by Lana Newton
‘Are you okay? Would you like to go up to your room? I can make you a cup of tea,’ Paul said when they were finally alone.
Claire turned towards the window and watched the police car screech out of their driveway. Then she turned to Paul and said, ‘Take me to my parents’ house.’
Chapter 6
Her heart beating like a nervous butterfly, Claire stood outside a tall white fence. If she rose to her tiptoes, she could peek into the front yard. She thought the house she shared with Paul was a mansion, but her parents’ house in an exclusive part of North London was a small castle. With its brown brick and black roof tiles, it looked dark and ominous, and yet, it possessed a certain charm. Petunias and daffodils spilled out of their pots in a cascade of colour and the lace curtains in the windows looked handmade. The garden looked beautiful, even though the flowers looked like they needed water, their wilting heads nodding in the wind. Claire could see apple trees, blueberry bushes and a lone gooseberry shrub.
‘Is this where I grew up?’ Even in her warm jumper, Claire felt chilly and uncomfortable. She could sense her past lurking inside.
Paul nodded. ‘This is where you lived until we got married.’
Claire touched the gate she had known since she was a child, undid the latch she must have opened a million times before, willing herself to remember through the tips of her fingers. To her surprise, the gate was unlocked. Gingerly, she stepped onto the carpet of overgrown grass, while Paul looked inside the rusty letterbox and retrieved a stack of letters. ‘Doesn’t look like anyone’s been here in a while,’ he said.
‘Of course not. Mum’s away and Dad’s in hospital.’
Old newspapers littered the pathway. The curtains were tightly drawn. ‘I wish we had the key,’ said Claire, walking around the perimeter of the house, peering into every window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the world inside. ‘Shouldn’t we at least water the flowers?’
Next door, a dog barked. A door slammed somewhere and a dishevelled head appeared over the hedge that separated the two properties.
‘Hello, Claire,’ said the head. It had dark hair with grey roots and belonged to an elderly lady.
‘Oh, hello,’ replied Claire. The lady had an advantage over her. She appeared to know Claire well, while Claire had no idea who she was talking to.
‘Haven’t seen you in ages. Where have you been hiding?’ Without waiting for a response, the woman continued, ‘Are you looking for your mother? She’s not here.’
‘I know that. We were just passing by.’
‘Do you know when Angela is coming back? She asked me to water her plants. She said she didn’t trust your dad to do it.’ The neighbour pointed at the dry roses and daffodils that were begging for water. ‘That was three weeks ago,’ continued the neighbour, shaking her head in disapproval. ‘She said she was going away for a week.’
‘A week? Are you sure?’
‘She would never leave Felix for longer than that.’
‘Felix?’
‘The cat.’ The neighbour threw a suspicious look in Claire’s direction. ‘She said a friend was looking after him.’
‘How long have you lived here?’ asked Claire to break the awkward silence that followed.
‘Why, fifty-odd years.’ The neighbour practically climbed over the fence to look at Claire. She was wearing gardening gloves and an apron. ‘You know that.’
‘Of course.’
‘Are you okay? You don’t look so good. Last time I saw you, you barely had time to say hello—’
‘I’m fine,’ said Claire. ‘Just fine.’ Suddenly she wanted to leave, all thoughts of watering the flowers forgotten. Only one thing stopped her – this woman must have known her since she was a child. There were a thousand questions she wanted to ask. If only it didn’t mean answering questions in return. Nervously she said, ‘Do I have any childhood friends still living here?’
The woman’s eyes widened and she almost dropped the small spade she was holding. ‘Childhood friends? What are you talking about? You didn’t move here until you were 16.’
‘16? Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure. Like I said, I’ve lived here fifty-odd years. Is everything okay? You really don’t seem like your usual self.’ Eyebrows raised, she glanced from Claire to her husband. ‘Is everything—’
Claire interrupted the neighbour before she had a chance to finish her sentence. ‘I just remembered, we have to go.’ Turning around, Claire ran towards the gate without as much as a backwards glance. She didn’t stop until she reached the car.
