by Clare Boyd
‘Why waste the tickets?’
In the taxi, John was brooding and quiet.
They settled at a booth table at Odette’s and John ordered a Martini. Francesca ordered a glass of wine. They both chose the moules-frites.
Francesca talked about Robert’s moods: up versus down, irritable versus excitable, passionate versus disconnected.
John’s mussel shell missed his bowl when he chucked it. ‘I don’t want to talk about Robert.’
Francesca had been embarrassed. Quietly, almost to herself, she said, ‘I’ll make sure he goes to the doctor.’
‘He won’t go.’
‘You’re not being helpful, John.’
‘I’m sick of being helpful.’
Francesca had laughed. ‘Ha. I know what you mean.’
‘Let’s be totally and utterly unhelpful and selfish tonight.’
They had chinked glasses and John had knocked back the rest of his Martini, and ordered two more for both of them.
In the darkened auditorium of the cinema, Francesca realised she was very drunk. It was a heavy-going film about a young Israeli soldier who had blocked out a traumatic memory of a massacre in Beirut during the Lebanese war.
At one disturbing point in the story, Francesca turned to John. She saw that his cheeks shimmered with tears. Instinctively, she squeezed his hand. He wouldn’t let her go. He kept her hand in his, resting it on his knee.
For the rest of the film, Francesca had not been able to concentrate, knowing that she and John had crossed a line.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Francesca
I had not offered Camilla lunch; she had simply let herself into my house and begun making it in my kitchen an hour before we were due to see Uncle Ralph together. I was not in the mood for Camilla, or for this visit. I had been trying so hard to create some distance between me and Alice and the Tennants. But here she was; and there was John’s name, flashing up on my phone all morning. No doubt he wanted to talk about the picnic, and Alice’s ‘Daddy’ moment, which I had decided not to talk to Alice about. It had seemed cruel and petty to make a big deal of an isolated incident.
Out of the window, I watched Alice crouched down inspecting something in a flower pot. She’s happy here, I thought.
‘A quick salad would be nice before we go,’ Camilla said, bending into my fridge, pulling out a bag of wilting spinach leaves. ‘He was in a terribly low mood this morning when I spoke to him, but Alice will cheer him up. His puzzle collection really is terribly impressive. But you know he’s been very up and down since…’ And on she went about Uncle Ralph’s moods.
Resentfully, I pushed around some anaemic pine nuts in a frying pan, and listened with grudging interest to the stories of Uncle Ralph’s and Patrick’s childhood as colonial boys in Africa, to-ing and fro-ing from Nairobi airport to Eton with tags around their necks. I thought about how sad privilege sounded.
Camilla’s voice deepened as she moved on to the real misery of Uncle Ralph’s bipolar disorder. Up until now, this had been a subject I had not been privy to. Uncle Ralph’s euphemistically described ‘eccentricity’ was a family secret that even Robert had been cagey about. Finally, it seemed I had earned the privilege of Tennant insider knowledge.
‘He spent every penny he had?’ I asked.
‘Every penny,’ she exhaled heavily.
‘On a yacht?’
Camilla waggled the knife at me. ‘For an acquaintance whom he met at the Rotary Club twice a year.’
‘And this guy accepted it?’
She nodded. ‘Even though Patrick got involved and begged him not to.’
‘That’s terrible.’
‘That’s why Patrick doesn’t speak to Ralph. He can’t forgive him for squandering their parents’ trust fund.’
‘But he was ill.’
Camilla turned on the tap so hard that it sprayed her ice-blue blouse, but she failed to notice or care. She washed the knife under the gushing tap, slicing the sponge repeatedly.
‘Patrick doesn’t see it like that. You see, Ralph has no children, and Patrick knew his money would have gone to Robert and John if he hadn’t blown it.’
I turned away from her, back to the pan.
‘Robert never cared about money.’
The pine nuts were burnt black. One minute they had been white, the next black. I started on a second batch of them, thankful I’d bought a large bag.
Camilla sniffed. ‘There’s the house, at least. Patrick’s the executor now.’
‘I’ve heard it’s beautiful.’
‘You’ll see for yourself today.’
‘Robert never wanted to take me,’ I said, glancing over my shoulder at Camilla.
