‘Are you okay?’ she asked, resting her hands lightly on his shoulders.
‘I’m fine, only I can hardly keep my eyes open. It must be the last week catching up on me.’
Beth smiled at him.
‘We’re not eighteen any longer, you know. I gave up trying to do without sleep a long time ago. How is she?’
‘The same. I think there’s even less movement than a few days ago. Last Tuesday, the day after the stroke, she kept raising and lowering her right arm, as though she was looking for something. The nurse said it was a physiological tic, that it wasn’t a voluntary movement. But I don’t know. She seems to sleep more heavily now, she hasn’t even stirred since you left.’
Beth found it hard to swallow. Even as James was speaking, she could feel the impact of his words. She was filled with a troubled, instinctive certainty that she was already too late to make that last, vital contact with her mother. The letters had arrived too late. The one she’d read was not enough; and now it looked as though she’d just run out of time. She couldn’t answer him. It was all much too close to being over.
James stood up, stretched, and looked at his watch.
‘I’ve asked Gemma to come over at half twelve so that you and I can have a break. She has a half-day. She’ll stay until about three, then she’s got to go home and study.’
Beth nodded and reached again for her mother’s hand. Was she imagining things or did it feel somehow lighter, more feathery than last night? She held it closely between both of hers, squeezing gently, allowing herself to feel reassured by its steady warmth. Then she turned round to James, and managed to sound brighter, more cheerful than she felt.
‘Will you stay while I have a quick shower? Then I’ll make us something for lunch. I’m sure Gemma will be starving.’
James yawned hugely. ‘Of course. Take your time.’ He ran his fingers through his hair and pulled at his beard. Beth was aware of him walking around the room behind her, stretching his legs. There was an air of agitation around his movements: he wasn’t his usual self, stolid and contained. Beth felt that he was on the verge of saying something to her, something unexpected. She turned round to look at him, to give him an opening, but he had his back to her. Something in the set of his shoulders decided her that she should let him take his own time; he had never been the impulsive one. She kissed her mother’s forehead, stroking the fine, wispy hair that was almost completely white.
‘I’ll see you downstairs then – half an hour.’
*
Beth had just put the kettle on when the back door was suddenly flung open and a garish multicoloured umbrella made its appearance into the kitchen.
Startled, she took a step back from the sink and a cheerful disembodied voice called out: ‘Hiya, Auntie Beth!’
A very wet, gabardined back was abruptly turned as the umbrella was shaken vigorously out into the yard, drops flying everywhere. Then Gemma faced her aunt, her round face flushed and beaming. Beth held out her arms, filled by a great rush of warmth for the small, plump figure dripping water all over the kitchen floor. Of all his children, Gemma was the one who most resembled James, and Beth loved her all the more for it. Although she had her mother’s colouring, dark hair and pale complexion, Gemma’s mannerisms and features were all her father’s.
‘Gemma! Pet! Come here for a hug!’
Beth stroked the damp, rain-smelling hair. She thought she caught a faint echo of cigarette smoke and prolonged the embrace, tightening her arms around the small shoulders.
‘Are you still smoking, you monkey?’ Beth whispered into the top of her niece’s head.
Lively brown eyes looked up at her. ‘Me? Whatever makes you think that?’
‘Never mind.’ Beth kissed her on the forehead. ‘I’d scold you if it wasn’t such a complete waste of time. Just don’t let your dad find out.’
She helped her to shrug her way out of her soaking school coat. Gemma grinned at her.
‘Dad? He’s a pussycat. You should say make sure your ma doesn’t find out – now that’s what I’d call trouble!’
Beth tried to hide a smile. She arranged Gemma’s coat carefully over the back of a kitchen chair, positioning it close to the range. It had always remained lit, right throughout every winter. She wondered briefly when James had had the time recently to tend to it. She must ask him, and make sure she shared the chore. Turning back to face Gemma, she decided it would be much safer to steer away from the subject of cigarettes and parental personalities.
‘How’s school?’ she asked instead.
