by Casey Watson
‘Guess who I saw last week?’ she told her mother as I approached, having done the coffee, done the gossip mags and was now fully conversant with which key looks were ‘on-trend’ for the coming summer.
‘Erm …’ said Sarah, who’d seemed in brighter spirits than the last time I’d seen her. I had no idea what was happening with her trial or her medication, and, my fingers already singed, I was not about to ask. ‘Father Christmas?’
‘NO, silly!’
‘The Easter bunny?’
‘Too early!’
‘The Scarlet Pimpernel?’
‘Who’s the Scarlet Pimpernel? I’ve never even heard of the Scarlet Pimpernel.’
‘Because he’s the Scarlet Pimpernel – and he likes to lie low. They seek him here, they seek him there …’
Abby shook her head. ‘Definitely not him, then.’
‘Go on, then,’ said Sarah, grinning. ‘I can’t guess.’
‘Mrs Shelley. When I was working in Casey’s sister’s café with Kieron, on Tuesday. I meant to tell you on the phone, but I forgot.’
The grin vanished. Sarah’s eyes flicked from mine and back to Abby’s. I’d been clutching my carrier bag of magazines so tightly that I could feel the plastic cutting into my fingers. I slid my own gaze to the window, and tried to look as if I was miles away.
‘Did you, now?’ said Sarah. ‘And how is she?’
Abby shrugged. ‘Oh, she’s fine. She said to send her love. I told her you were in hospital having a relapse.’
Sarah didn’t seem to know what to say to that. There was a short but intense silence, which grew more uncomfortable by the second. And spoke volumes. Was almost deafening, in fact. Then Abby spoke again. ‘She goes into Casey’s sister’s café every week, you know. So I told her next time I’m working there I’ll tell her which ward you’re on. I couldn’t remember the name of it, but I’ve written it on my list now, so I don’t forget it for next time. I think she wants to send you a card. Or she might want to come and visit you …’
‘Visit me?’ Sarah looked stricken. ‘Oh, I don’t think she’ll want to do that.’
I could feel her eyes on me again now. ‘Oh, I think she would,’ said Abby. ‘I told her you don’t have any visitors except me. So when she next comes in –’
‘Abby, you know, I’m really not sure I’m up to having visitors. Apart from you, of course,’ she added quickly. ‘And Mrs Shelley … well, she’s quite elderly, and it’s such a long way …’
She seemed to think for a moment, clearly feeling harried by Abby’s innocent insistence. ‘Actually, could you do me a favour, poppet, and fill my water jug up for me before you go? You know where the drinking water tap is, don’t you? Or just go and find one of the nurses. They’ll do it …’
‘Okay,’ said Abby, trotting round to the other side of the bed to fetch it. It was three-quarters full, but she didn’t question it. It had probably been sitting there a while, so she would have wanted to change it anyway. I followed Sarah’s eyes as she watched her daughter take the jug away.
She turned straight to me. ‘You know,’ she said, ‘I’m really not sure I’m happy about Abby working in your family business.’
‘She’s not working at my sister’s place,’ I corrected. ‘She’s just been down there on two occasions with my son. Once to help with a charity event, which, as you know, she really enjoyed. And then to do some colouring and cutting out after school. Because she asked if she could. It’s hardly –’
‘Even so, I’d rather she didn’t do it any more.’
And that was the thing, really. If she’d left it at that, then I’d have left it too. After all, how could I not have? She’d made a request, and I was happy to comply with it. Well, not happy exactly – because I knew how disappointed Abby would be. But not so unhappy that I’d put myself in a difficult situation with Sarah. Yes I was in loco parentis, but I was also a pragmatist. And Sarah was a sick woman. And relations were strained enough already.
But she didn’t leave it. I’d already nodded my acquiescence, but evidently she couldn’t stop herself. ‘And I don’t want to see that Mrs Shelley, either. So if she comes in again and starts asking after me, I’d be grateful if you’d respect my privacy. She’s a nosey old bat and she’s no business talking to Abby. She shouldn’t be listening to anything she says.’
