Читать книгу The Last Day of January - Greer Decker - Страница 7

4

There was still time after school to call into the care home in the next village. The reviews weren’t brilliant, but I wanted to see several homes for a comparison. The house was modern and on the main road through the village, next to an enormous chicken farm.

A small balding man was at the reception and asked in a friendly voice if he could help.

‘I’m looking for a home for my mother. Can I make an appointment for a viewing?’

‘Of course, Madam. Let me have a look at our appointments,’ he said, handing me a brochure. ‘Jessica, our manager, is not here right now but I can ask her to call you tomorrow? I can show you one of our lounges and the dining room now if you like.’

‘That would be great, thanks.’

We walked through to the dining area, which was cramped with small round tables covered in white tablecloths. A few ladies were arriving for their evening meal, causing a bottleneck already. A little vase of flowers was placed on each table, otherwise the room was a bit drab. In the lounge further along, a lady and two gentlemen were sitting in front of the telly, motionless, and a member of staff was telling them it was time for tea. One looked at us curiously, the other two were expressionless.

I thanked the man as I left and slung the brochure onto the backseat of the car. It had been a sobering experience that lowered my mood on the journey home and through into the evening.

On the sofa later, I looked at mum. She didn’t seem that far yet. She was not expressionless, she was still relatively fit physically and mentally too, despite her fast-fading short-term memory. Much of what she said conveyed her wonderful humour. Sometimes she’d surprise me with her sharp perception of her surroundings. She often responded to her memory loss with an air of nonchalance, which I much preferred to when she got annoyed. That was usually when she couldn’t find things.

The few people I’d seen in the home today had looked lonely, even though they were surrounded by people. Disconnected. It was still a formidable insight into a world I’d had little awareness of so far. I wondered if the care home of James’s father would leave me feeling the same.

Come Saturday morning, I was struggling to find something to wear. I should have done some ironing the night before; most things were still crumpled up in the basket. While I was looking for something decent, I considered taking mum with me. I wasn’t sure how to explain where I was going.

James was punctual. I’d told mum I was meeting up with a few colleagues, a falsehood only in its plurality and therefore acceptable. The home was about thirty minutes away, cross-country. We chatted about London. James asked me where I had lived and whether I used to go to the theatres much. He recommended the Norwich Playhouse.

The Grange was a large and attractive manor house on the edge of the village. It stood back from the road, the premises lined with large and well-kept hedges. The main house had character and was freshly painted. There was plenty of parking to the right of the house, and from the car park I could see a smaller and more modern block, a large garden and fields to the back.

We were welcomed by Karen and signed the visitors’ book. Karen offered to show me the lounges and dining room while James went upstairs to see his dad. She also introduced me to three members of staff, all young and I guessed, from their appearance and accent, from Eastern Europe. Karen asked Elena to take me up to the first floor and show me a vacant typical room. We entered the lift, where a meal plan and a weekly activity schedule hung askew on the mirrored wall next to a faded sticker with fire safety instructions.

‘How long have you been working here?’ I asked Elena.

‘Four years,’ replied Elena. Her name tag was also slightly on the wonk.

I smiled. ‘Do you like it here?’

‘Yes, I do, but I miss my family. I come from Romania. I visit my parents every year in the summer.’

‘Where in Romania does your family live?’

‘In Bucharest. I want them to come to visit but my dad is very ill so it’s difficult. But we skype a lot.’

Elena was nice. She spoke with her arms too and almost took one of the flowery pictures with her as we walked along the corridor. We stopped briefly at a small lounge where three people were having tea. The choice of wallpaper was questionable but the view from the window made up for it. With Elena talking profusely, we walked to the TV lounge where five residents were sitting, four of whom were fast asleep.

James’s father was in Room 22. Stanley was sitting up in his bed, eagerly awaiting the start of the football match between Norwich and Man City. He had plenty of personal items in his room including a tatty Norwich city scarf, a beer mug and a large photo of his wife presumably and a much younger James.

Stanley was pleased to meet me, but then became concerned that he had nothing to offer me. When he’d asked me for the third time if I’d like a cup of tea and repeatedly asked James to get me one, James told him to relax, we were there to talk. I glanced at James from the side. He seemed a little agitated.

‘Why don't you tell Sarah about the game against Bayern Munich, dad?’

‘Oh yes, that was incredible. A wonderful day, and I was there to see it. Norwich beat Bayern Munich 2-1, the best team in Germany, you know. James and I flew to Munich for the game. My first and last ever flight, but that was enough!’

He laughed out loud and then sighed deeply and smiled.

‘I'll never forget that day. 1993 that was. The nineteenth of October. I’d never dreamt that we could win! The first English team to beat Bayern Munich. Give the lady a sweet at least, James.’ Stanley pointed to the toffees in a glass bowl on the table.

Stanley reminded me of my neighbour in London. Tall, slim and a narrow face with a high forehead. He’d been ninety too and had lived alone. I’d rarely seen him and felt that I should’ve made more of an effort. Our conversations on the pavement had been pleasant and one had stuck with me in particular.

‘I didn’t vote,’ he’d told me the day after the referendum. ‘Why should I decide on something like that now; it’s up to the youngsters, something like that.’

We left as the second half began. Stanley’s team was winning and his face was beaming. He stood up to see us to the door and I noticed how frail he was.

We walked past two other rooms on the ground floor. Most doors were open and one lady was calling out ‘Help me, help me.’ I stopped and wanted to see if she was okay. I looked at James and he indicated that we should go. Once outside, he stopped and looked at me.

‘That lady, Celia, calls out just about all day long, sadly. The staff are good on the whole, but they obviously can’t attend to her all day. I know it’s upsetting, especially at first. You’re obviously a caring person.’

