by Liz Eeles
She says it lightly but there’s a hint of reproach in her voice. Or maybe I’m imagining it and projecting my own guilt onto her. Jeez, I hate it when I get all psycho-babbly on myself but that’s what families do to you. They make you feel guilty. All of the time. I’ve seen it often enough with friends who visit their parents every weekend or spend Christmas with argumentative siblings because they feel bad if they don’t. Well, that’s not for me and I’m leaving before I get sucked into family stuff even more. Alice is not my responsibility and tomorrow it’ll be London, here I come.
‘I’d better get on. This sign won’t clean itself,’ sighs Kayla, sloshing the mop across the pub sign and showering water over us. ‘But it was lovely meeting you, Annie. Really. Look after yourself.’
‘You too. And good luck with Ollie.’
‘Huh, Ollie! I might shag Josh Pasco and his bonzer backside instead, just to show Ollie what he’s missing.’ She wields the mop around her head and hits the sign which swings violently back and forth. ‘I’ll email you and let you know what he’s like.’
I really, really hope that Kayla won’t send me Josh Pasco’s out-of-ten shag score. There’s something unsettling about the thought of them sleeping together, though I’m not sure why. She’s young, free and single and so’s he, as far as I’m aware, so it’s none of my business if they hook up. In fact, she’s welcome to the grumpy git and I reckon he’d only be a six anyway.
Chapter 11
Alice is pottering about when I get back and complaining that she can’t sleep although she’s tired. Despite going upstairs to get dressed, she’s still wearing her grey dressing gown which drains all colour from her face, and she’s shaky, though she insists rather predictably that she’s ‘fine’.
All the same, I insist she sits in front of the TV while I make her an omelette for lunch. Then I can do some vacuuming while she rests and make sure everything is shipshape before I leave. This is mostly to make me feel better because I feel guilty at the thought of abandoning her, especially since finding out that she lost a baby all those years ago. I can’t help it, even though that’s just the kind of overemotional thinking that will do nothing but bugger up my lovely, uncomplicated life.
I’m not leaving Alice in the lurch, I tell myself sternly, cracking three eggs into a glass bowl and searching through the cutlery drawer for a whisk. I’m merely leaving her as she was before I arrived – elderly, unwell and prone to falling in a large house with lots of stairs. For goodness’ sake, that’s not helping! I start beating hell out of the egg yolks, determined to distract myself from a ridiculous urge to ‘do the right thing.’
* * *
Dr Rivers calls round again just after four o’clock, this time wearing navy cords and a pale blue shirt, but still carrying his fat, vintage bag.
‘How’s the patient?’ he asks me, stepping over the vacuum cleaner that’s blocking the sitting room doorway.
‘Still with a full complement of her marbles and able to answer her own questions,’ pipes up Alice.
‘I wasn’t implying otherwise, Alice. I wouldn’t dare.’ Dr Rivers rolls his eyes at me and opens his bag. ‘Let’s give you a quick check over.’
He listens to Alice’s heart, takes her temperature and asks questions while I hover near the door, not sure if it’s right for me to stay for this.
‘Do sit down, Annabella,’ murmurs Alice after a while. ‘You’ll wear a groove in the rug. You’re just like your grandfather. He could never keep still either. Always had to be doing something.’
The examination takes five minutes and, when it’s done, Dr Rivers sits opposite his patient with his elbows on his knees.
‘Well, Alice, the good news is that you seem to have escaped this morning’s fall fairly unscathed.’
Alice goes to speak but Dr Rivers holds up his hand.
‘However, the bad news is that this can’t go on for too much longer, you know that. Your condition is going to get worse and there’s been some recent deterioration.’ He puffs out his cheeks. ‘I think it’s time to start making plans about what you’re going to do next.’
‘I’m not leaving this house, Stephen, or Salt Bay. This is my home and it always will be.’ Alice’s breathing has quickened and there are bright spots of colour in her cheeks.
