Читать книгу Can I Let You Go?: A heartbreaking true story of love, loss and moving on - Cathy Glass, Cathy Glass - Страница 12

Trying to get Faye ready to leave the house on time the following morning was like trying to get a child to school on time after a great weekend. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see her grandparents – far from it, she was looking forward to it – but everything took her so long. She’d start doing one thing and then halfway through she’d wander off and start doing something else. The cat didn’t help. Sammy had taken a liking to Faye and kept brushing past her legs, wanting to be stroked, and if he wasn’t in the same room as her she’d go off to find him. She was still in her dressing gown at 9.45, and while it hadn’t mattered the day before when we’d been going shopping, today we had a bus to catch at 10.20 if we were to reach her grandparents for 11.00. Contact had been arranged for 11.00–3.00, and it was unfair to keep them waiting. My stress levels began to rise as I chivvied her along. Eventually I asked, ‘Faye, how do you leave on time when you’re at home and go to the day centre and the stables?’

‘Gran nags me,’ she said with her impish grin. ‘She goes on and on. She says I’m too slow to catch a cold. Sometimes I have to miss breakfast, if I’m very slow.’

I could sympathize with her gran, and while nagging Faye or allowing her to miss breakfast wasn’t really an option for me, I would have to try to work out a way to help her keep better time. Apart from going to see her grandparents three times a week, she had an antenatal appointment at 9.45 a.m. on Friday. At this rate we’d need to start getting ready the night before!

Faye needed the toilet again just as we put on our coats and were about to leave, but finally we were out of the front door and I set off at a reasonably brisk pace up the road towards the bus stop in the high street.

‘I don’t like walking fast,’ Faye moaned after a moment. ‘It makes my feet hurt.’ So I slowed the pace.

Somehow we arrived at the bus stop with a minute to spare. ‘You want the number forty-seven,’ I said, pointing to the number on the front of the bus.

‘Forty-seven,’ she repeated.

We got on and sat together, then swapped seats, as Faye wanted to sit by the window. As the bus pulled away she turned to me with a frown. ‘I’ve forgotten Snuggles, and my phone.’

I swallowed a sigh of exasperation. She only had two things to remember and she’d forgotten them both. I blamed myself; I should have checked.

‘You won’t need your phone,’ I said. ‘You won’t be going out alone, will you?’

‘No. But Snuggles is in the bathroom and he doesn’t like it in there without me. He always sits on my bed when I’m out.’

‘Don’t worry. As soon as I get home I’ll move him into your bedroom.’

‘He has to sit on my pillow,’ she said.

‘Yes, I know. I’ve seen.’

Reassured, Faye turned her attention to what was going on outside, gazing through the window with the intrigue and wonder of a child. People waiting at the bus stops, a man walking a large dog, cyclists passing on the inside, people getting on and off the bus all held interest for her. She didn’t comment, just watched them carefully, looking longer than the cursory glance an adult would normally give. I wondered what she was thinking.

‘Penny for your thoughts,’ I said after a while, using an expression my father had used.

Faye smiled and looked at me. ‘Grandpa says that when I’m staring and don’t answer him. But when I’m thinking I don’t hear him.’

‘It’s because you’re concentrating,’ I said. ‘I’m the same.’

Presently we entered the area of town that was familiar to Faye. ‘You know where you are?’ She nodded. ‘Not long now.’ I didn’t normally use the buses. I either walked or took my car, and the laborious stop-start motion of the bus had lost its novelty for me. ‘Only about another ten minutes,’ I said, more for my sake than hers.

Faye raised her wrist to look at her watch and then realized she’d forgotten that too. ‘Silly me,’ she said, tapping her forehead.

‘No, you’re not. I should have reminded you,’ I said. ‘All your possessions are in different places at my house. It must be very confusing. We’ll remember them tomorrow, don’t worry.’ I smiled reassuringly.

‘Am I seeing my gran and grandpa tomorrow?’ she asked.

‘No, the day after. It’s every other day. It’s Wednesday tomorrow. Do you remember we decided that if you’re not going to the day centre I’d take you to see some horses?’

‘Oh yes, goody. I’m looking forward to that,’ she said happily.

We can all forget things and lose track of time, but with someone like Faye, who had learning difficulties and relied heavily on routine and familiarity, it must have been very difficult for her to keep track of what was happening in her life when all that was familiar and regular had vanished. I guessed at home when she took off her watch at night she put it in the same place and then in the morning automatically put it on as part of her routine. We all have similar habits.

It was 10.50 as we stepped off the bus. ‘You know that this is the bus stop you get off at, don’t you?’ I asked her.

‘Yes. It’s the same place I get off when I’ve been to the day centre.’

Most of the buses stopped close to the flats – there was a mini-terminus from the days when there’d been four tower blocks here. We walked the short distance to Faye’s block of flats and the elevator took us up to the eighth floor. The doors opened and Stan must have been looking out for us as he was waiting in the corridor, leaning on his stick for support.