It was probably that – the fact that she’d called her a nosey old bat – that meant I couldn’t stop myself. There was just no call for it. I knew I had to make allowances for the desperate nature of her situation, but there was just no call for it. It was unkind. So before I could stop myself, I spoke.
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Of course. I wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise. Only she said you had a sister and –’
‘Rubbish!’ Sarah was suddenly totally galvanised. ‘That’s exactly what I mean. She’s talking rubbish!’
I noticed her hands had begun to shake and could see that Abby was returning. ‘Look,’ I said. ‘The last thing I want to do is upset you. Just forget I ever said that. This is really none of my business. There are clearly things I don’t know here, and it’s not for me to get involved … just forget it, okay? Just forget it.’
Of course, forgetting it, for me, was an entirely different matter. With the atmosphere now as thick as Mike’s legendary beef gravy, I wanted nothing more than to bundle Abby back out and away from the hospital as quickly as I could. Abby herself, thankfully, was oblivious, and though I had to pull her up half a dozen times about her hair on the journey, by the time we’d hit the motorway she’d dropped off to sleep, leaving me with my maelstrom of thoughts.
I had clearly touched a nerve, and a particularly raw one, and, once again, I couldn’t help but speculate about the nature of the circumstances that had caused such a reaction at the mention of the sister’s name. But along with the musing there was an undercurrent tugging beneath the surface; I had overstepped the mark again, wellied in where I shouldn’t. And, as soon as I was able, I would have to tell John.
But in the meantime I knew that the best thing I could do was to try to put the whole thing out of my mind.
Which was easier said than done. When I got home and confessed to Mike, he simply rolled his eyes and called me a klutz (for which I was grateful – it helped put it in perspective, which was probably what I needed), but I still had the small matter of Abby. Donna had agreed she could go in with Kieron again after school on the Tuesday, and that if she wanted to she could help her create a new weekly special for the children’s menu – about which Abby had been thinking from the moment she’d been told.
She’d been poring over my recipe books all week and when she came home from school on Monday she even sat down and compiled an inventory of E numbers that she needed to check wouldn’t be in any of the ingredients. I did find myself smiling – a career in health and safety wouldn’t be a bad choice for her – but at the same time I was still agonising about what to say to her. I clearly couldn’t let her go, even though part of me was saying ‘sod it’, but I also knew it wouldn’t be helpful to tell her why. A white lie, I decided. I would just tell her something had come up, last minute. I didn’t know what, yet, but I knew I’d come up with something. And once I’d done that I’d already planned how I’d distract her. I’d whisk her round to Riley’s so we could sit down and thrash out the details of Jackson’s – and her – upcoming party.
I sighed to myself as I packed Abby off to school on Tuesday morning, and felt terrible when she told me how excited she was about Kieron picking her up to ‘go to work’. It didn’t matter how much I told myself it wasn’t the end of the world; I had the feeling that there was a cloud permanently sitting on my shoulder. No, I didn’t make Mrs Shelley walk into the café, did I? And, no, I didn’t ask her to recognise Abby, did I? And, no, I didn’t ask Abby to bring it up with Sarah, either. Everything that had happened was outside of my control. All I did was mention something that Sarah already knew, which was hardly a criminal offence. But
no matter how much I told myself I’d really done nothing wrong, I still felt an overriding need to ‘confess’. But with John not back till the weekend I would have to wait. It was going to feel like a long, stressful week.
The phone rang just as I was pulling a pair of sponge cakes from the oven. It was just before lunchtime, and I’d made two large rectangular slabs, which were going to provide the raw materials to make Jupiter, Pontypandy fire service’s fire engine. Jackson was too small to have much input on party theming, but Levi was clear – Fireman Sam would be the favourite, which was absolutely fine by me and Riley. Fine by Riley, because she was very creative – definitely the artist in the family – and fine by me because I was an old hand at fire engines: I’d already made a Fireman Sam birthday cake. Kieron had had one for his third birthday.
