by Tony Spencer
been living with his partner and lover, Jonathan, for about twenty years, since some time before they were both beaten up by homophobes who raided and attacked many of the occupants of a gay bar in the capital city. Da knew all about the relationship, the couple had stayed with him during their recovery and the subsequent court case and had helped financially to set them up in business together. Families, I am such a loosely-fitting member of mine that nobody tells me anything.
I didn't want to leave Da's body all alone in the dark, so I sat back in the chair and pulled my coat up to my throat and dozed the remaining few hours in that uncomfortable chair until dawn and the usual noisy daily bustle and business began. One of the day shift nurses came through, sympathised with me for my loss and said she would sort out my father's effects and have them ready at the nurses' station in fifteen to twenty minutes. It only occurred to me then that I needed Da's keys if I was going to check out of the hotel and move back into my old home.
It was with surprisingly mixed feelings that I left that side ward, which had become my little world for the last three days, to walk down to the little café for a much-needed coffee before collecting Da's effects and walk down to the hotel. I would check out and move into Da's house and start sorting out what to keep and what to clear. I wanted to be kept busy until Ma, Bobby and probably Jonathan showed up for the funeral. I realised that I would have to regard Jonathan in a different light, his relationship with my son had outlived both Da’s and my marriages combined!
I wasn't sure if Da still had a car at home, if he had, I would need to sort out the insurance and change of ownership, unless of course it was owned by the garage. That was another job to do, let the garage staff know about Da. I hadn't seen anyone visit from the business, so I assumed they weren't even aware he was so ill.
As I approached the nurses' station I noticed that the day staff had completely taken over from the night nurses, who had departed to the comfort of their homes while I had dozed on in the chair. There was another nurse there I hadn't seen before, an older one, in her late-thirties, early-forties I guessed. All the nurses I had seen so far all appeared to have been in their twenties. She had her coat over her arm, the straps of her bag over her shoulder and a carrier bag in one hand, so she looked like she was either just coming or going. The other two nurses were embracing her in turn and looking tearful.
I was going to speak to them about my father and to pass on my thanks but didn't want to interrupt them, it could wait until I came back after my coffee. As I passed by though, they hadn't really noticed me as they were so engrossed in their own conversation and by and large I was trying to ignore them too, until I heard one young nurse beg the older one to "Go home, Maureen" in a slightly more forceful tone than the rest of the conversation. That pricked up my ears.
I turned back to face them over the counter and cleared my throat. The nurses turned as one to attend to me in their usual professional manner.
"Sorry to hear about your loss, Mr Bird," said one of the young nurses, sympathetically, before I could speak, "Your father was a real gentleman. We are going to miss him around here."
"Thank you, thank you for comforting him through these last few weeks and days, I know he appreciated you all as I do very much."
All three clucked like mother hens, their mutual sadness pushed to the background as they switched their caring towards me in my own moment of grief.
"I wanted to have a private word with you, sister, Maureen, if that is alright?" I said to the older nurse.
"Er, yes of course," she said, looking at the other two, "It looks like I am not needed here today, anyway."
"In that case, would you care to join me for a coffee?"
"I think I could really do with a cup of tea, Mr Bird, she agreed, smiling at me for the first time. Another nurse with a charming Irish accent, I thought, much more pronounced than Mary's hinted undertones.
"Call me Roger, please," I said, "My father was Mr Bird."
"Not while he was here, Roger, he was just Frank, a wonderful old gentleman, we all loved him, that's why we kept him here with us until the very end," she lowered her voice as we walked through the door exiting her section, "Some of the other wards are less, well, just less prepared to look after their own."
"That's one of the reasons I wanted to speak to you," I said.
She looked up sharply.
"No criticism," I assured her, "I only have praise for your wonderful staff. And I also need to thank you for allowing me day and night access at such short notice, being able to spend so much time together at this time has meant everything both to me and my father."
