Time to Let Go

by Christoph Fischer

“No, we have to stay here. Upstairs and asleep,” she said. “Upstairs and asleep. We must not leave them alone.”

  “Fine then. Let’s read the newspaper then, shall we?”

  An hour later Hanna came down the stairs and was enthusiastically greeted by her mother.

  “Ahhh, there you are! I thought that you had left us,” she scolded her daughter, just like an abandoned child would say to her mother.

  “Sorry Biddy. It won’t happen again,” Hanna humoured her mother before she went into the kitchen to start cooking the evening meal. Biddy folded up the paper and followed Hanna into the kitchen.

  Walter was worried about his wife’s injuries but controlled his urge to interfere and he returned to his papers. He could hear loud music from the kitchen radio. Hanna had selected Radio 2, the radio station that was the obvious compromise between her mother’s taste and her own, and he could hear the two women singing along to a Beatles song. As much as he loved to see mother and daughter bonding he did worry that things might get out of hand in there without proper supervision. He itched to go in and make sure Biddy was nowhere near the kitchen machines or knives, but he knew it would show how much he distrusted his daughter and cause unnecessary arguments. He forced himself to carry on with his work even though his mind constantly wandered back to the potential dreadful scenarios full of blood. In the end he decided to go and get a glass of juice from the fridge. That way he could satisfy his curiosity, hopefully lay his worries to rest and ease back to his chronicle without provoking or hurting his daughter’s feelings.

  When he opened the kitchen door the scene was worse than he had imagined. Biddy was cutting up vegetables while Hanna was looking the other way stirring something on the stove. The blender was plugged in without a lid on and left unattended. Knives and sharp inserts for the kitchen machine were lying openly on the table.

  “Hanna, are you mad?” he barked at her.

  “What have I done now?” Hanna said without even turning back to him.

  “The knives! The machines! Don’t you think it’s all a bit dangerous? Your mother has had enough injuries for one day. At least watch her, if you let her participate.”

  “Dad relax, she has been a housewife for all her life. She still knows what she is doing.”

  “How would you know that? You have not seen her in action for months.”

  “I can see her now,” Hanna said, still with her back at him.

  “No you can’t!”

  “I did watch her at first but she seemed to know exactly what she is doing. I promise the second it looks like she is going to hurt herself I’ll get her to stop.”

  “If it isn’t too late,” Walter snipped. “With your back to her you wouldn’t know, would you?”

  “Look how focused she is. It is beautiful. Trust me. You are over protecting her. She has still some time before she has to stop doing anything productive. She needs to feel useful. Even if she ruins a few potatoes or throws away the good bits rather than the skin, at the end of the day she is doing what she always has done. Isn’t that part of your own continuity pledge, your resolve not to allow her to let herself go?”

  “I just can’t watch her handling knives. Please promise me to keep a closer eye on her. If you want to call the paramedics again then please do something to yourself rather than her, Okay?”

  Hanna put the volume of the radio up, took the pot from the stove and poured it over the soggy mass in the blender.

  “It is unbelievable. I turned away for two minutes max and you have to come in and see me. Now you think I don’t care at all. Just my luck!” she sighed under her breath.

  “I know you care,” he contradicted. “Just pay more attention.”

  “You leave her alone as well,” Hanna counter attacked, to which Walter responded by simply leaving the kitchen and slamming the door.

  Biddy hardly looked up from her vegetables, which she magically still could cut with the precision of a sous chef.

  After dinner Hanna put on a film from her DVD collection. Biddy had looked bewildered as she flicked through the folder and did not seem to recognise any of the films. They settled for ‘Muriel’s Wedding’, a very funny film with music that Biddy knew well. Not that she could have followed the plot, but the laughter on the screen and next to her on the sofa seemed to have a great effect. As usual she did not make it to the end of the movie and fell asleep well before. Walter sat in the corner of the room solving a crossword puzzle, not speaking to Hanna, but as the evening progressed and the laughter continued his anger melted away. Father and daughter together got Biddy up and ushered her up the stairs to bed.

