Patience

by Victoria Scott

  It had taken them several years of hard graft, but they’d eventually saved up the deposit for their first house. Pete had wanted to stay in Birmingham. He’d had a great job there, with a chance of becoming a partner in his uncle’s firm, when the time was right, but Louise had been insistent: she had wanted to move back down south to be near her parents. She wanted a family and she didn’t want to do it in Birmingham, she’d said.

  Pete had known what that really meant – I don’t belong here. I’ve played at being poor and working class for a while, but the fact remains that I am not from here, and this is not who I am. And so, he’d moved south with her and it was his turn to feel out of place. They’d bought a crappy house they couldn’t really afford, and he’d spent the next thirty years trying to make it into the home she’d always wanted. Except, of course, that it could never be that; it was a small suburban semi-detached in Kidlington, not a Cotswold cottage. He was an unwilling participant in an unattainable dream.

  He took one more drag on the cigarette, before stubbing it out on the garage wall then disposing of it in the rubbish bin, hiding it under the bag he’d just put there.

  ‘Pete, are you out here?’

  Louise walked towards him, clasping her arms around her chest in response to the cold.

  ‘Look, I wanted to say: let’s not continue arguing, in front of the kids. It’s Christmas Day. Let’s just call a truce for today. It’s not fair on them, is it?’

  Pete looked up, trying to analyse what her mood was. He saw the defiance in her eyes and decided not to reply.

  ‘And I needed to tell you – ask you – about Eliza,’ Louise continued. ‘I’m told that we need to appoint what they call a “consultee” for Patience, someone who is allowed to consent on her behalf for the trial. It can’t be me, because I’m involved with the project, and it can’t be you, because you don’t want it to happen. So…’

  Pete glared, his silence speaking for him.

  ‘That’s all I wanted to say.’ She turned and walked away. ‘And by the way, you stink of fags,’ she said, as she pulled the back door closed behind her.

  *

  Three hours on, the house looked as if Christmas elves had swept through it, leaving magic in their wake. The fire was lit; the air smelled of roasting turkey and spices; piles of presents were stacked against the furniture in the lounge. Five piles. One for him, one for Louise, one for Eliza, one for Patience and one, ludicrously, he thought, for the dog. There were also a couple of gifts for Patience’s carer. They weren’t sure who was coming, due to staff sickness, so there were chocolates and a bottle of wine for whoever they managed to send.

  Pete had wrapped Louise’s presents in a rush last night, using the odds and ends of the paper she’d bought to wrap presents for others. Looking at them now, they looked like an afterthought, which they absolutely weren’t. He’d taken a special trip to the nearest mall in Qatar before he left and had chosen what he hoped were thoughtful, beautiful gifts. He just hadn’t found anywhere selling anything remotely resembling Christmas wrapping paper so he’d waited until Christmas Eve to do it.

  They had spent the day so far dancing around each other, taking care never to touch or to step over the fine line between cordial and friendly. She seemed in a happier mood, sipping on Prosecco and Buck’s Fizz as she chopped, stirred and assembled. She had outdone herself with the catering, clearly having spent months researching recipes, sourcing ingredients and planning menus. It looked incredible, as it always did, but in truth, Pete would have been just as happy with a roast chicken, packet stuffing and ready-made Yorkshire puddings. Particularly if they could have a laugh while preparing it.

  At midday, right on cue, the doorbell chimed once again. Louise went to get it this time and Pete heard her greeting Patience with an enthusiasm that contrasted so starkly with her current attitude towards him that it stung. He put down his current task – putting the pudding in a bain-marie to steam – and went to see his youngest daughter.

  It took him a second to register what was wrong with the picture. Instead of Magda or Beth, there was a man standing beside Patience, a good-looking man, a man he didn’t know.

  ‘Hi, Mr Willow,’ the unknown man said, moving past Louise and towards Pete, thrusting his hand forward. ‘I’m Jimmy. Sorry for the surprise, I know you weren’t expecting me but there’s a bug going around and Magda’s got it, so I got called in to cover.’

  Pete had almost forgotten what day it was, until he looked down at Patience. She had a healthy colour in her cheeks, almost a glow, and she was smiling. He gave her a kiss and a squeeze, and instantly felt more festive.

