Читать книгу A Postcard from Italy - Alex Brown - Страница 10

‘Babe, why do you even bother working at that storage place?’ Phil moaned, pushing his bushy beard towards Grace’s left cheek. They were sitting side by side on the Dralon sofa in the lounge below Cora’s bedroom having a film night. Breakfast At Tiffany’s. Grace had seen it a million times before but when Phil had said it was her turn to choose, she hadn’t hesitated, keen to rekindle some of the glamorous Hollywood magic she had felt on entering unit 28 on Friday.

It was Sunday evening and she had thought about Mrs Constance di Donato and her beautiful vintage belongings all weekend. Even her name sounded sophisticated and glamorous, and Grace couldn’t wait to get to work tomorrow to find out more about the woman she imagined lived the kind of life that she had only seen in films and read about in those lifestyle magazines. It was exciting and intriguing.

Grace had even decided to put Cora’s breakfast of toast, cereal, a little jug of milk and some fresh-fruit salad with a flask of hot tea on a tray like they did in hotels. If she left it all ready on the table by her bed, then Cora could have it whenever she liked after her morning routine of bed bath and selecting her TV programmes for the day. This way, Grace could get off to work on time for a change, instead of having to wait around while her mother ate … usually very, very, very slowly as she complained through every mouthful! A genius plan, and Grace didn’t know why she had never thought to do this before now. In fact, she had done a lot of thinking over the weekend, and talking too – she had called Bernie to ‘let her know’ how their mother was … as per the instruction in the telephone conversation on Friday afternoon, and to moot the idea of them setting up a care rota for Cora.

Bernie had actually gasped out loud on realising that Grace was implying the rota would be shared between the four of them! And then said she might be able to manage a contribution to pay for a professional carer to ‘give you a break, Grace, if that’s what you really need.’ Grace had then tried her other sister, Sinead, who – to be fair – had acknowledged that Grace ‘pulled the short straw when it comes to looking after Mum, and I wish there was more I could do but it’s so difficult with me being so far away these days.’ Grace had pointed out that Chelmsford in Essex wasn’t really that far away. A weekend, or even just a Saturday here and there was manageable, surely? And it really would make a great deal of difference to Grace to have a few hours to herself. She was in desperate need of a haircut and some new clothes, or even just the chance to visit the library or browse the chunky yarn section of the craft shop a few streets away. Plus she fancied trying a salted caramel smoothie in the pop-up bar that had opened up. It had been months since her counsellor had set these activities for her to accomplish on her own, and she hadn’t made any progress whatsoever on them yet.

But the call with Sinead had somehow moved on to her offering to chip in for a private carer too, or ‘better still, get on to the council, Grace, and see if they can send someone round for free. My neighbour has a woman who comes in three times a day to help out. And it’s all paid for by us taxpayers. Just make the call!’

Grace had tried to point out that it wasn’t as simple as all that – there were forms to fill in and assessments to be carried out and Cora would never allow a stranger inside the house for all that in any case. There had been no end of recriminations from Cora for that one time Grace had managed to get the care assistant from social services to come and show her how to lift her mother and see to her basic needs. As soon as she had left, Cora had gone on strike and refused to even hold the handle on the hoist for days after that. But Sinead had breezily suggested if Grace found someone Mum liked then it would be ‘absolutely fine’, before ending the call because her Waitrose delivery driver was lugging her shopping through to the utility room and it would be rude not to give him a hand.

Lastly, Grace had spoken to her brother, Mikey, the hedge-fund manager, who in his usual fashion had got straight to the point: ‘Stick her in a home and be done with it, Grace! I can’t be hearing all this crap about her not wanting strangers in the house – did she ever give a toss about what we wanted when we were kids?’ Silence. ‘No, we did as we were bloody well told or a whack around the head and no dinner was the punishment. That woman is a bully, and believe me I know what I’m talking about: I deal with them all day, every day, and the sooner you wake up and realise that, Grace, the better. Now, if you call my PA, Annabel, on Monday, I’m sure she’ll sort you out with a list of half-decent places you can visit. Just pick one. A cheap one. And make them come and collect her if you have to. I’ll pay for it all and recoup my losses when we flog her house. Annabel will probably go with you if you’re still getting in a state about going out on your own. Or if you just want a second opinion! You know, to make sure the staff aren’t slapping the old dears around like you see on those undercover documentary programmes on the telly. Mind you, what goes around comes around, so it would serve Cora right to get a taste of her own medicine!’

