The Thing About Clare Page 16

  ‘It’s not right,’ Sebastian said, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘I mean, it’s not fair. How can it be fair? Look at them. They’re so young. How can they go on for the rest of their lives without their mummy?’

  Dorothy felt instinctively that such openness in front of the boys was not a good thing but knew that to suggest that to Sebastian would be futile. He and Tessa were bringing their children up so differently from how she and Frank had done it. The divisions between child and adult were far less marked these days. ‘Pas devant les enfants’ seemed to have no part to play in this world of modern parenting. Still, it couldn’t be good for the boys to see their daddy in such obvious distress.

  ‘Shall I take the boys to watch some television?’ she asked, but Sebastian pulled the boys in closer to him and shook his head. Tears rolled down his face unchecked.

  ‘But why, Mum? That’s what I don’t understand. What purpose can it serve?’

  Dorothy had no answer. She might have blamed it on God’s mysterious ways but she knew better than to do that now. God was of no comfort to her in times like this and He certainly wouldn’t be helpful to Sebastian. Instead she just shook her head.

  ‘I don’t know, son,’ she said, horrified at the shallowness of her words but not knowing what else she could say that might be better. ‘It’s all so wrong. A horrible accident. Nobody’s fault.’

  Sebastian looked up at her then, his eyes red-raw and puffed up to mere slits.

  ‘It was my fault,’ he said. ‘She asked me to take the lights down and I didn’t do it. If I had, then . . .’ Guilt, horror and realisation flooded over him in a tidal wave of pain. He made a deep, guttural sound and buried his face in his hands. Theo set to rubbing his shoulder still harder, his little face fixed, determined to make things better.

  ‘It was nobody’s fault,’ Dorothy repeated sternly. ‘It was an accident and nothing you could do would have made any difference.’

  ‘But if I had just done it then she wouldn’t have had to.’

  ‘You mustn’t blame yourself, Sebastian. You know that once Tessa got an idea in her head there was no stopping her.’

  Sebastian almost smiled. It was true. Dorothy had rarely met a more free-spirited, headstrong woman than her daughter-in-law. If Tessa decided that something needed to be done, then she would move hell and high water to do it.

  ‘But what am I going to do without her?’ His face crumpled again. The realisation of what now lay ahead kept crashing over him in waves. ‘I can’t do it on my own. I just can’t go on. What am I going to do, Mum?’

  Dorothy had no idea what he was going to do but she knew that he had no choice.

  ‘You will go on, son. You will go on for the sake of your boys. You will be there for them every day so that they can live their lives without their moth—’

  Dorothy’s voice cracked but she took a deep breath and swallowed back her tears. She had to be strong here for her boy. She’d be of no use to him if she collapsed into a mess of weeping and wailing.

  ‘Come on, boys,’ she said to break the tension. ‘Shall we go out to the park?’

  ‘Yes!’ squealed Theo excitedly, and then remembered the sombre mood and stopped smiling. ‘Can we, Daddy?’

  Sebastian wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand.

  ‘I think that’s a fantastic idea,’ he said, his voice falsely bright. ‘Are you sure, Mum? Can you manage?’

  ‘Of course I can,’ replied Dorothy. ‘I brought you four up in a park! Right, let’s go get your shoes and coats on, boys.’

  Her grandsons wriggled their way down from the sofa and charged off in the direction of the hallway to retrieve shoes from the enormous messy pile that lay there, Tessa’s amongst them. Should she pick Tessa’s shoes out and put them elsewhere, Dorothy wondered. She dismissed the thought. The house was full of Tessa and her things. She couldn’t remove all of it and she wouldn’t want to. No, Sebastian was going to have to find his own way of coping with all that she’d left behind her.

  Coats and shoes on, Dorothy ushered the boys out of the door.

  ‘We’ll be back in an hour or so,’ she called back. ‘Will you be all right?’

  ‘Yep,’ came Sebastian’s strangled response.

