Loose Connections

by Rosemary Hayes

  He took it from her. ‘Thanks,’ he said gruffly.

  Please don’t ask if we are all right.

  But she didn’t.

  ‘Just heat it through in the oven or the microwave,’ she said.

  ‘Right.’ He hesitated. ‘Is Kenny OK?’

  She sighed. ‘He’s OK now. As I said, he had one of his bad turns last night.’

  That’s the first time she’s ever said anything to me about Kenny’s problems.

  It can’t be much fun living with Kenny.

  I must be going soft!

  ‘Well, I’d better be off,’ said Irene.

  ‘Thanks for this,’ said Jake. ‘We’ll eat it tonight,’ he added.

  She nodded, and walked down the path. Just before she reached the gate, she stopped and Jake saw her glance at the tangle of weeds. He tightened his grip on the casserole dish.

  Don’t you dare say anything!

  He walked back to the kitchen and put the casserole in the fridge, then went to the garden shed. He took out the wheelbarrow and a large fork.

  I’ll show her!

  He wheeled the barrow round to the front. He’d never done any gardening before and he didn’t know where to start.

  It can’t be that difficult, can it?

  Chapter Five

  He plunged the fork into the ground and heaved it up, then bent down and tugged at the loosened weeds. Most of them stayed stubbornly in the ground.

  This is tougher than I thought. It looks easy when Dad does it.

  He dug again, harder this time.

  Wish I knew which are plants and which are weeds.

  He persevered for half an hour, getting hot and frustrated. His back ached, so he stopped for a bit and leant on the fork. He’d hardly made any impression on the weeds. Was it worth all this hassle? He stood there, staring at the ground. He wasn’t much good at this gardening stuff.

  He was so tired that he could hardly think. His vision was blurred with sweat and his hands were blistered from chafing on the handle of the fork. He sighed, and stretched.

  And then he tensed. She was here again, the weird badger/pony girl. He felt her presence before he saw her and he knew she was watching him. How had she arrived so quietly, sneaking up on him like this?

  Leave me alone, for God’s sake!

  He looked up and scowled. There she was, leaning over the gate, the morning sun glinting on her long dark hair.

  Jake waited for her to say something but she seemed in no hurry to speak, so he went on digging, jabbing the fork viciously into the ground.

  ‘I could help you do the garden, if you like,’ she said.

  Jake grunted in reply.

  ‘Is that a yes-please or a no-thank-you?’

  A flicker of a smile began on Jake’s face. He killed it quickly. ‘Suit yourself.’

  She came in through the gate and stood directly in front of him so that he was forced to stop digging and look at her.

  ‘Relax, Jake. You don’t need to worry about me – honest. Your gran loves you to bits and that’s never going to change. But you know you need some help and I’ve got nothing much to do. . .’

  Jake frowned. ‘I don’t get it,’ he muttered. ‘Why? Why d’you want to help?’

  She took a step back and dug in the pocket of her jeans for an elastic band, then she drew back her hair into a pony tail. Jake dropped his eyes as she forced her hair into the band.

  ‘Because I want to. I . . . I think your gran’s really special.’

  How can she say that? She hardly knows her.

  ‘She wasn’t always like this,’ Jake said suddenly. ‘Before . . . before she got sick she looked after me fine – cooking and everything. And she wouldn’t have let the garden get like this. She hates gardening but she would have done it. . . ’

  Why did I say that? I don’t want this girl to know about my family.

  Verity nodded. ‘I know,’ she said.

  ‘No, you don’t!’ Jake’s temper flared. ‘You don’t know anything about her. She’s not herself at the moment but she’s been a brilliant gran. She used to come to my matches, she used to take me to McDonald’s when Mum was out, she gave me funny presents, she sent me daft cards from wherever she went. . .’

  To his horror, he felt the tears welling up. Why did he keep blubbing like this? He turned away so she couldn’t see his face.

  Verity picked up the fork and started to dig. ‘Go and get a smaller fork,’ she said, not looking at him. ‘I’ll dig with this one, then you follow on with the little one and take out the weeds I’ve missed.’

