What Milo Saw

by Virginia MacGregor

  Heidi’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. ‘What? No. I’ll get in trouble. Tripi!’ She kept looking from the basket to Nurse Thornhill who was now walking towards them.

  ‘Okay, I’ll do it,’ said Tripi, grabbing the basket.

  ‘Having a mother’s meeting?’ asked Nurse Thornhill, looking from Tripi to Heidi.

  Tripi didn’t know what a mother’s meeting was, but he quickly stepped in with: ‘I thought I would help Nurse Heidi.’ He lifted the basket a little, praying that Hamlet would stay quiet. ‘To collect the washing. My shift doesn’t start for another thirty minutes.’

  Heidi nodded a bit too hard.

  Nurse Thornhill narrowed her eyes, but then she caught sight of something behind Tripi and her white teeth pushed through her lips.

  ‘Ah, the poster’s arrived.’

  ‘Yes, I put it up,’ said Nurse Heidi.

  The three of them stared at the poster with Nurse Thornhill’s name written in thick black letters.

  ‘The Award Inspectors are coming on Tuesday. We have the weekend to make the place look spick and span.’

  Tripi knew what spick and span was: it meant bringing in roses and cream cakes and smoked salmon sandwiches like when they had visitors.

  A pillowcase slipped off the pile of washing in Tripi’s arms and floated to the floor. Hamlet’s curly black tail poked out. Tripi leant over, picked up the pillowcase and whipped it back into the basket, and as he did so, he felt the phone slide out of his pocket onto the floor. Before he had the chance to do anything, Nurse Thornhill leant over and picked it up.

  ‘This yours, Tahir?’ She turned the white phone over between her long fingers. ‘Looks rather expensive.’

  One minute he was being accused of being a terrorist, the next of being a thief.

  Tripi nodded. ‘It was a gift from a friend.’

  He felt like a five-year-old.

  ‘Ah, the generous friend with the house?’

  Tripi nodded, balanced the basket under one arm and took the phone.

  ‘You left it on, Tahir,’ said Nurse Thornhill, tapping her fingernail on the red light at the top of the screen. ‘You should be careful with that.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Tripi’s heart banged so hard he thought his chest was going to explode.

  Heidi had shrunk back behind Nurse Thornhill.

  ‘Excuse me?’ A voice came down the corridor.

  Tripi looked up and saw a woman in a tight pink suit coming towards them down the corridor. When she got closer, he noticed that she had skin browner than his and black hairs on her top lip. Women with moustaches, Ayishah had giggled and pointed them out and said that if she ever got a moustache, she would pluck the hairs out so hard that they would never dare to grow back.

  ‘Ah, Mrs Downe.’ Nurse Thornhill exposed her teeth again. ‘Thank you for coming in. Let’s go to my office and we’ll have a talk.’

  Heidi scrabbled after them. Definitely like a mouse, thought Tripi. He’d thought English women would be stronger and more courageous than this. He would have to take lots more film for Al to edit, a little bit of footage on each of the old ladies at Forget Me Not.

  ‘I’m so glad you’ve decided to come in at last,’ Tripi heard Nurse Thornhill say as she walked next to the woman. ‘Your mother’s doing exceptionally well.’

  35

  LOU

  Early on Saturday morning Milo lay on the carpet of Gran’s room in Forget Me Not, his head in her wardrobe.

  ‘I think he likes it here, better than the garage, that’s for sure. Mum hasn’t even noticed he’s gone. I bet she thinks I’m hiding him in my room.’

  Lou’s eyes burned. She’d got up three times in the night. Once to clean up Hamlet’s mess (the potatoes she fed him for dinner must have disagreed as much with his insides as they did with hers), once when he squealed (she found him choking on one of her shoelaces) and finally when, with all the strength she could muster, she carried him over to her bed. She struggled with her left leg, pulling it behind her like a petulant child. Her whole body was being petulant, ignoring the messages from her brain, deciding to do its own thing.

  Lou had set her alarm to get Hamlet back into the wardrobe before Nurse Thornhill did her rounds.

  Though Milo was right about one thing: Hamlet kept her warm, his plump body pressed against hers through the early hours of the morning.

  ‘We’ve got a lodger, Gran, his name’s Al. Well, it’s Clouds, that’s what he likes to be called, but his proper name is Al. He’s your great-nephew. He came to see you the other day.’

  She looked out through the window and across the rooftops of Slipton. Alasdair. Even as a boy he was a rebel, going against his mother’s orders and swimming with Lou in the cold sea of Inverary.

  ‘At first I wanted him to leave because he smokes and he’s messy and he sneaks out of the house in the middle of the night and I don’t know where he goes and it’s your room, not his – but apart from that, I think he might be okay. He told me about how he’s an undercover reporter and it gave me an idea. I’m going to make a documentary on Forget Me Not. Maybe, once you come home, Clouds can stay with Tripi, because Tripi’s got a house now. Tripi’s helping me with the documentary. He’s got the mobile Dad gave me and he’s recording everything.’ Milo got up off the floor, smiling. ‘You’ll see, Gran, we’ll get you out of here.’

