No! I Don’t Need Reading Glasses!

by Virginia Ironside

  ‘But you promised we’d make my Hallowe’en costume!’ said Gene, pulling at me and making a sad face.

  ‘There’s nothing I can do,’ I said. ‘I’m furious, and I feel like screaming, but I just must. I would never forgive myself if he died when I was away. And particularly if he’s asking for me.’

  ‘Well, I think you’re mad, Mum,’ said Jack. ‘You’ve spent all this money coming here, we’ve made all these plans, and now you just go back. You’ve barely got over the jet lag.’

  But I knew I had to go. There was no getting out of it. After changing my flight back I went into my bedroom to start packing. I couldn’t help but cry – tears of frustration, really. I’d just met a nice guy, I was having this lovely time with Gene and the family, I’d got a new American best friend. And now this.

  When I went to say goodnight to Gene he looked a bit sad. The sight of him in his aeroplane pyjamas, holding his teddy tightly made my heart break. ‘When are you going away?’ he asked, rather plaintively.

  ‘As soon as I can get a flight,’ I said. ‘The thing is,’ I explained, ‘I have to. Archie’s not at all well. There’s nothing I can do. I’d give anything to stay.’

  There was a pause while Gene sat staring down at the duvet. Then he looked up, a bit brighter. ‘I know you have to go back, Granny,’ he said. ‘I just wish you weren’t, that’s all.’

  There was something so grown-up about his simple, serious tone, that I felt like a child myself. But there was no changing my mind, I had to return. And I knew that, knowing he understood why I had to, I was actually setting him a good example for his later life. That sometimes there are just Things You Have To Do, whether you like them or not.

  Jack and Chrissie and I had a rather silent, gloomy supper – I could tell they were disappointed too. But in the end, Jack put his arm round me and said, ‘Sorry to be so snappy before, Mum. I was just upset you were going. We do know you’ve got to go. And look, in a couple of months, we’ll see if we can come over or if we can scrape up some money for you to come back here. Perhaps for a much longer time.’

  ‘I’ve got all these Air Miles, or whatever you call them these days, from flying with the company,’ said Chrissie. ‘I’m sure I could transfer them for a flight. We’ll sort something out. Of course you’ve got to go now. We’ll miss you. But don’t worry.’

  I couldn’t help thinking, while I was packing, that none of this would be happening if they were living in England. I could just pop down and see Archie and still be back to pick Gene up from school the next day. But there we are. Funny phrase that: there we are. One much used by oldies everywhere, I suspect. It’s a phrase that signifies resigned acceptance of the status quo. Nothing you can do about it.

  I was so choked up about it all, that I almost forgot to text Louis. But I did, and got a lovely text back: c u in London then! over next month to see mom. Till then. xL, which made me feel better. There we are.

  10 October

  Absolutely HORRENDOUS flight back from New York. First of all, they actually had the nerve to confiscate my knitting needles when I went through security AGAIN! I mean I know it was my fault, forgetting they’d been confiscated the first time round, but I’d already knitted half of the new back. I was so fed up, I was tempted to give them the wool and everything and simply abandon the whole project. But I didn’t. I slid my New York needles out of the stitches very carefully – again – so that at least I could salvage something of the knitting when I got back to London and could buy yet more needles. I handed them over to the burly, blankfaced security man with an evil leer. I hope he fell on them and they poked him up the bottom. Or in the eye.

  I mean honestly – how on earth could anybody possibly hijack a plane with a couple of size eight knitting needles? The whole thing is too preposterous. And when I turned to the queue behind me for support they all looked determinedly in front of them. I could see that none of them wanted to get involved in a wrangle at security in case they were carted off to Guantanamo Bay.

  Then – when I got to Heathrow, cross-eyed with jet-lag, I hauled my suitcases off the luggage carousel, but just as I was turning a corner with one of the bags, it got kind of twisted – it’s one of those suitcases on wheels – and I fell over. I felt so utterly ridiculous. Luckily, lots of people came rushing up, asking if I was okay. Though I’m sure most of them thought I was sozzled on in-flight hospitality.

