‘He’s always been a good lad, our Ian. Nothing’s too much trouble for him.’
Bren was good. Every sentence was carefully chosen to seem innocuous to an outsider yet Caroline felt the sting behind her words as sharply as if Bren had slapped her. Yet she was an adult with every right to behave exactly how she wanted to. It was her father’s house and she had more right to be there than this bitter woman whose smile never reached her eyes.
Caroline took a deep breath and gathered her thoughts. ‘Bren, I know you don’t like me and the feeling is mutual but, as you said yourself you’re not Dennis’s next of kin so you have no say in what happens to him. You have no right to sit there in judgement, no right to dictate my behaviour or to try to manipulate me into feeling guilty. The truth is, Brenda, I don’t. And I don’t want to be here any more than Dennis wants me here. I don’t want to deal with this at all, but I have to. So, until Dennis tells me that he wants you here, until he tells me that I have to put up with your unpleasant comments and snooty looks, I’d really appreciate it if you’d just go away, and stay away.’
‘You little cow,’ Bren spluttered. ‘How dare you…’
‘How dare I what? Tell you how I feel? Stand up for myself?’
‘After everything I’ve done for your dad.’
‘And I’m sure he appreciates it – but I don’t give a toss. So, while I have more right to be here than you do and until I’m told different, leave me alone. If Dennis wants to see you when he gets home then I’ll respect his wishes.’
Bren crossed the room, looming over Caroline in a pathetic attempt to intimidate, which fell flat as soon as Caroline stood up.
‘I won’t show you out. I’m sure you can find the door by yourself.’
Bren confirmed this with a resounding slam echoed by the gate a few seconds later.
Caroline slumped back onto the sofa and sighed. This would be all round the estate in a few hours. She imagined a television screen split into quarters with a neighbour in each section; each one holding a telephone receiver to their ear and wearing identical shocked expressions.
‘Oh, fuck it,’ she whispered. She went back into the kitchen, grabbed her keys from the table and locked the door behind her. She needed to get away, to just drive around until it was time to go to the hospital.
She was early. Even after searching for a parking space for what felt like hours it was still only three thirty. She’d driven round back roads, through estates of rundown council houses, past abandoned factories and weed-covered slag heaps, remnants of an industrial history that had left behind scars on the landscape and poverty in the community.
She couldn’t help but wonder what her life would have been like if she hadn’t managed to escape. Caroline had a sudden image of herself in her early twenties, pushing a pram with a snotty toddler on her hip and no money in her purse, and thought, not for the first time, that it had been worth it. All those times she’d been called ‘swot’ or ‘snob’ because she was good at English, actually enjoyed something about school, had been endured for a good cause. She’d been to university, mixed with people from a wide range of backgrounds, and she’d travelled. But there she was, back again, unable to cut the invisible thread that bound her to this place and these people.
Realising that she was procrastinating, Caroline heaved herself out of the car, locking it quickly with a flick of the key fob, and made her way to the entrance of the hospital. A pale, low winter sun turned the huge glass doors into a blinding mirror, one in which Caroline had no desire to see her reflection. If she could just get through the next few hours, the next couple of days, then things would probably start to get easier.
Dennis was dressed and sitting in the chair next to the bed. He glanced up as Caroline greeted him but he didn’t look pleased to see her. In fact, just the opposite. His skin seemed to have turned even greyer than the day before, and his thinning hair looked almost transparent. His chest looked even more sunken, his cardigan gaping open and the collar of his shirt loose around his unshaven neck, looking like a small boy dressed in his bigger brother’s hand-me-downs. His breathing was loud and laboured and spittle was gathering in the corners of his mouth like the remains of an ice-cream treat.
‘So, did the doctor say you can go home?’
Dennis looked at her from beneath unruly eyebrows. ‘Aye, he did. But you’ve got to keep an eye on me.’
So that was the problem – he didn’t want a babysitter, he just wanted to go back to his old life with his beer and television and fried food.