On the drive to the hospital to visit her father, she curled up in her seat like a kitten, not saying a word, her chin resting on her knees. Paul was mute too, and gloomy. Only when they turned off the motorway and approached the hospital did she ask, ‘What made you think I grew up there?’
‘That’s what you said. You told me childhood stories about the house. How your mum let you have the biggest room in the house when you were five. How you decorated the room together. How you would watch the dogs play in the park outside your window. How much you wanted a puppy. That’s why I bought Molokai for our wedding anniversary.’
‘Why would I tell you something that wasn’t true? Is it possible the neighbour was lying?’
‘I can’t see why she would. What does she have to hide?’
Did I have something to hide? wondered Claire.
It was midday when they reached the hospital. Suddenly, the sun disappeared and it started to rain. The car park was flooded, and by the time Claire ran to the door under the ineffective cover of a newspaper, her shoes filled with water. It was an uncomfortable feeling, as if every step she took, she was going to slip.
In silence they made their way down the familiar corridor towards Tony’s room. If all goes well, thought Claire, this might be my last visit to the hospital. The thought left her conflicted. On one hand, she wanted to bring her father home. On the other, this was still the only place where she felt safe.
The door to her father’s room was open. A blonde woman emerged, pushing a tray table in front of her. Not glancing at the visitors, she made a right turn and started to walk away. ‘Wait,’ cried Claire. ‘Why are you taking Dad’s lunch? It doesn’t look like he’s finished it.’ The truth was, it didn’t even look like he’d started it. The hot dish still had its lid on, the butter was unopened, the bread roll uncut, the orange juice untouched.
‘Tell me about it. It’s a daily battle with him. He hasn’t eaten in days.’ The nurse threw her hands up in the air dramatically, as if Tony not eating was the most exciting thing that had happened to her all week.
Claire had always suspected her father’s optimism was just an act. And here, on the hospital tray, was the proof. ‘What about the food I brought for him?’
‘Check the fridge in the kitchen. I bet it’s still there.’
The woman was right. All the boxes Claire had lovingly packed remained in the fridge, unopened. The fresh orange juice she had squeezed, Nina’s Napoleon cake, the pelmeni, the sandwiches and the chocolates.
Claire stormed into her father’s room, pulling the door so hard, the handle left an angry red mark on the palm of her hand. At the sight of him she wanted to cry. He looked painfully thin, old before his time. She stood back as pleasantries were exchanged between the two men, the weather discussed, the health, the news and the football scores. Finally, Tony turned to her and said, ‘Hello, Teddy Bear. You’re awfully quiet today. Come and give your old man a hug.’
He didn’t just look frail. He felt frail in her arms. It was like hugging a bag of bones. ‘We brought you some food,’ she said. ‘There’s some spaghetti Bolognese, and a Russian meat dish that’s impossible to pronounce but I can assure you it’s delicious. As always, Nina’s outdone herself. Did you eat the cake? The pelmeni?’
‘I ate it all. Thank Nina for me. The cake was to die for.’
Why was he lying? He wasn’t just hiding the food he hadn’t eaten, Claire rea
lised. He was hiding how he truly felt. Was he putting on a show to protect her from the truth? She was a grown-up, she could take it.
‘You didn’t eat anything, did you?’ Her hands were on her hips. She knew she looked angry but didn’t care.
‘There might be a tiny bit left. They feed me like a pig for slaughter. You should have seen the meatballs and mashed potato I had for lunch.’
‘Is that what it was? It was hard to tell, with the lid still on. Don’t lie, Dad. I spoke to your nurse.’ Tony blinked and looked away. Suddenly he seemed so sad. She felt bad for speaking to him like that. ‘You’ve lost so much weight. I worry about you,’ she added softly.
‘Please, don’t. It’s not me you should worry about.’
‘How will you get better if you don’t eat?’
‘I won’t get better. Whether I eat or not. So what’s the point?’
