Untitled Book 3

by Susan Elliot Wright

  She’d agreed, although she suspected Peggy meant before the baby was born. She assumed she would tell her mother at some point, but she doubted it would be for quite some time. She looked at her watch again. ‘They should be here in a minute; it’s gone twenty past.’ A white Ford Escort was turning into the road. She froze. ‘Oh, God, no. It’s my mum.’ She reached for the ignition, but Jill put a hand on her arm.

  ‘Hang on, you can’t just drive off. If it is your mum . . .’

  But the Escort sped past, Abba blaring out of the open windows. She relaxed, then became anxious again. It didn’t mean Peggy hadn’t told her mum, did it? It hadn’t occurred to her before, but they were very close, after all. Then just as she was working herself up into a state, Peggy’s little red Mini drew up behind the camper and Peggy, only Peggy, got out. Seconds later, Ken, also alone, pulled up in his Rover.

  *

  She thanked Jill again, promising to keep in touch as she watched her climb into Ken’s car. Ken gave her a cursory smile and said he’d see Peggy back at home. He was clearly more uncomfortable with all this than she’d realised.

  The house was warm, and she noticed immediately how plush the carpet felt under her feet. There was still a faint smell of toast and bacon lingering in the hall. She hadn’t eaten since before they set off, and she was starving. Maybe she could ask for a slice of buttered toast in a minute. Or maybe that wasn’t the done thing, since she was technically staff.

  ‘It’s only a box room, really,’ Rita said, ‘but we’ll be able to move you to the big room up the top when the baby’s born. Roof’s leaking like a sieve at the moment, and the roofers can’t start until July, so you’d get rained on in your bed. And the plinking and plonking of water dripping into buckets would probably drive you crackers. Anyway,’ she straightened the pink-and-white bedspread and smoothed away a crease. ‘This’ll be a bit cramped, but it’s only for a few months, so . . .’

  ‘Compared to where I’ve been sleeping for the last few weeks, I can assure you, this is luxury!’

  ‘Oh, yes, you’ve been at Greenham, haven’t you?’ Rita smiled. ‘I want to hear all about that. Anyway, like I say, we’ll move you up to the top as soon as the roof’s done.’

  ‘Thank you. It’s so kind of you.’

  ‘It’s a nice big room, so the two of you should be fine up there. When you’ve recovered, we’ll expect you to put in twelve hours a week for your bed and board. Anything over will be money in your pocket. Does that sound fair? Hours flexible to fit in with the little one, of course.’

  ‘It’s very fair. And I’m ever so grateful, I really am.’

  ‘Don’t be too grateful.’ Rita laughed. ‘It’s bloody hard work. Ask Peggy – she did it for a while when we first started.’

  Peggy nodded. ‘I couldn’t go back to nursing when the boys were babies because of the shifts, but I used to bring them here with me while I did a few hours’ work. I did it for almost a year, didn’t I, Rita?’ She turned back to Eleanor. ‘And it is hard work. But you’ll be in good hands.’ She smiled as she nodded towards Rita. ‘My little sister can be a pain in the nether regions, but as long as you pull your weight, she’s fair and she’ll help you out whenever she can.’ Eleanor noticed how Rita flushed with pleasure at the praise. It must be nice to have a big sister.

  Eleanor, the present

  Eleanor stands by the French doors sipping her coffee and watching the rain. It’s been hot and dry for weeks, but her mum has been keeping everything watered. It’s odd how her ability to make things grow seems entirely unaffected by the Alzheimer’s. It’s as though her hands remember when to water, how often to add plant food and what needs pruning or tying back, even though her brain can no longer identify the flowers she grows, or the fruits they pick from the trees.

  The house is blissfully quiet today because Peggy has taken Marjorie for her routine check-up so Eleanor can have a break. They’re unlikely to say anything different at the hospital – an adjustment to her medication, maybe, or more information about residential care. Even with Jenny coming in every weekday now, and a carer twice a day at weekends, things are tough and getting tougher.