As she spoke, she was aware of Maddie hovering in her peripheral vision. She’d have got the money by now, Caroline thought. They needed to talk. ‘Okay, I’ll just have a word with the nurse and then we’ll get you out of here.’
Maddie led Caroline back to the same meeting room as the one they’d used the previous day but instead of inviting her to sit down she just stood next to the table hugging her arms to her chest and smiling.
‘I got the money this morning,’ Maddie said. ‘I can’t thank you enough for–’
Caroline held a hand up to stop her talking. ‘It’s really no problem. Stop thanking me. Have you paid it off?’
‘I have. He knocked a bit off because I was paying the whole lot. I can give it you back if you want.’
‘It’s your money now,’ Caroline said. ‘Pay off a credit card or buy something nice for your son.’
Maddie smiled her appreciation. ‘So, you all set for getting your dad home?’
‘I think so. Just need his drugs and any final instructions.’
‘Drugs? There’s not really much that he needs at the moment. Just standard painkillers.’
Caroline sighed dramatically. ‘I know. But it doesn’t seem like much. A couple of aspirin or whatever. He told me that he’s had trouble sleeping and you gave him something. But what if the pain gets worse?’
‘Just call an ambulance,’ Maddie said.
‘And end up back here every time? Can’t you just give me a prescription for some sedatives, whatever he had before? And morphine in case he needs it?’
Maddie took a step back, staring at Caroline as though she’d never seen her before. ‘You want me to prescribe extra medication?’
Caroline shrugged.
‘You said yourself it could be a long while before… well… you know. I just want to be prepared. I don’t want to keep coming back here for every little thing. You said a GP will be seeing him. If you give me enough to keep Dad going for a couple of weeks then I’ll ask the doctor if I’ve used anything that needs replacing. I thought you’d want to help me.’
She wasn’t sure if she’d got the intonation right but the hard set of Maddie’s face assured her that her message was getting through.
‘That’s why you loaned me the money? So I’d give your father more medication than he needs?’
‘Than he needs at the moment,’ Caroline corrected. ‘It’s not like I’m going to be dosing him up with all sorts as soon as I get him home. I just don’t want him to have to suffer. If he has another episode like the last, I want to be able to give him something for the pain rather than leaving him in agony for hours while we wait for a GP to get out of bed.’
Maddie tapped the screen of her tablet. ‘Your father’s already had a mild sedative. In fact he’s asked for it two or three nights since he’s been here. I suppose that would be okay. I can give you a prescription for a small bottle of Oramorph. Just in case. But that’s all. Anything else you need, you’ll have to ask the GP.’
‘Of course,’ Caroline said. ‘I’m not trying to get you into trouble. I’m just being selfish. I want to be able to cope rather than having to ring for assistance anytime anything goes wrong.’
‘You should ring for help if you need it,’ Maddie said, her face softening as she obviously decided to believe Caroline. ‘A quick phone call and somebody will be there in less than half an hour. Even if it’s an ambulance.’
‘I know. I wasn’t trying to call
in your debt. I’m sorry if I came across that way. I’m just scared shitless and want to be able to cope.’
Maddie led her out of the room to the nurses’ station where she printed out a prescription. ‘Just for emergencies,’ she said, handing it over.
Caroline smiled gratefully and went back to where Dennis was waiting in his chair.
‘Right then. Let’s go,’ she said, folding the prescription and stuffing it into her jeans’ pocket. She picked up Dennis’s suitcase. ‘Shall I lead the way? It’s not far and I’ve parked the car close to the entrance.’
Dennis grunted a response and stood up reluctantly. As they negotiated the corridors, Caroline tried not to turn around too often until they reached the main entrance. She waited until he caught up with her and then led him through the glass doors and across the car park.
They drove back to Dennis’s house in silence.
15
Caroline poured a large slug of Fever-Tree tonic into her third gin of the evening. Dropping in a handful of ice cubes, she waited for the bubbles to subside before taking a sip. She looked around the kitchen. Everything was tidy. The plates and pans were draining and the floor tiles were freshly mopped. This room had become her sanctuary. There was no TV and she rarely used her laptop as Dennis didn’t have Wi-Fi and the signal on her mobile phone wasn’t great. Instead she sipped gin and brooded.