  She took a boy by each hand and set off towards the park. They made slow progress, Dorothy aware of every one of her eighty-four years but determined not to let Sebastian down. Had she been too ambitious? Well, what if she had? She was going to have to dig deep. They could go on the slides and the roundabout and then she’d take them for one of those hideous blue ice drinks that they liked so much. The main thing was that Sebastian got some time to gather himself, deal with the shock that accidental death trailed in its wake.

  The park was busy despite the early hour, filled with exhausted-looking women and small, bouncy offspring. The boys seemed torn between racing away from her and staying close by. They were all at sea, the poor little mites. Dorothy could feel tears threatening again but she had to hold herself together for the boys’ sake.

  ‘Who wants to go on a swing?’ she shouted, and followed as quickly as she could whilst the boys raced pell-mell to climb up. Her breath was short in her chest and her hips screamed out in pain but somehow she got them sitting side by side on the swings. Pushing was easier than walking, at least.

  They would get through this, she thought, together like they always had done. ‘Team Bliss’, that’s what Frank, may he rest in peace, had always called them. And they were a team when the chips were down. The girls would flock around Sebastian now, protecting their baby brother from further harm. The question was whether Sebastian would let them help him. He was proud and had always been determined to come out from under the wings of his sisters. That’s where Tessa had been so magnificent. She had given him things to be proud of in his own right. Oh, this was all wrong. Someone so young and vital as Tessa being taken so soon. Tears welled in Dorothy’s eyes again.

  ‘Push us! Push us!’ came the cries from the boys, waiting not that patiently on the swings.

  Dorothy swallowed back her emotions and obliged.

  II

  ‘I just don’t know what to say to him, Miriam,’ Dorothy said, the tears, held back in front of Sebastian the day before, now trickling down her wrinkled cheeks. ‘He is entirely broken. He thinks it’s all his fault when it was just a horrible accident.’

  Miriam filled the teapot with boiling water and then carried it to the table and placed it down on the cork mat.

  ‘Well . . .’ said Miriam, and Dorothy knew exactly what she was going to say next. She willed her not to. Sebastian felt bad enough as it was without them making it worse. And it wasn’t his fault. How was he to know that Tessa would climb the ladder when she was on her own? Thank the Lord the boys had been out with Sebastian and hadn’t had to find their poor mother lying spread all over the patio like a broken doll. It was a small mercy but even small things seemed important at a time like this.

  ‘And he won’t be separated from those boys,’ Dorothy continued. ‘I managed to get them to the park for an hour but when I offered to have them overnight, he just clung to them and wouldn’t let them go. I’m not sure it’s healthy for the wee boys, Miriam, to see their daddy upset like that.’

  ‘We have to let him find his own way through,’ said Miriam. ‘He’ll ask for help when he’s good and ready.’

  Dorothy wasn’t so sure but she felt relieved that Miriam was there. She wouldn’t let anything happen to Sebastian. She would look after her baby brother just like she had done since she’d been not much more than a child herself.

  Dorothy sank lower into her chair. She was so tired. Every one of her eighty-four years was sitting heavy on her shoulders. Recently she had started to feel that she’d had enough. She hadn’t been sure how she would carry on after Frank had died but she had found resources from deep inside herself and picked herself back up, as much for the children’s sake as for her own. Now, though, she wasn’t sure she had the strength
for any more.

  The day before, the day when she’d heard the terrible news about Tessa, she’d had a funny turn at home, coming over all dizzy for a moment, and she’d had to sit down, her left arm numb until she’d rubbed some life back into it. It was nothing serious, she was sure. Probably just the shock. Balance had been restored quickly enough and by the time she had taken the boys to the park she had felt normal again. Now, though, she could sleep for a week.

  ‘We’ll have to draw up a rota,’ Miriam was saying. ‘You, me and Anna can take it in turns to help out. I’m sure Tessa’s friends will be there too. I’m not sure who they are. Maybe we can work it out at the funeral . . .’