  ‘Call me Pete,’ he found himself saying. ‘And Merry Christmas. Now, let’s all stop standing around in the hall. Come on through to the lounge. I hope you have time to stay for a drink before you have to drive back?’

  All four of them assembled in their front room, the able-bodied sitting down adjacent to their particular mountain of presents. Patience’s chair was parked in her usual space beside Louise, who had distributed glasses and then opened a new bottle of Prosecco, pouring generous measures into each glass. She was being a jolly, generous host.

  Pete sat down in his designated spot at the far end of the sofa and admired the Christmas tree, which he presumed Louise had picked out, carried from the car and erected entirely by herself. It was at least six feet tall and incredibly bushy – how she must have battled with it. It was decorated with mismatched, sentimental ornaments which he could remember hanging with Eliza’s help, back when her fingers were pudgy and her gait a waddle.

  He looked over at the unusual young man who’d appeared at his door. There weren’t many male carers around, in his experience, and that’s what made him unusual. The business of caring wasn’t something that seemed to attract many men. He was a young bloke, but not young enough to be caring during his gap year, or just trying it out as a first job – Pete reckoned he must be in his late twenties at least. Interesting.

  Pete noticed then that Louise was refilling not only Jimmy’s glass, but also her own, and with regularity. She was drinking much more than usual, he thought. The colour had risen in her cheeks, and was she flirting with Jimmy? She was laughing uproariously at a story he’d just told about Maggie at the care home, and it really hadn’t been all that funny.

  It was then that Eliza appeared at the door. She was still drowsy from sleep, her hair sticking out by her ears, and she was wearing some pyjamas he hadn’t seen for at least fifteen years. They had a faded Mickey Mouse on the front and they were pink. They were also far too small – the top was clinging to her chest and finished a couple of inches before the trousers, which ended at mid-calf, began.

  ‘Happy Christmas, everyone,’ she said, in a tone far more chirpy than she obviously felt. ‘I heard talking, so I thought I’d come down.’ Pete watched as her gaze settled on Patience, then on her mum, and then finally, on Jimmy.

  ‘Oh, hi!’ she said, with surprise. ‘I’m sorry, I thought it was just us down here. If I’d known I’d have got – got dressed.’

  Jimmy seemed mortified and clearly didn’t know where to look.

  ‘Oh, I don’t want to make anyone feel uncomfortable,’ he said. ‘I’ll head off.’ He made to leave.

  ‘No, don’t be sillllly, Jimmy,’ replied Louise, her speech now starting to slur a little. ‘Everyone is absolutely welcome. Absolutely. Now, Eliza, darling, you pop upstairs and get changed into something nice and we’ll eat when you’re done. You’ll stay for food, won’t you, Jimmy?’ Eliza didn’t need to be asked twice; she disappeared back up the stairs at a run.

  ‘I’m sure he’s got a home of his own to go to, Lou,’ said Pete.

  Everyone looked at Jimmy. Pete could see that he’d been put in an impossible quandary and that he was going to come out badly from this either way.

  ‘I don’t have other plans, but honestly, it’s fine. I can eat back at the bungalow with the other staff. I really don’t want to gatecrash your Chr
istmas Day.’

  ‘That’s it, then! You’re staying. How wonderful! Patience has brought a young man home. That’s a first.’ Louise, who seemed to find this hilarious, made her way into the kitchen with speed, her laughter receding as she did so. Pete turned to look at Jimmy.

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ he said quietly, genuinely feeling it. ‘I think she’s had a little too much to drink this morning. If you’d rather spend your day elsewhere, please do so. I’ll explain to her afterwards.’

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ replied Jimmy, moving so that he could sit next to Patience. He looked right at her. ‘I really like P, she’s fun. Why not spend Christmas with one of our nicest clients?’

  Pete noticed a flicker in Patience’s eyes. It wasn’t fear, it wasn’t pain, and it wasn’t a need to pee – but what was it? He realised he didn’t understand this new look of hers, and it made him curious.