  There is something about heavy rain that Eleanor finds almost as mesmerising as the sea. Raindrops chase each other down the glass doors; circles appear and disappear in the puddles surrounding the pots on the veranda. A sparrow lands on the watering can and cocks its head to one side as though it’s looking at her. She blinks and allows her gaze to travel past the wrought iron railings and out across the garden. Everything is growing vigorously; the rain varnishes each blade of grass and makes the colours brighter, fresher. It’s a shame the inside of the house doesn’t match up to the garden. At least the basement rooms are nicer since the redecoration after the flood, although the dark, heavy furniture means it still feels oppressive.

  Her phone beeps. A text from Jill: Is now a good time to call? She’s been expecting this text – even telephone conversations have to be prearranged, or there’s bound to be some drama or interruption from Marjorie.

  Yes, she texts back, free for an hour or so. She waits, looking at her phone. ‘Come on, Jill,’ she murmurs, just as the doorbell rings. Taking the phone with her, she hurries to the front door and opens it.

  ‘Surprise!’

  She feels her mouth actually drop open then change to a grin as she flings her arms around Jill, then Dawn. ‘Oh my God, I can’t believe . . .’ She looks back to Jill. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? Oh, never mind. Come in out of the rain.’

  ‘I’ll grab the baby,’ Dawn says. ‘Didn’t want her to get too wet.’ She runs back down the steps to the car.

  ‘I can’t get over this,’ she says as Jill follows her into the hall. ‘What a lovely surprise.’

  ‘I like surprising people,’ Jill replies. ‘Listen, just quickly – if your mum comes back early, or if it’s awkward at all, we’ll clear off. I’m staying with Dawn until the weekend, so if you get a chance, perhaps we could have coffee or a drink or something.’

  ‘That would be brilliant – the sitter’s here tomorrow and Friday, so yes, definitely!’

  ‘Great. Now, where’s that grandson of mine? Come on, Charlie.’ Jill turns to look down at Dawn’s eldest, who is standing shyly behind her. He’s just turned three, if Eleanor remembers rightly, still strawberry-blond and cherub-like.

  Dawn hurries up the steps with the car seat in one hand and an umbrella in the other. ‘Phew! Think we managed that without waking her up.’ She puts the car seat on the floor and closes her umbrella.

  Eleanor looks down at the shawl-covered bundle. ‘So this is the new arrival, is it?’

  Dawn smiles. ‘Flora. She’s sound-o at the moment, thank God, but I’m sure she’ll wake up soon for a cuddle.’ She looks round. ‘Charlie, stop hiding behind Granny and come and say hello.’

  He jumps forward before his mother can finish. ‘Hello, Ellie,’ he says, beaming. He can’t quite manage her full name yet, but she is touched and flattered that he even remembers her. Dawn used to bring him over to the farm a lot before they moved down here, but it’s months since they last came up to Scalby, and although Eleanor has been meaning to meet Dawn for coffee, things have been so hectic with her mum that she just hasn’t got round to it. She smiles at Charlie. She always talks to him, but she’s aware that she never really plays with him or reads to him or cuddles him. She wonders why he bothers with her.

  ‘My goodness, who’s this big boy?’ She looks back at Dawn. ‘And what have you done with Charlie?’

  Charlie giggles. ‘It is me!’

  ‘Is it really?’

  He nods vigorously until she acknowledges that, yes, this big boy must be Charlie after all. ‘Silly Ellie!’ he says, and everyone laughs.

  *

  Eleanor makes tea and gets out plates for the flapjacks and carrot cake Jill has brought. Charlie only wants half a flapjack; he’s busy running his Thomas the Tank Engine back and forth in front of the French
doors and making train noises quietly, so as not to wake the baby.

  ‘So,’ she hands a plate to Dawn. ‘How are you feeling? You look wonderful for someone who gave birth less than two weeks ago.’

  ‘She does look well, doesn’t she?’ Jill says, turning to Dawn. ‘I was still in hospital at this point when I had Alex; two weeks was standard for a first baby, and even when I had you, it was nearly a week.’ She turns back to Eleanor and shakes her head. ‘Do you know, they kick them out the same day now?’

  Dawn smiles. ‘I’m fine. Sleep-deprived, exhausted, desperate for a moment to myself, but apart from that . . . How about you, Ellie?’

  ‘Much the same, to be honest – completely knackered.’

  Jill is shaking her head. ‘It must be so hard to cope with. It’s normal to be knackered when you’re a new mum, but when you’ve got to look after your own parent . . .’