  Miriam chattered on, in full organisational mode, but Dorothy had stopped listening. What would they do, the four of them, when they found out about her secret? It surely wouldn’t be long now before the truth came out. She wasn’t going to live for ever, after all. She had written that letter years ago, certain then that unburdening herself was the best thing to do. Now, though, she wasn’t so sure. What good would it do to unsettle them all, especially when Sebastian had so much to deal with already? This would be a terrible time to land an extra trouble on them all. Maybe it would be better not to let them find out at all? Perhaps she should just get rid of the letter, rewrite her will and take her dreadful secret to the grave?

  ‘What do you think, Mum?’ Miriam asked, cutting across her thoughts.

  ‘Sorry,’ Dorothy replied vaguely.

  ‘About where we should have the wake for Tessa?’

  Did Miriam never stop? Couldn’t they just have this one terrible moment of peace without her having to make plans?

  ‘I suppose that’ll be for Sebastian to decide,’ she said.

  ‘But he’s hopeless,’ Miriam objected. ‘Maybe if I rang round a few places, got an idea of costs. Do you think that would help? It wouldn’t take a minute . . .’

  But Dorothy wasn’t listening.

  ANNA – 2014

  I

  Anna pulled the car on to the gravel driveway of the nursing home and nosed it forward into the last parking space. Someone had parked their car skew-whiff and their front tyres were trespassing. Anna had to park far too close to the wall and then, because there wasn’t enough space to open the door, shuffle across so that she could get out of the passenger’s side.

  It didn’t matter what time of day she came to visit her mum. The car park was always full. She doubted that many, if any, of the residents still owned cars and there never seemed to be enough visitors inside to correlate with the contents of the car park. It must be the staff. Or maybe people parked here, pretending to be visiting, and then wandered down into town like they did at the supermarket. Surely no one would be that cheeky?

  On the lawn in front of the house someone had placed an optimistic scattering of tables and chairs but Anna had never seen anyone using them. There were also some rickety-looking sun-chairs on the patio, their faded cushions split to reveal the sponge padding inside. Anna wondered exactly what her mother’s exorbitant fees were spent on. It certainly wasn’t the soft furnishings.

  A couple of residents were sitting together on the patio in a companionable silence and looking out across the lawn. Mr Argyle raised his trilby to her as she walked past.

  ‘Hello there, young lady,’ he said. ‘Lovely day for it.’

  Anna wasn’t sure exactly what he meant. Today seemed no different from any other day. Was ‘it’ referring to something special or just the daily grind of getting through one’s life?

  ‘Indeed,’ she replied non-committally.

  ‘She’s inside,’ he continued. ‘In the big day room. I’m not sure she wanted to come downstairs today but there’s no arguing with that male nurse. He’s like a force of nature. I once tried to tell him that I like to take my bath in the evening and not the morning. You wouldn’t believe the to-do it caused. Over a little bath. Ridiculous. We may be old but we’re not entirely gaga. Well, some of us are.’ He nodded at his companion, who was swaying her head in time to some music that only she could hear. ‘But I’m old enough and ugly enough to know when I like to take my bath. I said to him, I said, “Look here, Kelvin. I’ve been having my daily bath in the evening since my mother ran the water for me and I’m not about to change now just because it happens to fit in with your schedule. There may be some that’s happy to have their baths in the morning but I’m not one of them. You need to redo your list.”’

  ‘And did he?’ asked Anna, more out of politeness than interest. ‘Redo his list, I mean.’

  ‘No. He jolly well didn’t. But that didn’t make a jot of difference. I just took my bath when I chose, just as I always have. I can see the sense for some of the residents. Old Elsie here, and your dear mother, of course. But those of us who still have the full picnic should be allowed to make our own choices. This is supposed to be a care home, with the emphasis on care.’

  Anna didn’t like it when the residents moaned about life at the home. They had left the selection of their mother’s new home pretty much up to Miriam. A quick decision had been required. Oak’s Reach had had an available room and the manager had answered Miriam’s questions satisfactorily.

  ‘Are we sure about this?’ Sebastian had asked. ‘I mean, I know she needs a lot of attention but a nursing home? Is that what we want? Is that what she would have wanted?’