  Since the age of fourteen, when I remember flying off my bike on a country lane in Gloucestershire, I’ve never fallen over, and I was surprised how the first thing one wants to do is to jump up and pretend one’s perfectly okay, even though one has probably broken one’s spine and cracked one’s skull and dislocated one’s hips. Anyway, I managed to stagger upright, and because my tights were torn and my knees were bleeding I indulged in a taxi to get me home rather than hobbling onto the train to Victoria. Anyway, it was one of those grey, drizzling October days, and I didn’t fancy going by train.

  The taxi driver asked what had happened to me, and I explained. ‘I think I might have done my back in,’ I groaned, pitifully.

  ‘These days my back goes out more often than I do,’ said the taxi driver. ‘Geddit?’ He was one of those taxi drivers. Later in the journey his mobile rang, and even though it’s against the law he picked it up and started gabbling into it. ‘So you done, it, eh? Did you just stand there or did you do a runner? Did you stamp on his ’ead when he was bleedin’ and lyin’ on the ground or did you call a ham bulence? I know what you done. You done a runner, innit? Heh, heh!’

  So I was extra pleased to get home. And thrilled to see dear old Pouncer, who was so delighted he seemed to shed all his hair over me as if he’d been saving it up specially for my return. But then my blood ran cold as I noticed a dreadful thing in the middle of my sitting room.

  It gave me a real fright. The object – which looked some pagan ritual totem – featured a glaring white sheep’s skull, festooned with barbed wire, on top of a broom handle, with piles of rusty cans at the bottom. It was mounted on an old dustbin lid, which had been squashed to turn it into a base. A sort of toga had been constructed around it, out of bubble wrap, luckily disguising the walking frame, held in place with metal clamps, and a garish plastic orange rose had been carefully placed in one of the eye-sockets of the skull, sticking up like an antenna. There were some pliers, a hammer and a pair of thick gloves on the carpet and I then realised that this was James’s installation, based on me, and he was in the middle of perfecting it.

  After the initial shock, I was so weary that I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so, dazed, I rang Penny and explained everything to her.

  ‘Oh, poor you!’ she said. ‘Well, come over and have some supper this evening … you’ll be exhausted! Or shall I bring something over and we can look at this dreadful thing together?’

  ‘Come over tomorrow,’ I said. ‘I’m going to bed right now. I’m shattered.’

  I left my suitcase at the bottom of the stairs. I simply couldn’t manage to drag it up. I’ll unpack everything at the bottom of the stairs and take my things up piece by piece to my room tomorrow.

  An old person’s trick.

  11 October

  Got up at noon, not sure what day it was or what, indeed, my name was, feeling dreadful. As I’d got back earlier than planned, my Daily Rant hadn’t been delivered, but Penny had kindly pushed a copy through my door on her way past, which was very sweet of her.

  ‘ANNIE NOONA FOUND DEAD BY ADDICT BOYFRIEND!’ I was informed. Then, further down: ‘Twenty killed in high-school massacre!’

  Poor old Annie. And poor old students. Still it makes a welcome change from the end of the world stuff.

  The first thing I’d done before falling into bed last night was, of course, to ring Sylvie. Unfortunately her mobile just rang and rang, too. I tried Eventide, but they refused to tell me anything about Archie because I wasn’t a relative, but at least I assume he’s still alive.

  So this morning, natu
rally, after glancing at the Rant, I rang Sylvie again. And I couldn’t believe what she said. Though still very ill, Archie had pulled through! Emergency alert completely over! So I’d rushed all the way back home to see him and instead of catching him on his deathbed, he’s still with us.

  ‘Oh Marie,’ she said, ‘it was dreadful. You know how he’s made a Living Will and everything, and I’d told them not to resuscitate him, but some new doctor was on one night and he refused to listen to any of that and pumped him full of antibiotics and he’s still alive! Oh, I know it sounds so awful to say this about one’s own father, but I can’t bear to see him like this, so confused and unhappy! And instead of just letting him drift off, they drag him screaming back for God knows how many years! I’ve rung up the Matron and I’ve been absolutely furious and I’ve got a copy of the Living Will and I enlarged it and pinned it up above his bed, so everyone knows next time … it should never have happened! It was the one day I’d left my mobile at the office and I’d always said they should ring me on my landline, but they didn’t so I didn’t get the call … I can’t forgive myself.’

