Maddie shook her head quickly, obviously not trusting herself to speak.
‘I can lend you the money today. I’ll just need your bank details. I could probably do it now, on my phone if that’s what you wanted. You need to get out from under this, Maddie. If not for yourself than for Ethan.’
The other woman flinched at her son’s name.
‘It’s honestly nothing to me. I won’t be demanding repayments every few days, and I won’t charge interest. I’ve been where you are, Maddie, and I was fortunate enough to be able to sort it out. Let me share some of my good fortune.’
Caroline let the silence hang between them. She’d said enough. All she could do was wait.
Eventually Maddie raised her eyes warily. ‘Why?’
Caroline frowned, pretending not to understand.
‘Why would you do that? Lend me money? What do you want?’
‘Nothing, except to help you. I’ve seen people destroyed by their debts. Torn apart. I’ve known people who’ve lost kids, parents, jobs, everything. I was so nearly one of them. This is the first time I’ve been in a position to do something about it for somebody.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ Maddie conceded. ‘Can we get back to your dad’s care? There’s a few things we need to discuss.’
Fifteen minutes later, a tentative plan was in place. Caroline would take Dennis home the following afternoon – if he agreed – and she could be supported, when the time came, by a team of qualified carers who would help with Dennis’s ‘daily needs’ which Caroline assumed would be bathing and dressing. He would be offered a range of medication for his pain and be assessed every few weeks by his GP in order to ascertain if any changes in his medication were deemed necessary. Maddie also gave Caroline a phone number for Macmillan Cancer Support ‘just in case’.
As Caroline stood up to leave, Maddie grabbed her hand.
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘You’ll let me help?’
‘Yes. For Ethan. I don’t want him sucked down into this and the people that I owe money to know about him. The man on the phone even suggested that I ask my son for money as he’s got a job. They know all about me.’
‘Of course they do,’ Caroline said. ‘That’s why this is better. How much do you need?’
Maddie dipped her head in embarrassment. ‘I owe five thousand to the bank and the credit card companies and these… thugs… ten. I can deal with the credit card debt and the overdraft if I can just get out from under this big one.’
Caroline knew that it probably wouldn’t be that simple. ‘What’s the interest rate on the ten grand?’
‘That’s what he was ringing for. It’s gone up. He wants a grand a month for the next year.’
‘Twenty per cent. How about I loan you fifteen grand to get rid of him and pay off some other stuff? We’ll settle terms once you’ve got it sorted out.’
Maddie’s eyes drifted, obviously imagining what she could do without debt collectors breathing down her neck. She glanced at Caroline but couldn’t hold her gaze – her embarrassment clear in the dip of her head and her flushed cheeks.
‘Okay,’ she said, finally capitulating. ‘That would be amazing. If you do that I can clear the rest of it easily. I will pay you back as soon as I can.’
‘I know you will,’ Caroline said. ‘I knew when I saw you at GA that you were really determined to sort out your life. You’re strong. Stronger than me. Give me your bank details before I leave and I’ll do the transfer today.’
Maddie appeared to be about to say something but Caroline changed the subject before they could descend into mutual admiration.
‘Now, let’s see if my dad wants to go home tomorrow,’ she said, stepping out into the corridor.
Chapter 14
The house had changed since Caroline’s last visit. As soon as she pushed open the door, she sensed a difference as though the atoms of the hallway had subtly rearranged themselves in her absence. The smell of the kitchen was less oppressive, cleaner somehow, with the odour of fried food covered by a lemony tang, and the tiles around the hall carpet looked less scuffed.
Caroline looked around, puzzled and then she realised – Bren. She must have been in and done some cleaning while Caroline had been at home. Which meant that Bren had a key. That was something which would have to change. Caroline didn’t know the woman very well. Bren had lived across the road for as long as Caroline could remember but she’d not really been aware of her until she heard that Dennis had a ‘lady friend’. She hadn’t been interested. It was none of her business what he did, and her mother had been dead for years before he took up with Bren, but the older woman could be a problem if she had unrestricted access to the house.
Much as Caroline resented Bren’s intrusion, she was glad that it was one less job that she would have to do. This was going to be difficult enough without having to do the dusting or clean the bathroom before she brought Dennis home.
Curious, she inspected the sitting room. The ashtray had been wiped clean and the surfaces gleamed. Bren was obviously a big fan of Pledge. Caroline trudged upstairs – carpet spotlessly clean – and into her bedroom. There the bed had been made up with sheets and blankets, just as she remembered from her childhood – Dennis’s bed was the only one with a duvet. The top sheet had been turned down in a manner that was supposed to look cosy and inviting but, to Caroline, looked like a sanatorium bed – somewhere she could get lost and never be found.
Sighing loudly, Caroline dumped her suitcase on the floor and sat on the bed. It wasn’t the same one that she’d slept in as a child, this one felt softer, more yielding as she rocked herself backwards and forwards. Her stomach grumbled reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since a hurried breakfast of muesli and yoghurt, and she briefly considered walking down to the local pub for a bar meal. She quickly pushed the thought aside. She didn’t want to turn up at the hospital smelling of booze and burgers.
The bed did its shaky wobble as she pushed herself upright and decided to see what Dennis had got in his pantry – even though she already knew what to expect. She trotted downstairs and into the kitchen, almost laughing out loud as she saw that she’d been exactly right. Row upon row of regimented tins and jars were stacked on the pantry shelves, their labels facing the front so they could be easily read. She pulled off the top of the old-fashioned metal bread bin, expecting it to either be empty or to be confronted with a mouldy green crust or two.