I was in a sentimental mood that morning, busy counting my blessings, thinking how lucky I was to be so involved in my children’s lives, to be counted on, included, so immersed in my grandchildren. I was one lucky nanna, and I knew it. I was also otherwise engaged, transferring the heavy tins from oven to cooling racks, so by the time I’d whipped my oven gloves off and run into the hall the answerphone had already kicked in.
‘Sorry,’ I heard Mike’s posh telephone voice telling the caller. ‘We can’t get to the phone at the moment, so please –’
I snatched the phone up. ‘Hello?’
‘Ah, Casey,’ a voice said. A voice I knew very well.
‘John? Oh! What are you doing calling me? Aren’t you still on holiday?’
‘I am,’ he said, slowly. ‘In theory.’
There was no rancour in his tone, but I didn’t miss his heavy sigh. I felt my stomach knot, and waited for whatever bad thing he was going to say. He got straight to the point. And I wasn’t wrong about it being a bad thing. ‘Casey, we’ve got something of a situation.’
I felt a massive rush of guilt. So he’d been called while on his holiday. So whatever it was, it must be pretty serious.
‘What sort of situation?’ I asked him.
‘A situation involving you. Look – God, I feel dreadful having to talk to you about this over the phone Casey, believe me –’
‘Not as dreadful as I feel.’
He sighed again. ‘Look, there’s no point me trying to sugar this pill for you. And I wouldn’t insult your intelligence by trying to do so in any case. You know how things work. There’s been a complaint made against you, Casey. An official complaint, in writing, to Bridget – well, to social services, more accurately – by Abby’s mother.’
I felt cold. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before, and I felt stunned, out of balance. ‘For what?’ My mouth had gone dry.
‘Brace yourself. Three things.’
‘Three? God, there’s a list?’
‘I’m afraid so. As I said, brace yourself. First, meddling in her private business. Apparently – and you can take my verbal quote marks as read, Casey, you know that – you’ve been grilling the hospital staff for information about her medical condition –’
I wanted to roar my denial at John, but reined myself in. Just hear the charges first, Casey. I licked my parched lips. ‘And?’
‘Causing her daughter psychological damage – causing all these “sudden” OCD symptoms. She makes mention of a bald patch … We’ll come back to that …’
‘And?’
‘And, let me see. Yes – “using her daughter – a minor – as cheap labour in the family business”.’
Now I could barely contain myself. Yet I was so appalled that I didn’t know where to start.
‘Casey?’ John said. ‘Casey, you still there?’
‘Yes, I’m here, John.’ I forced my mind to pull itself together. ‘Right,’ I said, sucking in a lungful of air. ‘Firstly, I haven’t “grilled” any member of Sarah’s medical staff. I’ve barely communicated with a single nurse! Oh, unless you want to count taking in a few of Abby’s cupcakes – does that count as bribery, perhaps? Jesus! And the only in-depth conversation I’ve had with anyone at that hospital was with Sarah’s occupational therapist. Chelsea, her name is. Who basically sat down with me and gabbled on about all sorts of things – before I could stop her, I might add – which she clearly thought I already knew. About which, I might add, I put her straight. Secondly – actually, don’t get me started on “secondly”. I cannot BELIEVE she could say that! After all the years of … no …’ I took another breath. ‘Let’s not even go there. It’s just too bloody ridiculous. And as for “thirdly”, well, frankly, how dare she? How DARE she!’ I could feel anger rising inside me like an internal tsunami. It was so preposterous, so disgraceful, such a wicked distortion of what had happened. But as the tidal wave of fury welled up in my throat, another thought cut in. John was just the messenger. And John was still on holiday. I had no right to rant at him. I took a third breath, and then cleared my throat.
‘I’m sorry, John. Let me gather myself for a moment.’
‘Absolutely, Casey. This has obviously come as something of a shock. And, look, you know where I stand. I am one hundred per cent behind you. Whatever accusations she’s made.’
I had another thought. John didn’t know about the sister. No one knew about the sister. And that was key. ‘John, there’s something you need to know about all this. I think there’s a reason for all this. No. I KNOW there’s a reason for all this.’