‘The point is, you need your energy. To recover, to walk again. You need your strength.’
‘Stop kidding yourself. I’ll never walk again. It’s not meant to be.’
Wasn’t meant to be? What was he talking about? ‘Only four more nights and you’ll be coming home where I can keep an eye on you.’
‘Four more nights. It’s like counting down to Christmas.’
‘I wouldn’t be too excited if I were you. I’ll be there to make sure you work hard and eat well. We are hiring a nurse and a physiotherapist. No more lounging around.’
‘Is that what I’m doing?’
‘No more feeling sorry for yourself. No more skipping meals. You’ll miss this place before I’m done with you.’ Fighting back tears, she smiled.
‘I can hardly wait.’ He smiled back.
They stayed through the remainder of the visiting hours, playing cards and watching TV together. Before they were about to leave, Claire asked, almost like an afterthought, almost like she didn’t care, ‘Dad, when did you say Mum was coming back?’
‘In three months or so.’
‘We spoke to your neighbour. She’s looking after Mum’s flowers. She said Mum was supposed to be back two weeks ago.’
‘Old Sue? She’d forget to wake up in the morning if that dog of hers didn’t bark at the sun as soon as it came up. Please, don’t worry about anything. Promise?’
‘Only if you start eating better. Promise?’
Claire followed Paul to the car, and when he opened the passenger door for her, told him she had forgotten her purse in Tony’s room. That wasn’t strictly a lie. She did leave her purse under her father’s bed because she needed an excuse to come back to his room alone. She was hoping Paul wouldn’t walk with her all the way from the carpark and she was right. He said he would wait in the car. Ignoring the rain lashing her face, she ran back towards the hospital entrance, past the reception, down the corridor and into her father’s room. Tony was on his bed with his eyes closed. He looked like he’d fallen asleep. Claire coughed and he opened his eyes. His face lit up at the sight of her. He started to speak but she interrupted. ‘I need to ask you something and I want you to tell me the truth. Why did you lie to the police?’
‘I told them what they wanted to hear. The sooner they leave us alone, the better.’
Shivering in her clothes, wet from the rain, Claire whispered, ‘They said they pulled me out of the back seat.’
Tony narrowed his eyes and his lips stretched into a thin line. It was a while before he spoke. ‘Now that doesn’t make sense, does it? Why would you be in the back seat and not in the front with me?’
Chapter 7
Claire tried her best to fill her days with light to forget about the darkness. She swam in her Olympic-size swimming pool, back and forth and back again, her athletic ballerina body slicing the water like a knife. She danced in her sunlit studio until every bit of her ached, hoping the physical pain would make her forget everything else. She played with Molokai and laughed at his antics. And still, the darkness wouldn’t leave her. Every length of the swimming pool and every pirouette in front of the mirror, it accompanied her like a trusted and loyal friend. It was in her dreams and in her waking hours, so vivid, like a recollection of something terrifying and grim. The darkness was in the absence of her mother and the unanswered questions that haunted her.
One day, Paul returned from work and said, ‘I know you are running out of your meds.’
‘I am?’ She hadn’t noticed.
‘Here, I got your refill for you.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, absentmindedly taking the pills and putting them in her bag. ‘What are these? They look different from my normal pills.’
‘Just a different brand.’
The sky had been ominously bleak for days, threatening rain. Finally, on the day her father was due to come home, thunder clapped and lightning struck, as if in jubilation or threat. At eight in the morning, her mother called her. Through hurried small talk, there was one question that tormented Claire. She had to ask, couldn’t not ask but she waited till the last moment, when she knew her mother was about to hang up. ‘Mum, where did I grow up?’
‘Why, London, of course.’
‘Your neighbour told me it was somewhere else.’
‘Old Sue? Don’t listen to her, darling. She’s as mad as a March hare. If you had your memory, you’d know. How is that going, by the way?’
