always crowing about her latest cruise and her golf handicap.’
‘Does she ever ask about Tommy?’
Ruby shook her head. ‘Not once in his whole life.’
‘Oh, that’s sad.’
The old lady looked fierce. ‘Don’t you go feeling sorry for him. Or her. She waltzed off in the arms of a dreamboat. As free as a fart in a park. It was Billy and me, and poor wee Archie, that had the hard time.’
They were distracted by the rattling of cups and saucers. A woman in a plastic trilby and a striped tunic was wheeling a trolley into the lounge. Stirred by some Pavlovian instinct, the sleepers woke one by one and accepted drinks and biscuits with shaky hands.
‘Cup of tea, Ruby?’ asked the woman, holding one up as a visual aid. Ruby nodded her head in reply.
‘Would you like a cup of tea, dear?’ the kindly woman asked Sheila.
‘Is that okay?’
‘Of course, we always offer visitors a cup. It’s so nice to see the residents with someone to chat to. Not that Ruby will say much. Will you, Ruby?’
Ruby gave her a blank stare, but Jinty had perked up at the sound of the trolley and said, ‘Could I have a large cappuccino with extra froth, please? And two biscuits.’
‘Coming right up, Jinty,’ said the tea-lady, handing over a cup of milky tea and a handful of biscuits. ‘Extra froth, just the way you like it.’ Jinty smiled her gratitude and got stuck in. The trolley rattled its way towards the door and along the corridor.
‘Now, where was I?’
‘You were telling me about you and Billy, bringing up your two boys.’
‘Sadly it was me bringing up my two boys by the time Archie was five. Billy had a heart attack at thirty-four, never worked another day and died two years later.’
‘How did you manage?’
‘No other option. Cleaned houses while my boys were at the school. Managed to make ends meet. Most of the time. Not many luxuries but those boys never went without. I can promise you that.’
Seeing the determined look on Ruby’s face, Sheila didn’t doubt it. ‘But what about your sister? Didn’t she help out with money?’
The expression changed to one of disgust. ‘Our Pearl? You must be joking. A right selfish madam. She never gave us so much as a Christmas present for Tommy. Never mind Archie.’
‘That must have been hard, Ruby. Sorry, do you mind if I call you Ruby?’
‘Not one bit. What did you say your name was?’
‘It’s Sh-Violet.’
‘Sh-Violet? That’s unusual.’
‘Just Violet.’
Sheila hoped she hadn’t blown it and was relieved when Ruby said, ‘Sorry, Violet. Can’t hear a thing for that bloody telly. On all day long. And look, nobody’s even watching it.’
Sure enough, most of the old folk seemed to have nodded off again. They were like babies, waking up to feed and then going back to sleep. What an existence.
Ruby picked up her story where she’d left off, without the need for a prompt. ‘It wasn’t easy. I missed Billy. But Archie was the light of my life. He made it all worthwhile.’
‘And Tommy?’
‘Tommy was an evil wee boy, Violet. A foul temper and a cruel streak a yard wide. Always hurting Archie when he thought I wasn’t looking. Archie was a few months older, but he was a delicate wee thing. He would be ailing even then, I suppose.’
The old lady seemed lost in the past, as if she were considering something that had never occurred to her before. She took a hanky from her sleeve and rolled it into a ball while she spoke. ‘Archie and Tommy both took scarlet fever. Tommy first. He gave it to Archie. Tommy got better. I expected Archie to do the same, but he got worse.’
Sheila could see how it still broke this woman’s heart to think about her suffering child. She reached for the old lady’s hand and patted it gently.
‘We couldn’t save him. I lost the wee soul. Two days before his ninth birthday.’
Sheila could think of nothing to say. Her own loss was too recent and raw. She could only sit and wait.
Then Jinty pointed out the window and piped up, ‘Look, Ruby. Here’s your son coming.’
***
CHAPTER 36
Sheila didn’t know whether to fight or flee, but the full cup of coffee in her hand made it awkward to stand up and leave.
‘Oh hell’s teeth,’ said Ruby, ‘what’s he doing here? Just when I was having a nice time.’
‘Maybe I should scoot,’ said Sheila, thinking she might go and hide in the ladies then sneak out. When the doorbell rang and a carer immediately went to answer it, she knew she was trapped.
‘Stay wher
e you are. You’ll get the chance to meet my beloved son. Oh look, here he is.’
Sheila lowered her head and watched him over the rim of her cup. Smeaton, out of the office, had the air of a prosperous businessman. He was wearing a camel coat that looked like it might be cashmere and he held soft leather gloves in one hand. In the other he carried a folded newspaper which he held out as he walked towards her. Sheila felt her stomach lurch. What if he’d recognised her?
He pushed past as if she was invisible. ‘Hello, Mother. I brought you a paper.’ He tossed it down on the coffee table by Ruby’s chair. ‘I know you like to see what’s on television.’ He made no attempt to embrace her, nor did she offer her cheek for a kiss.
Ruby pointed to the selection of newspapers on the table by the door. ‘We get papers in here, you know. We’re not entirely cut off from the world.’
Smeaton glanced around, as if he expected someone to pull up a chair and invite him to sit. He screwed up his face and said, ‘Pooo, how do you stand the smell in here?’
‘What smell?’ said Ruby, ‘You’re a cheeky bugger.’
Smeaton eyed up a stool by the piano and dragged it across. ‘Think this is clean enough to sit on?’
Ruby ignored the question and said, ‘Tommy, this is my new friend.’
Sheila looked over the rim of her cup and gave him a fleeting smile, hoping Ruby wouldn’t remark on her sudden shyness.
‘Pleased to meet you, dear,’ he said. Even with her eyes downcast, Sheila felt him looking at her. Had he sussed her out already?
‘What’s your name?’
‘Violet,’ said Ruby. ‘McNish.’
‘Let the woman speak for herself, Mother.’
Sheila cringed at his tone. It was all too familiar to her but she was surprised to hear him patronising his own mother.
Sheila was terrified to open her mouth in case her voice gave her away. Deciding desperate measures were appropriate, she took a gulp from her cup and pretended to choke, spluttering coffee all over Smeaton’s coat.