  Jake fled. By the time he came back with the other fork, he was under control again.

  ‘D’you know which ones are the plants?’ he asked gruffly. ‘I can’t tell the weeds from the plants.’

  She nodded. ‘Umm. I know about plants. I’ve always liked growing things. I used to. . .’ She stopped.

  ‘Used to what?’

  ‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter.’

  Badgers, ponies, plants. She gets weirder every minute.

  As they worked on in silence, Jake glanced at her. Despite her long slender frame, she was strong, her arms muscled and tanned. She dug constantly, with a slow rhythm – not like him jabbing the big fork in then heaving it up as fast as he could, the jerky movement jarring through his body so that he was forced to stop every few minutes for a rest. She took it more slowly, but her movements were smooth and she was getting a lot more done.

  As the sun rose in the sky, the street came alive with people going about their Sunday business. In the distance, church bells were ringing and a few neighbours paused to greet Jake. He was grateful that no one asked him who Verity was.

  He squatted behind her, clearing the weeds and chucking them into the wheelbarrow. He was getting tired and stiff but he wasn’t going to stop until she did.

  At last, when every muscle in his body was shrieking for rest and he didn’t think he could stand any more, she put the fork into the soil and left it there. Then she stretched and yawned.

  ‘We’ve done OK,’ she said.

  Jake heaved himself up off his aching haunches and surveyed their work. She was right; between them, they’d covered a lot of ground.

  ‘Yeah. Er . . . thanks.’

  Verity wiped her hands down her jeans. ‘Shall we have a break? See if your gran’s up yet?’

  ‘Right.’

  It seemed natural to follow her into the house, watch her go to the fridge for juice, find the glasses, pour the juice in and get out a packet of biscuits.

  How did she know what he liked to drink and which were his favourite biscuits? Maybe it was just luck. Or maybe Gran had told her.

  They sat in silence at the kitchen table. Jake was too tired to talk. In any case, he didn’t know what to say to her, but she didn’t seem to mind.

  When they’d finished, he thought she was going to suggest more gardening and he wasn’t sure he could stand it. But he was wrong.

  ‘I think we’ve done enough weeding for one day,’ she said. She laughed, seeing the relief on Jake’s face.

  He looked at the blisters on his hands. ‘I’m not used to it,’ he muttered.

  ‘You’ve done really well.’

  Jake shrugged, but he was pleased.

  Verity pushed her chair back and stood up. ‘Shall I take a cup of tea up to your gran?’

  Jake nodded. ‘Yeah. She’d like that.’

  He yawned. He couldn’t fight it any more.

  OK, so she’s a weirdo, but Gran seems to like her. Let her take charge for a while. It’ll give me a break.

  ‘You look all in, Jake. Why don’t you go and veg out in front of the telly. See if there’s any sport on.’

  He hesitated.

  ‘Go on,’ she said. ‘I’ll listen out for your gran. And I’ll come tomorrow morning so that you can go off to school.’ It was a statement, not a question.

  Jake heaved himself up from his chair and went into the lounge. He turned on the TV and
stretched out full length on the couch. There wasn’t any footie on but there was some snooker match or other. He’d watch that.

  He heard the ebb and flow of voices upstairs and footsteps along the landing, but soon his eyes closed and he was fast asleep, the noises just a background to his dreams.

  ***

  He woke slowly. Someone had turned off the TV and put a rug over him. As the room came into focus, he saw Gran sitting in the chair in the corner. She had a photo album on her lap and was turning the pages slowly, talking to herself.

  He checked his watch. Five o’clock! He frowned, and shook it. It must be wrong. He couldn’t have slept that long – could he? He sat up and rubbed his eyes, then glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece.

  I’ve been asleep for hours!

  He stood up and stretched, swaying slightly and still gummy-eyed.

  Gran looked up. ‘Hello, darling.’

  Jake grinned at her. ‘Sorry, Gran. I didn’t mean to sleep so long.’

  He walked over to her and peered over her shoulder. She was looking at a photo of him with his dog. She pointed to it. ‘That’s Sam with old Bramble,’ she said.

