Secrets at Meadowbrook Manor

by Faith Bleasdale

  She woke up and for a moment forgot where she was – that moment was blissful, until the events of the previous day started playing in her head. Which was thick with a hangover, she realised, getting worse by the minute. John and his morris-dancing troupe were doing a routine in her head.

  She became aware that she was lying fully clothed on the bed, a tiny bottle of brandy in her hand – empty. Oh God, she must have passed out. But she couldn’t remember much about the evening, not past crisps. She moved, slowly, gently easing her body into an upright position. Freddie, also fully dressed and looking faintly amused, was sitting up next to her with a cup of hotel room coffee in his hands.

  ‘Uggh,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, well it was a bit. Are you all right?’

  Gemma shook her head, which made it rattle and then feel as if it would explode. Freddie looked normal, his normal gorgeous self. How had that happened?

  ‘Here, paracetamol and water.’ He picked them up from the bedside table and handed them over. ‘Take those straight away.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She managed to get them down her. ‘Was I, did I, what did I?’ She could barely get the words out.

  It was beyond strange, both of them in the bed. Even though it was clear nothing happened, it still felt intimate, uncomfortably so.

  ‘You, my dear Gemma, were plastered. We were having a really good conversation, and you passed out. It was quite impressive, but you know, I don’t normally have that effect on women, so perhaps I should be offended. A smile curled at his lips.

  ‘Oh God.’ She rubbed her temples.

  ‘Listen, I have to go in a bit. I need to change my clothes. I have bit of work to do, but I’ve ordered you breakfast, so please try to eat. Two packets of crisps and the M&M’s aren’t going to sustain you. Then take a shower and go back to sleep. I’ll call you later this afternoon and see how you are.’ He was speaking to her quite slowly, for which she was grateful, because words weren’t easy to follow.

  ‘OK. But, Freddie, when you see Pippa, please tell her again how devastated I am.’ She felt her eyes fill with tears again.

  ‘I will. Have faith, it’ll be OK.’ His brows furrowed. ‘I’m almost sure that it will be, anyway.’ He hugged her before leaving the room.

  Breakfast arrived. Gemma tried to eat it but as soon as she did, she threw up. She actually felt marginally better afterwards, so she showered and then took herself back to the big bed, where she promptly fell asleep.

  Chapter 36

  The insistent ringing of the phone woke her with a start. She sat up, groping for it on the bedside table, and thinking it would be Freddie or one of the Singers, she snatched it up.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, her voice drowsy from sleep.

  ‘Is that Gemma Matthews?’ a voice asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘Hello, it’s Marian, from the home. I’m sorry, but I have some bad news.’

  How could everything implode at once? She had lost her job, her home, her best friend and now her nan. Her life had literally been swept from under her feet. She now could say, hand on heart, she had nothing left that mattered. When she took the job at Meadowbrook, when she’d lied, she did it for her nan as well as for herself. To help with the care home fees, to put a roof over her head. Was the irony that she now had neither? Not her nan, nor her job. Was this punishment?

  Her nan had had a massive stroke and slipped away in her sleep. The woman who brought her up, who sacrificed everything for her, the only person in her life who truly loved her, was gone. Gemma knew that she had lost her, piece by piece, over the last couple of years, and her death was only the final, physical detachment, but that didn’t make her feel any better. She took a breath. She needed to get to the home straight away.

  ‘We can help you organise everything,’ Marian said kindly.

  She was clearly used to dealing with this; Gemma was not. She was going to the home for the last time, where her nan was, but she wasn’t, because she wasn’t anywhere anymore.

  ‘Right, yes.’ Gemma was confused for a moment, but she realised she meant the funeral. ‘Do I need to call an undertaker?’ she asked.

  ‘Not if you’re happy for us to use the one we normally use. Brown’s, they’re local and very good.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ Gemma said, wondering how you could be good at dead people. Or worse, how you might not be …

  ‘Will you be ready if I get them to meet you at the home today?’ Marian asked.

  ‘Sure.’ Really, she knew she would never be ready.

