‘You need to tell him how you feel,’ I said, it being the only cliché I could think of as I edged after Caroline, knowing that I, in my divorced and perennially single state, was hardly qualified to dispense relationship advice.
‘Don’t you think I’ve tried?’ Fran’s voice rose further.
I could feel Tilly’s fingers digging into my back. ‘Why don’t you get some sleep?’ I said desperately, ‘and we’ll talk about it tomorrow?’
Fran burst into tears.
Chapter 19
I felt like crying too.
Jinni had seen my lights on at 4 a.m. and called to see if I needed help. ‘I knew your mother was with you so I thought I’d better check,’ she’d said. Now, twelve hours later, gratefully allowing her to bring the wine hour forward considerably, it occurred to me to ask how.
‘Did you see us arrive?’ I enquired, pretty sure Jinni’s car had not been in her drive the day I’d brought Mum back.
Jinni shook her head and looked around her. ‘Where is she now?’
‘Asleep. She’s always restless at night. Twice I’ve woken up and found her standing in my room. She usually has a lie-down in the afternoon.’
There was a short, awkward silence. I’d seen nothing of Jinni since the gallery opening and Caroline had said very little about how Jinni had reacted, simply passing on thanks for the flowers.
Since then, my usually garrulous neighbour had been conspicuous by her absence, so I guessed the news that I’d been consorting with the enemy hadn’t gone down well.
‘David told me,’ she said, as I twisted the cork from a bottle of red.
I stared at her. ‘Really?’
Jinni’s expression was inscrutable. ‘He sent me a text,’ she said. ‘Said you’d turned down the irresistible offer of his company because your mother was staying and would I like to meet him instead.’
‘I didn’t know he had your number …’ I said faintly, a stab of something unexpectedly painful going through me at the thought of David inviting Jinni out.
‘Oh, he’s got it from ages ago,’ said Jinni dismissively. ‘Before I found out what a wanker he is.’
‘I expect he wants to improve relations with you,’ I said, ‘I told him I didn’t want my having the odd drink with him to spoil our friendship.’ As I said it, I felt my voice wobble. ‘He said he’d make an effort.’
Jinni looked cynical. ‘No, he wants to talk me out of objecting to his mate’s outrageous planning application, and thinks getting you on side is the way forward,’ she said flatly. ‘Because he’s a grade-A arsehole.’ She chinked her glass against mine. ‘But we won’t let it affect us,’ she said bracingly, giving my arm a brief, hard squeeze. ‘Even though I think you’re mad to have anything to do with him.’
‘He’s been helpful introducing me to people. You know I wanted to get back into what I used to do – buying up furniture and accessories and customising them for clients? Seems there could be a market for that around here.’
I told her about Malcolm and the chair with three yellow legs. Jinni laughed. ‘Yes, there’s lots of ‘em with more money than sense.’
‘And he’s giving me some freelance work styling a show flat,’ I went on, embarrassed to admit how much I’d begun to like him. ‘He says I can put some bits of my own in it with price tags.’
On the phone, he was funny and interesting. I’d decided his Smug Bastard persona was just the front he put on when he didn’t know someone very well and he was a perfectly nice bloke. An attractive one …
‘And you know – he hasn’t done anything to me …’ I remembered his eyes on mine and suddenly wished he would. Feeling myself blush, I jumped up and opened a cupboard door.
‘Well, make sure he pays you,’ said Jinni. ‘I’d get the money up front. And Tess, really – I’d keep it business-like!’
I tipped peanuts into a bowl, wondering if Jinni had also given Caroline the full catalogue of David’s evil ways.
Apart the comment that he was good-looking, my friend hadn’t been as pushy about the possibilities as I’d expected, changing the subject almost immediately from my announcement we’d be meeting again soon, to the possibility of grey floorboards in the downstairs loo, and then going straight out to buy me a large blue and white pot that was rather fetching, from the new arty shop by the library.
So what did you say, anyway?’ I asked Jinni lightly. ‘You know, when he called?’