Maureen smiled again. I thought she looked a very handsome woman, now with a smile on her face. She had one of those faces that had a natural propensity to be cheerful, with large clear blue eyes, a fresh face with rosy cheeks and subtle freckles. She was quite short about five-two or -three, to my five-eleven, and quite petite in build. Her thick hair was fair, with subtle hints of grey in it and kept quite short and neat. She was a very natural and beautiful rose. I lost track of my thoughts somewhat and I think I repeated myself nervously.
"I just wanted to thank you for the visitors pass and let you know what I think of your marvellous nurses," I gushed as we descended the two floors to the reception area.
I wasn't used to speaking to pretty nurses that weren't young enough to be my granddaughters. I couldn't fail to notice that Maureen wore a set of wedding and engagement rings, so she was clearly spoken for, not that I had any intentions in that direction, despite my loneliness, I certainly didn't wish to complicate my life at this transitional point. Right now I was a stranger in a strange land, if I was going to stay here and work at my father's business, I would have a considerable amount of adjusting to do long before I could even think about introducing anything new that might improve my future happiness.
Just as we stepped out of the lift I checked with Maureen what type of tea she preferred, a breakfast tea she replied and pointed out the far corner of the restaurant where she would be sitting. I grabbed a tray and got in line, there being quite a queue shuffling along for their early morning refreshments. I glanced over in her direction while waiting and one of the women doctors who I had seen on the morning rounds a day or so earlier was cuddling Maureen in the centre of the café. They sure were really friendly in this hospital.
I took the tray of drinks to the table in the corner. It was right next to a small garden outside. I was amazed that it was sunny out and ... actually warm in the bright sunshine streaming through the window, Spring was here at last. I might finally start to feel warm and comfortable again in what was once upon a time my native environment.
Maureen was holding and reading a nameplate in her hand as I approached the table. She looked up and smiled when I sat down and she popped the nameplate into her carrier bag resting in her lap and put it on the floor before she helped empty the tray contents onto our table.
"It is very nice over this side of the restaurant, overlooking the garden, I hadn't ventured this far over before," I commented as I sat down, "I hope you don't mind me asking, but I was wondering why everyone keeps coming up and comforting you."
"My daughter Rosemary died just three nights ago," she replied slowly. "It was a shock for everyone and I am still coming to terms with it."
She looked up from her cup to look me in the eye, her eyes were watery. I held her hands across the table with both mine.
"I'm sorry, I knew that something really terrible must've happened. Would you rather I leave or would you like to talk about her?"
"I'm supposed to be comforting you in your loss, you know, not the other way around," she smiled wanly, a tear escaped and ran down her cheek. I released a hand and took a tissue out of my pocket and handed it to her.
"It is a lot easier for me," I said, "My father was 87 and had a full and successful life, also I've had some time to prepare for this eventuality. No parent can be prepared for losing a child, it sounded like a sudden los
s?"
"You're right, you can't be prepared, you just can't. It was so sudden, an accident."
"Will it help you to talk about her?" I asked, "About Rosemary?"
"She was all I had, Roger, she was everything to me. Rosemary was still single and had lived with me all of her young life. She was so full of life, too. Do you have a family? Sorry, I am prying, but Frank mentioned he had a grandson."
I nodded. "I understand. I don't have a normal joined-up family, to be honest. My son lives in Canada, we exchange the odd email from time to time; my ex-wife lives in New York and I only contact her through lawyers." We both smiled at that. "My mother lives in Australia, and that is about that. She's coming back in the next few days for the funeral, as is my son and his … partner."
"We lost Rosemary's father to cancer ten years ago, so there's just me on my own now. He was a policeman, a Scot originally but worked around this area for over twenty years. He never could stop smoking, although he tried time and time again. Rosemary used to get on his back too, and she took it very badly when he died. She was such a great kid and I am going to miss her so much."
I reached across and squeezed her hand again, she thanked me with a mouthed "thank you". We sat in comfortable silence for a while, sipping our tea or coffee with our free hands.
