Remember, Remember

by Hazel McHaffie

  Nice staircase.

  Who’s this?

  ‘Hello!’ She’s very big. Black clothes. Black hair. Black face.

  Nice smile. Black and white smile. Liquorice Allsorts.

  Warm hands.

  ‘My name is Connie Norris. I’m the manager. But please, call me Connie.’

  ‘Hello, Connie. I’m Jessica Burden.’

  They’re both smiling. I smile too.

  ‘And you must be Mrs Doris Mannering. May I call you Doris? We like to be informal here. One big family.’

  ‘Doris.’

  ‘That’s right. You’re Doris. I’m Connie.’

  The old one – I know her – she’s smiling at me. Pretty smile. I know her from somewhere. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m Jessica, Mum.’

  ‘That’s nice. Do I know you?’

  ‘Yes, Mum. I’m your daughter.’

  It’s soft on the staircase. Quiet. I like quiet.

  ‘And this is your room, Doris.’

  ‘Isn’t it lovely and bright and airy. And see, your own bathroom, all very handy. Only a few steps to go. Very nice. Look.’

  ‘Excuse me.’ A blue lady.

  ‘Come in, Annie. This is Doris. We’re showing her her new room. Doris, this is Annie. Another of our carers.’

  ‘Hi, Doris. Sorry to interrupt, Connie, but Dr Maplethorpe’s on the phone. Something about that blood result you wanted for Gertie?’

  ‘Please excuse me, Jessica, I must take this call. But I’ll be right back and then we’ll go down and show you the lounge and dining room, Doris.’

  ‘Oh, look at the view from the window, Mum! You can see right across to the Pentlands. Like we used to do from our house. Remember?’

  Hills. I like hills.

  ‘I specially asked for a room on this side. To remind you of home. D’you like it? Is it OK for you?’

  ‘I want to go home.’

  ‘Come and look at the garden.’

  The room fills up. ‘Here we are again. Remember me, Doris? I’m Connie. Now, shall we go and see the lounge and maybe some of the other ladies who live here?’

  Sad Eyes is clutching my arm. She looks old when she stops smiling. She pulls me along.

  She stops without warning. I bump into her.

  There’s a pile of rags on the floor. Flowery rags. Mrs Black Lady’s trying to pick them up.

  No. Not rags… an old lady. On the floor. Do I know her?

  ‘Oh dear, Freida. Well, never mind. I’ll send someone to clean you up. You stay there, there’s a good girl.’ Mrs Black Lady looks over my head. ‘Anyone around? Ah, Mishka!’

  A blue lady. A shrimp.

  ‘Freida’s had a little accident. Would you mind? Thanks. Oh, and this is Doris, our new lady. We’re doing the grand tour. Doris, this is Mishka. She’ll be taking care of you too. Lots of new friends, I know. But you’ll soon get to know us. Thanks a lot, Mishka. There we go, Freida. Mishka is going to get you all nice and clean again.’

  I hang on to Sad Eyes. I know her from somewhere. Don’t leave me alone. Who are these people? Do I know them? Where’s George?

  ‘And here’s the lounge. And it’s exercise time,’ Mrs Black Lady says. ‘Every Thursday, 2.30 p.m. Janette is our exercise person. She takes them through things. She’s very good. There’s a video, everything set to music. They remember music. But Janette talks them through as well. It seems to work better.’

  People everywhere. Waving.

  ‘And one and two. And one and two. And one and two.’ Somebody stands up. Yellow Dress. I hate yellow. ‘Not now, Dulcie. Keep your dress on just now, honey. Listen. Hear the music? Now, lift your arms, everybody. Right one first. There we go. Right arm, Jacob. Well done. And lift and drop, and lift and drop. Very good. Keep going. And lift and drop, and lift and drop. Very good! Now, left arm. And lift and drop, and lift and drop. Only one arm at a time, Dulcie. Very good. And lift and drop. And rest. OK, we’re going to bend at the knee now. One leg then the other one. Ready? Right one first. Right leg, Jacob… no, right one. This one. OK, everybody? And bend and stretch, and bend and stretch. No, Harriet, Daisy can do it by herself, there’s a good girl.’

  Everybody’s moving.

  ‘Take me home.’

  ‘Connie, the doctor’s here.’

  ‘Oh, excuse me again. I’m so sorry about this.’

  ‘Let’s go somewhere quiet, shall we, Mum?’ Sad Eyes. I know her… she puts her hand under my arm.