‘I told him to fuck off!’ She lifted her glass. ‘Cheers!’
The first time my mother appeared in my room, I screamed. I’d been dreaming – one of my more disturbing flights of fancy in which sinister strangers creep about the house and my legs have collapsed beneath me so there is no escape – when I woke suddenly to find her standing by the window.
My mother was calm; I wasn’t even sure if she was properly awake. She explained without panic that we needed to save the children and get them on the boat.
‘You’ve had a dream, Mum,’ I said, my heart still pounding as I switched on lights.
She shook herself and gave a small laugh. ‘Yes, that’s probably it,’ she agreed. Then went to the bathroom and back to bed.
I’d got used to it now. She woke me up most mornings between four and five to tell me something strange had happened.
Once she said Alice was arriving at three, and another time it was Tilly’s wedding day. Always she needed to know when we were leaving. We’re not going anywhere, I’d tell her, and that seemed to make it all right again. Neither of us mentioned it the next day.
But every time I came down in the mornings, leaving her asleep upstairs, and saw her shoes in the hall, neatly lined up with mine, my insides twisted with sorrow. Once she would have been the first in the kitchen, putting away plates, polishing the taps, scouting around for something she could reorganise or clean.
Now she hovered in doorways like a child, waiting for me to suggest a walk into town or a cup of tea. She went to the newsagent’s a couple of times and came back with shopping for me and she wandered around the garden. But she didn’t attack the weeds out there or tell me what I should plant in the borders. As the days went by, she said less and grew sadder. It was the first time I had ever seen her sit in a chair and just … sit.
I didn’t like to leave her.
Jinni was brilliant, dropping in, chatting to my mother and cheering me along, but it was still exhausting. I’d had to cancel meetings and was behind on work, and though I’d been secretly relieved to have good reason to tell Fran I couldn’t babysit while she and Jonathan ‘talked things through’, I couldn’t arrange to meet David either. I felt bad but I was thankful that Gerald was coming to get her at the end of the week. He’d told me he’d stay with her all the time when they got back – ‘it’s what he’s been after for years,’ said Mo drily – or she could go to him.
‘Will he be able to cope?’ asked Jinni.
‘I have no idea,’ I told her.
I was trying not to think about the future. It frightened me.
I’d now told the kids and was trying to keep Alice informed. She wanted me to phone – complaining about the lack of detail in my emails, but my mother became tearful if we talked about what was wrong with her, and I couldn’t supply my sister with the forensic description she’d want, with our mother in earshot.
Or talk to David the way I’d like to. He arrived, out of the blue, on Thursday, around six, wearing a loose Ralph Lauren sweater and smelling delicious. He had a smile on his face and a box under one arm.
I opened the door expecting it to be Aaron the plumber. My heart leapt.
‘I got you this.’ He held it out. ‘Something to do in the evenings, while you’re stuck in.’ It was a thousand-piece jigsaw of a collection of works by Picasso. ‘You can always frame it later,’ he said.
‘I will. It’s wonderful,’ I told him, touched. ‘Thank you.’ I hesitated, not sure whether to kiss him. He put a hand on my shoulder. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.
‘Have you got time for a coffee?’
My mother appeared in the kitchen doorway as I was filling the machine. ‘This is David, a friend of mine, Mum.’
‘How lovely to meet you.’ She held out her hand. She’d just put on more lipstick and combed her hair. Her perfume wafted towards me. At that moment she looked as she’d always done – immaculate, from the short grey waves on her head to her neat shiny shoes, clothes pressed, pearls swinging, rings a little large now on her bony fingers but nails clean and filed. I shuddered inwardly at the descriptions I’d read about lack of personal hygiene and loss of interest. I prayed David wouldn’t mention her having been unwell.
But he’d sprung up from the small table and was shaking her hand, saying how delighted he was too. I tried to smile my gratitude, realising how disloyal I would feel if I told him about the ravages going on behind the gracious façade.