"Maureen, you remember I mentioned earlier that I thought your staff were absolutely brilliant with my father?"
"Even the night staff?" she smiled.
"Especially the night staff, although of course I have no complaints about the day shift either, in your absence they were a great help and comfort. Last night, though, one of the nurses dedicated herself to stay with my father for more than half the night as he gently slipped away. She was perfectly wonderful and I wanted to make sure she didn't get into trouble over spending most of the night with us."
"No, of course she won’t, I am sure she’d have been especially freed up by her team partners to help you both through the ordeal. Was it Petra, by any chance?"
"No, it was Mary. She was absolutely marvellous. She went way beyond the call, not just last night but the previous two nights, too. I missed seeing her to thank her again before she left this morning. Could you please pass on my sincerest thanks?"
"Oh!" Maureen's eyebrows had shot up early in my statement, as if surprised, Mary was very young and perhaps not considered as comfortably assured and experienced as she appeared to me to be, "Well, I am very pleased that she came through for you."
"She was simply wonderful and we were both very grateful for her gracious, caring presence."
"I'll make sure she hears from me personally how grateful you are. I might come back tonight and do that. It will give me something to do."
We lapsed into silence again while we finished our drinks, then we released our hands somewhat self-consciously, rose together and made our way back towards Reception.
"What are you going to do now, Roger?"
"I have to collect my father's effects from one of the nurses upstairs who undertook to put it together for me. For one thing I need his door key to get into the house. Then I have to find an undertaker. I suppose I am going to have to organise a car to get about, as well," I smiled.
"Do you need a lift?" Maureen asked, "I'm at a loose end at the moment and I would like to help. In fact I need to keep myself as busy as I can and I don't want to be at home alone either. If you don't mind, of course."
"Yes, I would like that very much," I said, "I need to find an undertaker, too, have you arranged anything for Rosemary yet?"
"Yes, there is a good one in Smiths Street, who have already got Rosemary in their care. I'll come upstairs to the ward with you and we can arrange for your father to be collected by them, if you wish."
We collected a plastic carrier bag of my father's belongings, which included his keys. Maureen arranged everything with the undertakers, which I was grateful for.
Maureen drove me in her little car to the hotel, where she helped me to pack, it didn't take me long. Then we drove to Da's house via a small supermarket where we picked up sufficient groceries to tie us over at least for lunch and tea. Maureen suggested some cleaning fluids and disinfectant were probably required and a roll of bin bags. It was so long since I had driven around my home town that I would have found it difficult to find my old house without Maureen leading the way.
She knew her way round the town very well, having lived there the whole time since she moved from Southern Ireland twenty years ago. She qualified as a nurse after a probationary year in Dublin, she told me, filling the car with welcoming cheerful chatter as she drove.
Da's house had been closed up for about a month, ever since Da was admitted to hospital with his stroke. He had been in hospital for several days before his grave prognosis led to Ma's call, she was still down as next of kin as I was usually much more difficult to get hold of.
I opened the fridge door and nearly gagged. Maureen matter-of-factly pushed me out of the way and said she would deal with that and suggested I go up to Frank's bedroom and look out a suit that the undertakers said they needed.
The bedroom curtains were pulled shut, so I opened them up and released the catch on a window to let some air in.
I hadn't been in that bedroom for nigh on 40 years. I didn't really know what I expected to find in there but I can guarantee that the very last object I would have anticipated was sitting there on his bedside table, a framed photograph of a handsome fresh-faced young woman with a little girl aged maybe two or three at the most.
There was only one person that young woman could possibly be, a much younger-looking Maureen Curran. And the little girl with her must've been her recently-deceased daughter Rosemary.