  Jake nodded. ‘Whatever,’ he mumbled. He went into the kitchen and poured himself a drink. The kitchen was very tidy. He sniffed – there was a familiar smell, too. He glanced down at the floor. Someone had washed it with the stuff that Mum used. It must have been Verity. He opened the fridge. There was less milk there and some of the mouldy leftovers had gone. Everything was stacked neatly. He noticed that Irene’s casserole was still there, and he took the lid off. It was untouched.

  He wandered round the rest of the house, inspecting it for signs of Verity’s tidying mania. Yep, she’d been having a real go at the place. He didn’t know whether to be glad or irritated. At least she’d not been in his room, thank God. It was just as he’d left it. It was his mess and that was how he liked it.

  He went back into the lounge, sipping his drink thoughtfully.

  Has Gran had anything to eat?

  ‘Did Verity get you some lunch, Gran?’

  ‘Mm.’ Gran didn’t look up.

  ‘Has she gone now?’

  She focused on him properly. ‘Yes. Verity’s gone. But she’ll be back.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Soon.’

  He wasn’t going to get much out of Gran. Did ‘soon’ mean in five minutes, tomorrow, next week?

  He dug in his pocket and dragged out his mobile. There were messages from Tom and some other school friends and a text from Mum: ‘Give me a ring as soon as you pick this up.’

  He went out into the garden to return her call.

  Mum sounded tense. ‘What’s going on, Jake?’

  Keep calm.

  ‘What d’you mean? Nothing’s going on.’

  There was a pause, and he could almost see her worried frown.

  ‘Jake,’ she said slowly. ‘I rang Gran earlier.’

  Oh God. What has Gran said to her?

  ‘Yeah . . . and?’

  ‘Something’s wrong with her, Jake.’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong, Mum. We’re fine.’

  ‘No, you’re not. I can tell you’re not. Gran said that . . . well, she said that someone – some girl – was looking after her and that you were asleep. And she kept calling you Sam.’

  He was silent.

  ‘Jake?’

  He looked up into the apple tree and watched the leaves moving slightly in the summer breeze.

  What shall I say?

  ‘She’s not sleeping well, Mum, that’s all. And I was tired, too; I played a lot of footie yesterday in the park with Tom and the others.’

  But Mum wouldn’t be put off. ‘Your gran was very vague when I spoke to her, Jake. I don’t think she’s well. I thought she was a bit funny yesterday when you came to see me, but now she sounds all over the place.’

  Jake sat down with his back against the fence. He plucked a stem of long grass and put it in his mouth.

  ‘Well, she is getting very forgetful,’ he mumbled. Then, more loudly. ‘But we’re coping, Mum, honest.’

  ‘And this girl she says is helping you. What’s all that about?’

  Jake thought quickly. He knew she’d worry if he told her the truth: that a complete stranger was taking over the house and garden. A weirdo girl who said she kept ponies and badgers in her back garden and who lived on her own in the big old house down the street.

  Better say nothing about Verity.

  ‘Gran calls Irene a girl,’ he said, trying to sound convincing.

  ‘IRENE! But Gran’s always so rude about her.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. But Irene’s been helping. She’s done some cooking for us.’

  Well, that was true.

  ‘And Gran’s been OK about that?’

  Jake looked up to the sky for inspiration.

  ‘Yeah, she’s been fine.’

  There was a puzzled silence. Then Mum spoke again.

  ‘I wish I was at home with you, Jakey. I’m worried about you. Look, I’ll phone Irene. Thank her for what she’s doing. It’s good of her to help.’

  Please don’t phone Irene.

  ‘And I think I’ll phone Dad, too. See if he can get back a bit early.’

  ‘There’s no need, Mum. We’re OK. Promise.’

  Please don’t phone Dad. He mustn’t lose out on this job; not after all this time.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Jake. I’m going to phone him now. It’ll be lunchtime in the States.’

  Jake shrugged. ‘Whatever,’ he muttered – and spat the piece of grass out onto the ground.

  It was only after she’d said goodbye that Jake realised he’d not asked how she was.

