‘Can I help you?’
‘Hello. I was hoping to see a patient.’
‘Resident.’
‘Sorry?’
‘That’s what we call them here. Residents.’ He smiled, seeming to acknowledge that what the old people were called wouldn’t change their circumstances.
‘A resident, then,’ Elizabeth said with a wry grin. ‘I was hoping to see a resident.’
‘Well, I’m afraid these aren’t visiting times. The evening staff have just started their shift. Can you come back in an hour or so?’
‘Oh, that might be difficult. I’m just visiting the area, you see. Do you work here? Could you bend the rules?’
‘I’m a nurse. Day shift. Just finishing.’ He tapped his rucksack to indicate his imminent departure.
Elizabeth tried to conceal her surprise. This was not how she had pictured a nurse. It seemed Abbey Court was going to defy all her expectations.
‘I tell you what, if you take a seat in the day room for ten minutes I’m sure I can get you in.’
‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’ The nurse opened the door and Elizabeth stepped inside. Groups of high-backed chairs stood in small semicircles scattered around the large room. The far wall was glass and looked out onto a well-tended garden with some mature trees. It wasn’t what anyone would have described as cosy but nor did it have a cold institutional glare.
‘Can I get you a tea or a coffee?’
‘But you must be going?’
‘Ah, I’m in no rush. I might have one meself.’
‘Coffee then, please. If you’re sure, now?’
‘Certain. It’ll only be instant, is that OK?’
‘Great, thanks.’
The nurse disappeared into a small kitchenette off to the side of the room and Elizabeth sat in one of the chairs nearest to her. A copy of the Irish Examiner was folded neatly on the table and a pile of heavily-used-looking board games was stacked against the wall.
‘I’m Gordon, by the way,’ the nurse called from the small room.
‘Elizabeth. This is very kind of you.’
‘No bother. Who is it you wanted to see?’
‘An old man. Edward Foley. Do you know him?’
‘Old Teddy? Oh, I do. He’s a sweet old thing. Is it long since you’ve seen him?’
Elizabeth paused, unsure of how to answer the question. She didn’t want to lie, but to tell the truth seemed like such an unwieldy story. Before she could decide on her response, Gordon added, ‘I mean, he’s not really with us any more, a world of his own, like, but he’s no bother. You can’t say that about all of them.’ Elizabeth’s heart sank. A wasted journey. There would be no answers. No deathbed reunion weeping for all the wasted years. The past would go unmourned.
Gordon emerged with two steaming mugs and chose the seat next to Elizabeth. ‘A relative, is he?’
‘Well, he’s actually my father.’ It felt odd and almost a little forbidden to be saying such words out loud, especially to a stranger. She felt her mother’s disapproval.
Gordon raised his pale eyebrows. ‘Really?’ It was a question that asked so much. Why has no one mentioned his daughter? Where have you been? What are you doing here now?
Elizabeth decided it was easiest to just say, ‘Yes.’
Gordon understood that it was best not to pry any further so picked up his coffee. ‘Oh, do you take sugar? Sorry.’
‘No. This is great, thanks.’
They both took a sip.
Outside two pigeons kept sentry, marching up and down the concrete path beyond the patio doors.
‘Have you worked here long, Gordon?’
‘No. Just a few months. I was nursing up in Dublin but … well, a bad break-up, and like the classic Irish boy I am, I came running home to Mammy.’
Elizabeth looked at Gordon. His head was bowed, his clear grey eyes studying the floor. She noticed how gaunt his cheeks were, the way his long jaw curved sharply up to his ears. She wondered who had broken his tender young heart.
‘Sorry to hear that. And do you enjoy it here?’
‘Ah, it’s not so bad. The residents are mostly lovely, and the job is easy enough – well, apart from all the dying.’ He shrugged and wrapped his hands around the warm mug. ‘To be honest, come the spring, I’ll probably head back to Dublin or maybe over to London. You know, lots of work, and God knows I’m hardly going to find a new boyfriend in Clonteer.’ Something in Elizabeth’s expression must have betrayed her surprise because Gordon immediately continued. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shock you. I just assumed …’
‘No, no,’ Elizabeth interrupted him, ‘my husband is gay.’
Silence. Why on earth had she said that? It must have been the talk in the car with Brian. The words floated in the air between them.
‘Was,’ she said, trying to clarify things, but Gordon looked even more surprised. ‘Was my husband. Is gay. Sorry, I have no idea why I said that.’
‘No, thanks for telling me. Always good to know there are more out there!’ Gordon laughed. ‘It’s easy to forget living here.’
‘I can imagine,’ Elizabeth agreed with a grin.
The door from the hall was thrown open and a short woman with scraped-back hair and thick legs strode into the day room. She stopped short when she saw Elizabeth and Gordon.
‘Oh. I wasn’t aware anyone was using the day room at present. Gordon, isn’t your shift over?’
Gordon stood up. ‘It is. Elizabeth, this is our Care Director. It is Care Director, isn’t it?’
A stern glare was aimed in his direction. ‘Yes, Gordon, it is Care Director. Pleased to meet you, Elizabeth. I’m Sarah Cahill, Care Director here at Abbey Court.’ The two women shook hands. ‘Has Gordon been assisting you?’