  *

  An hour later, they all sat down to lunch. Eliza had reappeared some considerable time after she’d disappeared, wearing the clothes she’d arrived in this morning. It occurred to Pete that he hadn’t seen any sign of a bag when she arrived. Had she come without any stuff, he wondered? Why? She hadn’t said much and had declined the Prosecco, opting instead for coffee. And she still didn’t look very well; it was pretty obvious that she’d dragged herself out of her sickbed to come to lunch to please her mother, and he was sorry she’d felt she had to do it.

  ‘Oh Eliza, I’m so pleased you were able to come in the end,’ cooed Louise, serving up vegetables, smiling broadly at her daughter. ‘It wouldn’t be Christmas without you.’

  ‘That’s OK, Mum. I’m glad to be here, too.’ Instead of looking at her mother, Eliza was looking fixedly at the floral decoration that adorned the centre of the table, an eclectic mix of Christmas roses, variegated ivy and tiny gold reindeer.

  ‘I’m glad you came actually, for many reasons,’ Louise continued, as she passed round plates. ‘We – I – wanted to ask you a favour. I am entering Patience for—’

  ‘Don’t you think we should do this later, Lou?’ Pete looked at her with both eyebrows raised. ‘When she’s feeling better?’

  ‘Gravy, Jimmy?’ Louise leaned over the table to dispense gravy from a jug, wobbling slightly as she did so. Then she turned to face Eliza.

  ‘Now, darling, as I was saying – Patience has been entered into this amazing gene therapy trial. You know about gene therapy, don’t you? It’s the future of medicine. It’s eventually going to cure lots of horrible diseases. Rett syndrome included.’

  ‘Now Lou, that’s not quite—’

  ‘But your father disagrees with me.’ Louise put the gravy boat down, unfolded her napkin and placed it in her lap. ‘So, because of that, the people who are running the trial need someone called a “Consultee” to be appointed, someone who can speak up for Patience, because she can’t speak up for herself. Someone to talk sense and give permission for her to take part. And it can’t be either of us, of course, because of the disagreement. But you’ll do it, won’t you?’

  Pete observed Eliza’s reaction. She hadn’t started to eat yet, but was instead running her hands over her napkin repeatedly, smoothing it down over her knees.

  ‘Hang on, Mum,’ she said, eventually. ‘I need to think about this. And are you sure that I’m the right choice? Shouldn’t it be someone professional? A doctor or someone?’

  ‘Oh, it can’t be them. The GP will be on the Best Interests panel already, anyway. It needs to be someone Patience is close to. Someone who cares about her. And the obvious person is you.’

  ‘But what do I need to do?’

  ‘Give the hospital permission for it to go ahead, basically,’ Louise replied, staring directly at her daughter, apparently determined not to catch Pete’s eye. ‘And go to the Best Interests meeting with us. That’s where we’ll have the final vote.’

  ‘Mum, I’m not sure it’s a great idea for me to be—’

  ‘Nonsense. You are the perfect choice. Look, I’ve got the contact details for the person you need to email. I’ll give them to you after lunch. You can have a nice chat with them about it and then all you need to do is sign. Anyone for bread sauce?’

  Louise turned to face Jimmy, who was sitting next to her, proffering a jug of sauce. He had said very little so far, opting instead for short, polite responses.

  ‘So, do you have much family?’ she asked.

  ‘No, and they’re all in Cornwall. So too far away to go to spend the day.’

  ‘And no close friends here?’

  ‘No, I moved here recently. I haven’t had much time to make friends yet.’

  ‘No girlfriend?’

  ‘Not at the moment, no.’

  ‘Are you gay?’

  ‘Lou! I really think you should leave Jimmy alone.’ Pete could no longer let it go.

  ‘Jimmy is fine, Pete. And I didn’t ask your opinion. Lots of male carers are gay. I was only asking.’ An ugly pause descended upon the table.

  ‘I just think Jimmy’s looking a bit uncomfortable, Lou. I thought it was time to give it a rest.’

  ‘I don’t know why you’re behaving like you’re in charge here.’ Louise refilled her glass, slopping some wine on the tablecloth. ‘You just swanned in a couple of days ago, like you always do, and you’ll piss off again in a few more days to that job of yours, leaving me with it all to deal with. You’re not even a guest. You’re a visitor.’