I sat on the bed for a few minutes, my mind in absolute turmoil. My Da must've been in love with Maureen. Why else would he have her photograph prominently displayed by his bedside. If she knew it was there why would Maureen not say anything to me before sending me up to the bedroom? What was she trying to hide? Surely if she was aware that the photo of both herself and her daughter was there she would have said something earlier. This raised another question. Was Rosemary my half-sister? I had always considered myself an only son of my father, despite the fact that my mother had three boys with Cliff, giving me three half-brothers. Other than a few brief holidays I hadn’t spent much time with Ma’s other boys and I hadn't really considered them family in the same way. Now did I have a half-sister as well? A half-sister that I had never actually met and now never would.
I roused myself and pulled the sheets and pillowcases off the bed. I found fresh linen in the airing cupboard on the landing opposite the bedroom and remade the bed, using hospital corners I noted with some amusement. Then I looked through his wardrobe and found a smart but sombre-looking suit and took that downstairs and laid it across the back of one of the dining room chairs, wondering how to go about asking Maureen about her photograph while at the same time avoiding upsetting her.
Maureen had the washing machine going in the utility room next to the kitchen, dealing with whatever clothes she had found in a linen basket, which looked as though it was the same one that had resided in the downstairs cloakroom for as long as I could remember. She looked up from mopping the kitchen floor and smiled when I came through with the old sheets and pillowcases.
"Just leave them in the whites pile on the floor through there, I'll put them in with the next wash batch. You ready for lunch, yet, Roger?" she asked, clearly happily occupied.
"I think so," not sure if I had an appetite or not, "Anything you want me to do?"
"You could lay the dining room table, or we could eat outside if you want, it is really nice and warm out at long last."
The weather was certainly vastly different to the first couple of days I was back home. I could scarcely believe that only yesterday it had been trying to snow. I had noticed earlier when I opened Da's bedroom window that he had installed a deck with a table and chairs under a folded and waterproof sleeve-cover
ed sun umbrella.
"Outside, I think," I grinned, "This weather may only last a day or two before we get back to normal English spring weather, with showers and hailstorms."
I opened up the French doors from the dining room through a nice conservatory, another addition since I had left home, and through to the deck. The conservatory was very hot all shut up, so I left the doors open. I made myself a mental note to open windows to the sitting room and all the bedrooms immediately after we had lunched to let the fresh air blow through them.
I checked out the table and chairs, they just needed a quick wipe over, although one chair had some heavy birds' dropping deposits on it that would need extra attention, so I put that particular chair over to one side out of the way. I collected one of the spray bottles of cleaning fluid from the kitchen plus a couple of cloths and quickly wiped and dried everything else down before fetching crockery, cutlery and napkins to set the table. When I got back to the kitchen I poured us both glasses of cold wine and iced water, which we had included in our groceries and were chilling in the now-cleaned refrigerator, then I took out the green salad and pickles.
Maureen brought out our plates of baked potatoes with grated cheese, slices of ham and baked beans. We enjoyed our simple lunch, soaking up the pleasant warmth of the midday sun.
I wanted to bring up the subject of the photo I had seen in Da's bedroom but I didn't want to spoil the mood at that point. It had been a long time since I had found myself sitting down with a handsome respectable and unattached woman for a very pleasant meal, despite the circumstances we had both suffered leading to our meeting together. Where there are highly-paid oilmen with lots of ready cash and a long ways from home, there were lots of disreputable women, women I had always steered well clear of. I was interested in Maureen, though, she was attractive and pleasant company. I just wasn't quite sure how respectable Maureen was, bearing in mind the photograph and its location. Secrets have a way of poisoning relationships and there were clearly secrets here that needed addressing.
I had so many questions in my head: clearly she was or had been my father's lover. The timing of that relationship was the issue here. Was this in the last ten years since her husband died? Or was Maureen seeing Da while she was still married? Why was Rosemary in the picture, too? The photo wasn't recent, judging by Maureen's appearance as a younger woman, how old had Rosemary been when she died? Less than twenty, as she mentioned being in England for twenty years and at least a little bit older than the ten years since Maureen's husband died?
We finished our meal and, before we cleared the things away, I