  Lou felt Milo’s excitement flap in her chest.

  Milo came over and stood next to her. She watched him shift his head before resting his gaze on her left arm.

  ‘Is it getting worse, Gran?’ Milo took her hand in his soft fingers.

  Lou shook her head. Feeling a strand of hair come loose against her chin, she slipped her hand from under Milo’s and reached up to her face. She felt the fluttering of her fingers against her skin. She couldn’t find it, the strand of hair. She fumbled clumsily by her ear.

  ‘Here, let me do it.’ Milo leant forward and in one quick movement, tucked the strand behind her ear. ‘You see, Gran, you need me around. That horrible nurse isn’t any help, is she? And I’m going to work out what she’s done with all your money. I bet she’s stolen it. And Gran, I need you back home too. Mum’s lost all her customers and she’s stressing about my schoolwork and bills keep coming in and she tries to hide them in the shed but I can tell they’re bills from the envelopes when they come through the door.’

  Dear Sandy, she never did understand how to save. Lou wished that she’d let her help. She had a few savings, enough to get her through this bad patch.

  ‘I wish Mum would get up and do something about it, but she doesn’t, she just sits there, eating Hobnobs and staring at the telly. She was better when you were at home.’ Milo took a breath. ‘We were all better.’

  Lou thought about her small room at the top of the stairs. Had she liked it there? Those hours spent on her own looking out onto the roofs of Slipton?

  Milo shifted his head to where the bagpipes stood propped up against the wall. ‘Can we have a lesson? I want to learn Great-Gramps’s song.’

  Gran looked down at her trembling hand and her thin arms. Had Milo forgotten what had happened last time? When the air in her lungs ran out before the first note? She’d have to ask Alasdair to teach him.

  A rat-a-tat-tat on the door like someone beating out a tune.

  ‘Louisa! Oh, and Milo. Hello, Milo.’

  Lou felt something sink inside Milo. He turned away and went back to the wardrobe.

  Petros walked into the room with his creaky knees, an arm behind his back.

  ‘I have a surprise,’ he announced.

  Lou felt the slump of Milo’s shoulders and the pressure of his eyelids as he screwed them shut, hugging Hamlet closer.

  She wished he’d give Petros a chance.

  ‘For an English rose.’ Petros took off his yellow cap and held out a single pink rose, tipped red, like it was blushing.

  ‘She’s Scottish,’ Milo mumbled.

  Petros gave a small bow. ‘I beg y
our pardon. A Scottish rose.’

  Lou took the rose and breathed in the scent of the petals. Not an artificial floral scent, just cool and fresh and alive. So few things smelt alive these days.

  ‘Aren’t you married?’ Milo mumbled, staring at the ring on Petros’s left hand.

  Petros cupped his hand to his ear: ‘What was that?’

  ‘Shouldn’t you be giving flowers to your wife?’

  ‘Ah. Well, that is a little difficult, Milo, her grave is far away, in Greece.’

  Milo’s ears flared red and he went back to stroking Hamlet.

  Petros found a glass, filled it with water, trimmed the stem and placed the rose on the windowsill. Then he walked over to Milo and peered into the wardrobe. ‘In Greece,’ he said, ‘pigs are for salami.’ He rocked back on his heels, patted his stomach and laughed.

  What a silly man, thought Lou. A lovely, silly man.

  Milo got up. ‘I think I’ll go now, Gran.’

  Lou stretched out her good hand and tried to get a message to him. Please stay, she whispered into his mind, but Milo had tuned out.

  The shaking in Lou’s left hand got worse.

  Milo turned to face Petros, his eyes focused. ‘By the way, you don’t know anything about pigs. They’re clean and they’re clever – much cleverer than you – and Gran loves Hamlet, so if you’re trying to impress her, talking about salami isn’t going to work.’ Then he walked over to the windowsill and stared at the pink rose. ‘And Gran prefers yellow roses. Whole bunches of them.’ He came over, brushed Lou’s cheek with a kiss and walked to the door.

  Petros stood at the wardrobe, grinning at Hamlet. Lou looked to see whether Petros had his hearing aid in. Luckily she couldn’t spot the plastic curling into his ear. Perhaps he’d forgotten to put it in this morning. And perhaps he hadn’t picked up on too much of what Milo said.

  Lou heard Hamlet snuffling around her shoes. She knew that sound, the same one he’d made in the night: he was trying to find Milo. Clever, that was true, and clean – most of the time. And they needed love, that made them special too.

  When Andrew had come back with Hamlet last June, a piglet no bigger than the palm of her hand, she’d written a note for him, tried to explain that the piglet was too young, that he needed his mother. And then she watched Milo feed Hamlet milk through a pipette he brought back from school, and she understood that the little pig had a better mother in this small boy than he’d ever have had in his pen.

  Hamlet’s perfect, Gran, Andrew had said. Good peripheral vision, bad focus – they’ll make the perfect team. Lou had advised him to keep that particular insight to himself. He’d upset Sandy enough.

  ‘I’ll give you an update tomorrow,’ said Milo as he stood at the door. ‘How the plan’s going – only ten days to go.’

