by Monica Ali
‘Hello, Mrs Dawson, how are we today? Ready for another round of whist, tea time? She won ninety matchsticks off me the other day. Any questions? Shall we take a peep at the dining room?’
Mrs Givens moved remarkably quickly on her short, stout legs. Gabriel lengthened his stride to keep up. She clearly liked to remain on the go and Gabe did not blame her; if you sat too long in this place you would be reminded that every room in it, whatever its labelled purpose, was actually a waiting room.
‘What’s for lunch?’
‘Chicken curry,’ said Mrs Givens, ‘spotted dick and custard, or ice cream.’
‘I’m not sure Nana likes curry,’ said Gabe.
‘If they don’t like curry, they can have coronation chicken with rice.’ She smiled at him.
‘Great,’ said Gabe. ‘And the coronation chicken, would that be the curry with sultanas thrown in?’
‘No flies on you,’ said Mrs Givens. ‘But you’d be surprised the difference it makes. Now, she’s in her room, knows you’re coming, least we told her you were,’ she continued, knocking at the door and opening it in one continuous movement. ‘Mrs Higson, it’s your Gabriel here. My door’s always open, Mr Lightfoot, to discuss any concerns you might have. We had a few teething problems, it’s not unusual with our guests, but I’d say, on the whole, that she’s settled down quite well.’
Nana, in her smart knitted navy suit and best white blouse, sat by the window, a faraway look in her eyes. Backlit by the sun, her hair appeared not quite attached to her head, but hovered around it in a soft gold halo. Her hands gripped the armrests of her chair as if it might magically fly her away, as if it were a wishing chair, which in a sense it was, as good a place as any to sit and dream.
She wrenched her attention to Gabriel. ‘Hello,’ she cried with anxious gaiety. ‘Have you come to fetch me home?’
He kissed the parchment of her cheek. ‘Hello, Nana, I’ve brought you some magazines.’ He placed them on the bed and sat down next to them.
‘I’m going home today,’ she said, pursing her lips, divulging, despite her better judgement, this confidential news. ‘I’ve been in three weeks – is it four? – and Doctor says I’m good and ready, yes, I’m healed up nice. Now what was it, just remind me, I’ve been in for? My hip, was it? Ooh, it’s a big operation, but I’ve not done so bad, have I?’
‘Doing really well, Nana,’ said Gabe.
‘Ted’ll fetch me home,’ said Nana. ‘But if you don’t mind, young man, we’ll need a hand with the bags.’
‘Lovely garden you’ve got here,’ said Gabe. ‘Why don’t we go out for a little walk?’
‘Ooh,’ said Nana, scrunching her shoulders, ‘it is lovely. Lovely, lovely. And a lovely sunny day.’
She gave a tremulous smile, putting her all into it.
Gabriel placed his hand over hers.
She sighed. ‘Sad, though, isn’t it?’
‘It’s OK,’ said Gabe. ‘We’re OK.’
‘That’s right,’ she said.
She began to weep silently, fat tears sliding down her face. Gabriel curled his fingers under her palm. Her sadness was too general and too deep to be consoled, so he did not say anything. Though it was without proper reason it did not seem unreasonable for her to cry. Gabriel squeezed her hand gently. He felt the warm rush through his own body that meant he was close to tears, and for the first time since he was six years old and had broken a piece of her best china and been scolded and then forgiven, he cried with his nana. And it was the first time in his adult life that he had cried so openly, without even a trace of shame.
‘You’ll set me off, you will,’ said Jenny, tripping in on her pointed heels.
She sat the other side of Nana and rubbed her other hand.
‘All these moaning minnies,’ grumbled Nana, reclaiming both her hands. ‘There’s enough here already, that’s the truth.’
Jenny laughed, although the tears had welled. ‘Now I’ve brought some more photo albums, Nana. Beautiful photo I found of you and Mrs Haddock on Blackpool Pier, well she wasn’t Mrs back then, can’t be more than sixteen … Look, you’ve got identical dresses, never mind best friends, could be twins, couldn’t you?’
Nana, with the album propped on her lap, ran a finger across the photograph as if reading an invisible text. ‘That’s me, that’s Gladys,’ she explained. ‘Blackpool – you can see the tower there. Ooh, I do look vexed! Look here, young man. That’s Gladys, that one, oh, what a minx, she’s gone and copied my dress.’