The subject thus changed, they talked about Claire (‘No improvement? I’m so sorry, darling, I wish I could be there.’) and how much Angela longed to be home with her daughter and how difficult it was, looking after Aunt Judy. ‘The old bird is driving me crazy. Yesterday she made me drive to the supermarket three times because she couldn’t decide what she wanted for dinner. All I do is scrub and clean and look after her, without as much as a thank you.’
‘Why don’t you hire someone to do it?’ After catching a glimpse of her parents’ house, Claire was surprised her mother would clean and cook herself. It wasn’t like she didn’t have the money.
‘I haven’t even thought about it, darling. It’s not something I would normally do.’
And then her mother had to go and Claire was left feeling more confused than ever.
In the afternoon, she stood by the window and waited. Longing to see her father as soon as possible, she had called the hospital three times to find out what time they were bringing him home but no one could tell for sure. So she stood and watched the road until her feet ached and her vision became blurry. Staring at the empty driveway battered by the rain, she trembled in anticipation. Once her father was home, she would no longer be alone. She wouldn’t have to fill her hours with mindless tasks, jumping every time her phone rang. Tony would be there to share everything. All her fears would disappear and her heart would be light. And that was what she was waiting for by the window that afternoon. For her fears to disappear under her father’s loving smile.
When she saw the ambulance turning the corner and driving up to their house, she sprinted down the stairs two steps at a time and then slowed down, her heart racing. She didn’t wait for the doorbell, opening the door to two burly men in white and Tony on the stretcher between them. When she saw him, her day was no longer dreary. Suddenly it filled with colour, as if he were the sun that came out from behind a cloud and made everything sparkle. Claire greeted Tony happily, hovering over him, giving directions, holding his hand as she led the way to a guest bedroom. How she wished he could stand up to greet her, so she could hug him properly. He looked as lost as she felt. All he managed was a wave and a weak smile.
His new room was conveniently located on the ground floor. If he wanted to, he could wheel himself to the kitchen, to the terrace, the home cinema, the indoor swimming pool. Claire was excited when she told him that, until he pointed out the obvious – in his condition he should probably stay away from the swimming pool.
‘We’ll have great adventures together,’ she said. ‘I’ll take you to the park if it ever stops raining.’ That put a smile on his face. She knew it had been a long time since he’d been o
utside.
When he was settled and the orderlies had left, Claire clucked over him like a chicken over its young. Are you hungry, Dad? Do you want me to open the window? Do you want me to read to you? Do you want to watch TV? Can I bring you something to drink? What can I do? What do you want? How do you feel? Are you sure you don’t need anything?
He hid under his quilt, even though it was warm in the room. The bedding was a light shade of pink that probably had an exotic name, like blush or taffy. The bedroom had a girly feel to it and didn’t suit him. ‘How about a vodka martini? We’ll have a celebration.’ He smiled to show he was only joking. ‘I’m fine, darling, thank you. Just stay here with me while I sleep. I could do with a rest.’
Feeling his calloused hand in hers, hearing his voice, seeing his weary face filled her heart with joy. He was finally home.
When he woke up in his taffy bed, she was by his bed, reading a book. He looked rested and happy to see her. His smile was genuine and kind. ‘Still here?’ he asked.
‘Of course. Molokai and I are keeping you company.’
Tony glanced at the Labrador retriever peacefully curled up by his feet. He nodded with satisfaction. ‘Every happy home needs a dog.’
‘I tried to get him to come out and play but he won’t leave your side. Dogs are good judges of character. He can sense a good person.’
‘He can sense a dog person. I love dogs, always have. They’re better than most people. Loyal.’
‘Molokai is definitely that. They don’t get more loving than him.’
‘A dog is the only creature that loves you more than it loves itself. Unlike people, they are wired for unconditional love.’
‘Did I have a dog growing up?’
‘Unfortunately, your mother is a cat person. I’m still trying to convince her dogs are much more fun. She can’t see past the fur and the barking.’
‘Who is looking after your cat?’
‘A friend is fostering him until your mum gets back. She doesn’t trust me to feed him.’