  Ten days until Christmas, until Milo’s birthday. Lou gripped her trembling hand and squeezed it hard. She wished it were a few days closer.

  36

  MILO

  As Milo walked out of Gran’s room, he heard a crash from the next door.

  He stepped closer.

  Mrs Moseley’s door stood ajar, just wide enough for Milo to look through. There didn’t seem to be anyone in the bedroom area but there was lots more noise: another crash and the sound of water gushing and a gasp and then a loud, deep voice he recognised straight off: We can’t afford to be washing you day and night. Cleaning your bed sheets. Cleaning your clothes. Cleaning you. The next thing Milo saw was Nurse Thornhill pulling Mrs Moseley into the bedroom.

  Milo made his eyes zoom in. She didn’t have her cane so she was wobbling a bit, her nightdress was sopping wet, her lips blue and chattering and her grey hair stood up in clumps. Her face looked lost like Gran’s when she forgot where she was.

  Nurse Thornhill ripped off Mrs Moseley’s nightdress and threw it at Nurse Heidi.

  Now Mrs Moseley stood naked in the middle of the room. Greyish-black hairs sprouted from under her armpits and a thin tangle, the same colour, sat on her private bits.

  Milo’s eyes felt like they were on fire.

  The young nurse came over to the door, saw Milo and slammed it shut.

  A tap on his shoulder.

  ‘Milo? You are still here?’

  Milo turned round. Petros.

  ‘Did you see that?’ asked Milo.

  ‘See what?’

  ‘Just now, what happened in there?’ Milo nudged his head towards the door. ‘What they did to Mrs Moseley?’

  Petros put his arm around Milo’s shoulders. ‘Things are not always, how do you say it in English? How they look.’

  ‘How they seem,’ corrected Milo.

  ‘Yes, things are not always how they seem.’

  Milo thought about what Al had said. ‘They are how they seem, you’re just not looking properly.’

  ‘Milo, please…’

  ‘And you can leave Gran alone. She loves someone else, someone much nicer than you.’

  Milo had to go and speak to Al, to tell him everything and to enlist his help in exposing Nurse Thornhill. He heard Mum’s voice in his head: Don’t run, Milo. But he shook it off, pushed into his legs and ran out of Forget Me Not as fast as he could.

  37

  MILO

  When Milo got home he went straight to the kitchen, put four slices of toast in the toaster and switched on the kettle with melted handle from the fire. He got out two mugs, poured milk into the bottom of each one, put in two teaspoons of sugar and a teabag, filled them up, squeezed the teabag hard, dumped the teabags in the sink and then buttered the toast and topped it with Fluff. Balancing the plates and mugs on the small tray he used to use to bring things up to Gran, he clomped all the way up to the top of the house.

  He’d noticed that Clouds liked to sleep in so he was worried he might get angry at being woken up, but this was urgent, and at least he’d made him breakfast.

  Milo knocked on Gran’s door.

  No answer. His motorbike was outside, Clouds was definitely in. Milo knocked again.

  A groan. A clomping across the room. And then Clouds opened the door.

  Through the pinhole Milo saw that Clouds was wearing nothing but his boxer shorts. His dark hair stuck out in tufts from the top of his head and he had a big hairy chest and hairy legs and there were hairs sprouting on his toes too.

  ‘Christ, Milo, where’s the fire?’

  ‘The fire?’

  ‘It’s not even ten o’clock.’

  Milo held out the tray. ‘I thought you might be hungry.’ Milo never saw Clouds eat and even if he wasn’t hungry, he’d have space for Fluff on toast and sweet milky tea.

  Clouds gave Milo a tired, wonky smile. ‘I suppose that now I’m awake, I could eat something.’ He took the tray.

  Milo followed Clouds into Gran’s room, sat down on the edge of his bed and waited for him to have slurped some of the tea and munched through some of the toast.

  ‘This is good,’ said Clouds, licking a bit of sweet white Fluff from the corner of his mouth.

  And that’s when Milo told him. He started from the beginning, from when he’d first noticed that the nursing home was cold all the time and how Nurse Thornhill’s flat was nice and warm and that she drank champagne while the old people had to eat slimy dumplings and about how she’d punish the old people for complaining about the food and how he’d spotted the dozy pills amongst Gran’s things and then found out that her purse was missing and gone to speak to PC Stubbs, who hadn’t listened, not properly, and how he hadn’t been able to tell Mum either, and then today, what he’d seen happening to Mrs Moseley.

  ‘So run this by me again, Milo. You think Nurse Thornhill is stealing the old people’s money?’ Clouds took another sip of tea. ‘And that she’s…’ He shook his head. ‘That she’s mistreating the people at Forget Me Not?’

  ‘She’s treating them really badly. And she must be stealing their money. Why else would she have all their empty purses stashed away in her private drawer?’

 
; Clouds went over to open the window and took out another cigarette. Milo noticed that he had tidied up since he’d last been in here: his clothes were folded on Gran’s chair and there weren’t saucers full of cigarette butts lining the windowsill.