  There’s a big red chair like…

  ‘You sit there. It’ll settle down soon. It won’t seem so bad when you know your way around, know the people. Close your eyes, listen to the music.’

  ‘And one and two. And one and two.’

  Nice chair like… Grandpapa… ‘Once upon a time…

  Grandpapa is holding out his hand. It’s all gnarled and grey.

  There’s another hand on my back guiding me towards him. I don’t like it. He smells.

  ‘Come closer, my dear. What a pretty little thing. So like your mamma at that age. Come and let Grandpapa tell you stories about your mamma.’

  The hand insists.

  ‘Once upon a time there was a little girl. Her name was Hannah. She had big grey eyes and lots of lovely blonde curls and…’

  ‘Mum, wake up. Connie’s going to take us to the dining room now.’

  ‘And here we are,’ Mrs Black Lady says. ‘All meals are taken in here. We rotate the residents so that they don’t develop little cliques or get stuck with the same faces.’

  Lots of tables. Must be a party.

  She presses buttons. The door opens.

  ‘Are there locks on all the doors?’ She’s hoarse. She’s whispering.

  ‘On the outside ones, yes. For everyone’s protection.’

  Sad Eyes looks old. Is she going to cry?

  ‘Right, so this is the sun-room. Why don’t you have a little bit of quiet together-time. And then, when you’re ready, we’ll do the paperwork. I’ll get a cup of tea sent out to you.’

  Ah. Fresh air. Lovely.

  ‘Oh, this is nice, isn’t it, Mum? Like your conservatory. Look at these flower beds. I wonder if they let you help with the weeding. Maybe we could ask in a bit.’

  A blue lady puts a tray on the table.

  ‘Thank you so much. That’s very kind,’ Sad Eyes says.

  Pretty cups. With saucers. Good. Flowers. Periwinkle blue. Like…

  ‘And look, Garibaldi biscuits, Mum. Your favourite.’

  ‘Do I know you?’

  ‘Yes, Mum. I’m your daughter, Jessica.’

  ‘Do you know Nelson Mandela?’

  ‘No, I don’t personally. But he’s free now. He’s fine.’

  ‘Have you seen George?’

  ‘Not today, no. Now, drink up your tea.’

  It’s warm. Peaceful.

  He’s late. Where is he? Ahh, there’s the doorbell.

  ‘Is that you, George? Hello?’

  ‘Mrs Mannering?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘May we come in?’

  Policemen? Here? In my house?

  ‘Is it George?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  …

  He’s stone cold. Blue. Eyes staring. Mouth open.

  His shirt is wringing wet.

  George?

  George!

  ‘No! No! No!’

  ‘It’s OK, Mum, you were only dreaming.’

  ‘George?’

  ‘Don’t cry. Look, have your tea.’

  It’s cold.

  ‘So. Here we are again.’ Black Lady. ‘Now, Doris, I need to have a little chat with your daughter. How about you come in here and watch television for a minute or two? There’s a nice programme on about antiques.’

  ‘I won’t be a minute,’ Sad Eyes whispers.

  People everywhere. Who are they? Did I invite them?

  Who’s she? Why is she shouting? Who rang that bell? Why is he doing tha… Oh, naughty, naughty. Nice boys
don’t do that. Why is she standing there? Did I invite her? Is she waiting for me? Why is she shouting? Can I help you?

  ‘OK, Betty.’ It’s a blue lady. ‘Enough. You sit down here and hush for a bit. You’re giving everybody a headache with all this shouting.’

  Sad Eyes pushes me into a chair.

  ‘Hello?’ Red Hair. Funny voice. Right beside me.

  ‘Do I know you?’

  ‘My name, it is Jenica. I come from Ukraine.’

  Shouting. Who’s shouting?

  ‘Betty! Betty! Shht! Sorry, Doris. Sometime Betty let off steam. We see TV, yes? Then not hear Betty.’

  ‘Ten pounds,’ the man says, waving his arm. ‘Fifteen. Twenty. Twenty at the back of the room. Any advance on twenty? Twenty-five. New bidder. Do I see thirty? Thirty anywhere? Last chance. Selling for twenty-five.’

  Bang!

  Who did that?

  ‘Lot 254. A bronze nude. Charming little piece this, gentlemen. Let’s start the bidding at eighty pounds. Do I see ninety anywhere? Thank you, sir. Ninety pounds. A hundred. And ten. And twenty. And thirty. And forty. One hundred and fifty pounds. It’s against you, sir. With the gentleman in the tweed jacket. Going once. Going twice.’