‘Nice one, Bren, you old witch,’ Caroline said aloud as she pulled out a fresh loaf, and a multipack of crisps. She opened the fridge and shook her head in disbelief. One shelf contained tinned meats; luncheon meat, ham, corned beef, and the next one down held packets of chocolate biscuits of the type she’d never been allowed when she’d lived there. Thick chocolate wafers and coated digestives were stacked up with Penguins and Kit-Kats. They’d always been too expensive, too much of an extravagance. It looked like Dennis knew how to treat himself now.
The fridge door was more as she remembered it. Milk on the bottom, fresh again thanks to Bren, cheese in the plastic-covered top section and, in the middle, blocks of butter and lard.
‘If the cancer hadn’t got you, a heart attack probably would have,’ Caroline muttered, picking up a packet of lard and reading the nutritional information. She grabbed a tub of margarine and slammed the fridge door shut. As she did so, her eyes were drawn to the gaps between the fridge and the walls of the pantry. They were narrow but offered the perfect storage solution for another one of Dennis’s vices. Cans of beer and lager were stacked almost as high as the fridge, stretching right to the back wall of the pantry. Different brands, different strengths, jumbled up, in complete contrast to the food tins on the shelves above. These weren’t arranged for ease of selection, they were there for easy access; Dennis could just bend down and grab a can, and he obviously didn’t care which one.
‘No secret where I get my love of drink from. Thanks, Dad. And now I’m talking to myself. Maybe there’s some sort
of hereditary madness in the family as well. Icing on the bloody cake.’
She gathered her sandwich makings and dumped them on the table rather than make her lunch on top of the fridge as Dennis would have done. Plates were piled up in the same cupboard where they’d always been and the cutlery nestled in the same partitions in the same drawer – knives, forks, spoons, with teaspoons in the smaller bottom section. Caroline took a knife and smeared margarine thinly on a slice of bread. Then she opened a packet of crisps, grabbed a handful and sprinkled them on top of the margarine. The snack was completed by folding the bread over and squashing it down with the heel of her hand. The perfect crisp butty; childhood comfort food with maximum fat and minimum nutrition. Caroline briefly contemplated smothering the next one in tomato ketchup but decided that was regressing too far and ate it plain.
After eating, Caroline checked her watch for the hundredth time since she’d arrived. Still only half past one – at least another two hours to kill. She thought about going for a walk, but where to? She could head for the shops but that would only take about ten minutes and Bren had already supplied the essentials. There was a path across the fields next to the quarry that she remembered clearly from dog walks as a teenager – an excuse to sneak off for a quick cigarette before Sunday lunch – but, again, there was no real purpose and she worried that she might just wander for hours, lost in memories.
Dumping her plate in the sink, Caroline decided on the easiest option – daytime TV. She settled herself in the sitting room, choosing a seat in the middle of the sofa, careful to avoid Dennis’s armchair which would have afforded her the best view of the screen.
She’d just picked up the remote control when a noise at the back door startled her. She listened, finger poised over the mute button of the remote. A faint knock. Then the distinctive sound of the handle turning and the door clicking open. Burglars? Unscrupulous local youths who had heard that Dennis was in hospital and decided to try their luck? Then realisation dawned and Caroline leapt from her seat just as the living room door was pushed open.
Bren. All five feet nothing of her stood in the doorway staring at Caroline as though she were an intruder.
Feeling like Goldilocks caught with her spoon in the porridge bowl, Caroline slowly sat down again. She picked up the remote control and turned off the television, wishing that she could point it at Bren and make her go away just as easily.
‘Caroline.’
Bristling at the familiarity, Caroline forced herself to be polite. ‘Brenda. How are you?’
The older woman walked into the room and perched on the arm of Dennis’s chair, crossing her arms in a proprietary manner. She was very much as Caroline remembered her. Short, almost as wide as she was tall, with ankles that overflowed the tops of her shoes like dough in a mixing bowl waiting to be given a final kneading. Her features were sharp and her small eyes were hidden among a nest of fat and wrinkles, giving her face a weathered expression as though she’d spent a lot of time squinting into the sun.
‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘I’m not the one in hospital.’ It was a simple statement but one loaded with accusation. It was obvious that Bren held Caroline at least partly responsible for Dennis’s illness. Bren uncrossed her arms and placed her hands demurely in her lap where they lay like strange sea anemones, beached upon the bright pattern of her heavy cotton dress. ‘What time are you picking him up?’
‘The doctor should have seen him by about four, then he should be able to leave.’
‘And you’re staying?’
Caroline nodded.
‘That’s something, I suppose. There wasn’t a problem getting time off work?’
‘No. They’ve been quite good, really,’ Caroline lied. ‘I can take a leave of absence for as long as I need.’
‘The house is clean for him. I gave it a good do the day before yesterday. It had got really filthy. I’m surprised you didn’t notice when you picked his things up.’
An accusation. Caroline should have cleaned the house after her last visit. Or perhaps she was such a slovenly housekeeper herself that she hadn’t even noticed the state of her father’s home.
‘And there’s fresh bread and milk so you won’t need to do much shopping. You can always nip up to the Co-op if he needs anything else.’
‘Have you been to see Dennis much?’ Caroline asked. ‘He said he didn’t expect you to. I suppose it’s a bit difficult with the buses.’
‘I’ve managed to get through most days,’ Bren said with a smile that was almost smug. ‘Our Ian’s been taking me.’
Caroline was startled to realise that she’d forgotten Bren’s son. Two years older than Jeanette, Ian had ‘done well for himself’ and set up his own company. Something to do with computers, Caroline thought. ‘That’s good of him.’
‘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?’
The Kate Fletcher Series Page 33