They spent an hour with Nana, looking at old photographs, and when she dozed off in her chair Jenny eased a pillow behind her head and they went to sit outside. They found a bench in a sheltered part of the flower garden, surrounded by china-blue hydrangeas and white roses, just coming into bud. Jenny lit a cigarette. ‘Good you’ve given up,’ she said. ‘I definitely am, but not the best time to try, is it?’
‘No,’ said Gabe, ‘give it a while.’
For a few minutes they sat together, listening to bird-song and the river flow of traffic on the road that lay not far away but out of sight. Since he had returned to Blantwistle six days ago, he had talked endlessly to Jenny about what had happened to him, a little manically at first, but more calmly with each passing day and each retelling. He had told her about Gleeson and Ivan and their dirty secret. He had told about Oona, and the way that he had behaved to her. He had done his best to explain about Lena without turning his explanation into an excuse. And about Charlie. It wasn’t easy, but he had tried to piece the story together, without leaving anything out, including his breakdown and how he had thrown away both his job and the new restaurant along with the punches he had thrown at Fairweather on that Saturday night.
When he reached that part she had burst out, ‘Oh Gabe, what were you on? I mean, you couldn’t have done a better job of cocking things up if you’d tried.’
‘I did an excellent job of it,’ said Gabe.
Jenny giggled. ‘You really did. First rate. So this bloke twiddles his wedding ring and that’s why you bash him. Hardly the only one, is he? Loads of men do that.’
‘At the time …’ He broke off, and then laughed. ‘It seemed like I had to do it. Stupid. It was spectacular, though.’
‘Making a spectacle of yourself, as Nana would say.’
But mostly he had talked seriously and she listened without seeming to pass judgement, accepting his apologies, only asking, from time to time, ‘And are you OK now? Are you sure you’re OK?’
‘What I can’t get my head around,’ said Gabriel now, at last breaking the silence, ‘is where is Nana? I mean, physically she’s in her chair. But where’s the person, the Nana that we knew?’
‘Did I tell you?’ said Jenny. ‘You know she’s got a Zimmer frame now and she doesn’t like it, well, the other day she only went and nicked the tea trolley, rattling off down the corridor. And one of the carers says, “Come on now, Phyllis, you know better than that,” and Nana puts on her poshest voice and says, “I’ve a grandson twice your age, I’ll have you know, and it’s not Phyllis, thank you very much, it’s Mrs Higson to you.” And away she goes, tea sloshing everywhere, biscuits flying off!’
Gabriel smiled and shook his head. ‘Nana! I met Mrs Givens today and she said there were a few … what did she call them … teething problems, you think that’s what she meant?’
‘Shouldn’t think so. It was a bit tricky, first few days, getting her used to it. There were a few incidents. I thought they’d kick her out, honest to God! Apparently she’s made a few of them cry. Well, she can be a bit rude, you know. And she goes quite a clip on that Zimmer, and she barged past another old lady on a frame in the corridor, nearly knocked her down.’
‘Sounds like Nana.’
‘I know,’ said Jenny. ‘Still Nana in there somewhere.’
It was a fine April day, fresh and sunny as a bowl of lemons. Jenny took off her coat and laid it on the bench. She looked thinner though she assured Gabriel she hadn’t lost a si
ngle ounce. She was dressed, as she had been all week, entirely in black, effective for both slimming and mourning. Combined with her high, pointy boots and the band of dark roots which now striped her peroxide hair, she looked part punk survivor, part dominatrix. Gabriel much preferred the new outfit to her work blouses in their pastel shades.
‘You’re quiet today,’ he said. ‘All week, in fact.’
‘You normally think I talk too much.’
‘I’ve never said that.’
Jenny narrowed her eyes at him.
‘Honestly, Jen,’ he said, with such lack of conviction that they both got a fit of giggles.
‘Not that I’ve been able to get a word in edgeways,’ said Jenny, finally.
‘Sorry for … you know.’
‘Don’t be daft.’
‘I haven’t told you the latest. Oona called earlier today.’
‘Which one is … oh yeah, I know, go on.’
‘Ivan, my grill man – he’s been arrested, and charged with trafficking.’
‘Wow,’ said Jenny. ‘So it’s all true, what what’s-his-name told you.’
‘Victor. Looks like it. We’ll see.’