‘Oh yes, thank you. Very helpful.’ Elizabeth had an uneasy feeling that she was going to get Gordon into some sort of trouble. ‘I was hoping to see a relative of mine.’
‘I explained about the visiting hours,’ Gordon interjected hastily.
‘Yes. Yes he did,’ Elizabeth confirmed. ‘It’s just that I’m only passing through and I’m not sure when I can get back.’
Sarah smiled warmly. ‘Not a problem. Not a problem at all. Gordon should have just come to find me.’
Gordon stared at her. His expression suggested that the last time he allowed a visitor in out of hours she had threatened to sack him.
‘What resident is it?’
‘Edward Foley.’
‘It’s old Teddy,’ Gordon said to clarify.
Another stern look. ‘Thank you, Gordon. Mr Foley is in room three. I wonder if you could show Elizabeth to his room please, Gordon?’
More smiles and handshakes and then Sarah was gone, clicking across the polished linoleum floor.
‘Two-faced cow,’ Gordon muttered under his breath.
‘I hope I didn’t get you into trouble.’
‘No problem. She has it in for me, that one. Come on, I’ll show you to Teddy.’
The room reminded her of when her mother had been ill. The sour smell of badly washed bodies mixed with the lingering stench of human waste. The room itself was narrow and long with a large window at the opposite end. A single bed was pushed against the side wall and in it lay an old man. Elizabeth stepped towards him. His rheumy eyes were open but unfocused. Wisps of grey hair sprouted from his head, while patches of stubble dotted his parchment-yellow face where he had been haphazardly shaved by a busy nurse. He looked unkempt and uncared for. His green and white pyjamas were buttoned right up to his throat. The only sound was the slow rasp of his breathing, his dry lips hung apart.
‘Now, Teddy,’ Gordon almost shouted at the old man. Elizabeth started. ‘There’s a visitor here for you. Isn’t that great?’
The old man did not seem interested in the news. His gaze didn’t shift, his breathing didn’t alter.
‘Say hello to him. Squeeze his hand. He likes that.’
Elizabeth felt uncertain. It seemed too forward, t
oo intrusive somehow.
‘Edward,’ she said and then a little louder, ‘I’m Elizabeth.’ Reaching forward she touched his arm. It felt so warm and thin beneath the fabric of his pyjamas.
Gordon pushed a chair towards her. ‘Have a seat. I’m going to shoot off. Nice to meet you.’
‘You too, Gordon. Thanks for your help and good luck with everything.’
‘And you.’ As he left the room he turned and said, ‘Be patient. Teddy has his moments.’
Left alone with the man who was her father, Elizabeth began to question why she was here. Even if he suddenly became completely lucid what good could come from this? He knew nothing of her life and she was completely ignorant of his. All she could tell him was that her mother had told her he had died many years before and what person on their deathbed needed to hear that? With Gordon gone she felt more comfortable holding the old man’s hand. Stroking it, she repeated her name and then added quietly, ‘And I’m your daughter.’
The rasp of air entering and leaving his lungs continued like a slow, steady drum.
‘I was out at Castle House. It’s very beautiful. You must have hated leaving it.’
His gaze didn’t shift.
Elizabeth found that her eyes had filled with tears. She brusquely brushed them away. This was maudlin nonsense. She didn’t know this man or anything about him. Why should she weep for him?
‘Sorry to interrupt.’ It was Sarah Cahill at the door. ‘I was just checking everything was all right.’
‘Yes,’ Elizabeth said as brightly as she could. ‘Everything is fine.’
‘Gordon tells me you are Mr Foley’s daughter?’ Her tone suggested she needed some clarification.
‘Well, technically I am, but my parents were estranged. We never knew each other.’
‘I see. I see. Well, lovely that you got to spend time with him before it was too late.’ The Care Director seemed sincere.
‘Thank you. Yes. I never thought I’d get to meet him.’
‘If you are interested there are some old family photos that he brought in with him. It’s nice to have some personal effects in the room, if not for them, then for the staff. Makes the residents seem more like real people.’
She reached down and opened the drawer in the bedside table.
‘They’re in there. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you having a look.’
‘Thank you.’ Elizabeth spoke quietly as if the two women were sharing a secret. Sarah withdrew, closing the door gently.
A small stack of photographs was at the front of the drawer alongside a packet of Rennies and an old ballpoint pen. She picked the pictures up and placed them under the bedside lamp.
A woman sitting on a tartan rug on the beach with two little boys. That must be the dead brother, thought Elizabeth. There was something about the way his lips were slightly downturned that reminded her of Zach. She peered closer to get a better look at Mrs Foley. Her grandmother was probably younger than Elizabeth in this photograph but had the air of a pensioner with her headscarf and tightly permed hair. What was most striking however was the way she was holding her sons. They were both gripped tightly to her sides. In contrast to the wide, tooth-filled smile their mother wore, both boys looked sullen and uncomfortable. It seemed an odd picture to have kept all these years.