  She pulled on a pair of clean jeans and a light sweater. She had brought the one Harriet and Connor gave her for her fake birthday with her, but she couldn’t bring herself to wear it. Her hangover was gone, but her head was reeling. Marian had asked her if there was anyone to help her, but she had said, honestly, that no, it was all down to her. She was about to go to reception to ask for a taxi, when the phone rang again. Harriet’s name flashed on the display.

  ‘Gemma, I’m checking in. Freddie and Gus are here. Pippa’s still angry and now she’s angry with us too, for supporting you. But never mind; she’ll come round.’ Harriet sounded almost cheerful.

  Gemma sobbed loudly.

  ‘Gemma? What is it?’ Harriet asked.

  ‘My nan died.’ And the floodgates opened yet again.

  Gus and Freddie appeared at her door, or the hotel room’s door, within about forty minutes as Harriet had said they would on the phone.

  ‘You poor thing,’ Gus said, hugging her, only slightly awkwardly.

  ‘Harry would have come – she would be much better in this situation – but Pippa had gone out in a huff earlier, so she thought it best she wait for her to come back. So you’re stuck with us.’

  ‘You didn’t need to come; I was going to get a cab,’ she said numbly.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Gus and I wouldn’t dream of letting you be alone. Right, give me the address, and we’ll head out,’ Freddie said, giving her shoulder a squeeze.

  ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do,’ she said, her voice seemingly small as she sat in the back of Gus’s Audi.

  The two men glanced at each other. They clearly weren’t equipped to deal with this, but then who would be?

  ‘When Dad died, we had to do all the practical things first,’ Gus said, almost proving her wrong. ‘So, we go and sort out the funeral, we collect her belongings, and we’ll have to register the death. You need to book an appointment—’

  ‘Gus, is this really necessary?’ Freddie asked. ‘She’s only just had the news.’

  ‘But, Fred, it’s best to focus on the things that need doing – it helps.’

  ‘He’s right,’ Gemma said. ‘It means I have to pull myself together, which can only be a good thing.’

  ‘Phew!’ Gus sounded relieved he’d got something right. ‘And also there’s the newspaper; you should put an announcement in the local paper, so people who knew your nan can pay their respects.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Freddie said, but then he shut up.

  Gemma pulled her notebook out of her bag. She started writing everything down. It made it easier to have something to focus on. It was a slight relief, and it kept her mind occupied until they pulled up in at the home.

  Marian, a matronly woman with tight curled hair, hugged her warmly. Gus and Freddie hung back.

  ‘Your nan is still in her bed. You can see her if you want, but it’s up to you,’ Marian said; she hadn’t yet let go of her.

  ‘Please,’ Gemma said. ‘My friends will wait here.’

  Gus and Freddie looked relieved.

  The tears flowed the minute she saw her nan lying there. She looked so peaceful yet so pale. Gemma touched her face, which was cold, and she broke down sobbing.

  ‘Oh, Nan, what am I going to do without you?’ she asked. ‘You’re all I’ve got, and I can’t do it, I can’t do it without you.’ She laid her head down on the bed and cried until she felt as if she had no tears left. There was a
knock on the door. Marian put her head round.

  ‘Oh, love, I know it’s hard.’ She walked over to Gemma and gave her a tissue. Gemma blew her nose noisily.

  ‘Thank you,’ she managed.

  ‘Right, can I help you choose what you want your nan to wear for the funeral home? They’ll be here any minute.’

  ‘Please.’ Gemma nodded.

  They chose her nan’s favourite summer dress. It was floral and she loved it, because she wore it when Gemma and she went on holiday to the caravan in Wales, and it reminded Gemma of their happiest times. Because they were happy.

  Yes, they both carried so much grief. Her nan never stopped missing her granddad or her daughter, and Gemma never stopped wishing her mum would come back for her, but they loved each other and that carried them through. Gemma packed up the rest of her nan’s clothes.

  ‘I’m not going to make you clear out right now,’ Marian said.

  ‘It’s best done quickly,’ Gemma said. She didn’t want to come back here, she was sure about that. ‘I’m going to give all her clothes to charity; she only needs the dress.’