She was fiddling with a pearled button on her shirt, eyeing me with a cocked eyebrow; perhaps deliberating on saying more or waiting for me to say more. ‘Do you know why?’
‘Do you?’
‘I used to force the boys to go, too much, probably. He never mentioned it?’
‘To be honest, Camilla,’ I laughed, ‘I’ve learnt more about Ralph in this last half an hour than in all the years I’ve known you lot.’
Haughtily, she smiled, as though she was exceptionally pleased about that fact.
‘The house is terribly rundown. But he would’ve lost it altogether if I hadn’t persuaded him to see Dr Baqri, who referred him straight away to Dr Stanton. A psychiatrist,’ she said, lowering her voice. Then, waggling a fork in my face: ‘It’s worth a small fortune now, apparently. The house, I mean.’
But the mention of Dr Baqri had roused me.
‘Dr Baqri? Your family doctor?’
‘Yes. He’s wonderful.’
‘Was Robert ever a patient of his?’ I asked cautiously, wondering if Robert had lied to Camilla as well as to John.
‘Oh, yes. All his life.’
The oil from the pan spat at my hands.
‘Is that what he told you?’
‘It’s what I know.’
‘And he knew about his depression?’
‘He was very professional and never mentioned a thing to me. But I’m sure he did his best…’ She trailed off.
‘Does Uncle Ralph still see Dr Baqri?’
‘Alongside Dr Stanton, of course. I don’t know what we’d do without him. Darling Ralph is worse than ever these days. Sometimes I’m not sure he knows I’m even there when I visit, and he’s terrible at taking his pills. Once, he flushed two packets of them down the loo and insisted I fish them out again.’ She made a face, and added, ‘Dr Baqri thinks it might be time to think about a full-time carer.’
‘Thank god Ralph has you,’ I said, on autopilot.
She waved my compliment away with her red-polished nails. ‘Anyone would have done the same…’
‘Do you want me to check in on him while you and Patrick are away in Italy?’
‘Well, I was considering cancelling our jaunt this year.’
‘I would be very happy to help,’ I offered, burning with an ulterior motive. With sanctioned access to Uncle Ralph, I would, in turn, have access to Dr Baqri.
‘I’ll see what Dr Baqri thinks.’
‘No!’ I cried, remembering the pine nuts. ‘I’ve burnt them again.’
I let them slide into the bin from the hot pan for a second time.
‘Let me do it,’ she said, prising the pan from my hand.
I was relieved to be able to sit down. Tainted by fresh suspicions about Dr Baqri, I began to question Camilla’s fixation on Ralph, curious about whether he had become some kind of unconscious replacement for Robert: if she saved Uncle Ralph, she would feel better about not saving Robert. Or whether there was more to it. With this thought in mind, I decided that I was rather keen on this visit this afternoon.
Alice ran into the kitchen.
‘Can we go and see the puzzles now?’
‘Yes, darling. You wait until you see Uncle Ralph’s collection!’
* * *
We pulled up in Camilla’s green Jaguar outside the
tall garden walls of Uncle Ralph’s house. Alice leapt out and ran up the straight pathway that led through the very centre of the overgrown garden to the red-brick frontage. The classical Georgian exterior was mottled with lichen and cracks, while the roses were crumpled buds, wilting around the sash windowsills. The restrained symmetry and elegance was charming. From the outside, it was a fairytale house, where dreams should come true.
Alice and I waited in the hallway while Camilla checked on him in the kitchen, where she had heard plates clattering.
As we waited, a text came through on my phone.
Mum said you’re seeing Uncle Ralph today. Find out the name of his medication. I’ll explain later. Jx
My stomach somersaulted. I was thrown off, unsure of what to think, but instantly questioning his motives. If his request had anything to do with Robert’s pills, what had changed his mind? I had an urge to start charging around, opening drawers and upending boxes to find Ralph’s medication. But I knew I had to step cautiously.
I looked around us at the sinister interior of the house, at the red wallpaper, which would have been expensive in its day, but which was now faded and peeling at the corners. The mahogany antique console was riddled with woodworm and layered with dust. One half of one wall was stacked with fifty or so tubs of washing-up tablets. A randomly placed Edwardian revolving bookshelf was half-blocking the stairs and was filled with what looked like dead cress in egg boxes.