Dr Rivers shakes his head. ‘I know, Alice, but you can’t carry on living here alone for too much longer. Can she?’ He glances at me for support. ‘If your great-niece hadn’t been here this morning what would you have done? What if next time you fall in the bath or down the stairs?’ He takes Alice’s hands in his. ‘You’re not going to get better, Alice. Your condition is progressive.’
‘I’m very well aware of that.’ Alice pulls her hands away and folds her arms. ‘I can get Serena to come in for more hours each week and pay for carers.’
‘The level of care and support you’ll end up needing here will be expensive, and services are stretched, even if people are eligible for help. Just think about it,’ he adds gently. ‘Maybe talk to Annabella about what’s best and perhaps I—’
‘No,’ says Alice firmly, pushing herself up and standing ramrod straight. Her white hair has fluffed up at the back where she’s been resting against the sofa. ‘I might have to sell this house if I move or go into full-time care – the Trebarwith family home. I just can’t do it so I’ll sort things out myself and find another way.’
Dr Rivers sighs and pats her shoulder. ‘I’ve learned over the years never to underestimate the Trebarwiths, so I’m sure if there is another way, you’ll find it.’
By the time I’ve shown Dr Rivers out, Alice has moved to a chair near the window. She’s sitting in shadow sideways-on and reminds me of an 18th century silhouette portrait. Like a proud, elderly Jane Austen with a ray of pale, winter sunlight falling across her lap.
‘What exactly is it you have, Alice?’
‘A progressive neurological condition; that’s how the doctors describe it. It’s been coming on for some time.’ Alice watches two children, wrapped up in coats and hats, who are scrabbling across the wet harbour sand and screaming with delight. ‘At first I was just more tired and achey than usual but then I started getting stiff and shaky and, more recently, I’ve been falling down. It’s a damn nuisance.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I think you’ve had quite enough to take in, don’t you? And I didn’t want you to feel obliged to stay here.’ She swivels round in her chair until she’s facing me. ‘My motivation in asking you here wasn’t to cajole you into being my carer, Annabella, however it might seem. When I heard you didn't have a job at the moment I thought my business proposal might be mutually beneficial but, most of all, I wanted some time with you, to get to know you before – well, before it’s too late. It’s sad when people leave things too late. Anyway,’ she adds, and pulls back her shoulders, ‘it’s not your problem and I’ll manage as I always have.’
Of course she will. She’ll be absolutely fine, and I can call her every now and again from Stratford to see how she’s doing. She most definitely is not my responsibility just because we’re related.
But then Alice sucker punches me by setting her mouth into a thin line and tilting her chin when she looks back out to sea. That’s all; just a determined set of the jaw and a slight tilt of the chin, but she looks like Mum waiting at the window of our flat for the ambulance to take her to the hospice. Mum was vulnerable and scared but at least she had me there to help her. Alice has no one.
Oh bugger. I realise with a sick, sinking feeling that I can’t leave Salt Bay, at least not for a while. Because however much I try to deny it, there’s a strange pull between me and Alice and I can’t leave her in the lurch. If this is how having family feels, I’m not sure I like it.
‘Maybe I could stay for a couple of weeks or so while you sort something out that’s more long term.’ The words almost catch in my throat, even though ‘doing the right thing’ is supposed to make you feel warm and virtuous.
/> Alice glances at me. ‘I don’t want you to stay out of pity, Annabella. I do have some pride left.’
‘It wouldn’t be out of pity,’ I say earnestly to cover up the fact that pity is a pretty major player in all of this. ‘It makes sense because I don’t have a job at the moment so I’m free to stay for a while. And it would be good to get to know you better.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely,’ I say before I can change my mind.
Alice smiles broadly for the first time since I arrived in Salt Bay and I’m surprised by how much younger she looks.
‘That would be wonderful, if you’re really sure. I can provide bed and board and the little bit I can pay you will cover your rent in London.’
Ah yes. It’s all very well being kind to old folk but I haven’t thought through the practicalities. I’m sure Alice’s understanding of London rent levels bears no relation to the mind-blowing reality and my meagre savings will soon run out. Between work contracts in London, secretarial temping helps to keep the bills paid but that’s not an option here where my work for the next few weeks will consist of keeping an elderly lady upright.
