The Choir on Hope Street

by Annie Lyons

  ‘I’ve been helping to run the toddler group for years,’ explained Pamela. ‘It’s very popular and lots of mums and dads would be lost without it. Natalie here used to bring her boy, Woody.’ Tim nodded as she talked. ‘We hold bingo nights for the older people, there’s a Brownie pack and now we have the choir.’

  ‘But the point is,’ interrupted Caroline, ‘we could make it so much more, which is why it needs to stay so that it can become a real hub.’

  ‘I absolutely see where you’re coming from,’ said Tim.

  ‘Wait for the “but”,’ warned John.

  Tim ignored him. ‘We merely need to be as rigorous as possible with our spending. We have a duty to the taxpayer, you see.’

  ‘But people want this,’ cried Pamela. ‘We’ve got a lot of support for the campaign to keep it open. We’ve got two thousand followers on Twitter, we’ve already raised five thousand pounds and we’ve got a Lottery grant application pending. People care about this place!’

  Tim took hold of her hand. I feared that Pamela might faint as she stared up into his eyes. ‘I can see, Mrs—’

  ‘Trott. Pamela Trott.’

  ‘Mrs Trott,’ he repeated. ‘I can see that you are an absolute lynchpin of this community and I promise that I will do all I can to help you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ breathed Pamela.

  Guy and I exchanged glances. ‘I believe,’ went on Tim, ‘that the property developer has submitted plans and that the council will take a decision regarding all of this on – when is it, John?’

  John sighed. ‘The twentieth of July.’

  ‘That’s the day of the Community Choir Championships,’ said Guy.

  ‘Talk about the day of judgement,’ I muttered.

  ‘Well …’ Tim smiled. ‘Thank you so much for showing us round. It’s been an absolute pleasure. John is your man vis a vis council matters and I will do my best to represent you in my parliamentary capacity. I am of course at the end of the phone if you need anything.’ He reached into his inside pocket and handed us each a business card. When he passed one to me, he fixed me with a half-smile. ‘It was good to see you again, Ms Garfield. I’ll confess I enjoyed our radio show banter.’

  ‘Yes, er, sorry about the fascist thing,’ I mumbled.

  He grinned. ‘I’ve been called a lot worse. I hope our paths cross again,’ he added, reaching out to shake my hand. ‘Good luck, everyone, and goodbye.’

  John nodded his goodbyes before shambling off behind him. ‘We’ll speak soon,’ he said.

  ‘Well,’ I remarked as we stepped outside. ‘That was interesting.’

  ‘It certainly was,’ said Guy. ‘I think you’ve got a fan,’ he added, nudging me.

  ‘Who? Tim Chambers? Do me a favour!’ I laughed, although I had a disconcerting feeling that he might be right.

  ‘So, the twentieth of July it is,’ said Caroline.

  ‘Come on, this calls for a group hug,’ insisted Pamela, gathering us all together into an awkward embrace.

  I noticed Caroline eyeing me. ‘Could I have a word, please, Natalie?’ I nodded. Pamela and Guy waved their goodbyes and I walked with Caroline into the sunshine. ‘I want to apologise on behalf of Amanda.’

  I folded my arms. Oh no, Caroline. You don’t get to pass the blame on this one. ‘Just Amanda?’

  ‘And Zoe.’

  I raised an eyebrow. This isn’t easy for you, is it? Well tough luck, love. You owe me.

  She pursed her lips. ‘And me too, of course. I’m very sorry, Natalie. You told me those things in confidence and I had no right to tittle-tattle.’

  My mouth twitched with amusement at the phrase, ‘tittle-tattle’. I bowed my head. ‘I accept your apology.’

  She exhaled with relief. ‘Thank you. I appreciate that. I’ve got so many other things to worry about, with my mother at the moment.’

  ‘Why, what’s happened?’

  She sighed. ‘She’s been thrown out of the nursing home, so it looks as if she’s coming to live with us!’

  ‘Oh, wow.’ That’s going to throw your perfect life off kilter for a bit, I thought with just a hint of schadenfreude.

  ‘Wow indeed.’