  “Thanks Hanna. Your mother had a great day,” Walter admitted.

  “My pleasure. I will try to keep her out of hospital tomorrow.”

  Hanna returned back to her room exhausted from the day. She felt sure that tonight she would be able to get some sleep, after two nights without proper rest her body would have to submit - nightmares or not. She picked up a book about positive manifestations and tried to see a pain free future for herself and an undisturbed night, but she failed miserably. Stabbing pangs of guilt began to pester her almost instantly and the four walls of the guest room made her feel claustrophobic and scared.

  “It is your fault,” the bereaved husband had said to Hanna when his wife was declared dead on the plane.

  Those words haunted her throughout the night.

  Chapter 7: The Pool

  In the morning the radio alarm went off as usual in the master bedroom but Walter noticed that the news had already started when he heard the first sound. Either the machine was not timed properly or it was starting to give up the ghost. He would have to investigate this later and see if he could fix it, or whether a new radio was needed.

  He disliked just throwing things away, as was so annoyingly the habit these days. Having something looked at in a shop required it being sent off and the examination usually already cost more than the new product.

  As he was lying in bed ticking off news item after news item as irrelevant, he noticed a noise coming from Hanna’s room. Was she already up or still up? He should have asked her at what time she wanted to use the bathroom, when she wanted her breakfast and what she would like to eat. He should have made those arrangements for the morning last night. How could he have forgotten?

  What was this noise? He could distinguish a little thumping as well as something else, maybe music but it was more like a ringing sound. Very quietly he slipped out of bed and moved towards the wall separating the guest room from his bedroom, but even that did not yield any further clues as to what his daughter was up to. He put on his furry loafers and his morning gown, gently opened the door to the corridor and stepped onto the hallway. He left the door ajar - so that no squeak would give him away - and he pressed his ear against Hanna’s door. Now he could tell that she was listening to some weird music with bells and ringing sounds. He remembered how she had mentioned to him about morning meditation and the ‘background ambience’, as she had called it.

  Well, it couldn’t be any use because despite all of the alleged calming and relaxing music his daughter was still a bundle of nervous energy. Carefully he retreated back to the master bedroom: he did not want to be caught prying. As he tiptoed back Biddy, to his surprise, was stirring on her side of the bed and stretching. He was amazed. She had not woken up by herself for weeks; in fact he could not remember just how long it had been. Was that a coincidence or was it the excitement their daughter had brought with her to the household?

  A part of him resented the thought that Biddy might be up so early. He had come to like that first hour of the day which belonged only to him. His wife suddenly got out of bed without encouragement and put on her slippers and her morning gown.

  “Could you please tell me where the bathroom is?” she asked overly polite.

  He smiled at her.

  “Of course, I will take you there,” he replied and led the way.

  Biddy stopped for a sec
ond as she heard the sounds and walked to the guest room door and listened. “Marvellous,” she said but she followed her husband into the bathroom when he motioned her to do so.

  Walter had chosen more casual clothes for his wife to wear today than yesterday. In a track suite her wounds would not be irritated by harsh and tight materials. He noticed that half of Biddy’s wardrobe was missing. What on earth had happened? He hoped it was Hanna’s doing. If Biddy started to throw things away, and take other unpredictable erratic action when not being supervised, then his life would become so much more difficult than it already was. So far he had been mainly spared in that regard.

  While Biddy had a shower and got dressed, he made the bed. When he had come to bed last night it had been untidy. Such sloppiness must not happen again, he had sworn to himself. The sounds and noises from Hanna’s room seemed to be getting louder. Walter knocked quietly on the door and called to his daughter: “Pumpkin, would you like a cup of tea or coffee?”

  “I can’t hear you. Please come in!” Hanna shouted through the closed door.

  As Walter opened the door Biddy came out of the bathroom and joined him standing in the door frame as he was looking in. The room was full of tea lights and scented candles. An i-pod with small speakers was set up on the table and filled the room with the reverberating sounds of bells and gongs. Hanna was dressed in sweat pants and a loose jumper and sat in a very odd position on her yoga mat.