Two weeks. Two weeks of cooking, cleaning and trying to make conversation. It had been much harder than she’d imagined – not the physical work but the mental effort and the emotional strain. She’d nearly waded her way through a bottle of gin and was trying not to attack Dennis’s stash of whisky. It was expensive stuff and she didn’t want to get into an argument with him.
They’d managed to be civil; Dennis had complained for the first two days but then he’d appeared to simply resign himself to his new situation and had allowed Caroline to prepare his meals and clean his house. He’d even managed to walk to the local pub and have a few pints. He wasn’t supposed to be drinking, the consultant had told him that alcohol could kill him but, when Caroline reminded him of this, he just said, ‘I’m dying anyway so I might as well enjoy myself.’
He hadn’t touched his whisky, though, so maybe it was mostly bluster.
The real problem was Bren. She kept turning up and turning up her nose. Nothing Caroline did was good enough. Her cooking left a bad smell, her dusting wasn’t thorough, and her vacuuming was infrequent. If this was going to work out how Caroline wanted, then Bren had to go.
Sighing to herself, Caroline took another mouthful of her drink and checked her watch. Nearly ten o’clock. Dennis’s programme would be about to finish and she knew that he wouldn’t want to watch the late news. Ten was just about bedtime. If she could get him out of the way she could start to make plans for the coming weeks.
They’d established their relationship; it hadn’t been named or even spoken about but Dennis was starting to accept her role as carer and she’d done nothing to make him suspicious, nothing to give him grounds to question anything that she’d done but she could sense his resentment in every word and gesture. He wanted to be left alone to get on with dying but she couldn’t allow it. He had to be made aware of everything that he’d done; of her suffering and that of her mother and sister.
He probably thought that she might go to the police. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t complaining or asking too many questions. It was much too late for that, though. If she’d been going to talk to the police she’d have done it much earlier; surely he must have realised that by now. When they spoke to each other, the words were tight with tension and suspicion on both sides. Caroline saw him for exactly what he was, and she could tell that he was aware of how little he knew about her; he had no idea what she might be capable of doing to him or to his reputation on the estate. All he had were his memories and assumptions about her and she was going to prove him wrong. Very wrong. She wasn’t a child anymore and she wasn’t frightened of him.
‘I’m going up now!’ he shouted from the sitting room door. She wasn’t sure what response he expected, whether he wanted her to tell him to sleep tight or that she’d see him in the morning. Instead she chose silence. It wasn’t easy. Her natural instinct was to be polite; to at least acknowledge that he’d spoken. But this was Dennis. Polite was pointless.
As soon as she heard the toilet flush and his bedroom door creak closed, she slipped the sedatives from her pocket. Diazepam. She’d looked up the drug online. Two strips slid out of the packet, each containing ten tablets. Not many. Not enough, but it would have to do for now. She placed two on the counter top, took a teaspoon from the drawer below and, using all her weight, she crushed the tablet beneath the spoon and ground it down as hard as she could. The cracking sound was too loud in the stillness of the kitchen, and she found herself coughing to cover the noise. When she’d ground the tablet to powder she did the same with the other one.
Satisfied that she’d left no lumps, she used the side of her hand to coax the powder from the counter top into a cup. She gave it a sniff. Nothing. Dipping a tentative finger into the cup, she removed a tiny amount and placed it on her tongue. Was there a slight bitterness? She wasn’t sure but she was prepared to take a chance.
She opened the pantry door and took a bottle of milk from the fridge. The milkman didn’t normally arrive until after Dennis had had his morning cup of tea and, even if the delivery was early, frugality would force her father to finish off this bottle before starting a new one. Pouring a small amount of milk into the cup, she used the teaspoon to stir it into the powdered drugs until it formed a thin paste. She then poured the paste back into the milk and gave it a good shake up ready for Dennis’s morning cuppa and cornflakes.