Grace had hung up at that point. Frustrated and weary. She could just imagine the look on her mother’s face if she selected a care home for her, a cheap one at that. Then bundled her off there without so much as a conversation about it, let alone without seeking her consent, which she knew would never be given. Deep down Grace also knew that she was scared of her mother. Scared of her rages and scared of what she would do or say to hurt her if she ever turned on her … and that is exactly how Cora would see it if Grace did what Mikey suggested. A betrayal.

But Grace was decided on one thing … if her siblings weren’t going to help out, then she was going to help herself and implement a few more changes to make her own life a little bit easier … like encouraging Cora to manage her bed bath, for starters. Grace knew that her mother was perfectly able to sit up in bed by herself, and she could rub the edge of a coin over a scratchcard too, so surely she could utilise that hand action and replace the coin with a flannel and move it over her own body? This would give Grace a precious extra ten minutes or so to go towards doing all the other things that had to be sorted before she was able to leave for work each morning. It was only a small change, but it was a start at least. A small step towards taking back the life that she used to have and that had got lost along the way. Along with her dancing career … her dreams and aspirations of being blissfully happily married to Matthew, with perhaps a cherub-cheeked child of her own – but that had all vanished on that terrible day when she caught Matthew cavorting with the Perky Yoga One.

‘I work at the storage company because I enjoy my job and because Larry and Betty are so kind,’ Grace answered, bringing her thoughts back to Phil and his beard, which was now burrowing into the side of her neck and making her skin all irritated and itchy.

‘But you could do yourself a favour and just pack it in,’ he suggested.

‘Why would I do that?’

‘Well, it’s not like you need the money or it’s a proper career or anything! Not when you’re all set up here.’ Phil paused burrowing and glanced around the room. ‘If you play your cards right, this house will be yours one day. And you must get a fair whack in benefits and stuff, what with you being your mum’s carer. You might even get more if you didn’t work and looked after her full time.’

‘I don’t, actually. And I do need the money. Plus the house will probably be split between all four of us …’ Grace leant forward to reach another slice of pizza.

‘What?’ Phil said, aghast. ‘But that’s not fair. Surely it should be all yours seeing as you are the one doing all the work, and saving the rest of them a fortune on care-home costs? When my nan was old and had to go into a home, my dad sold her house to pay for it so there was no money left for any of us.’ Grace could see that Phil had given her mother’s care needs a great deal of thought …

‘Anyway, let’s enjoy the film while we can before Mum needs me upstairs,’ Grace said, keen to move the conversation on. Phil lifted his arm away from around her shoulders and swivelled his body on the sofa until he was facing her.

‘How about I need you upstairs?’ he grinned, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively as he picked a stray curl of red hair away from her face. ‘Come on, Gracie … bet your mum is fast asleep by now. She’s probably snoring.’ And he pressed pause on the TV remote control to cock an ear up to the ceiling, as if to prove his point. Grace swallowed her mouthful of pizza and looked at Phil. She did fancy him but, to be honest, she really didn’t feel like going to bed with him right now. She was exhausted, and with her mother in the bedroom next door of their tiny terrace house where the walls were paper thin … well, it just didn’t feel right.

‘Not tonight, Phil. It’s late and I have work in the morning. And I’m tired, I was up again with Mum last night and—’

‘You see! There you go again …’ Phil sat back and folded his arms like a petulant child.

‘What do you mean?’ Grace asked tentatively. She really wasn’t in the mood for this kind of conversation.

‘Well, I thought we had sorted all this out and agreed we would put each other first for a change, instead of you always putting your mother first. I even let you pick the film!’

‘I’m doing my best, Phil.’

‘Are you? You know, I reckon you don’t even want to put me first.’