‘What about the restaurant manager? Gleeson, wasn’t it?’
‘He’s disappeared, and so has Branka, who ran Housekeeping. Police are looking for them.’
Jenny whistled. ‘Must have been a long conversation you had this morning. Took about five days to tell me.’
‘No,’ said Gabriel. ‘I didn’t get into it all. And Victor had told her what he knew so she pretty much had the picture.’
‘What’s Oona going to do? She’s not got you or Gleeson … and with the restaurant to run.’
‘Oona will do what she’s always done,’ said Gabriel. ‘Oona will cope.’
‘They’ll want to talk to you,’ said Jenny. ‘The police.’
‘Expect I’ll hear from them soon. Jenny – do you think I should tell them about all that stuff on the farm?’
Jenny crossed her legs and stabbed him fondly in the shins with the tip of her boot. ‘Course you should! Why? You’re not thinking you can’t be bothered, are you?’
‘It’s not that. But what happens to all those workers if they lose their jobs, get deported even?’
‘It’s not right, though,’ said Jenny. ‘You know that.’
Gabriel sighed.
‘Anyway,’ said Jenny, ‘maybe the police will go to the farm, looking for Gleeson. Maybe it won’t all be in your hands.’
‘Maybe,’ said Gabriel. ‘Shall we walk for a bit?’
They meandered through the garden, past white columbines and foxgloves and a thicket of the same type of lilies as they had laid yesterday on Ted’s coffin.
‘I don’t understand,’ said Jenny, ‘why you’re giving up so easy on the restaurant. Explain to that bloke – you know, way you explained to me. It’ll be embarrassing, I give you that.’
‘Fairweather might shake hands and forget it. But Rolly never would. Even when I missed a meeting he’d do his nut, say I was a liability, and this was … this was something else.’
‘Get your money back, Gabe,’ said Jenny. ‘You can’t give up – sixty thousand! – that money’s yours.’
‘I don’t know. I’d have to get a lawyer. Rolly’s ended up in court with partners before, and he’s always won.’
‘That’s robbery!’
‘I don’t even have money to pay a lawyer.’
‘When we’ve sold Dad’s house …’
‘But the fees for this place …’
‘Yes, Greenglades isn’t cheap,’ said Jenny, ‘and Nana, though she’s officially been ill since 1972, will probably outlive us all.’
They walked up to the lawn. Two blackbirds flew down, their yellow eye-rings and orange bills flashing against black plumage. With courtly demeanour, they bowed to each other before commencing the duel. The birds ran at each other, and though the fight was short and, to the undiscerning eye, inconclusive, the matter appeared to be settled. The victor rose to his perch in a thorny bush and sang a low melody, and the vanquished ducked his tail and then flew away.
‘What about you?’ said Gabriel. ‘How’s your work? Will you go back next week, d’you think?’
‘I’ve got to,’ said Jenny. ‘Don’t want to lose me job. Though there’s these rumours going round – might lose it anyway.’
‘You’re kidding – what?’
‘Not just me. Whole place might close. They’re looking at an Indian call centre, apparently.’
‘We’ll set up a fish and chip shop, then. People still eat fish and chips, don’t they?’
‘They do. But we’d have to sell kebabs as well.’ Jenny stopped and puffed out her cheeks. ‘God, will you slow down? These boots are killing me! And I’ve really got to lose weight, I’m sinking into the lawn every blinkin’ step I take. How did I get this fat, Gabriel? I never even noticed, you know, it all creeps up, and remember when I was seventeen, how thin I was back then? And look at me now!’
‘You’re looking good,’ said Gabriel. ‘I was just thinking that when we were sitting down.’
‘Sod off,’ said Jenny.
‘I mean it. I like you in black, I like those boots, I particularly like the black stripe down the top of your head.’
Jenny hit him on the shoulder. ‘Watch it,’ she said. ‘You’re not the only Lightfoot can throw a punch, you know.’ She looked pleased. ‘And you’re not so bad yourself.’
‘I’m going bald.’
‘Where?’
Gabe touched the patch.
‘Can’t see it. Not with all those curls.’ She reached up and felt his skull. ‘What, that? Honestly. Anyway, if the call centre closes and we can’t afford a chip shop, I’ve got something else up me sleeve.’
‘Wondered what you kept up there,’ said Gabriel, tickling her on the arm.