  ‘Jenny comes in for a few hours every day now, so that’s a help. And Peggy is absolutely brilliant with her. But yes, when it’s just me and her, it’s . . . well, it’s pretty hard going.’

  ‘You sounded so down on the phone the other night.’

  ‘Did I? Probably just feeling sorry for myself. The weekends are tough, especially when Peggy’s out with her bloke.’ She smiles as she sees Jill’s eyebrows go up. ‘I’ll tell you all about that later.’ She pauses. ‘My mum seems to be getting worse, but it comes and goes. I never know how she’s going to be from one day to the next. Every now and again – although less and less frequently, to be honest – she seems completely normal. To the point where you wouldn’t know there was anything wrong. And the next minute . . .’ She shrugs.

  ‘David’s mum was the same. She lived in the past a lot towards the end.’

  ‘Yes, my mum’s doing that. I knew she’d gradually lose her memory, but I didn’t realise it would go backwards. This morning I reminded her she was going to the hospital, and she’d forgotten that within ten minutes. I doubt she’d be able to tell you what she did yesterday. But then the other day, she said she was in a hurry because she had to take Peter for his polio vaccination.’ She turns to Dawn. ‘Peter was my baby brother, the one who died.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Jill says. ‘Didn’t you tell me once that she never used to even mention his name?’

  She nods. ‘All those years I was desperate for her to tell me about him, and now, if she mentions him, I don’t know what to do. I can’t tell her the truth, can I? I mean, she thinks she’s about to go and pick him up from his nap. But on the other hand, I feel cruel if I go along with it.’

  ‘So what did you do in the end?’ Dawn asks.

  ‘Nothing. I was just trying to work out what to say when I saw her face change, then she burst into tears and ran out of the room.’

  ‘How sad.’ Jill shakes her head. ‘Poor woman. Imagine just going about your day thinking you’re still a young mum and then suddenly remembering you lost your . . . Shit, sorry, El.’ She reaches across the table for Eleanor’s hand and whispers again, ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ she says, ‘really.’ At the same moment as she becomes aware of the look on Dawn’s face, Jill puts both hands to her mouth and says, ‘Oh, God, sorry Dawn, this is not the sort of thing you want to hear, either. Sometimes my idiocy surprises even me.’ This breaks the slight tension that is threatening to settle.

  There’s a snuffling from the car seat. ‘Ah,’ Eleanor says, ‘sounds like someone’s waking up.’

  Dawn is already halfway across the room, making shushing noises. She picks up the car seat, brings it over to where they’re all sitting and sets it down by her feet. ‘Here she is,’ she says. ‘Meet Flora. Flora, meet your auntie Eleanor.’

  ‘Her name is not called Auntie Ebbener.’ Charlie sounds indignant. He’s sprung to the baby’s side and is now stroking her hair perhaps a touch more firmly than he needs to. Does he resent his little sister, Eleanor wonders, even if he loves her too?

  ‘Her name is called Ellie.’ He looks at Eleanor and rolls his eyes in exasperation. ‘Silly Mummy.’

  She smiles at him and then looks back at Flora, trying to ignore the zip of pain that always flashes through her when she’s in close proximity to a new baby. ‘Hello, Flora.’ She hears the croakiness in her voice as she leans closer. She clears her throat. ‘She’s beautiful.’ She strokes the baby’s downy cheek and smiles at Dawn, whose face glows with love and pride.

  Flora’s fingers curl and uncurl, she twitches a little, makes a snuffling sound and opens her eyes.

  ‘Hello, my angel.’ Dawn bends down to unbuckle her. ‘I think you’re going to be in demand for cuddles, young lady.’

  Eleanor’s stomach shifts. She stands up and starts to collect the mugs. ‘I’m sure she is. I bet Granny’ll spoil her rotten with lots of cuddles.’ She fills the kettle and switches it on. ‘Let’s have another cup of tea.’

  Charlie, who has now moved to his mother’s side so he can continue his earnest hair-stroking, looks uncertainly at Jill, who immediately leans over and scoops him up in her arms. ‘Only when I’ve had enough cuddles from my Charlie Farley.’ She buries her nose in his neck and blows raspberries on his skin until he squeals with delight. ‘My little Mr Man; my cuddly bear. Give Granny a ginormous cuddle,’ she says. ‘No, more ginormous than that! No, even more ginormous.’