  ‘Well, maybe it will be an opportunity to sort things out.’

  Caroline frowned at me. ‘I very much doubt it. This is definitely just a temporary measure until I find another home that can take her.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘I do,’ she declared. ‘And now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go home to make the arrangements before I pick up Matilda. See you later.’ She hurried off in the direction of her house.

  I shook my head and headed for home. What a day. I felt exhausted. On the plus side, I was still married, my head was clearing, I hadn’t kissed Guy and Caroline Taylor had apologised to me.

  Yay. Go me.

  I glanced at my watch as I practically fell through the front door. Perfect. I had just enough time to make a mug of tea, eat too many biscuits and collapse on the sofa in front of Escape to the Country before I had to pick up Woody. I needed to keep going but for the time being, I was going to lie down in a darkened room and rest my fevered brain.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CAROLINE

  Well, they do say that if you need something done, ask a busy person. I mean, I know I’m good at managing campaigns, problem-solving and crisis-handling, it’s just that they don’t usually all come at the same time. I was pretty much running the entire Hope Street Community Hall Campaign, whilst worrying about Oliver’s job and now contending with my mother. Normally, I thrive on stress but this was pushing me to the limit. I’d even had to delegate my PTA responsibilities vis-à-vis the summer fair to the ghastly Nula. Phil was very understanding but I could tell he was disappointed that I wouldn’t be running the show. I’d had ambitions of donkey-rides this year.

  I collected my mother on the Saturday after our first choir gig. As I entered the home, Laurie was in the reception area waiting for me. Her usually calm and smiling demeanour had disappeared. She looked serious and rather distraught.

  ‘I’m sorry it’s come to this,’ she said as we walked along the corridor. ‘I tried to plead your mother’s case to Peter, but he was adamant.’

  I bet he was, I thought. ‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘And thank you. Really. For everything.’

  She gave me a sad smile. ‘I’ve printed off some documents for you about caring for people with dementia.’

  ‘That’s very kind.’

  ‘And I’ll give you my mobile number. Call me. Any time.’

  ‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble—’

  ‘I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it,’ she said firmly. I nodded my gratitude.

  My mother was sitting by the window staring into the garden as I entered. The room was bare, her possessions boxed up, the small items of furniture she owned stacked in the corner.

  ‘I’ll try to fit as much into the car as possible but my husband or I will have to come back for the rest,’ I told Laurie.

  ‘It’s fine,’ she said. I noticed that there were tears forming in her eyes. ‘Would you like me to wheel your mother to the car?’ she asked.

  No, I’d like you to keep her here so that I don’t have deal with this.

  ‘If you wouldn’t mind,’ I replied, feeling unexpected envy at her obvious fondness for my mother. What could she see that I couldn’t?

  ‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘The porter will fetch your mother’s possessions.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Shall we go then?’

  She moved towards my mother, touching her gently on the arm. ‘Patricia? Caroline is here. Remember I told you that you’re going to stay with her for a little while?’

  My mother looked round to gaze at me. Her face was expressionless but seemed to soften into something approaching satisfaction as she murmured, ‘Caroline.’ I gave a brief smile and nodded before turning back towards the corridor. Laurie followed, pushing my mother in silence.
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  With a certain amount of difficulty, we managed to manoeuvre her into the car by the time the porter had loaded up as many of her possessions as he could fit in the boot.

  Laurie grasped my mother’s hand, tears brimming her eyes. ‘Goodbye, Patricia. Take good care,’ she said, leaning across to kiss her cheek. She handed me a sheaf of papers before I climbed into the car. ‘This is the advice I was telling you about and I’ve written my number on the top. Please don’t hesitate to call if there’s anything I can do. Your mother needs you, she really does.’

  Does she? I find that hard to believe.

  ‘Thank you,’ I nodded before climbing into the driver’s seat. ‘Right,’ I said, feeling the panic grip as I started the engine. ‘Let’s go.’ My mother remained looking forwards, her face impassive and impossible to read. Laurie waved as we drove off but my mother didn’t look back for a second. We travelled home in silence, and my heart grew heavy as I thought about Laurie and her obvious affection for my mother, whilst realising that I had very little. She was my mother but only in name. I wondered at Laurie, at this relative stranger in my mother’s life and realised that actually, I was the stranger. Your mother was the person you were supposed to know inside out but the truth was, I didn’t know her at all.