When Camilla returned, she spoke in hushed tones. ‘Just to warn you, it looks like he’s rapid cycling.’
I pictured Ralph on a bicycle. ‘What do you mean?’
‘He’s in transition from depression to mania. When I called earlier, he was refusing to get out of bed, but now he’s racing around full of beans, washing up every single cup in the cupboard like Mary Poppins.’
‘Should we come back another time?’ I asked, pulling Alice away from the dead cress, unnerved by the house, less and less keen to snoop around.
‘No, no. A sudden departure would set his paranoia off. But, be warned, he might be a little OTT today,’ she said, shooting out her hand for Alice to take. ‘Alice, darling, this way for the puzzles. Come and see. He has hundreds of them. But, darling, no going upstairs, okay?’
While Alice sifted through the pile of puzzle boxes, Camilla and I went through to the kitchen.
Ralph stepped away from the sink, waved his bubbly hands at us, and splashed Camilla’s hair.
‘Whoopsie daisy!’ He laughed, wiping his hands down his multicoloured checked shirt, which stretched at the stomach and was neatly tucked into pink belted moleskin trousers. His wiry, grey hair was shaped into a boxy flat-top buzz cut, and he would have looked quite normal if it weren’t for his bloodshot eyes, which were a little too far apart, and bulging. He reminded me of a splendid, colourful chameleon lizard.
‘Hello! Welcome! Come in! Bienvenue! Ciao! Guten Morgen! Oh, whoops! It’s the afternoon! Do we know good afternoon in German, ladies?’
‘Guten Nachmittag,’ Camilla said.
‘Such a clever woman, such a clever woman. And never you forget it, young lady!’ He pointed at me, startling me slightly. ‘I don’t. Ever.’
‘You remember Francesca, don’t you? Alice is playing with your puzzles, if that’s okay?’
‘Quite, quite,’ Ralph said, stepping too close to me. ‘Such a sad affair, such a loss. You are now the tragic damsel of the family. How much my heart broke for you.’
He grabbed me with his damp hands and I felt a lump form in my throat.
‘Stop being so maudlin, Ralph. She didn’t come here to cry.’
Camilla’s words seem to act like a blown whistle in his ear. He dropped my hands and asked abruptly, ‘Tea?’
‘A cup of tea would be great, thanks.’
He then listed twenty different teas, offered several different variations of milk/soya/almond/lemon/honey/milk-with-sugar/milk-with-honey/lemon with soya/ lemon with almond. I chose chamomile, to keep it simple. But Uncle Ralph then offered me a choice of dozens of different types of mugs.
‘In the morning, I drink from this one,’ he explained, brandishing a blue mug, darting back and forth from his crockery dresser to the table. ‘With my mid-morning snack, I have a coffee in this one.’ He showed us a white, porcelain cup and saucer. ‘But with my after-lunch brew, I love this pretty one with my teapot.’ It was a gold patterned tea-set with delicate flowers and bees.
For the next ten minutes, he talked us through his tea-drinking routine. By bedtime, I worked out he would clock up at least fifteen cups.
Finally, Uncle Ralph sat down, only to leap up and begin talking about the various plates he would need to wash up next.
‘Might you go check on Alice?’ Camilla said, arching her eyebrow at me.
‘Oh, right, okay,’ I said, getting the hint. It was a relief to escape for a few minutes. Watching Ralph was like waiting for an elastic band, stretched too tight, to snap.
In the dining room, thick with dust motes, I knelt down next to Alice, who had brought out a puzzle of a Goya painting of a man facing a firing squad.
‘That might be a bit hard for you, sweetheart,’ I said, unstacking the others in the cupboard. I brought out a Monet, which had bigger pieces and a prettier subject matter.
‘I need a wee-wee,’ Alice said.
I decided to be brave, and I led Alice upstairs. Ostensibly, to look for a loo. It was the perfect opportunity to have a nose around. If we were discovered, Alice would be the alibi.