  Bang!

  Who did that?

  ‘Mum, I’m back. It’s time to go up to your room. Dr Griffiths wants to see you and I have to see Connie again before I go, so up you come.’

  ‘Take me home.’

  Who’s this?

  ‘Do I know you? Did I invite you? Would you like a cup of tea?’

  He’s holding out both his hands. He’s smiling.

  I smile.

  ‘You don’t actually know me but I’m here to introduce myself. My name’s Mark Griffiths. I’m one of the doctors here and it’s my job to take care of you.’

  A doctor. He’ll know. ‘Where’s George?’

  ‘He’s not here right now. I’m Dr Griffiths. So, how are you today, Doris?’

  ‘Fine. Thank you. I’m fine.’

  ‘Do you know who I am, Doris?’

  ‘No. Did I invite you?’

  ‘Where are you now, Doris?’

  ‘46 Clerk Street.’

  ‘And what year is it?’

  ‘1914–18.’

  ‘And who’s the prime minister?’

  ‘Do I know you?’

  ‘We’re getting there!’

  ‘Would you like some tea?’

  ‘In a bit. Who’s the prime minister, Doris?’

  ‘Do you know?’

  ‘I do. Do you?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘No flies on you, I can see! Do you know where you are?’

  ‘Never talk to strangers.’

  ‘But I’m not a stranger now, Doris. I’m your doctor. So you can talk to me. I’m only trying to help you. I’m Dr Griffiths. Who am I?’

  ‘Doris Elizabeth Fenton.’

  ‘Well done. And who did you marry?’

  ‘George.’

  ‘Very good! And did you and George have any children?’

  ‘Where’s George?’

  ‘Your children. Can you tell me their names?’

  ‘What time is it? Mustn’t be late.’

  ‘Right. The children… Jessica, maybe?’

  ‘No. They don’t come any more.’

  ‘Adeline?’

  ‘At school. She’s at school. Is it time?’

  ‘OK. What year were you born, Doris?’

  ‘You’re as old as you feel.’

  ‘Well said! Just the kind of answer my Aunty Mima would give! Well done.’

  He smiles. I smile. Kind eyes. Hairs in his nose. I don’t like hai…

  ‘He’s hiding,’ I whisper.

  ‘Who’s hiding?’ he whispers back.

  ‘George.’

  ‘Is he indeed?’ He leans back, stops whispering. ‘I think we’ll start you on some medicine to help you to be happy. OK?’

  ‘They’re trying to poison me.’

  I whisper it, so they won’t hear.

  ‘Are they?’

  ‘Mamma will be cross.’

  The door opens. He stops looking at me. I’m free.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.’ It’s Sad Eyes.

  ‘Ah, Mrs Burden. Come in, come in. It’s fine. I’m almost finished here anyway. Your mum’s been very helpful. We’ve had a good chat.’

  She makes a funny noise.

  ‘Right, I’ll leave you two to settle in and I’ll see you around.’

  She’s stroking my hand. Who is she? Is she from the television?

  ‘You do understand, don’t you? It’s for the best. You’ll be safe here. I’ll come and see you often. And maybe when James is free we could take you out. That’d be nice, wouldn’t it? And I can bring you some of your favourite things. Gorgonzola. And walnuts. Chocolate mousse. Aunty Jean’s bun loaf. And apple strudel…’

  ‘Did I hear strudel?’

  ‘James! Oh, how lovely to see you!’ She’s hugging this big man.

  ‘I can’t let my favourite Gran move house and not pop in to say hello, now can I? How’re you doing? Can I have a kiss?’

  His bristles are scratchy. He smells of something nice. Reminds me of…

  ‘How about a proper hug for your favourite grandson?’

  I want to go home now.

  ‘So this is your room. Very nice. And look at your view. Brilliant. The Pentlands. Quite like old times.’

  ‘It is nice, isn’t it?’ Sad Eyes isn’t sad now.

  ‘Excellent. Looks new.’

  ‘It’s all just been redecorated. New curtains, new carpet. Everything.’

  ‘Great. And here’s a little something to welcome you to your new home, Gran. Your favourites. Freesias.’

  ‘That was kind.’

  ‘She’ll probably eat them for breakfast!’

  I watch them. I think I know him. He’s nice.