  Eleanor feels frozen, a fixed smile on her face as she watches Jill rescue the situation she almost created. She is useless with small children; why didn’t she notice immediately that Charlie was feeling left out? She becomes aware of Dawn preparing to hand her the baby.

  ‘Eleanor?’ Dawn is right beside her with Flora. ‘Would you like a hold?’

  ‘I . . . er, I should wash my hands.’ She turns to the sink, knocking a mug off the countertop. ‘Oh, sh—’ She glances at Charlie. ‘—sugar.’ She grabs a cloth from under the sink and mops up the dregs of the tea. Fortunately the mug isn’t broken. Just then, she hears the front door close and then voices in the hall. ‘That must be my mum back.’

  Everyone stops talking and waits expectantly and, she thinks, a little nervously. ‘We’re back,’ Peggy calls, and they hear Marjorie mutter something and the click of the bathroom door opening. Then Peggy comes in, still talking over her shoulder to Marjorie. ‘All right, but hurry up or I’m going to wet myself. I’ll put the kettle on. Oh—’ She stops dead as she turns and sees the packed kitchen. A smile spreads across her face. ‘Well, now everyone knows I need a wee! I’m Peggy.’ She looks around. ‘Who are you?’

  Eleanor introduces them, not forgetting Charlie.

  ‘Actually,’ Jill says, ‘I think we did meet once, very briefly. In Chislehurst, many moons ago. I came with Ellie from Greenham, before she passed her driving test. Your husband kindly gave me a lift to pick up my new camper.’

  ‘Of course!’ Peggy claps her hands together. ‘Ex-husband, now. You’re the clever lady who runs that farm. It’s lovely to meet you properly after all this time – I’ve heard so much about you.’

  ‘Likewise,’ Jill says. ‘I feel we know each other already.’

  ‘So,’ Peggy says, smiling, ‘what brings you from your lovely seaside air down to this polluted hellhole?’

  Jill takes the baby from Dawn and holds her for Peggy to see. ‘New grandchild. And I’m usually down every couple of months anyway, to see senior grandchild.’ She ruffles Charlie’s hair. ‘And daughter, of course. Dawn lives in Greenwich.’

  ‘More Woolwich, really, Mum,’ Dawn mutters.

  ‘I have a son, too – Alex. Did Ellie tell me you have boys?’

  ‘Twins, yes.’

  ‘Wonderful! Any grandchildren? I have another four, but they’re in Australia now. Alex and his partner are very happy out there, but I miss them all terribly.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ Peggy says. ‘All we want is for our kids to be happy, but sometimes that means we have to suffer.’

  Jill nods. ‘Absolutely. That’s the way it goes, doesn’t it? They’re the
centre of our lives, but we’re no longer the centre of theirs.’

  Peggy smiles. ‘Not fair, is it? So, tell me about your lot.’ And they are off, chatting as if they’ve known each other for years. It’s never occurred to Eleanor before how alike they are in some ways, but now it seems obvious, and she realises she is smiling with sheer pleasure at the knowledge that these two women have met properly at last and clearly like each other.

  When the door opens again, her breathing quickens slightly. She can never be sure which Marjorie is going to walk in. Her mum is often unsettled by things being different. Will this invasion of her kitchen trigger some drama? Jill would understand, obviously, but it still wouldn’t be pleasant.

  But after an initial moment or two of confusion, Marjorie appears to relax. She wears an open smile, says hello to everyone and seems to understand when Eleanor explains who Jill and Dawn are. She takes over making the tea, although as she hands it out, it becomes clear that she’s made two cups too many, and while she remembers to ask everyone if they take sugar, she forgets to add it to the tea or bring it to the table. She doesn’t talk much, and she asks Jill several times if she’s married and what her husband’s name is. But then she kneels down on the floor with Charlie and nods and smiles as he chats away to her and shows her his Thomas the Tank Engine and his plastic figure of the Fat Controller.

  Eleanor is taken aback slightly by the tenderness on her mother’s face. She supposes her mum must have played with her like that when she was little, but as she watches them now, the easy connection between them, the obvious lack of any tension, she is embarrassed to feel a childish stab of jealousy.