The first thing I need to do is speak to Amber. So I make an excuse about needing fresh air and head for the phone box near the village green, which is more private than Alice’s landline. The green is deserted apart from Celine, who’s running round in circles on the muddy grass.
Amber answers her mobile on the second ring. ‘Hello? Who’s that?’ There’s a racket going on in the background.
‘It’s Annie.’
‘Annie who?’
‘Annie from the flat.’
‘Who?’
‘Annie, the person you live with.’
There’s a pause while Amber tries to remember the woman who’s picked up her wet towels for the last eight months.
‘Annie! Of course. Sorry, I can’t hear you very well ’cos I’m with some friends in the uni bar.’ Her friends break into an impromptu chorus of ‘Annie, I’m Not Your Daddy’ – Kid Creole and his Coconuts have nothing to worry about. ‘Are you still in Coventry?’
‘Cornwall.’
‘Why have you gone from Coventry to Cornwall?’
‘I never went to Coventry. I always went to Cornwall.’
‘OK, whatever.’
The singing is getting louder and my attempts to be heard over the caterwauling attract Celine’s attention. She stops trying to kick the seagulls resting on the grass and wanders over to press her nose against the salt-streaked glass.
‘Something’s come up which means I need to stay here for a couple of weeks or so. Do you know anyone who needs somewhere to stay, who could maybe have my room temporarily?’
Having overheard Amber speaking on the phone recently – it’s hard not to listen in because she conducts all phone conversations at top volume – I feel pretty confident about her answer.
‘As a matter of fact I do. Shush, everyone!’ The background noise quietens down a smidgen. ‘My friend Gracie, the one with green hair who lives in Tooting, is looking for somewhere to stay because her flatmate Chanelle has got a new boyfriend and they’re a total nightmare. They keep doing it all over the place. Gracie caught them bumping uglies on the kitchen table last week, on top of the brie ciabatta she’d made for lunch, which is totally out of order. She didn’t fancy eating it after that. And the other girl she shares with keeps following her round declaring her undying love. Gracie is like totally cool with lesbians but this girl is really pissing her off. So I know she’ll jump at the chance of living with me. That’s brilliant! She can move in this weekend.’
‘I’m not moving out for good,’ I say quickly while Amber pauses for breath. ‘Just for a few weeks max; probably only a couple.’
‘Yeah, of course. Gracie can live here while she’s getting something more permanent sorted out. It’ll be a good laugh having someone like her in the flat.’ More of a laugh than living with you is the subtext.
‘She’ll need to cover the rent, I’m afraid.’
‘Not a problem. Her dad’s loaded so he’ll stump up for it. What about all your stuff?’
‘There isn’t much, to be honest.’ Moving from flat to flat as a child soon teaches you not to hoard possessions, not when everything you own has to fit into one battered suitcase and a couple of carrier bags. ‘Can you put my stuff to one side and I’ll nip up and collect some clothes and things in a day or two.’
‘Will do. Gracie will think it’s amazing being able to move out, like, straight away. Thanks, Annie, and have fun in Cheshire.’
‘Cornwall.’
‘Yeah, great.’ There’s a huge cheer in the background and the line goes dead.
Celine gives me an evil glare when I leave the phone box and rushes off to throttle any small animals she can lay her hands on. She’s a perfect advert for remaining childless.
Alice comes into the hall when I clatter through the front door and kick off her borrowed shoes.
‘Is everything all right?’
‘Everything’s fine. I rang my flatmate while I was out and a friend of hers might want to take over my room and the rent for a while, so that’s good. But I’ll need to nip back up to London this weekend to collect some clothes.’
‘Of course, and thank you Annabella.’ Alice holds out her blue-veined hands until I feel obliged to take hold of them. ‘It will be wonderful to have family around me again.’
I smile faintly on hearing the F-word, already regretting my decision to stay and not quite sure why I haven’t legged it from Salt Bay. Maybe I’m hormonally challenged or the break-up with Stuart has had a terrible effect on my sanity. Either way, I’m well and truly screwed.