‘Fine,’ Gemma shrugged. ‘Too much homework; too many teachers screaming at us for not studying hard enough for the Leaving. You know the usual. How’s Laura?’
‘She’s fine. She sends her love to everyone.’
‘Still getting top marks in everything, I suppose?’
Beth laughed at Gemma’s comical expression.
‘I’m afraid so. What can I tell you – she certainly doesn’t take after her mother!’
Gemma grinned.
‘Yeah, well – at least she isn’t boring about it. Is she going to come over again this Christmas?’
Beth nodded.
‘Yes, I think so, but we’ll have to wait and see . . . how things work out here.’
Her voice trailed off. She didn’t want to imagine this house empty, locked up, silently waiting for strangers to take it over, just when she was beginning to feel at home.
Gemma cut across the thought, quickly.
‘Is there anything to eat? I’m starving! Is Dad upstairs with Gran?’
Beth laughed.
‘Hold on! The answer is “yes” to both. Do you want to go up and see him while I get lunch?’
‘Yeah, I’ll just run up and say hello. I’ll take something up with me, so’s you and him can have a break. I’ll talk to you later, ’kay?’
She grabbed a blackening banana from the fruit bowl on the kitchen table, kissed Beth warmly and gave her another hug before crashing out the door and up the stairs. Beth had the impression of a sweep of positive energy, like the sudden illumination of sheet lightning, brightening through the kitchen, crackling in the air long after her niece had left. It was a good feeling, a welcome contrast to the intense, shadowy stillness of the night before. Who said that the dying had to be surrounded only by dim lights and whispered words? Beth felt that if anything could restore her mother to wakefulness, however briefly, it would be the sheer youthful energy of her clumsy granddaughter.
And Beth needed her mother restored to wake-fulness. An idea had been forming in her mind ever since James had spoken of his mother’s slowing movements. She had to talk to him now, to convince him that what she, Beth, wanted to do was right, urgent, even essential.
James wandered into the kitchen and picked two sandwiches out of the basket that Beth had just filled. He sat down at the top of the table, and Beth’s heart lurched as she turned to watch him. In that one, simple movement, he bore an uncanny resemblance to his mother. Even the way he sat, ramrod straight, right out at the edge of the chair, was Alice’s way.
‘Sorry,’ he said, his mouth full. ‘Can’t wait, I’m starving.’
‘That’s okay. Fire ahead. Tea or coffee?’
‘Tea, please,’ and he reached for another sandwich.
‘Gemma’s looking well. She’s as bubbly as ever.’
James grinned, looking at Beth over the tops of his glasses.
‘She’s an uncoordinated disaster. Herself and Olive do nothing but fight about it. Sometimes, I think she’s clumsy on purpose.’
Beth poured tea for both of them. She said nothing, but it was easy to see how Gemma’s apparent awkwardness was the ideal tool of defiance, a perfectly honed instrument for the torture of her poised, elegant mother. She couldn’t help smiling as she imagined Olive’s pained disapproval of the daughter who continued to reflect so badly on her. She had a sudden, vivid image of Gemma lurching and crashing around her mother’s house-of-the-month sit
ting room, exulting in her own gaucheness, saying, ‘See? Can’t control this now, can you?’ It made Beth want to hug her niece, hard. She was amused for a moment at how, in less than twenty-four hours, she was beginning to feel like something of an expert on mothers and daughters.
‘Will I bring a tray up to her?’ she asked James.
He shook his head.
‘No. She said she’d prefer to come down later. She thinks it would be ghoulish to eat in front of Alice. She wouldn’t even come into the bedroom until she’d finished the banana.’ James spooned sugar into his tea. ‘Not that there’s much chance of Alice waking up,’ he added.
It was the perfect opening, but Beth felt suddenly nervous. She was afraid that what she wanted was monstrous, that soft-hearted James would be horrified at what he would see as her callousness.
‘I need to talk to you about that,’ she eventually said, quietly.
‘About what?’ James stopped, another sandwich midway to his mouth.