  Marian nodded. ‘If you want I can arrange that for you,’ she offered.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Gemma took the personal belongings, the photograph of the two of them that was on her nan’s bedside table, her small amount of jewellery, apart from the wedding ring, which seemed only right to be cremated with her.

  ‘Gemma, I found this,’ Marian said as she finished emptying a drawer.

  ‘What is it?’

  Marian handed her an envelope. Her name was written in her nan’s spidery writing on the front. She could tell there was a letter in there. She felt sick, but she couldn’t open it now. She put it in her handbag and turned her attention to checking the room for anything she might have missed. She really didn’t want to have to come back here.

  Just as Gemma began to pull herself together, the door opened and a short man, wearing a black suit, with thinning grey hair and kind eyes, entered and introduced himself as Peter Brown, the funeral director.

  ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ he said, and Gemma wondered how many times a day he had to say that.

  Thank goodness for Marian from the home; she organised everything. Gemma was uncertain, but Marian was with her every step of the way.

  ‘What kind of funeral do you want?’ he asked.

  Gemma hadn’t thought about it.

  ‘Do you want a cremation?’ Marian asked.

  Gemma nodded. She knew her nan wouldn’t want to be buried, but they hadn’t discussed details – I mean who did that? Most people, she guessed, as Peter asked about what type of coffin she wanted, and as she was at a loss, he advised her. She tried not to balk when he told her the rough cost of the funeral – she had money from her wages saved and she could pay for it, thankfully. She only had to choose the coffin, then they would prepare her body at the funeral parlour. When she was ready, she could go in to finalise all the details.

  By the time she rejoined Gus and Freddie, she was exhausted. She didn’t know what to do, but suddenly she craved sleep and her bed.

  ‘Can you take me back to the hotel?’ she asked.

  ‘Do you want to go and get something to eat?’ Gus asked.

  ‘No, if I want anything I’ll call room service, but really I think I need to sleep.’

  ‘Look, I know Pip might still be mad, but in light of what’s happened I’d rather you came back to the house.’

  Gemma shook her head. ‘No, nothing’s changed. My nan’s died, but I don’t want Pippa to forgive me because she feels sorry for me. No, I want to go back, and you’ve been great, but I need to be alone.’

  She saw Gus and Freddie exchange a glance but, thankfully, they didn’t argue with her.

  ‘Is this gentleman your husband?’ Peter Brown asked the following day as Freddie took her to the funeral home.

  ‘Good God, no,’ Freddie said.

  Gemma gave him a sharp stare.

  ‘Sorry, no, I mean we’re very good friends,’ he corrected quickly. ‘Not that I wouldn’t … well you know. And we’re not friends with benefits, either.’

  Gemma shook her head.

  ‘Right, would you like to see Mrs Matthews?’ he asked.

  ‘Hell no,’ Freddie replied. ‘Oh, sorry, you meant Gemma.’ He had the grace to look a little ashamed.

  ‘She’s in one of our remembrance rooms. You can visit her as many times as you want. I’ll leave you and when you’re ready, come out and we can discuss the rest of the funeral arrangements.’ He gave her shoulder a squeeze and took her to see her nan.

  The previous day, Gemma had slept fitfully. She woke frequently, but forced herself back because she wasn’t ready to face any kind of reality. She fielded a couple of calls from Harriet, who tried to persuade her to come back to Meadowbrook. It seemed that Pippa had come home, still angry and upset, but when she’d heard about her nan, she immediately said that Gemma should come back.

  But Gemma told Harriet that she couldn’t come back because of sympathy. Either Pippa could forgive her or she couldn’t. But Gemma wasn’t going near Meadowbrook until she did. Harriet said she respected her for that, but she also tried to change her mind. Then Harriet, exasperatedly, said that both Gemma and Pippa were ridiculously stubborn.

  Gemma knew it was time to grow up. She was alone now, properly, and whatever she was going to do with the rest of her life, she needed to take control, and she wasn’t going to be anyone’s sympathy project. But at the moment she needed to wallow in her grief, and she could do that perfectly well on her own.

