‘Crazy, isn’t it?’ Shelley followed her gaze. ‘Homesick for the rain and the cold and the little skies? But most of all, love, homesick for you and the baby. I can’t leave you and the baby. Not again. But I can leave Alan.’
‘Hey, hang on a minute.’
‘No. You hear me out. It was a mistake. I didn’t play the game, you see. Over the years, since your dad died, he’s asked me to marry him more times than I’ve had hot dinners and every single time I said no. But the last time he asked, I said yes. And that was not really in his game plan. I’ve made my mind up so don’t you try to stop me. I’m not going back, Becky. I’m leaving him. I’m staying here. Ivana says I can have my old job back any time I want. And I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I can find myself a little place of my own.’
A great wave of relief passed over Becky.
She should not be pleased that her mum was walking out on poor Alan but she was. Thank goodness they wouldn’t have to go through the agony of an airport goodbye again.
‘He’ll not be too down,’ Shelley said, giving her a moment to digest the news. ‘He was planning a long cruise with his brother, leaving me for about four months, so he’ll probably be delighted I’m not coming back. It didn’t work out, love. And I was a fool to think it would. Alan’s all right, a nice enough man, but he’s not your dad. You only get one shot at it, one proper go, one man that’s meant for you,’ she added, lowering her voice. ‘All that tripe. But there’s something in it, isn’t there?’
‘What about Johnny?’ Becky asked quietly. ‘Can you handle him?’
‘You bet. Have no worries there. If he dares to try anything I have a very good line in put-downs.’
TWENTY-FIVE
FOR THE VISIT to her great grandfather, Samantha was wearing the dress Ivana had given her, white frilly socks and her red shoes. Becky had opted for a pale grey severely cut suit with a white blouse, as if she was attending an interview for a job. She was feeling nervous and Simon was not helping, reiterating as they drove over to the coast that this was going to be no picnic.
‘I know. I almost wish we weren’t coming now,’ Becky said, having chosen to sit in the back of the car beside the baby seat. Despite feeling tense, she softened a little as she looked at the back of Simon’s head. She could tell how anxious he was purely from looking at it.
‘He hasn’t improved with age and he was always plain spoken. He’ll say exactly what he thinks,’ he told her. ‘And his language can be a bit colourful.’
‘That’s OK,’ she said with a smile. ‘I’ve lived with my mum for forty years. I’ve heard the lot.’
‘I’ve had a word with Matron,’ he told her. ‘I felt I had to because it’s a while since I’ve been to see him. She was very honest, told me exactly how he is these days. Time means nothing to him, she says. He often harps back to the past, usually does in fact, so he doesn’t make sense. But sometimes, he seems very nearly normal so he’s not completely slipped away, not yet. It’s best, she says, to just go along with it. Don’t try to contradict him, whatever you do. He’ll get upset if you try to do that.’
‘Look, will you stop worrying? It’ll be just fine,’ Becky said, none the less feeling a whole flutter of butterflies dancing about her stomach as they drove into Lytham.
*
William would receive them in the quieter of the lounges, Matron said after they had signed their names in the book in reception. They had dispensed with the television in the quiet lounge, she explained, because it had to be on so loudly that you couldn’t hear yourself speak. It’s a comfort to them, she went on chattily, and they will watch absolutely anything and some of them were particularly fond of the children’s programmes. They had a pianist come in one night a week and they all had a sing-song and those that could played bridge and they were fond of jigsaws, although she found it was best to stick to just the 500-piece ones. They have bouts of bad temper, she explained, and if they got frustrated that’s when things got knocked over or they lashed out.
Her determinedly cheery manner and the way she referred to the residents as they and them irked Becky but at least the place had a pleasant feel to it. It didn’t smell too bad and there were plenty of flowers dotted about even if she suspected them to be artificial. She clutched the chocolates and the grapes they had brought with them – scant consolation, she thought, for the lack of visits.
Mr Blundell was having a good day today, surprisingly lucid, so they had chosen a good time to visit, she told them, but she warned that the confusion could come along any time so they must be prepared.