  “Sorry Dad, what did you want?” she said without looking up.

  “I just wanted to know if you would care for a hot beverage.” Walter said, a little embarrassed by the sight in front of him.

  “No, thanks. I will be doing this for a little longer,” his daughter replied slightly out of breath.

  “What are you doing?” asked Biddy, who had been staring at Hanna all this time, almost transfixed. “Is that difficult?”

  “Do you want to join in?” Hanna suggested.

  “Yes,” said Biddy excitedly.

  “Maybe not today,” Walter interjected. “There is not enough room here and Hanna has already started. It is no good to join half way through. Do it tomorrow, how about that?” he tried to persuade her.

  “Oh no, it’s not a problem. I can just take my i-pod and the speakers down stairs into the living room. The candles are just fancy stuff to make it more atmospheric for me,” Hanna said and jumped up, rolled up her mat and grabbed the music system.

  So that was why the whole meditation thing had so little effect on his daughter, Walter thought; she was not really relaxing, she was just as fidgety with it as she was with everything else. What did puzzle him was that Biddy was interested in all this. She had been a very traditional and conservative woman all of her life and had never been interested in the alternative and hippy pastimes of their daughter. Yet, when Hanna had been visiting the last time Biddy had also wanted to join her daughter and she had clearly enjoyed herself.

  Naturally what mattered most was Biddy’s wellbeing and if she felt like partaking in such nonsense, and if she enjoyed it, then he would not interfere.

  As he was brewing coffee, the bells and gongs were blasting at full volume and he had to turn the kitchen radio off because the disharmony of the two sound systems irritated him too much. He set the table for the family and prepared everything else; then he went outside for the newspaper. From the street you could see the two women taking all kind of silly poses and positions. He would have to go inside and close the curtains. The last thing he would want was for the neighbours to think the entire family had lost their mind, but when he got into the living room and saw the joy on his wife’s face he was mesmerized and forgot all about his concerns. He was getting hungry but politeness and, more importantly, family tradition, forbade him to start eating until everyone had joined him at the table.

  When the music finally stopped and his wife and daughter sat down for breakfast, he explained to Biddy where on the table everything was – as if she could not see for herself – and then he went to switch on the toaster.

  “Oh, we are not having bread this morning, Dad,” said Hanna. “Only fruit and yoghurt. It is healthier.”

  “But your mother should have a substantial breakfast,” he protested.

  “Fine, give her what you think she needs,” Hanna gave in and got up, cut a melon and got the yoghurt out of the fridge.

  Walter put the slightly burnt toast on Biddy’s plate but his wife shook her head and pointed at Hanna’s plate: “Can I have some?” she asked.

  Walter sighed and threw the toast on his own plate whereas Hanna just handed over the fruit bowl to her mother and got up to make some more.

  “Do you want to try some?” she asked her father provocatively.

  “No, someone has to eat all the toast I have been making for nothing,” he said, grumpily.

  “Do you have any plans today? Do you want to go for another bicycle ride?” she said, ignoring his complaint.

  “I don’t know. Have you two made plans without me already?”

  “We haven’t discussed anything but I was wondering if it might be possible to go to the local swimming pool. Gentle exercise, which has no impact on her knee, it should be a laugh. Do you think that she can manage?”

  Pleased that his daughter was seeking his advice and expertise his attitude softened.

  “You could certainly try but you look very tired. You have dark rings under your eyes. You are not sleeping enough. With all the health stuff that you are into I am surprised you seem to be forgetting about sleep. Maybe I should come with you?” he offered.

  “You are more than welcome to join us if you want. I am also quite happy if it is just the two of us: it would give you a little more time off duty for yourself,” she pointed out. “And I may look tired but I am very fresh,” she added, although it was far from the truth.

  “You two go and have fun. Don’t bring home any life guards,” Walter said with a grin.

  “Can I have some toast please?” Biddy now asked, having already wolfed down the melon yoghurt combination.