‘Mum, Gabriel’s teasing me!’
‘So,’ said Gabe. ‘What?’
‘Know Rileys?’ She smiled to acknowledge that the question wasn’t strictly necessary and quickly went on. ‘Well, they’re opening up a new bit – Weaver’s Time Tunnel, it’s called, and it’s, like, this sort of museum, heritage centre, they say, explaining all about the old days, going back to the Spinning Jenny and the first looms and all that stuff, right up to the nineties, I think. And, anyhow, they’re wanting people, tour guides sort of thing, and I thought I might enjoy it, you know, give me a chance to talk.’
‘Great,’ said Gabe, ‘that’s great.’ For a second he wondered what Ted would think, before he realized his mistake.
‘What I need is a holiday,’ said Jenny. ‘We really want a few days away but I’m not keen on leaving the kids, though Harley’s of age, as he keeps reminding me, and Bailey should be old enough. I wouldn’t be easy, though, leaving them. I’d not be easy in my mind.’
‘Few days away with Des sounds like a good idea,’ said Gabriel. ‘How about if a highly responsible and reliable uncle spends some overdue time with his nephew and niece?’
Jenny patted his back and pressed around his shoulder blades.
‘Well, I am unemployed,’ said Gabriel, ‘so I’m not sure I deserve all that patting, but thanks, nice to be appreciated.’
‘Just checking something,’ said Jenny.
‘What?’
‘For a minute there, Gabe, I thought you might be sprouting wings.’
Jenny drove him back to Plodder Lane and said she’d come in but not stop long. They went into the porch and Gabriel pulled up the blind, which, for reasons lost to history, was always lowered when the house was empty and raised when someone returned. He picked the post off the doormat and stacked it on the vegetable rack which had long served as the porch’s shelving system, and once inside the hallway, hung the door key on the hook. Although Jenny had offered to put him up, he had been staying in the house all week, sleeping whenever he wasn’t talking to Jenny, though occasionally he had found himself with duster in hand, doing a slow but tho
rough round of housework. The house, which had seemed so dead with Dad and Nana in it, insisted on living now that they were gone, a quiet but irrepressible life that Gabriel could not help but witness when he wiped over Nana’s drinks trolley or lifted Ted’s retirement carriage clock to dust. He saw it now when he sat down on the sofa and looked at Ted’s armchair, the permanent hollow in the seat cushion, the worn fabric of the arms at the two exact places on which Ted would spread his hands.
Jenny fell into Nana’s wingback chair which she seemed naturally to inhabit now on her visits. ‘Well, I’ll love you and leave you,’ she said, but put her feet up on the stool and seemed unlikely to go anywhere.
‘Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to stay with us?’ she said. ‘It’s no bother, there’s plenty of room, well, there isn’t, of course, but we’ll make some.’
‘Thanks. I’m OK here. I’ve settled in.’
Jenny’s eyes were bright. She sniffed and rubbed her nose. ‘Oh, I hate leaving Nana. I hate it every time I come away.’
‘But she needs full-time care, Jenny, and you’ve got to work.’
‘I know.’
‘I liked Mrs Givens. She was good with the residents – she won’t be calling Nana Phyllis.’
‘No. It’s the best place, I looked at quite a few. It’s just that … I feel I’m not doing right.’
Gabriel looked at the row of cards on the mantelpiece. Last time he had been here there had been Christmas cards. Now the cards all said In deepest sympathy or Sorry for your loss. ‘You’ve done right by her,’ he said. ‘You’ve always done right by everyone.’
Jenny held herself together by a smile. ‘What you going to do, Gabe? All your plans …’
‘Ah, well.’ He shrugged and laughed. ‘Make a new one. I’ll be fine.’
She looked at him closely. ‘You’d tell me if you weren’t.’
‘Of course.’
‘Promise me you’ll see a doctor if …’
‘I will,’ he said, not blaming her for her scepticism. He was a little sceptical himself. ‘I promise.’
‘There’s a load of boxes in the loft still want sorting out. Dad made a start and I’ve done a bit, but … it takes ages because you keep stopping and looking at things and thinking … oh, I found a pincushion, by the way, made it at primary school and gave it to Mum, done in these big cross-stitches, daisy shape, gave it her for Mother’s Day, I think, and that’s what I was meaning – you find something like that and then go off in a bit of a dream.’