‘He’s had a bath this morning so he’s a bit tired now,’ she said. ‘Any extra activity wears him out. He’s not walking too well nowadays and we have to use the wheelchair but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s been told that you are coming along,’ she said, pausing a minute before smiling at Samantha who, safe in her father’s arms, waved back. ‘What a little sweetheart! Come this way. He’ll be pleased to see you. He has few visitors.’
Not sure if that was the slightest of reprimands, Becky exchanged a quick worried glance with Simon as they were shown into the lounge, whose wide windows had a view across the road of the green and the seashore. It was a large airy room, maroon flock wallpaper and a busy carpet, with a multitude of high-back armchairs, standard lamps and small tables. Just a few residents were there, only one of whom looked at them with any interest as they went by, Simon heading purposefully towards the window area.
‘Hello, Grandpa,’ he said, his voice abnormally bright, as he neared the man who had now looked up. To Becky’s relief, there was instant recognition in his eyes.
‘Well, if it isn’t our Simon. I haven’t seen you in a while, lad.’
‘No.’ Simon coloured, looking at Becky for support. ‘I’ve been a bit busy.’
‘Too busy to visit your grandpa?’
Oh God. Simon’s face had gone from flushed to wan in the space of a few minutes. ‘I’ve brought Samantha to see you,’ he carried on gamely. ‘She’s your great granddaughter. And this …’ He flourished a hand at Becky, who stepped forward. ‘This is my wife Rebecca.’
‘Is it, by God?’
She wasn’t sure what to do. Shaking hands seemed wrong but kissing him seemed equally so but, catching a look from Simon, she did just that anyway, going forward and reaching down to drop a kiss on his cheek. His skin was paper thin, crinkled like tissue paper. He was wearing a royal blue sweater over a lighter blue shirt with dark blue trousers, looking rather natty and nautical, in fact. She was pleased that he was dressed nicely although the trainers he was wearing seemed incongruous. He smelled cleanly of a strong soap and Becky remembered at once that Marina had said as much.
To her surprise, he grabbed her hand, stilling her there, his grip surprisingly firm, looking up at her with an old man’s eyes. ‘Rebecca …’ he repeated softly. ‘I like that. A good plain name. It suits you,’ he finished, letting go of her.
Becky stretched up, holding on to her smile. He meant no harm, obviously did not intend to offend. Glancing across at Simon she saw that he, too, was smiling. ‘We’ve brought you chocolates,’ she said, placing the box on the little table beside him. ‘And some grapes.’
‘I don’t like grapes,’ he said. ‘The pips get under my teeth.’
‘Oh … sorry.’
‘Let me have a look at the little ’un. Bring her a bit nearer then I can see her up close.’
‘Do you want to hold her?’ Becky asked. ‘She wriggles a bit.’
‘No, no, good God, no. I’ve never been one for holding babies. Holding the baby is for women,’ he said with a sudden twinkle in his eye. ‘Didn’t know you were wed, our Simon! Nobody invited me. I like a wedding. Good excuse for a knees-up. I suppose it was your dad who didn’t want me there.’ He looked at Becky. ‘Did he tell you that we don’t get on? Me and my son Johnny. He’s the only son I’ve got at that.’
There was an awkward silence. This man was supposed to be confused but j
ust now he was as sharp as a needle. Becky threw a cross glance towards her husband, a glance that clearly said ‘I told you so,’ but how could she explain that she hadn’t even known of this man’s existence until a little while ago and that by accident? She wondered just when Simon would have got round to telling her, if ever. They had decided on the way not to mention Samantha’s heart problem so as not to upset him. Distraction seemed the best option at the moment and Becky used the age-old technique of talking at him through the baby.
All was going well or reasonably so when the door opened and a woman came in. At once, William’s face changed and he straightened in the chair.
‘There she is,’ he said loudly. ‘Bonny-looking woman, isn’t she? She suits her name. Belle, I call her. It’s French. It means beautiful. Did you know that?’