Chapter 12
After a restless night, I find Alice in the kitchen scraping burnt toast over the sink and waiting for her tea to brew. She pours me a cup while I fetch our cornflakes and we sit at the table making small talk about the weather and Dr Rivers’ impressive facial hair. I try to be upbeat and keep the conversation flowing but, truth be told, I’m feeling panicky, as if I’ve been kidnapped, which is daft because no one is forcing me to stay and kidnap would be pointless anyway because who would pay to get me back? I cheer myself up with the thought of my friends having a whip-round.
I’m imagining my friends handing over cash to a trench-coated Alice when the phone rings.
Alice frowns and finishes chewing her toast. ‘Who would be calling me at this time of the morning?’ She pulls herself up and slips her feet into her embroidered velvet slippers. ‘Perhaps it’s Stephen checking up on me.’
While Alice is talking on the phone in the sitting room, I finish my cornflakes and tell myself that the next few weeks of my life will pass quickly. Especially if I treat this as just another short-term contract and use my spare time to line up another London job. I’ll have to search for work using The Whistling Wave’s Wi-Fi, but spending time in the pub is no hardship, just so long as Josh Pasco isn’t an alcoholic on the quiet. And looking at this situation positively, at least I won’t bump into cheating Stuart down here, or matching-Myla Melinda.
‘That’s a coincidence.’ Alice sits back down and prods at her soggy cereal with a spoon. ‘That was Toby. He was surprised to hear about you but delighted too.’
‘Who’s Toby?’ I vaguely remember Jennifer mentioning a Toby to me, shortly before she realised who I was and almost passed out with excitement.
‘Toby is my second cousin twice removed which makes him your third cousin, I think. Something like that.’
Great, just what I’ve always wanted – more feckin’ family. I struggle to keep my face neutral.
‘Does he live in Cornwall?’
‘Toby lives in London, in Islington, which I think is close to Stratford so you might know him,’ says Alice, not grasping that the chances of me knowing some random bloke in the metropolis – albeit one apparently related to me – is about a zillion to one. ‘He has a very important job helping to run an auction business
selling paintings and antiques so I don’t see much of him.’ She pushes away her cereal, now congealed into a sodden lump. ‘He calls me occasionally to make sure I’m still breathing and he was so excited to hear about you he’s going to drive down later to meet you.’
‘Wow, that will be great!’ There’s something about Cornwall that brings out the liar in me.
‘The best part is, I suggested that he might be able to bring your clothes down in his car and he said that he could. He’ll collect them from your flat if your flatmate can pack them up in time.’
‘That’s kind of him but I can nip up there.’
To be honest, I was looking forward to nipping up there but Alice is adamant that her idea is the best solution, and she’s probably right. The train takes hours, I’ll feel duty-bound to pay the exorbitant fare myself and, once back in vibrant London, I’ll probably change my mind and cancel my return to Salt Bay. Which is possibly why Alice suggested the plan to Toby in the first place. I steal a glance at my great-aunt and remember Dr Rivers’ words: ‘Never underestimate the Trebarwiths.’ She takes a ladylike bite out of her cold toast and gives me a very unladylike wink.
When I call her, Amber says she’d be happy to pack a case for me so I give her a list of essentials. My raincoat (obviously), underwear, PJs, more jeans, a dress (just in case Kayla and I do get to a nightclub), warm tops, sturdy shoes, my pocket radio for a music fix, some toiletries and the photo of my mum in a polished wooden frame that’s beside my bed.
I’m not overjoyed at the thought of Amber going through my underwear drawer but it can’t be helped. She hangs G-string scraps of black lace on the radiators to dry, so my more capacious undies are likely to frighten the life out of her. Either that, or she’ll Snapchat pictures of my comfiest knickers as a hilarious warning about ageing.
I’m not sure how to spend the morning once my packing is sorted and Alice has passed on Amber’s mobile number to Toby. Thanks to my housework flurry yesterday the house is clean and tidy, and Alice is settled in the dining room doing paperwork.