  “You see!” Hanna said. “Mother knows herself best.”

  When they got there, the local pool was blissfully empty. Biddy was uncharacteristically quiet and for a change, Hanna did not mind it. The two women had quick showers and then went to the area reserved for lane swimming. Biddy used the slow lane, which was empty, and Hanna decided it was best if she swam there too. The pool was shallow enough so that Biddy could stand upright anywhere and fortunately there was a life guard present, whom she briefed on her mother’s condition.

  She wished the life guard had shown more obvious signs of listening to her words than drooling over her figure but she trusted that he would pay attention to Biddy once the distracting view was removed from his sight and well hidden in the water. Her main concern was that other users of the pool might show little tolerance of Biddy swimming in the wrong direction, or whatever else might happen.

  The stewardess kept a close eye on her mother, but occasionally also glanced towards the direction of the baby pool where a few women played with their toddlers. Looking after her mother was starting to feel just like having a child. She did not get far along this train of thought because Biddy suddenly came to a stop, stood up, and looked around, disorientated. Hanna swam towards her mother as quickly as she could.

  “Have you had enough?” she asked her mother.

  “I don’t belong here. I should be home. Can you take me home?” Biddy said, looking around nervously.

  “Of course I can. How about we go into the Jacuzzi first?” Hanna asked.

  “A Jacuzzi? What is that?” Biddy said, immediately distracted and intrigued.

  “I’ll show you. It is like a hot bath with lots of bubbles.”

  Biddy loved the Jacuzzi. As if she had never seen a whirlpool she put her toe in first to check the temperature. When Hanna switched on the whirl Biddy laughed out loud and joyfully played with the hot streams.

  “That’s nice,” she said
eventually, less childlike but more like a grown woman who judged her children’s art work.

  “We used to come here all the time,” Hanna said. “The whirlpool is relatively new, though.”

  “I like it,” Biddy said and joyfully rocked back and forth in front of the stream of hot water at her back.

  “We are lucky to have this place to ourselves,” Hanna said. “It can get very crowded in here.”

  “Oh, the more the merrier. There is enough room for everyone.”

  “Yes, you have taught us that all of our lives. I will always remember it.”

  “Good.”

  The two women sat in silence for a while until Hanna thought they had had enough. Biddy let herself be persuaded to go into the steam room afterwards but she didn’t enjoy it and seemed to be frightened. The hissing sounds and the claustrophobic feel of the steam chamber also reminded Hanna of the pressurised cabins of an aircraft and the sound of the airplane’s air-conditioning, and made her very uncomfortable. Suddenly she did not feel too well and she had to get out. Her refuge in the country had helped to keep her busy and ignore her troubles, at least during the daytime, and she was desperate to keep it that way. She took her mother back to the changing area and eventually made for the exit.

  Her father would not be expecting them for lunch unless they called ahead: the day was theirs entirely. Biddy had by now completely forgotten about going home and was looking with excitable expectation at her daughter to find out what was next on the exciting programme.

  “Are you hungry? Do you want to go for something to eat, have a coffee and a cake somewhere or shall we go and have our nails done?” she offered her mother as a choice.

  “Cake! I am never allowed sweets at home.”

  “Oh, you remember that, do you!” Hanna said, cheerfully. “I know just the right place.”

  The coffee shop they went to was also empty, really unusual for a Friday just before lunch time, and had it not been for the magazines and newspapers Hanna would have struggled to keep the conversation going. Since the steam room, her spirit was slightly subdued and although she had kept herself together, she was just not quite so lively any more. She started to doubt whether her approach of distraction and continuous entertainment was fully working. Biddy seemed exhausted and slightly disorientated. Maybe her mother should have the same routine day after day just as her father kept preaching after all. Biddy certainly appeared much surer of herself in familiar places. Like here in this cake paradise, her mother was much more at ease than she had been in the pool. Was an ever repeating ground hog day preferable to the stimulation of the new? Were these irregularities destructive to her mood in the long run, as her father suspected?