  ‘Are you volunteering?’ Clare had asked.

  Sebastian had looked at his feet.

  ‘Well, I’m not sure I can take Mum on. Not right now. Not with everything.’ He had looked broken for a moment and Anna had been angry with Clare for being so heartless, but there had been little point picking her up on it. ‘You have a spare room, Miriam,’ Sebastian had suggested when he’d recovered himself.

  ‘Yes, and I’m at school all day. Or are you suggesting that I give up teaching so that I can nurse our mother?’

  ‘No, no. Of course not. I just want to make certain that we’ve thought through all the options before we commit.’

  ‘He’s right, Miriam,’ Clare had said. ‘It’s not just the place. There are the fees to think of. All Mum’s savings are going to get eaten up by this.’

  ‘Well, there’s not much to speak of.’

  ‘No, but after all that bloody scrimping and saving for years it seems such a waste to pass it direct to a home when she’s got all of us who could do the job much cheaper.’

  ‘Well, I don’t see you volunteering either, and anyway, why shouldn’t she spend her money on somewhere appropriate to live?’ Anna had said. ‘It’s not like she has much else to spend it on.’

  ‘No, but . . .’ Clare had paused, eying them from behind her curtain of dirty-looking hair. ‘Well, I was kind of hoping that some of it would come to us but we’ll never get our hands on it if it all gets blown on care fees.’

  ‘She hasn’t died, Clare,’ Miriam had snapped. ‘You can’t go divvying up her stuff whilst she’s still with us.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that. It’s just that surely it would be better if what she has comes to us rather than lining the pockets of some care home owner.’

  ‘That’ll be the care home that’s providing the care that you don’t want to provide, will it?’

  Clare annoyed Anna when she got like this. Yes, she needed more money – which of them didn’t – but did she always have to make it feel so grasping, so grubby?

  ‘For God’s sake, Anna. Don’t be so bloody holier-than-thou all the time. I was just making sure that we’d thought through all the possible avenues before we sign on the dotted line, and you have to paint me as some ungrateful, money-grabbing bitch—’

  ‘This is getting us nowhere,’ Miriam had said. ‘Mum needs care. She needs it now. Oak’s Reach seems nice. It’s got all the necessary facilities and it has a room spare. I know it’s not ideal and none of us would have it as our first choice but I really don’t see that we have any alternatives. So, do we sign the papers or what?’

  And so they
had signed the papers and Dorothy had been moved from the hospital by ambulance with the battered handbag and clothes she’d been standing up in when she’d had the stroke. And it had been okay. It really had, but when the likes of Mr Argyle complained, Anna was forced to check their decision in her mind.

  But what was the issue here? Mr Argyle was old. Old people complained and the source of the complaint was the timing of a bath. It was hardly abuse, was it?

  ‘Well, it sounds like you got it sorted out in the end,’ said Anna with a friendly wave as she started to move slowly towards the front door. ‘Anyway, I’d better go in and see how she is. Enjoy your . . . your afternoon,’ she added.

  ‘My son was a pilot in the war, you know,’ said the swaying lady.

  ‘No, Elsie. That was your father. Your son works in a bank,’ said Mr Argyle and he raised his eyebrows at Anna. She smiled and let herself in through the heavy wooden door.

  Inside there was a smell of disinfectant. It wasn’t unpleasant as such; they did well to hide the stench of decay here, but there was always an artificial scent hanging heavy in the air. If it wasn’t Dettol then it was some synthetic lemon air sweetener. Anna longed to throw open the windows and let the fresh air in but that would drop the ambient temperature below what was optimal for the old and infirm, so instead she breathed through her mouth and tried not to think about it.

  Kelvin was bustling through the hallway with a pile of cardboard bedpans in his arms. He nodded at her as he passed but didn’t speak. She didn’t mind. The staff were quick enough to tell her if there was a problem with her mother and she didn’t feel the need to make small talk otherwise. Behind him was Adele, the day manager. She was a whole different kettle of fish.