‘Do you want me to ring the doctor?’ Bren asked again, the anxiety clear in the quaver in her voice.
Dennis was slumped at the kitchen table, still unshaven and in his pyjamas. He’d keeled over soon after breakfast, his head lolling forwards over the empty bowl, and was complaining of feeling woozy and tired.
He shook his head. ‘I’ll be fine. Just a bit tired. I think I might go back to bed.’
Caroline hovered. She knew that her father wouldn’t agree to the doctor being called but, even so, she’d held her breath while she waited for his answer to Bren’s question. He didn’t feel steady enough on his legs to leave the table so now, half an hour later, Caroline knew that she was going to have to help him back up to bed.
Gritting her teeth, she managed to hook a hand under one armpit, half pulling, half guiding, as he took a few wobbly steps.
‘I don’t think I’ll manage the stairs. I’ll just have a lie down on the sofa. Be right as rain in a couple of hours. I didn’t get much sleep last night so I’m probably just over tired,’ he mumbled, some of the words slurring together.
Bren tutted in protest but followed them along the hallway and into the sitting room. ‘Shall I get you your quilt?’ she offered.
‘No. Stop fretting,’ Dennis snapped. ‘Just leave me alone for a bit. I’ll be fine.’ He dropped onto the sofa and stretched his legs out.
Caroline fussed with the cushions, trying to look like she was making him comfortable, but Bren stepped in.
‘He’ll wake up with a crick in his neck if you leave him like that. Here.’ She leaned in to make adjustments but Dennis’s expression stopped her.
He was scowling, unable to hide the fury and frustration in his eyes. ‘I said leave me alone. Both of you. Get out!’
Bren reared back as if he’d struck her, her face a mess of confusion and hurt. ‘I was–’
‘Just go,’ he hissed.
Caroline smiled at Bren and pointed to the door. ‘You heard him.’
Shaking her head, Bren left the room muttering to herself.
‘And you,’ Dennis said to his daughter. ‘Just bugger off.’
‘Happy to,’ Caroline said. Leaving him sprawled out and looking uncomfortable, she followed Bren into the kitchen.
<
br /> ‘I really think you should call the doctor,’ Bren said. She cleared Dennis’s bowl and mug from the kitchen table, dumped them in the washing-up bowl and gave both a thorough scrub. Caroline picked up the empty milk bottle but Bren snatched it away from her. ‘That’ll need a wash before it goes back.’
A short dunk in the suds and a quick run under the hot tap and the evidence of Caroline’s tampering had been erased without her having to lift a finger.
‘You heard what he said,’ Caroline said. ‘And you know what he’s like. If he says he doesn’t want the doctor then I think we should respect that.’
‘What if he passes out or goes into a coma?’ Bren asked. ‘What will you do then? Just wait?’
Caroline was so tempted to say yes – that she’d just put the television on and watch Loose Women while she waited for him to die. It was a valid question, though. What would she do?
‘I’d ring for an ambulance. It’s not like he’d be able to stop me.’
Bren grunted and started drying the mugs and bowls, putting everything back in the right place as though it was her house and not Caroline’s. She moved around the kitchen, obviously familiar with every detail, from the cold tap that needed an extra twist to tighten it to the fridge door which needed a hard tug to open. Every movement suggested that she belonged there and that Caroline didn’t.
‘I think you should go now,’ Caroline said. ‘He said he doesn’t want you here and you should respect that.’
‘Yes, well,’ Bren huffed, folding her arms across her ample chest. ‘He said the same to you. Are you going to go as well?’
‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d like me to leave you to it. But what happens when he has another funny turn? Are you going to pick him up? Are you going to give him bed baths and change his shitty pyjamas when the time comes? Because it will. This is only the start and if you think any different then you’re just kidding yourself. Dennis needs me more than he needs you, so I’m staying.’
Merciless: a gripping detective thriller (DI Kate Fletcher Book 2) Page 11