‘Remember you said that Mam sometimes seemed to come to, and you thought that she recognized you?’
He nodded. ‘Yeah?’
‘Well, it happened to me last night. She definitely woke up, and she squeezed my hand – very lightly, but I know she knew I was there.’
James’s face lit up.
‘That’s great – I was afraid you mightn’t have had that; I thought it might be already too late. I’m glad it happened, Sis.’
Beth swallowed. She tried to make her voice firm. She knew she was on very shaky ground here.
‘So am I. The thing is, I didn’t really get a chance to say anything to her – she slipped away again so quickly.’
James nodded.
‘That’s the way it happens. She’s sedated just enough to make sure she doesn’t feel any discomfort, so she’s more or less permanently asleep.’
‘Yes, but how do we know she feels any pain?’
He shrugged.
‘We don’t. The sedation is to avoid her getting distressed, as much as anything. The last stroke left her almost completely paralysed. It’s highly unlikely she can even speak.’
Beth almost lost courage. How was she going to do this without James finding out about the letters? How could she possibly ask him to agree to something that seemed so cruel, so totally without reason? Then she remembered the urgency in her mother’s expression when she managed the word letter and knew she had to do this. She took a deep breath. By now James was looking at her closely, his expression puzzled.
‘She tried to speak to me, James, only I couldn’t make out what she was saying. She wasn’t awake for long enough.’
Beth stopped abruptly. She could see by James’s eyes that he was beginning to understand.
‘You want to wake her up?’ he asked incredulously.
‘No, of course not, not wake her up as such. I just thought that if we – if Dr Crowley reduced the amount of sedative for one night, that she might wake up naturally, just for a little while. Then, if she did come to, well, we’d both be there, you know?’
Beth stopped. James had stood up slowly; both hands were now resting palms downward on the table, as he steadied himself. His eyes appeared intensely blue, and she knew that he was furious.
‘Jesus Christ, I don’t believe you. How can you even think of doing such a thing?’
Beth flared back at him, guilt and anguish finally igniting.
‘Because I think there might be things she’d like to say. She certainly tried hard enough last night.’
Her voice was tight, her words brittle. God, she hated this. Her brother’s rare displays of anger had always had the power to make her feel small and ashamed, like a badly behaved child. She was very tempted to say, ‘Stop – wait – let’s not do this. There are letters for you upstairs.’ But her promise to her mother had a stronger grip. She knew that this time, she had to resist James’s anger. She had promised obedience to Alice and this time she would deliver, even though it was rather late in the day.
They both stood, glaring at each other across the table. Beth felt suddenly breathless, as though someone had abruptly cut off her air supply. She had never fought with James like this, and now he was looking at her with a mixture of rage and loathing.
‘Are you sure it’s not things that you want to say? This is about you, isn’t it, not about caring for Alice at all?’
His voice was still soft, but his tone left Beth in no doubt that, right now, he found his sister beneath contempt.
‘That’s part of it, yes. But you weren’t there when she tried to speak to me. It’s for her, too. I owe it to her.’
‘It’s a bit late for you to start thinking of what you owe, isn’t it?’
James’s voice was harder now; he had drawn himself up and was standing very straight, his hands clenched by his side. Beth could feel herself being sucked inwards and downwards by an ever-increasing spiral of anger and recrimination.
‘It’s never too late. Just because you don’t feel the need to say anything, just because your life allowed you to be here . . .’
‘What the hell do you know about my life? Just who do you think you are?’
Beth felt as though she had been slapped. James had never spoken to her like that before; she had never heard him use the harsh tone that now seemed to hover, loud and shocked, in the air between them. Before she could even think of a reply, he turned his back on her and walked stiffly out the kitchen door. He closed it very softly behind him. She heard his measured tread creak all the way up the stairs. And then there was silence.
Beth’s knees began to tremble. All her anger drained away, leaving her feeling weak, almost light-headed. She sat down at the table and rested her head in her hands, feeling her chin begin to throb again as she did so. She could feel the beat of her own heart echoing painfully in her ears. She’d been right; this was going to be awful; and what made it worse was that it was going to be awful in a way she had never imagined. Nothing could have prepared her for James’s contempt.