  He paced round the garden. He hadn’t meant to worry Mum. If only she’d not spoken to Gran. Now she’d be all upset and worried. Dad’s words kept coming back to him: Don’t bother Mum. If there’s a problem, tell me.

  Well, he’d tried not to bother her. He’d tried to keep it from her. And from Dad.

  Perhaps, if weirdo Verity wanted to help with Gran, it might be OK now. If Verity could help look after Gran just until the end of term, they’d manage. Dad didn’t need to come home early.

  Perhaps, if Verity’s still here in the holidays, I can go on the footie course.

  He stayed in the garden, half an ear listening out for Gran. And listening out for the landline. He was sure Dad would ring as soon as Mum had spoken to him.

  He didn’t have long to wait. As soon as he heard the phone ringing in the house, he ran in to get to it before Gran got there.

  As he went in the back door, he could see her shuffling up the passage towards the table in the hall. How slowly she was moving, and how thin she’d become.

  Has it happened again? Has she had another turn? She’s worse than yesterday.

  ‘I’ll get it, Gran.’

  She looked relieved when he picked it up. She shoved past him into the kitchen. He watched her anxiously even as he heard his dad’s voice on the phone. He listened patiently while Dad went through all the same questions. How is Gran – no, don’t fob me off, how is she really? What exactly has happened?

  It was a relief to tell him the truth. Or, at least, some of the truth.

  ‘She had a bit of a turn, Dad, and she’s getting very forgetful, but Irene’s helping us and it’s nearly the end of term and then I’ll be here all day. Don’t worry.’

  ‘I want to speak to her, Jake. I think she should see a doctor.’

  ‘But she’s. . .’

  His dad cut him off. ‘Now, Jake. I want to speak to her now. Wherever she is, go and get her. I’ll wait.’

  Jake put the receiver down on the table and went and found Gran in the kitchen. She was fumbling with the switch on the kettle.

  ‘Dad wants to speak to you, Gran,’ he said.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Dad. He’s on the phone.’

  He took the kettle from her and put it down, then led her into the passage, picked up the receive
r and handed it to her.

  ‘Hello.’ Her voice was tentative, unsure.

  Jake hovered.

  She nodded. ‘Yes, love, yes, I’m fine. A bit tired.’

  With her free hand she started to pick at the scarf at her throat. Suddenly she shouted into the phone. ‘DOCTOR? I don’t need to see a doctor!’ Her face flushed. ‘NO! Leave us alone. We’re doing fine.’

  She dropped the phone and headed back towards the kitchen. ‘Stupid man,’ she muttered. ‘Who does he think he is, bossing me about like that?’

  Jake picked up the receiver. ‘Dad?’

  Dad was laughing. ‘Still the feisty old gran, then, though she’s obviously not herself. But I can’t force her to see a doctor.’

  Jake sighed.

  Not herself? That’s the understatement of the year.

  ‘Look,’ his dad went on. ‘I’ll see if I can come home a bit earlier – maybe cut short the trip by a week. I think I can swing it.’

  ‘It’s OK, Dad. There’s no need. We’ve got some help.’

  ‘Yes. Mum told me about Irene.’

  Fine. Let him think it’s Irene. Hope he doesn’t phone her too!

  Chapter Six

  That night they ate Irene’s chicken casserole. Or, at least, Jake did. He was ravenous.

  Gran never asked where it had come from. In fact she didn’t say much at all. She was hunched in her chair with a faraway look in her eyes. She picked at the food, pushing it around her plate.

  ‘Don’t you want any more, Gran?’

  I sound like some fussy adult trying to get a child to eat.

  She dragged her eyes back to him and smiled. ‘What, dear?’

  ‘Don’t you like it?’

  ‘Eh?’

  Gran looked away again, down at her hands, fiddling with the wedding ring on her finger. Jake scraped back his chair and started to clear the plates and stack them in the dishwasher. Gran didn’t move.

  She would never have done that, before. She would have jumped up, told me to leave it and done it herself.

  ***

  Jake didn’t sleep well and he woke early again. He checked on Gran. As he opened her bedroom door, he tensed. But this morning she was in her bed, snoring gently. He let out a sigh of relief and quietly closed the door.