I told him everything I knew: what Donna had relayed about Mrs Shelley, in the café; what had happened at the hospital when Abby had mentioned her name; how Sarah had told me Abby was not allowed to go down there and ‘work’ any more. ‘She used the term then,’ I said to John. ‘And I was pretty bloody peeved, I can tell you. And then she just couldn’t leave it … I don’t know what the history is, John, but there’s something she’s keeping from us … There’s definitely something. I mean, why would you say you didn’t have a sister if you had?’
‘Perhaps she’s dead.’
‘So same question, surely? And Bridget doesn’t know this. I’d already decided it probably wasn’t for me to mention it. I was going to ring you when you came back, and tell you first. Let you handle it. I was already a bit twitched about talking to Bridget …’
‘And you can imagine how twitched she is, right now.’
Another wave began to well in me, but this time it was different. This time it was less a wave than a heavy, sicky feeling. An official complaint. Which would need investigating, however trumped up and vindictive it was. Oh, God. What would happen now? Once again, with some effort, I tried to keep myself together. ‘So what’s the next step?’ I asked John, feeling myself failing, even so. ‘God, I’m so sorry, John. I mean it. I am so, so sorry. I mean, I categorically deny everything she’s accused me of, but I’m so sorry you’ve had all this dumped on you. I should have just let them get on with it. I’ve clearly rattled Sarah’s cage. I should have trusted my instincts. God, I knew she had it in for me. The only thing I can’t figure out is – why?’
‘I don’t think it’s you, Casey. As you say, this seems to be all about her, from what you’ve said. But in answer to your question, there’s a process that we’ve now got to go through. A supervision meeting, in the first instance.’
‘Oh, God. That sounds damning.’
‘Try not to think of it in those terms. I know you don’t need any such thing. You and Mike are my shining stars. Remember that. Honestly, Casey, please don’t worry about it. But yes, that’s what’ll happen. You and Mike, Bridget, me, the Service Manager, Mel Darwin … Some time next week, in all probability. I’m not officially back in the office till Monday, but I’ve left it with Bridget to confirm the details. In the meantime she will obviously accompany Abby on her hospital visits for the moment – she’ll get in touch with you about that. Oh, and I’m going to be ringing her right now so why don’t I pass on the information about the sister while I’m at it? They can do what they like with it then, can’t they? But you forget it. Casey, honestly, I’m sure this
will come to absolutely nothing, so please try not to fret about it, okay? It’s just a process we have to go through. Just think of it like that. Just a tedious process we have to go through. A box-ticking exercise we have to be seen to be doing. That’s all it is. See it in that way. Okay?’
After I put the phone down I walked back into the kitchen in a daze. The air was scented with vanilla and it swirled into my nostrils. Warm cake: one of the best smells in the world. And then, breathing it in, in deep, measured lungfuls, I suddenly realised I’d forgotten to tell John to enjoy what was left of his second honeymoon, and felt terrible about it. I burst into tears.
Chapter 17
‘It’s going to be next Monday,’ I tearfully explained to Mike over the phone. ‘They’re all coming: John, Bridget, the Service Manager – God knows who else.’ I could hardly speak for sobbing. ‘God, Mike – this is going to be all on our record. What have I done?’
I’d called him pretty much as soon as I’d finished speaking to John, hoping he’d make me feel better. And he tried his best.
‘Love,’ he said, ‘you just did what you thought was right. That’s all. And as far as I’m concerned, there’s no crime in that. Okay, so you rushed in a bit, and maybe you should have kept your mouth zipped, but you’ve done nothing wrong, just remember that, okay? And stop trying to second guess things and jump ahead of yourself. Trust what John said. It’ll be fine. What are they going to do to you? Clap you in irons? You’ve done nothing wrong.’
I usually hated it when he pointed out the obvious five times, but in this case he did make me feel better. Whatever the consequences, I’d just have to deal with them when we got to them. I had to stop thinking about it, is what I had to do. It was pointless doing anything but try to put it out of my mind.