The kitchen door suddenly opened.
‘Auntie Beth? You okay?’
Gemma was standing over her, anxious. Beth managed to smile up at her.
‘Yes, love, I’m fine. Tired and emotional, that’s all.’
‘Did you have a row with Dad? He seems really pissed off.’
‘We had a disagreement, that’s all. This is a really tough time, Gemma, and we’re both exhausted. We’ll be fine, I promise.’
Gemma knelt beside Beth’s chair and put both arms around her aunt. Beth held her close for a long time. When she was sure that her tears were under control, she pulled away and smiled at the troubled young face in front of her. She cupped both of her hands around the pointy McKinney chin.
‘It’s okay, I promise. We’re both stressed out, but we’ll get over it. Promise.’
‘Yeah, well, I don’t want you two falling out.’
Gemma’s eyes were wide, all traces of colour gone from her cheeks. Looking down at her, Beth saw echoes of Laura’s blue eyes, her grave expression. The memory of her daughter and of last night was suddenly enough. Beth decided at once what she wasn’t going to do. She wasn’t going to drive a wedge between herself and James, not now. This was shaping up to be the sort of row that never got fixed in some families, that could leave brothers and sisters not speaking to each other for decades. It was the first drop out of a well of poison that could affect not only her, but Laura and Gemma too; all the cousins. Beth was determined that she would not be party to that. She and Laura had little enough family as it was. She would find a way around this; it would not be right to leave everything for James to fix. It was time that she, too, learned how to be a peacemaker.
‘We won’t fall out, I promise you. It was mostly my fault, and I’ll go up right now and say I’m sorry. And that will be the end of it.’
Gemma pulled her coat off the back of the chair.
‘Yeah, well, if I’m not needed, I’ll head off home. But you’d be much better
giving him time to cool off. I wouldn’t go near him for another hour or so, if I were you.’
Beth nodded, smiling at her.
‘I’ll take your advice.’
‘Go for a walk, or something. It’s almost stopped raining.’
Gemma retrieved her umbrella from the sink and picked up her schoolbag.
‘I’ll see you later, then, okay?’
‘Okay,’ Beth agreed. ‘Don’t you want anything else to eat before you go?’
Gemma shook her head.
‘No thanks; lost my appetite.’
She blew her aunt a kiss, and then she was gone. The kitchen seemed to sag suddenly without her and Beth felt that the air had been emptied. She poured the last dregs of tea into her cup. How was she going to handle this? Was she being heartless and selfish, as James had just accused her? Or was she right to fight for this, for her mother, as well as for herself? She sighed. It always seemed to happen the same way, every time she came home. She was always at the centre of conflict, except that now, she wasn’t fighting any childhood ghosts, but rather the most loyal, substantial ally she had ever had.
Beth left her uneaten lunch on the table, and went to get her coat from the hall-stand. She hoped the walk would clear her head, soothe her heart. When she came back, she was going to have to find some way of giving all three of them what they each needed.
*
He was downstairs in the kitchen, waiting for her. The dishes had been piled neatly in the sink. A pot of coffee and two mugs sat in the middle of the kitchen table.
‘It’s all right,’ he said, as soon as she stepped inside. ‘Keith has no lectures this afternoon, so he stopped by to see Alice. He’s with her now.’
Beth nodded, her mouth suddenly dry. She no longer knew what to say. There was a strange edginess between them, something which was not familiar to her, not with James. Her eyes were drawn away from him to the side of the range where the bucket of anthracite stood. The fire was newly stoked, the doors cleaned, chrome handles gleaming. She had been found wanting again, she supposed. She had a sudden thought that being here, with James, made her feel less than significant, somehow. No matter what she did now, or had done in their shared past, it seemed that she could never measure up. Like now, he’d always been there first, before her, doing the right thing.
Walled Garden Page 7