‘I’ll go and read my book,’ she told me, although we both knew she’d been looking at the same chapter since she got here, unable to concentrate on the story and needing to constantly go back over what she’d read the day before. And yet she’d supplied two answers about the genus of plants when I’d been doing the quick crossword and we’d had a long discussion the night before about a holiday to Cornwall when Alice was seven and fell off a rock.
‘I’ll bring you a coffee,’ I called. Then I looked at the clock. ‘Would you rather have wine?’ I asked David. ‘Or a gin and tonic?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m going to eat with my mother,’ he said, ruefully. ‘Better not start before her …’
He sat back down as I got cups from the cupboard. ‘How busy are you?’ he asked, suddenly brisk. ‘I was going to email you the brief we talked about …’
I watched him as he spoke, his eyes alight with enthusiasm. He’d been working at home that day, he told me, and was going to come round after lunch, but somehow he’d got so involved, the whole afternoon had disappeared …
I sighed. ‘I always seem to be trying to catch up,’ I said. The interrupted nights and my mother’s restless wanderings about the house during the day meant the only time I was free from distraction was when she went for her afternoon nap and, by that time, I felt like lying down myself.
‘But I’ll be on my own again by the weekend,’ I went on. ‘My mother’s going back tomorrow.’
‘She’s obviously much better?’ He asked in a low voice, eyes fixed on mine.
I looked away. ‘She’s got to have some more tests,’ I said. ‘We’re not quite sure what it is yet.’
He didn’t ask any more and stood up as soon as he’d drunk his coffee.
‘Let me know when you’re free for a drink,’ he said, kissing me lightly. For a moment I was silent, the feel of his lips sending that shock through me again.
‘Oh, er, yes,’ I stumbled, feeling my face blushing. ‘That will be nice.’
He was already walking through to the front room. My mother had disappeared. I followed him, embarrassed at my awkwardness, but he was out of the front door while I was still wishing I’d kissed him back. I attempted to galvanise my scrambled emotions into some sort of poise. ‘That would be lovely,’ I said with emphasis, feeling daft as the words burst out of my mouth, much more loudly than they were meant to.
He lifted a hand to wave back over his shoulder, not even properly looking around but striding towards his car.
Perhaps next time we met, I should explain that save the unfortunate Quentin, I’d not had any sort of romantic liaison for over seven years and was rather out of practice. Or would I just sound off-puttingly desperate?
It was only as he drove away, and I was left staring at the overflowing skip parked on the gravel before my neighbour’s grey stone frontage, that it struck me he’d said nothing about texting Jinni.
Chapter 20
Riiiiiiiinnnnnggggggg!
I woke abruptly and scrabbled on the bedside table for my phone, knocking my book to the floor and sending half a glass of water plunging after it.
The ringing stopped and I peered blearily at the screen. What was Tilly doing phoning so early? I frowned as I sat up yawning and stared at the clock. It was 8.42 a.m. I’d meant to get up at seven, to get an hour or two’s work done before my mother appeared, though now I felt so fuggy I was sorely tempted to drop straight off again.
I’d just stretched and closed my eyes to consider this, when another thought crashed in.
She hadn’t woken me up.
My eyes snapped back open. I hadn’t heard her wander about or go to the loo and she certainly hadn’t made her usual nocturnal visit to tell me we must get packing.
I pulled on my dressing gown, pushing down the twinges of panic as I walked across the silent landing to what I still thought of as Ben’s room, listened for a moment and then tapped on the wood.
‘You okay, Mum?’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ I told myself sternly, as the silence continued, and I stood hovering fearfully outside the door. ‘Mum!’ I said again, pushing it open.
The bed was empty. The covers pushed back in a rumpled heap and the pillows squashed and indented. Her slippers were next to the bedside table and yesterday’s clothes were piled on the chair. The old robe of mine she’d been using was still hanging on the back of the door.
I ran downstairs, hoping to find her in the kitchen, having risen early, as in the old days, making tea. Perhaps the whole dementia thing had been a bad dream and she’d be bustling about, scouring the hob or polishing the teapot, nothing wrong with her at all.