  I must say it was all very depressing.

  ‘When can I come and see him?’ I asked.

  ‘They’re not very keen on him having visitors at the moment,’ she said. ‘Except very close family. Basically only me, but I’ll let you know the minute they say it’s okay. They’re scared stiff of the risk of infection.’

  ‘Well, just say the word and I’ll be there,’ I said. ‘I flew back from New York specially to …’

  ‘Oh, you didn’t!’ she wailed. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry!’

  ‘Ah well,’ I said. ‘Nothing to be done about it. There we are.’

  ‘Well, do at least come and stay, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course I will,’ I said. ‘Thanks so much.’ At least I wouldn’t have to endure the frightful B & B again.

  And it’s given me a chance to catch up on all the emails and bills that wait for you when you get back home. Not to mention, of course, the Seasons of the Doomed Trees. The leaves are turning yellowish-brown, and beginning to shed. Amazing how the things change over the months, particularly when you’re really looking.

  15 October

  Penny came over today bringing a really delicious salade niçoise without any tuna in it. When she saw the installation, she screamed and nearly dropped the salad, but luckily I just prevented it. After she’d yelped with horror, we both got the giggles.

  ‘If he thinks that’s you, one of his best friends, God knows what he’d make of his enemies,’ said Penny, sitting down, and wiping her eyes. ‘Is that bubble wrap meant to be your dress? Is that rose your eye? Why is it sticking out on a stalk like an alien?’

  Eventually we settled down with a drink, and because it was one of those peculiarly balmy, warm October evenings we had a very early supper in the garden, surrounded by late scented tobacco plants. The Calibans have completely disappeared, never to be seen again: £36.50 down the drain.

  I always thought the whole point of salade niçoise was the tuna, but also its biggest drawback (and Penny said she quite agreed). Tuna is disgusting, so she’d substituted a million anchovies and black olives and hard-boiled eggs and it was completely scrummy.

  As we started to tuck in, Penny cocked her head, listening. ‘Remarkably silent,’ she said. ‘What happened to the …’

  ‘Sshhh!’ I hissed, hoping Sharmie wasn’t eavesdropping in her garden.

  It was quite a relief to get the whole miserable story off my chest, and Penny shook her head, rocking with silent laughter. ‘The granny chimes! My God! You must have felt awful!’

  ‘Imagine if some dreadful neighbour had destroyed something in New York I’d given Gene to remind him of me and …’

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ said Penny. ‘Much better in her bedroom, anyway. Now, what are you going to about the installation?’

  ‘Do you think I could suggest keeping it in the garden?’ I said. ‘Well out of sight? I was thinking I could put it round the side here – you could only see it if you were at the end of the garden looking back.’

  ‘But would it be able to cope with the rain and wind?’ said Penny.

  ‘Hopefully not,’ I said. ‘But heaven knows what Sharmie will think when she looks out of her kitchen window and sees this ghastly thing from a Stephen King novel peering in at her.’

  ‘Serves her right for putting up the—,’ here Penny held up some imaginary chimes and flicked her finger against them and said, ‘Ting!’

  ‘If only Gene were around I could say I’d moved it because of health and safety and the risk he’d put his eye out on the barbed wire.’

  ‘Bung it in the garden,’ said Penny. ‘James can’t expect you to have it in the living room. Now,’ she said, as I brought out the coffee. ‘The Residents Association … and the plans …’

  We decided to have a meeting next week and get the councillors and the local MP along too. We’re going to ask Father Emmanuel whether we can hold the meeting in his church, and leaflet the entire area so that we get masses of people along. I said I’d chair it, and we’d get various people to speak for three minutes each. Like Ned, who’d say how important the tree was, and maybe one of the more respectable drug dealers to say how crucial it was to have somewhere to exercise their slavering dogs (we definitely want to make use of the drug dealers as they add diversity and authenticity). Then Brad from next door can talk about other legal aspects, and apparently Tim knows something about Open Spaces … then I’ll do a kind of round-up of the whole thing, and there’ll be questions and it’ll all last about an hour. I’m sure there’s a good enough story for the local paper.