  ‘Reminiscence – talking about past experiences with the dementia sufferer can have a very positive effect on their outlook. Make a memory box including photos from earlier in their life.’

  I put the document to one side and flicked on the kettle. The thought of talking about the past may be helpful for my mother’s condition but I was pretty sure it wasn’t going to have much of a positive effect on me. I didn’t relish the idea of chatting about all the times she flew into a rage at my slightest misdemeanour. Or how she would shout at me, her face up close to mine so that all I could see was her snarling teeth, her stale coffee breath making me want to gag.

  As I had led her into the house on our return from the home, I couldn’t quite translate this tottering, shrunken woman into the same one that used to instil fear and loathing in me.

  Oliver had been typically charming, opening the front door and helping her inside. Matilda came bouncing down the stairs, her face bright with excitement. She had wanted to come and collect my mother but I had said no. She seemed so joyful at the prospect of having her grandmother here. I wondered at how opposed this was to my own feelings.

  ‘Nanny!’ she cried, leaping from the third step and flinging her arms around my mother’s waist.

  Nanny. Such a friendly and jolly title for a person. A person so unlike my mother.

  I didn’t have the heart to suppress Matilda’s enthusiasm though. I detected that I was going to need all the help I could get with this particular situation. ‘I’m so happy to see you! Do you want to come and see my bedroom?’

  My mother stood in the hall, looking around her in utter astonishment, clearly wondering where she was and who on earth these people were.

  ‘Why don’t you let Nanny settle in first?’ suggested Oliver.

  That was that then. My mother was now a nanny.

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea, Patricia?’ he asked, helping her with her coat. She stared at him as if he’d just asked her to explain the secrets of the universe. He mimed a cup and saucer. ‘Tea?’ he repeated. When she didn’t answer he glanced at me with a shrug.

  ‘She probably doesn’t want one,’ I observed.

  Oliver pulled me to one side. ‘I don’t think you should talk about your mother as if she isn’t here,’ he said.

  I rolled my eyes. ‘Sorry, but if she won’t answer, it’s difficult to know what to do.’

  My mother looked at me. ‘Caroline,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, I’m Caroline, this is Oliver, my husband, and this is Matilda,’ I replied, pointing to each of us in turn.

  ‘Why are you shouting?’ Matilda frowned. ‘Is Nanny deaf?’

  ‘No, she’s not deaf,’ I replied, feeling my hackles rise. ‘She just doesn’t always understand what’s going on.’

  At that moment I became aware of a dripping sound and turned to see my mother urinating onto the floor. She stared at me with what I detected was a note of defiance.

  ‘Oh, my God!’ I cried in horror. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Aw, poor Nanny,’ said Matilda. ‘She needed a wee.’

  ‘But the toilet’s just there!’ I cried, opening the door to the downstairs bathroom.

  ‘Caroline, it’s fine,’ said Oliver. He turned to my mother and patted her arm. ‘It’s all right, Patricia. We’ll get this cleared up in no time. Caroline, why don’t you take your mum to the toilet and I’ll clean this up. Matilda, could you fetch some wipes, please?’

  ‘Of course, Daddy,’ beamed Matilda.

  Why is everyone taking this so calmly? I thought as I led my mother to the downstairs cloakroom and helped her remove her sodden tights and underwear. This cannot be my life.

  As I binned the offending articles, I wondered how I had allowed this to happen. How could I be saddled with this helpless woman, who had made my childhood so miserable? How could it be that my beloved father had died and left me with her? This wasn’t me. I didn’t deal in old age and decay. I left her on the toilet and rummaged in her bag for clean clothes. I helped her on with these, trying to forget about what I was doing. It was like looking after an oversized baby really. Once she was sorted, I led her to the living room and, putting a towel onto the leather sofa, I sat her down. She didn’t comment on anything that had just happened. I went to the kitchen and took out my iPad, ready to start the search for a new care home straight away.