Except that in the old days, the bed would have been straightened to within an inch of its life and the pillows relentlessly plumped. And the house had that gaping feel again that told me nobody else was in it.
It took only moments to check all the rooms and the downstairs loo. Her coat had gone and her shoes. But her handbag was still on the end of the sofa. Shit.
I tried to tell myself she’d simply gone for a walk or popped down to the newsagent to get some milk – taking a few coins – but it didn’t feel right. I walked from room to room. I didn’t want to go out in case she came back and couldn’t get in. I phoned Jinni to ask if she’d seen my mother leaving the house. She hadn’t. I ran back upstairs and got dressed.
Jinni was banging on the door a few minutes later, wearing her boiler suit, hair scraped up on top of her head, hands with even more lumps out of them than usual.
‘You go and look where you think she might be,’ she said. ‘I’ll stay here and get the coffee on.’
I hugged her. ‘Thank you.’
Richard in the newsagent’s hadn’t seen my mother. Neither had the woman in the florist’s. She’d mentioned wanting to go to the hairdresser’s, so I went in there too. Then I crossed the market square and carried on along the High Street, going up one side and down the other, looking through the windows of the small shops, entering the larger ones. She wasn’t in the post office, she wasn’t in the Co-op. My eyes scanned the pavements and flitted up the side streets, hoping for a glimpse of a small, brisk figure or the back of a green coat, but there was no sign of her anywhere.
I had come to the end of the main street, where the shops gave way to rows of terraced houses, a recreation ground and the community centre. The sun came out briefly from behind the grey clouds, and there was cherry blossom clinging to the damp grass outside the church, but there was also a sharp wind and it still felt colder than usual for late spring.
I wasn’t sure which clothes my mother had on, but she must be chilled by now. I was already wishing I’d put on a proper coat instead of my thin wool jacket. Perhaps Alice had been right when she’d tried to insist my mother carried the phone my sister had bought her. The last time I’d seen it, the handset was on a shelf in her kitchen in Margate. Still in its box.
My mother wasn’t known for her religious beliefs but I peered through the dark wooden doors of the church anyway. A couple of women were doing things with flowers, so I asked if they’d seen a short el
derly woman with grey hair and possibly a strange light in her eye. They hadn’t.
One of them smiled sympathetically – I was clearly looking more than usually wild-eyed myself. ‘Would you like me to call the vicar?’ she asked.
‘There’s no need, but thank you,’ I backed out again, wondering what she had in mind. Would the good reverend have given me some words of solace or sent out a search party?
She wasn’t on the roundabout or swings – she wasn’t at the mother- and-toddlers group in the village hall. As I hurried back down the High Street, I realised the hopelessness of the task. Northstone wasn’t huge but big enough for the odds of my happening on her by chance to be slim. Suppose she’d been run over. Or arrested. Without her bag, she didn’t have any ID and even if she did, it wouldn’t connect her with me.
I slowed down as I got to Northstone News, wondering if it was worth asking Gabriel to keep an eye open if he was around town. He’d sent me a sweet email and I’d been meaning to reply.
Grace jerked her head at the staircase as I approached. ‘He’s up there,’ she said, before I could speak.
‘Gabriel?’ I enquired.
‘Him as well,’ she agreed flatly, eyes already back on her keyboard.
I went up to the office where Gabriel was studying his screen. He jumped up, looking touchingly thrilled. ‘Tess!’ He gave me a wide smile, flashing his beautiful American-style white teeth and hugged me as if I were his long-lost auntie from the other side of the world. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he said. ‘How are things?’
I told him that as far as I knew Ben was doing fine at university, Oliver was busy, Sam was recovered, and Tilly, after a pep talk from her aunt, had gone back to her job and flat.
Gabriel grinned. ‘I know – we’ve been talking on Facebook. She’s not too happy with her flatmate, is she?’
So that would explain the call this morning. ‘I don’t know, to be honest,’ I said, ‘we’ve not yet spoken this week. I need to phone her back–’ I remembered she hadn’t left a message, which was unusual.
Mum in the Middle Page 15