The next photograph showed a youngish Edward, twentyish, Elizabeth would have guessed, posing proudly beside a cow, brandishing a rosette and a small silver trophy. Elizabeth compared the man in the picture with the old man in the bed next to her. How had that beaming youngster so full of joy and pride become this faded husk? She felt her eyes fill with tears once more as she remembered her own mother and imagined that she too must have been bright-eyed and full of hope and laughter as a young woman. She struggled to imagine a version of her mother that had ever been carefree. Old age was such a cruel price to pay for youth. Elizabeth sighed and picked up the next photograph.
At first she wasn’t sure why the little girl in the red dress looked so familiar but then she realised that it was herself! She had never seen the picture before, though she had a vague recollection of the bright red pinafore. How old must she have been in this photo? Four or five? She looked so happy, her little face bursting open with laughter. She peered at the background. Just some green shrubbery. She had no idea where it had been taken. Then she was struck by the realisation that her mother must have had some contact with Edward over the years. How else would he have had this photograph? Had she met Edward before, unaware that he was her father? There was no writing on the back. No clues.
She shuffled through the next couple of photographs. A view of Castle House and some people she didn’t recognise standing by a gate. The next one was a large group shot at a wedding. They were seen through that mauve haze that old colour photographs always seemed to have.
She examined the line of people standing awkwardly on the top step outside a faceless chapel. There was Mrs Foley, still severe but now looking a little older, wearing a large brown hat. The frothy bride was more handsome than pretty but her happiness lit up the whole picture. The groom … Elizabeth froze. He looked very like Edward. Perhaps it was the dead brother but surely he had died before any wedding day? She turned the photograph over and on the back there in the handwriting she knew so well was inscribed, ‘Teddy and Mary – 1972’. The year before she was born. She looked at the picture again. That was definitely her father beaming at the camera with his arm around the bride. It made no sense.
Her mind was racing. Who was this man lying in the bed before her? Was he her father or just a smokescreen and Rosemary had been right about her mother being pregnant before she left? Was her real father walking along The Green back in Buncarragh, unaware of her existence? But if she wasn’t the daughter of Edward Foley, why had she been given Castle House? Questions began to tumble into each other in an impenetrable heap. Why was the newly married Edward replying to Lonely Heart ads? Who had written the letters? Did her mother know Mary? Who was Mary?
Elizabeth hastily shoved the wedding picture in her jacket pocket and returned the other photographs to the drawer in the locker. She stared at the old man. His eyelids fluttered and he licked his lips. Was Edward Foley still in there? All the answers she wanted trapped inside this frail creature. This was so much worse than not knowing.
THEN
Escape was the last thing on her mind now. After Edward had rescued her, she had gratefully returned to what now seemed like the refuge of her bedroom and accepted a mug of hot sweet tea. Patricia didn’t care if it was drugged or not. She had to stop shivering, but long before the morning came, a fever had taken hold of her. The sheets were soaked through with her sweat and when Mrs Foley had changed them for her, she lay under the weight of the blankets shivering so violently she thought she might break a tooth.
Patricia would have sworn that she had been awake all night but when she opened her eyes she discovered that not only had she been asleep but at some point she had been moved into a different bedroom. She now found herself in a high double bed with an ornate headboard made from some dark glossy wood. A large matching wardrobe stood against the end wall, while the wide window was opposite the bed. The wallpaper and curtains were almost the same shade of burgundy, which brought to mind dried blood. The heavy material around the window made the wind sound further away. After the trauma of the marsh Patricia felt safe. She slipped back into sleep.
Her lucid moments came and went but old Mrs Foley seemed to be a constant. Washing her face with a cool flannel, holding cups of tea up to her mouth, straightening the bedclothes and tucking her in. Patricia’s throat felt sharp and raw so that speaking was difficult but she took comfort from listening to the whispered monologue of the old lady. ‘Now, that will make you feel better.’ ‘A big sleep. That’s what you need.’ The prison guard had become a nurse and somehow Patricia found it much easier to feel thankful for her help.
‘The doctor has been, and he has left us a bottle of tonic and a prescri
ption, but Teddy will probably have to head into Clonteer for that.’
‘The doctor?’ Patricia rasped, the words like knives against her throat. ‘When?’
‘This morning,’ explained Mrs Foley. ‘You were very groggy, but you were a good patient. You sat up and let him listen to your chest and your back.’
Patricia lay down on her pillow and shut her eyes. Was Edward’s mother telling the truth? Should she take the medicine? She felt so tired …
‘What do you want, Mrs Foley?’
‘What’s that, pet? What do I want?’
Patricia searched her face for some clue to her intentions.
‘Do you want me to die?’
The old lady recoiled. She looked truly wounded by Patricia’s question, as if such a suggestion was unthinkable.
‘How could you ask such a … no, I … I only want …’ She bowed her head and rubbed her eyes before abruptly turning and leaving the room. Patricia didn’t hear the sound of the key turning in the lock.
A flurry of thoughts filled her head. Why had that question thrown the old woman? Was she planning to kill her? If she was, why hadn’t she already done it? Had she reacted in the way she had because she had killed before? No, she was being ridiculous. She was just an old crazy lady who had lost her mind. Edward had helped her escape once. She was sure he would again.
A Keeper Page 13