  The Singers had other ideas. Harriet had called her again this morning, to check on her, and when she said she was going to the funeral parlour, Harriet immediately said she would send Freddie.

  ‘No, honestly, I’ll get a cab,’ Gemma protested.

  ‘Nonsense. Besides, he’s the most dispensable of us at the moment. Look, Gemma, Pippa is feeling awful about your nan, and she wants to speak to you, but I don’t think she knows how to go about it. Won’t you come here after and see her?’

  ‘No, Harriet, sorry. I just can’t, not with things as they are.’

  ‘I honestly think she’s missing you, Gem, really.’

  ‘Look, Harriet, one thing at a time, please. I have to arrange a funeral, I have to say a final goodbye to my nan, and I’m not sure I have the capacity for anything else right now.’

  ‘Fair enough. Fred will be with you soon.’

  Gemma tidied the room. She still felt embarrassed about the fact she’d emptied the minibar the other night. What must housekeeping have thought? She was sure they’d seen worse, but still, she was trying to redeem herself by keeping the room neat.

  She put on her smartest black trousers and a black top, which seemed appropriate for visiting a funeral parlour, but then she was new at this. She had emailed an announcement the previous night to the local paper, and she’d called the post office where her nan had worked for years, and a few of her friends, to tell them. It was hard, so hard saying it out loud, but she promised to let them know when the funeral was and felt better for being proactive. Gus was right about that.

  In the small room, her nan looked even more serene than she did in the home, but she also had a bit more colour – probably dead people’s make-up. She was wearing the dress and for a moment, the years slipped away as Gemma remembered them paddling in the cold Welsh sea and eating ice creams, before having fish and chips back at the caravan. Simple pleasures, but they really were happy memories.

  She often felt sorry for herself growing up; she was the odd one out at school from day one. Mums picked up the kids, even dads occasionally, but nans came to visit, they spoilt their grandchildren, they didn’t bring them up. She loved her nan, but at the time she wished she were like the other children – oh, how she had wished for that.

  There were a lot of good times. Her nan did her best for Gemma, and it was more than good enough. Enough love, enough food, eno
ugh. It was enough. The dark clouds of her upbringing were nothing to do with her nan; after all, she was the only one who kept them at bay. She was the best, and Gemma was lucky to have had her.

  ‘I love you so much, Nan.’

  Gemma kissed her cheek, which was strange, a sensation she didn’t quite know how to describe, then she glanced at her nan for the last time, before she left the room. She wouldn’t see her again, but she would have to be stronger than she ever had been from now on. That was all there was to it. She thought of the letter, still unopened in her bag. Maybe it was time she read it. On her final visit to her nan …

  My dear Gemma, she read, hearing her nan’s voice so clearly.

  I’m not much of a writer, as you know, but when the doctor diagnosed me, I thought I ought to do this before I forgot who I was or, God forbid, who you were. I am sorry if I’ve done that, but as you know – you were holding my hand when the nice doctor explained – it’s a very mean illness and just my bloody luck to get it!

  I know we don’t joke enough, or didn’t, but you were always such a serious child. I know I could never really mend the scars your parents left, but I hope you think I did my best by you, which is all I could do. I felt so guilty, my lovely granddaughter. You see, I thought it was my fault in a way. I brought Sandra up, and she walked out because she couldn’t cope, and that seemed to be more of a failing in me than her. I am sure when you are a mum yourself – and, by the way, I think you would make a wonderful mum – then you’ll understand. Your children are your joy, but in my case also pain and guilt.

  I hope I told you how much I loved you enough times, because I always will, Gemma. And, more importantly, I always have. I will always be so proud of you. You had a tough time, but you are a fighter – more than you know. You might not always get it right, but none of us do. But you are special, clever, lovely. You are quite simply the best granddaughter I ever could have had, and I was lucky to get to bring you up.

  If I die, it’s not because I want to leave you. I don’t know why your parents did what they did, but believe me when I say they missed out on the most wonderful girl in the world. And I am just thankful, so thankful, that I did not. I love you, but always be true to yourself and always know you deserve only the best. Believe in yourself the way I do, live your life the way you want and, above all, enjoy yourself, my lovely girl.