‘Of course I do.’ Grace heard her voice jump up an octave. ‘But I can’t just not bother with my mother … what would become of her if I just did whatever I liked and wasn’t around to care for her?’ She cringed as the sense of déjà vu shot through her, for she was certain she had said the exact same words to Matthew shortly before she had found him in bed with another woman. ‘My mother can barely even move on her own, so she’d end up dying of hunger,’ she added, bleakly, desperate to make some kind of sense of the situation she was in now, and with no way out anytime soon that she could see.

‘Doubt it! The size of her,’ Phil muttered as he drained the last of a can of beer.

‘Pardon?’

‘Nothing. Only joking.’ He marshalled a swift smile on to his face before carrying on with, ‘I know you can’t just “not bother” with her and I wasn’t suggesting you abandon her or anything. But you could get someone else in to look after her. It doesn’t have to be you all the time. Anyone would think you like being the only one she can count on …’

Grace sighed and decided to fast-forward the next part of her plan to make her own life easier, and because in all honestly she really didn’t have the energy to argue with him or explain the situation any more than she already had done, umpteen times. And she could see the way the relationship was going, only this time it was worse as she was actually living with her mother. Back when Matthew had started complaining about Cora’s demands she had mostly been visiting and helping her out of an evening and at weekends. In addition to the late-night phone calls, of course. Sooner or later, Phil would have enough and find someone else too, just like Matthew had, and she really couldn’t put herself through all that again.

‘Maybe we should have a break!’ she blurted out.

Phil’s face froze.

There, she had said it, and felt a wave of relief. Better out than in is what her mother would say. Cora was a great believer in speaking your mind and had drummed it into Grace to do so too … ‘I’m only being honest,’ she would say, even if the words were spiteful and hurtful. Grace had been carrying the thought of slowing things down with Phil around inside her head for a while now. But having told him, she panicked, never having been one for confrontation, so felt the need to add, ‘It’s not fair on you. My mum needs me, and you are right, I don’t put you first …’

‘What?’ Phil spluttered. ‘Don’t be daft, Gracie. You can’t dump me.’

‘I’m not dumping you, exactly.’

‘Yes you are. Everyone knows “a break”,’ he paused to do sarcastic quote signs in the air, ‘means dumped!’

‘But I can’t put you first, Phil.’

‘That’s not what I meant. I didn’t say you need to put me first. I said we should put each other first.’

‘Did you?’ Grace felt confused now, her head crammed full of cotton wool … from the exhaustion most likely.

‘Of course, babe. Me and you. Always has been. It’s about us.’ And he stroked a finger over the back of her hand.

‘That’s just it, Phil. I don’t think I can put us first. You want more than I can give you right now …’ She dipped her head and twiddled with the butterfly pendant that hung on a delicate silver chain around her neck. She had bought it as a gift to herself on the day of her first visit to the GP to ask for help. A symbol of new beginnings. Only it hadn’t really worked out that way as she didn’t have a new life. In fact, she now felt even more trapped. Stuck in a rut as her mother’s carer, with a mediocre relationship and an old engagement ring that Matthew had refused to take back when she’d offered it on the day he came to collect the last of his belongings from the flat. ‘Why don’t you sell it and use it to pay the rent, or treat yourself to something nice … it’s the least you deserve after everything that has happened. I’m so sorry, sweetheart, for the way things have turned out between us. I never meant to hurt you, but … I guess we fell out of love with each other,’ is what he had said, followed by a hug and one of his wonderful warm smiles that had almost broken Grace in two. Only holding it together until the front door had closed behind him, when she had slumped down on to the hall carpet and sobbed. Because all the time she hated him she could cope, just about, with losing him … but he had to go and ruin it all by being nice. And she had never fallen out of love with him. Oh, she had tried to, but somehow couldn’t quite make it happen.

She never had sold the engagement ring, which was now relegated to a velvet box kept in the drawer beside her bed. Sometimes, when she was at a low ebb, usually after one of her Facebook stalking sessions, she would get the ring out and allow herself, for the briefest of moments, to pretend it was still real. Her and Matthew. Happy in love with a wedding to plan. That hadn’t happened for a while now. But tonight that could all change as she yearned for the simplicity and lightness that had been her life before, with Matthew. Now it just felt heavy, like wading through treacle all the time.