There was a long corridor upstairs, decorated with brocade wallpaper and oil paintings. I opened a few doors to various spare bedrooms. At the end of the red runner carpet, I saw a door ajar, revealing black and white bathroom tiles. Having led Alice in, I looked into the room adjacent to the bathroom. It was a huge bedroom with a mahogany four-poster bed and green silk bedcovers, worn out but immaculately made. It must have been Ralph’s bedroom.
Just as I heard Alice flush the loo, I noticed a collection of pill packets on top of his dresser.
Slowly, I stepped across the creaky floorboards towards them.
‘What are you doing, Mummy?’ Alice shouted. She bounded into the room.
‘Shhhh,’ I said, scooping her up in my arms.
She whispered theatrically, ‘Are we playing hide and seek?’
‘Yes, we’re hiding from Grandma Cam-Cam,’ I replied, under my breath.
I picked up one of the cardboard boxes and read ‘Seroquel XL’ in blue and pink lettering, with the name ‘Quetiapine (as fumarate)’, and ‘400mg tablets’, partly obscured by the label, which was printed with a Harley Street pharmacy address and the recommended dosage.
I opened the box and pressed out one of the oblong white pills from the blister packet. The name ‘SEROQUEL’, in capitals, was engraved across the chalky medication. On the other side of the pill I read, ‘XL 400’.
‘Sweeties!’ Alice cried.
‘No, poppet,’ I said, shoving them quickly back inside the box. ‘Not sweeties. Definitely not.’
Having returned the box to the stack, I softly crept back out of the room, keen to remember the name ‘Seroquel’.
I put Alice down and held her hand as we descended the stairs, repeating ‘Seroquel’ in my head over and over.
From the other side of the dining room door, I could hear Ralph hollering, ‘What the hell has happened in here?’
There was a sound of boxes crashing and rattling around, and the patter of small objects – I guessed puzzle pieces – cascading onto the table.
Camilla’s murmured replies sounded soothing, but they did not seem to be pacifying him.
I hovered outside the dining room door, deliberating about what to do next, wishing we could bolt. Alice nestled into my legs and then Camilla burst out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Breathlessly, she said, ‘I’m terribly sorry, but I think you’d better wait for me in the car. He’s a little… tired.’
‘I’m so sorry a
bout the puzzles. Alice needed the loo.’
‘It’s quite all right. Off you pop, girls. I’ll be out in a minute,’ Camilla said, shooing us to the door. The noise of Ralph’s rampaging reverberated through the walls of the closed room.
I took Alice’s hand and jogged away down the path.
Then he flew out of the front door, pointing down at Alice, full of menace.
‘Just like your father, eh? A little rascal, are you, eh? Sneaking around my house, with your sticky little fingers!’
Alice burst into tears, and I tugged at her to run faster, jolted by Ralph’s accusation. If Robert had sticky fingers, he had certainly not been thieving puzzles. Seroquel was more likely.
‘Now, now, Ralph, come on. That’s not true. Calm down,’ Camilla soothed.
I looked back, and saw how Camilla’s eyes blinked rapidly, how her jaw pulsed.
Then Uncle Ralph turned on her, pushing a finger into her face, hollering at her: ‘You. YOU! You saw Robert stealing from me with your own eyes and you did nothing!’
I stopped at the gate, alarmed by what Ralph had just said. Could it be true that Camilla had actually witnessed Robert thieving Seroquel?
Camilla caught my eye, and a streak of fear shot through her expression.
Quickly, she re-arranged her features and chastised Uncle Ralph, ‘I saw nothing of the sort.’
‘You’re a liar! I warned Patrick against your type. I warned him! I did!’ Uncle Ralph yelled.
As Camilla struggled to persuade Ralph inside, I was transfixed by their shouting and scuffling, processing what I had just heard.
‘Get Alice in the car!’ Camilla barked, breaking me out of my trance.
I hurried Alice through the gate and into the Jaguar.
Behind me, I could see Camilla successfully leading a placated Ralph back inside.
With the car doors locked, we waited.
Alice lay in my lap, letting out a tearful, hiccuppy sigh every now and again. ‘He’s so scary, Mummy.’
‘He’s not very well, darling,’ I said, typing, with trembling fingers, ‘Seroquel’ into the search engine of my phone. The cursor whirled and buffered, failing every time I refreshed.