  ‘Do you know what, Patience, I think I fancy watching the Queen,’ said Jimmy. He stood up, walked over to Patience’s chair, undid its brakes and began to wheel her out. ‘You coming, Eliza?’ Eliza looked grateful for the out and took it, following after him. Pete glared at Louise across the table.

  ‘Brilliant, Lou, just brilliant. Best Christmas Day ever. You get pissed, insult Patience’s carer and make the whole family feel uncomfortable.’

  ‘Uncomfortable? Oh, boo hoo for you. After all of the hard work I’ve put into making this happen? The endless hours cleaning this shitty house, shopping for food, working out how to save pennies, always saving those bloody pennies. Why are we nearly at retirement with no money to speak of, Pete? After all the years of you working away all the time, leaving me at home to look after our daughter, where has it gone? Why are we so fucking poor? Are you spending it on whores?’

  Pete remembered how understanding Lou had been when he’d accepted his first overseas contract, how supportive she’d been of him.

  ‘Shhhh, Lou, they’ll be able to hear you in the lounge.’

  The old Lou would have shut up at this point. In fact, she’d never have started this argument in the first place. But this was a new Lou that he didn’t recognise, and she was on fire.

  ‘I don’t bloody care. Frankly, I’ve had enough of pretending. It’s all about money for you, isn’t it? It’s not about family. And you’re not stuck here in this prison of a home, I am. All that crap about hating being away. I bet you love it. Doing your bloody job, keeping people safe, people being grateful. Meanwhile I’ve been stuck at home for decades, my skills and ambitions festering and ignored. I bet you enjoy telling your friends how awful, dull and old your wife is. How she’s let herself go.’ She looked like she was about to vomit. Pete stood up.

  ‘I’m going to go now, Lou. I’m going to get a cab to Tom’s, and tomorrow morning, I’m going to go to stay with Steve. I’ll ask Jimmy to take Patience back to Morton Lodge for the night. I think they have room.’ He looked down at her. ‘And when you’ve sobered up, I think we should talk.’

  16

  Patience

  December 27

  It’s pitch black in here, which is odd. It isn’t usually ever completely dark, because I have a dim bedside light which Mum leaves on for me all night. She’s done it ever since Eliza and I were small and afraid of the dark. Unlike Eliza, I was never able to tell her that I preferred it off, that I actually find it easier to sleep in darkness. So it’s remained on for the duration.

  I’ve g
ot used to it now, anyway. It’s comforting, sometimes, especially if I wake up unexpectedly and I’m in pain. My right hip plays up a lot still, despite the hip surgery I had a few years ago, and my muscles get cramp sometimes, sending searing pain up my legs that I am unable to do anything about.

  When I’m in the care home, there’s always someone awake all night, checking on me, and I like that. It makes me feel safe. In fact, I enjoy my time there, in general. I suppose that might come as a surprise to many, but seriously, there’s so much going on, and I love that. There are so many personal dramas to overhear from a touring cast of carers and fellow inmates – sorry, clients – and frankly the relief that I feel, not seeing Mum’s exhaustion and stress up close and personal every single day, is extraordinary. She works so hard and I don’t want to seem ungrateful – but some days, I just long to live somewhere else, away from the drama, of which I am, as we’ve already discussed, the cause.

  When I’m at home and in pain at night, I cry out, because it’s the only option I have. I know Mum is tired and needs her sleep, but I need her. She has pain-killing suppositories she gives me, which are unpleasant, but a necessity. I wish the doctor would give me something stronger than paracetamol, but I suppose they have no idea how bad it feels.

  I feel a little odd tonight. Nauseous. That’s why I’ve woken up, I reckon. I don’t usually wake, unless I’m uncomfortable, and I think I’ve only been in bed a couple of hours, so it’s not that. It might be nothing, it might just be that the unsettling atmosphere in this house is rubbing off on me. Things have gone wrong, very wrong, in the past week.

  After the Christmas Lunch Incident, Dad left and he hasn’t come back. Apparently, he’s staying at his brother’s house in Birmingham. Jimmy took me back to Morton Lodge soon after Dad left. They were surprised to see me there, I think, but they were fairly empty, it being Christmas Day and all, so I had my old room back for the night.