  ‘I’m absolutely shattered,’ I said, as we wound the whole thing up, and Penny got up to go.

  ‘Well, I’m not surprised!’ said Penny. ‘You’ve only just got back from New York, where you’ve had an exhausting time, you’re knocked for six by the news about Archie, even though it turns out he’s now okay, and you’ve had a long flight and jetlag and you’ve had a fall – what do you expect?’

  The awful truth is that I expect to sail through things like this. I always used to sail through them. I was renowned for always coping and soldiering on, whatever happened to me. But sometimes now I actually feel my age … isn’t it dreadful? Indeed, this morning when I walked into the kitchen in my slippers I was aware of a funny rustling noise. Then I worked out that it was me – shuffling! Shuffling! Shuffler Sharp! I never thought I’d shuffle. Made a resolution in future to Lift My Feet.

  10.30 p.m.

  Just had a text from Louis, asking for my email address. Very flattering! Might wait a couple of days before I reply, just to pretend I’m not as desperate as I am. Next, a Skype from Jack, wanting to know if I got back safely. He sounded just as shattered as me. They’d been relying on me to look after Gene and had got an enormous amount of work organised to do while I was there, and now they’re having to get temporary childcare and they’ve got some Dutch girl, recommended by a friend, who’s over there doing a PhD and needs extra money. She’ll only be there for a couple of weeks, but obviously my leaving has put them in a bit of a difficult situation.

  How easy it would be if only they were here! I could just pop over and we’d all be happy as bees.

  18 October

  Michelle came back from Poland in a furious mood. Apparently Maciej has broken off their engagement and she found out that he does have a new girlfriend and she went round to her house and threw water all over her. Doesn’t sound very edifying, but it obviously made her feel better. She didn’t have a good word to say about him.

  ‘’E ees just seely leetle boy. I am better wizout ’eem. I ’av ’ad lucky escape. And ’e snore,’ she added. ‘And ees feet, zey are not good.’

  ‘Perhaps you need to look for an older man,’ I said. ‘More mature.’

  She rummaged in the fridge for a Yakult, took one out, and stomped upstairs.

  23 October

 
No word from Louis despite my having sent my email address about three hours ago. Oh dear, I’m starting to feel like Michelle. I thought I’d never have to suffer all that ‘Will he write? Won’t he write?’ ever again. And now look at me!

  Sylvie rang to say that Archie is still out of bounds, but they’re hoping he’ll be up for visitors in a week or so. In the meantime, I’ve forgotten to mention James and his horrible installation.

  ‘I love it!’ I lied when I rang him. ‘I just wish I could have it in the middle of the living room, but …’

  ‘Oh, no, you can’t do that,’ said James. ‘I thought it would be good just outside the French windows so everyone can see it.’

  ‘That’s a thought,’ I said, non-commitally. ‘Let’s talk about it. You see, I was thinking, there’s that kind of dead area in the passage alongside the house and I thought if I painted that bit of back wall white, it would really show up from the end of the garden. It would look as if it was in its own private exhibition space …’

  I congratulated myself on this phrase. And I could see that the idea had made James think.

  ‘But no one would see it,’ he said, dubiously.

  ‘Oh yes they would, because whenever anyone went into the garden, I’d show them,’ I said firmly. ‘It really deserves its own setting.’

  I could hardly believe my ears. Its own setting! Sometimes I think I should have been a used-car salesman. By this time, I was starting to believe my own patter.

  24 October

  Sharmie rang this morning saying that there’s been a muddle with childcare this afternoon, and she’s got an urgent appointment, and if she were to drop Alice over, could I possibly look after her just for an hour or so?