‘Babe, come on … don’t be like this.’ Phil moved his finger to her chin and gently lifted her face up to his. ‘I know you’ve got your hands full, but—’

‘No buts, Phil,’ Grace jumped in, and then cringed on realising that she sounded just like her sister, bossy Bernie. ‘I can’t be the girlfriend you want me to be.’ Grace had known this for a while. After meeting Phil at the bus stop about a year ago, at first it had all been fine. He had been happy to sit in and watch TV with her and said he ‘got it’ that she struggled to go out. He also seemed to accept that there was no space in her life for dates and trips out to the cinema or to a nice restaurant. Or an art gallery or a sightseeing day like other couples enjoyed. The ones who weren’t carers, and who were therefore in charge of their own lives and free to do whatever they liked with it. It bothered her, if the truth be told. Being an onlooker in her own life, letting Phil down, and herself too. Not to mention feeling guilty for resenting her own mother.

‘Look, you’re just stressed that’s all. And you’re the only girlfriend I want.’ Silence followed. ‘Is this because you had to pay for the pizza? Because I’ll sort you out for the twenty quid when I find my debit card, promise.’

Grace studied Phil. His forehead creasing. His blond hair swept back from his blue eyes. His easy, sideways smile. But before she could answer, he carried on talking. ‘Look, how about I take you away for a weekend. A spa hotel, where you can put your feet up and let the flunkies wait on you for a change. Champagne and massages … what do you reckon? And it’s your birthday soon too. Let’s make it a special one, babe. My treat!’ He nodded at her eagerly and she felt touched that he had remembered and wanted to plan something nice for her. ‘You need a break. And is it any wonder when you work all the hours you do? At least think about packing in your job too … we’d have all the time we wanted then to do stuff together.’

Grace instinctively shook her head, knowing that a weekend away was an impossibility. She couldn’t afford it, for one thing, and dreaded to think how many steps it was to the nearest spa. Just the thought of it was already making her feel panicky. Plus how would she organise it all? Cora would never go for it, and even if she could be persuaded, it would take time and energy that Grace just didn’t have right now to find a potential weekend carer, interview them and train them to do things the way her mother liked. Cora was so particular. But it was really lovely of him to suggest it and she could feel herself softening towards him.

‘Oh Phil, I’m not sure I can … you know that,’ she told him, gently.

‘You could if you really wanted to,’ he suggested, kissing her on the lips, then after pulling away, added, ‘if you found a private carer … listened to your sisters and actually got someone in. They’ll pay for it. Hell, I’ll even chip in too if it means I get some bedroom time with you. When was the last time we had sex?’ Grace turned away to stifle a yawn, the softening towards him now dissipating.

‘I don’t know.’ She could barely keep her eyes open, so love-making was the furthest thing from her mind right now, which instead was crammed with thoughts of I’d do anything right now for a whole night of blissful, uninterrupted sleep.

‘Exactly. So do it, Gracie. Get the carer in and … let me take “care” of you!’ Phil laughed at his own joke as he pushed her back on the sofa and slid a hand up and under her T-shirt in one deft move.

‘I’ll think about it,’ she conceded into the side of his neck, knowing it wouldn’t be as easy as all that. But if she was serious about helping herself, and it seemed that was her only option, given that Bernie, Sinead and Mikey’s intentions were purely monetary when it came to caring for their mother, then it had to be worth a try. Plus it might be nice to be able to participate in her own life again. Maybe she was ready for that new beginning now. Grace had a feeling that she had allowed her grief over the break-up with Matthew to take over and exonerate her in some way from making an effort until now – it was easy to excuse herself from doing the things that brought back happy but painful memories, of the life she used to have with Matthew – when she had the perfect excuse: that her mother needed her. Maybe Phil had a valid point. And because, at that exact moment, Cora pounded her walking stick on the ceiling above them and bellowed,

‘Grace. Grace. Grace! For the love of God. Where is my bedtime drink? I’m near dying of thirst up here while you’re pawing that poor man of yours.’