  I was surprised to find how much of a relief it was to have Matilda there whilst dealing with my mother. Often her noise and chatter would irritate me but now they were a welcome interruption to the morose air which had descended on the house since my mother arrived. It wasn’t really anything she said or did because in truth, she said very little. It was more her presence; a silent, brooding presence locked in a body which had no way to express itself any more. I found being in the same room as her depressing; a reminder of the loss of faculty and the cruelty of the ageing process.

  I’m not proud to admit that I basically left Matilda and her to it in the living room, because in actual fact, I couldn’t face being with her. For Matilda, having my mother here was like having a new pet, albeit a slightly old and unresponsive one. Later that afternoon, I paused on my way upstairs with a basket of laundry to watch them together. It struck me at that moment how well matched old and young people are. They have a lot more spare time on their hands, for a start, and they also have an ability to chat without needing a response. It was a match made in heaven.

  ‘So shall we play a game or I could show you my teddies or we could watch TV?’ suggested Matilda, smiling up at her new friend.

  My mother stared at her with a soft expression. ‘Caroline,’ she said.

  ‘No, Matilda or Tilly or some of my friends call me Tills,’ explained Matilda patiently. ‘That’s Caroline,’ she added, pointing at me. ‘She’s my mum and my dad is in the kitchen. He’s called Oliver.’

  ‘Caroline,’ repeated my mother, looking up at me with the same gentle expression.

  I looked away. I don’t want to talk to you. It’s too late. ‘Matilda, could you fetch yourself a drink and a biscuit please?’

  ‘Can I eat it in here with Nanny?’

  ‘As long as you don’t make crumbs.’

  ‘’Kay,’ she said, dashing towards the kitchen.

  I felt my mother’s eyes on me. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ I asked, glancing down at her and doing my best to keep my voice at a reasonable volume.

  She reached out, her skin-and-bone arm floating in the air, seeking contact. My body stiffened. ‘Caroline,’ she said again. ‘My Caroline.’

  I’m not your Caroline. I gave a polite smile. ‘I’ll just take these upstairs and then make you some tea,’ I said before making a hasty retreat.

  A
s I made the drinks, Oliver appeared behind me and put his arms around my shoulder. ‘Hey, darling, how are you doing?’

  I sighed. ‘I’ll be better once I’ve found a solution for my mother.’

  ‘You make it sound as if she’s a problem.’

  I turned to face him. ‘Oliver, she needs full-time care. We can’t give her that.’

  ‘Are you sure that’s all it is?’ He kissed me on the cheek to show that he wasn’t criticising.

  We had talked about my mother over the years. He knew the history but it wasn’t something I dwelt on. That wasn’t me. The past was the past and that was that.

  ‘It’s too late to go over it now. You can see how she is. We’re not going to resolve the issues in our relationship at this stage.’ And besides, I don’t want to and I don’t want to think about why either.

  He smiled. ‘She does seem different these days though – more mellow somehow.’

  ‘That’s her condition. She doesn’t have a clue what’s going on.’

  ‘She dotes on you,’ he observed.

  ‘She thought Matilda was me five minutes ago,’ I replied, brushing him off.

  He hugged me tight and then kissed me again. ‘You must do whatever you think best, my darling.’

  Yes, I must and for now, that involves getting my mother out of my house as soon as possible.

  I finished making the tea and carried a mug into the living room for my mother. Matilda was sitting next to her and they were looking at one of the photograph albums I had been showing her recently. ‘Look, that’s you and Grandpa with Mum. You look very smart, Nanny. Do you know where that was taken?’

  My mother’s face had changed. She looked animated and wide-eyed as if her brain was firing into life.

  ‘It looks lovely, wherever it is,’ said Matilda. ‘Somewhere by the sea, I think. Mum looks funny in her little outfit and sunhat.’ She glanced up at me before whispering to her grandmother. ‘She actually looks a bit podgy,’ she giggled.

  ‘Clacton,’ said my mother in a husky voice, glancing up at me. ‘Clacton.’