Becky looked round, embarrassed, but the woman, small, bespectacled, round shouldered, wearing a knitted suit, seemed unperturbed, removing herself with the aid of a walking stick to the opposite end of the room well out of range.
‘Shirt collars,’ William said suddenly, out of nowhere. ‘Loose shirt collars. We get a lot of those in these days at the laundry. They dig into your neck, they do, but by God they cut the mustard. You can’t beat putting a clean collar on. Newly laundered. Shirt collars maketh the man.’
‘That’s our business, Grandpa, commercial laundering,’ Simon said, brightening at being thrown a likely topic of conversation. ‘Bell’s is doing well. We’ve expanded a lot since you were running it. We have contracts with most of the hotels now and there’s more and more B&Bs coming on to the books. I’ve had to get a couple more big vans to cover the area. And we’ve branched out into making work clothes. That was my idea. It’s a separate unit and I’ve put a manager in charge of that side of things. We make them and then we’re in charge of maintaining them. I know people have their own washing machines but laundering can still be a chore for busy people. I think there’s going to be a revival for launderettes, particularly if we offer an ironing service. We’ve taken some over and we’re going to modernize them, have a coffee area where people can sit and wait in comfort.’ He paused to draw breath, looking triumphantly at Becky.
Shop talk.
Becky sighed, shaking her head slightly. She knew that Simon was nervous and, when he was nervous, he resorted to the comfort of shop talk. It seemed, however, to be passing over his grandfather’s head.
‘Where’s my wife?’ William interrupted Simon in full desperate throttle as Becky shot him an amused glance. ‘Has she bucked up at all? Once she gets a mood on, there’s no doing with her. She never comes to see me. Mind you, I’ve a bone to pick with her when she does. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Who said that?’
‘No idea.’ Simon glanced at Becky, avoiding looking at his grandfather and tickling the baby’s toes instead. Obligingly, the little girl giggled, eyes dancing as she looked at her daddy.
‘Why doesn’t Isabel come to see me?’ William went on.
‘She’s very busy,’ Becky said quickly, worried that Simon might speak the truth. ‘She’s shopping and having her hair done.’
‘That’ll be it,’ he said, satisfied. ‘Women and shopping, eh? I expect she’ll come to see me soon. We need to talk. She is a grand woman but she can be a bit rum. When I first met her I thought she was very high and mighty. She comes from a big Scottish family. Owned nearly half the Highlands, they did. I liked that. I like a woman with a pedigree. But when it comes down to it, she’s just a woman like any other and she showed me up by doing what she did. What was it she did?’
Becky struggled for a suitable answer. As she didn’t know exactly what it was that Isabel had done, it was difficult. As the silence lengthened, she looked helplessly towards Simon for inspiration but he shrugged, no good at this either. Exasperated, she clicked her tongue and started to talk to the baby.
‘You don’t lose control, not in circles like that,’ William said suddenly. ‘I’ll not forget what she did. She made my son hate me, she did. Where is she now, then? Why isn’t she here with you?’
He was getting agitated, shuffling in his chair, looking as if he was about to get up, and Simon moved to help but then the door opened again and one of the nurses came in.
‘Here she is,’ William said, sitting back down heavily in his chair. ‘About bloody time, Isabel. Get Mary to put the kettle on and we’ll have a cup of tea. Come over … I have something to say to you, madam.’
The nurse came across, smiling understandingly at Simon and Becky.
‘Hello William,’ she said. ‘How are we, today?’
‘No better for seeing you. Where the hell have you been, Isabel? Frightened to show your face? Our Simon’s come to see us. He’s brought his wife and his little girl.’ He turned to look directly at Becky, eyes boring into her, and she flinched at the look, unsure whether he was momentarily lucid or not. ‘The little lass is called Isabel, isn’t she?’
All eyes turned to Becky.
They were silent in the car on the way back and when they arrived home Simon flung the car keys on the desk and spent a moody hour in front of the television. Knowing the visit had hit him hard, Becky wisely left him to it. She understood a little more now, now that she had seen William and witnessed his confused state for herself.