  ‘So. What have you been up to today?’ he smiles at me.

  ‘Did I…’

  ‘Since we got here?’ Sad Eyes interrupts me. ‘Stuffed a good scarf down the loo, locked ourselves in the toilet, broken a china cup… the usual.’

  He shakes his head. ‘Well, at least they won’t think you got her here under false pretences.’

  ‘Somehow I doubt that. Although the doctor said he had a nice chat with her.’

  Somebody’s tapping on the door.

  ‘George?’

  Mr Nice-Smell gets up. Opens the door.

  ‘Well, hello. This is Doris Mannering’s mansion. I’m her butler, James. How may I help you?’

  ‘Well, that’s a first! Hi. I’m Sue. And I’m one of the carers. I’ve come to see if Doris is ready for supper.’

  ‘D’you hear that, Gran? You’ve been invited out to supper. Perfect. You go off to your banquet, and us poor serfs will head off for mince and tatties, yeah?’

  Suddenly Sad Eyes is holding me tight. ‘I love you, Mum. I really do love you. And I’ll come and see you often.’ She’s all trembly.

  ‘So, shall we go?’ the blue lady says. She sticks out her elbow and pulls my hand through.

  ‘Bye, Gran. Have fun. See you.’ Mr Nice-Smell blows a kiss. He’s smiling. I smile.

  The old one’s eyes are weeping. Sad. I know her.

  ‘See you!’ The blue lady isn’t pushing me. The floor’s all soft. I smell…

  ‘Macaroni cheese, tonight. Smells good, eh? Nice enough to eat.’

  Chapter 14

  A month earlier

  HE’S BACK! I SAW him. Plain as day.

  She can scoff all she likes, I know he’s there. In the corner. I saw him. Humming.

  ‘It’s all right, Mum,’ she says in that patronising voice, as if I’m a child. ‘It’s only Jeremy Paxman. He can’t hurt you. It’s only the TV. There we are, look. All gone.’

  It’s not. I know it’s not.

  What’s that noise? Ringing. Who’s that?

  ‘Hello, James. Come on in. Gran will be so plea
sed to see you.’

  ‘How is she today?’ It’s a big voice. Do I know him? Did I invite him?

  ‘Twitchy. And quite aggressive.’

  ‘Did the doctor come this morning?’

  ‘He did indeed.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He agrees. She does need to go. Definitely.’

  ‘Hallelujah! So you told him then?’

  ‘Well…’

  ‘About the night-time antics? Coming at you with a knife? Smashing the plates? Yes? Tell me you did, Mum.’

  ‘Sort of. But I…’

  ‘She has to go. You can’t keep this up. She’s a danger to herself as well as to you.’

  ‘I know. It’s just, I feel as if I’m letting her down.’

  ‘That’s rubbish and you know it.’

  ‘Let’s not talk about it right now. She’s dozing in the living room. You pop in and see her and I’ll make the tea.’

  He fills the doorway. Do I know him?

  ‘Well, hello, hello, hello! Look at you. Aren’t you the glamour puss today?’

  He flops onto a seat and leans close to whisper, ‘So have you been behaving yourself?’

  ‘Did I invite you?’

  ‘No, as it happens, I invited myself. No manners, the up-and-coming generation, huh? Breezing in all unannounced and uninvited. I don’t know what the world’s coming to.’

  I watch him out of the very edge of my eye. Did he come out of the corner? Did he see… you know? Are they plotting?

  ‘You need to write a letter. Tell the Queen. It’s Frank.’

  ‘No, Gran. I’m James, not Frank. Your grandson. James.’

  ‘James.’

  ‘I like your new skirt. Very trendy.’

  What’s that noise? Clinking.

  ‘A pyjama jacket on her legs is the least of my worries,’ she says, putting the tray down.

  No doilies. I should pour the tea.

  ‘So what else have you two girls been up to today… what have you done to your arm, Mum?’

  ‘Shsh.’ She flicks her eyes at me. Why is she holding her arm in her hand like that? That’s no way to pour the tea. I should do it. ‘She doesn’t mean to.’

  ‘Here, let me. You need to get that looked at.’ Mr Nice-Smell puts her into the chair. Is she going to cry?

  He pours the tea.

  ‘D’you want me to ring The Morningside for you?’

  ‘No. I’ll do it. Just give me time.’

  ‘Mother! You’ve given this thing time for the past however many years. If you can’t do it, I will.’