Any thoughts she might have had of returning him to the bosom of his family had been wiped out this afternoon. Common sense dictated it was impossible for him to live alone in his confused state but it was also impossible for the family to consider having him live with them. He could not be placed under lock and key at their homes, protected from himself as he was in this one. The staff at the nursing home were caring, she had seen that, and judging from the smiles of the occupants towards them she didn’t think it was a kindness put on solely for their benefit.
But, even if he had to be incarcerated there, that didn’t mean that they couldn’t go to see him regularly. Some of the time today, when he was coherent, he had known exactly what was what.
And that was the trouble.
‘If I’d known, we could have given her Isabel as a second name,’ Becky said, smiling at her daughter as she bathed her before bed. The scar was still there but not quite so glaring now and eventually it would fade to almost nothing. ‘It would have been a nice touch, that. Samantha Isabel, after her great grandmother. My mum wouldn’t mind. She hates her own name so she told me on no account to call her Shelley.’
Simon was leaning against the bathroom door, holding the baby’s towel, supposedly helping.
‘Sorry. I know it was hard for you today but you did very well.’
‘Thanks a lot,’ she said ungraciously.
‘I didn’t mean it to sound patronizing,’ he went on. ‘You did cope well, better than I did, but I wish you’d met him when he was more himself. He had a great sense of humour.’
‘It was so sad when he thought that the nurse was his wife,’ Becky said, helping Samantha play with the bubbles and a bright floating ball.
‘He thought that old girl in the red suit was her, too,’ Simon reminded her. ‘Belle. That must have been his pet name for Grandma.’
‘Very appropriate. She was beautiful once upon a time. Look, Simon, I know he’s not with it at the moment but I don’t like the idea of excluding him completely from family life. After all, he did know you when you first went in and, more to the point, he did know that he’d not been invited to the wedding. That was awful. We should have invited him to Samantha’s christening as well. We could have brought him here and taken him back.’
‘I don’t think so. It wouldn’t have been fair to him to put him through that.’ Simon handed her the big towel as she lifted a slippery Samantha out of the bath. ‘You saw how he was. He feels safe living there. He’s looked after. It would worry him if he was taken away.’
She nodded. He was right about that. It was not fair to put somebody whose mind was playing tricks in the company of other people who might unintentionally upset him.
She was pleased she had seen him today, although there were still a lot of questions to be answered. Ah well, she supposed it would all come out eventually. She might gently broach the subject with Esther.
Johnny would be the best person to approach but she didn’t want to speak to Johnny. With her mum back permanently, the awkwardness had returned. Following her Australian adventure, her mum seemed to have a new-found confidence about her and she reckoned she could handle Johnny Blundell, no problem. Becky certainly hoped she was right.
TWENTY-SIX
ESTHER BOUNCED SAMANTHA on her knee as she sang to her and the little girl giggled and clapped her hands in delight. Esther had a lovely stage-voice, Becky’s less so, but she joined in the song and when it was concluded – the five little ducks happily reunited with the mummy duck – Esther popped Samantha down and she toddled off in search of the toy basket. Her confidence in walking verged now on the cocky but she was still capable of falling over from time to time. Over her fair head, the two of them exchanged a smile.
‘Did Shelley find somewhere to stay?’ Esther asked. ‘She’s being very elusive. I’ve asked her over for dinner but she keeps making excuses. I don’t think she’s got used to being a single lady again but you must tell her that an odd number for dinner doesn’t matter to me in the slightest. The last thing I want to do is to start bringing in a man to even things up. I don’t want her to think I’m trying to get her fixed up with somebody else, not after what happened.’
‘I’ll have a word,’ Becky promised even though she knew full well what the problem was.
‘The last time I saw her,’ Esther went on, ‘she was still on the look-out for a bungalow. She seems to know exactly what she wants.’
‘Oh yes. She’s very excited. She’s been lucky. She’s found just the one. The man had died so it’s empty and the relatives want a quick sale and she’s ready to move so it’s all going through. She’ll be moving in a few weeks.’
Rumours and Red Roses Page 19