It was raining as we got into the car. Once back on the road, James glanced at me again.

‘She’s over ninety I believe and has hopefully had a good life. It might seem awful to us, but she won’t be experiencing the day in the same way as you and I.’

‘Yes,’ was all I managed to say.

‘What did you think of the home?’

‘It was nice. I liked it. Your dad seems settled there. I don’t know how my mother will react when I suggest we think about a care home.’

‘Try not to worry too much. We have to try and filter our worries if we can.’

I wasn’t sure what to say for a minute.

‘Stanley seemed happy anyway.’

‘Yes, he’s usually quite jovial. Sometimes I have to try and cheer him up a bit.’

James and I started talking about life as a teacher. How you became attached to your pupils and then, every year, some left whom you were particularly sad to see go. James chose his words carefully and spoke gently with a mix of confidence and kindness that I liked. I was almost tempted to unload all my worries about mum onto him but that might have been a bit much. I wished we could have driven further and talked more. For me, our conversation already had a certain intimacy given the short time we’d known each other.

Mum wanted to know where I’d been. When I said to a nice house in the country, she asked me why I hadn’t taken her. I didn’t have an answer ready, but suggested we went out together the next day.

Over tea, mum was annoyed again about her sister-in-law for some reason or another, even though she had died over ten years ago. The reasons frequently changed, but her annoyance with this particular family member was persistent.

‘All she thought about was herself.’

‘Do you think so, Mum? I thought she was kind.’

‘Only when she wanted to be. And she wasn’t a good wife or mother.’

‘That’s not fair. She seemed it to me. I liked her.’

‘You had no idea. You were just a child. Was she a better mother than me? She was always spending money and sponging off people.’

‘I wouldn’t have picked up so much on that, I suppose.’ It was time to back down.

‘Exactly. I was the one who had to endure her most of the time.’

We went upstairs. I heard mum shuffle out of the bathroom and into bed. I closed my eyes. It was exhausting.

I awoke in the night. Mum had been to the bathroom. I could hear the flush and she was standing in front of her door, across the way from mine, like a ghost in her long white nightdress. I waited to see that she returned to bed.

It was still too dark to make out the hands on my bedside clock, but I knew it was around five. That was the time I often awoke and started to dwell on things, without any order or logic. I thought of Nick, my ex-husband. And then of the other woman. Then of school. I wondered if the boy in 7c in the playground on Friday really had fallen over, or if someone had pushed him. I thought of James and wondered what he would have been like when he was younger. His father was sweet. Damn, did I put the bins out? They came at six. Then I realised it was Sunday and they came on Monday.

I awoke just after nine and the issues had shrunk back to a manageable size again. I kept thinking how mum must have been lonely here on her own for months on end, but she had never once complained.

It was a wonderful sunny day. Ideal for that ride out. Mum forced herself to have a slice of toast and took a whole fifteen minutes to eat it. If I was going to survive here, I needed to slow down. Once we’d decided on a vague destination, we had the usual conversation about which route to take.

She wanted to take the narrowest of country lanes through various little villages whose names she couldn’t remember. They didn’t have much to offer in any case, but she enjoyed getting out and kept commenting on the pretty houses and the grazing animals. We also passed fields with herds of pigs living outside with dozens of pig arks scattered about for shelter, as is common for East Anglia. It pleased me to see mum happy, although the narrow lanes were slightly unnerving. I had to go up the verge at one point to avoid an oncoming car. Mum was fearless and found it amusing that the country lanes could worry me so much.

Mum had a check-up at the doctor’s on Tuesday afternoon. I hoped to be able to bring up the subject of dementia to the doctor but felt apprehensive about doing so with mum in the room. I hadn’t dared to discuss it with her before the appointment.

Mum couldn’t understand why she had to go. What a nuisance. On the other hand, she evidently enjoyed deciding what to wear. Then she went to the toilet three times, with barely a few seconds in between.

‘You’ve just been, Mum.’

‘It’s nerves,’ she responded. ‘Where are we going?’

‘To the doctor’s. Only a routine check-up. It’s nothing to worry about. We’ll be back in an hour.’

Ten minutes later, we’d parked the car in front of the doctors. We took a seat in the waiting area and mum put on her respectable lady look. My hopes of speaking to the doctor were dashed as mum gave me a stern look and muttered, ‘You wait outside. I’ll be fine on my own.’

She was watching the other people with a slight air of suspicion. Only the two toddlers gained her approval. They were sweet. We sat for thirty minutes or so before mum was called.

‘Where do I go?’

I accompanied her to the swing doors.

‘Room 1. It’s the first door straight ahead.’

‘Right. You stay here.’

I returned to my seat crestfallen. After a few minutes, I decided to ask the receptionist about any support they offered with dementia. From the leaflet I’d just read, it seemed so easy. I could at least give it a try. Was I registered? She handed me a form. Then I could make an appointment, but with mum of course. That’s where I had my doubts. How was that going to work? At that moment, mum came through the swing doors and walked towards me with a big smile.

‘Everything okay? What were you talking to the receptionist about?’ Mum frowned.

‘Nothing much. I think I might make an appointment.’

‘What’s wrong with you?’ Her tone was now snappier.

‘Nothing serious. It can wait. How about you?’

‘Everything’s absolutely fine. I just need to get some more tablets.’

I spoke to the receptionist again and it turned out mum needed a blood test. We made the appointment for eight o’clock on Wednesday.

We set off into the town centre if you could call it that; the little town was essentially six or seven streets at most. It was deserted and we had dozens of parking spaces to choose from, all within a few metres of the pharmacy. Mum suddenly had an idea.

‘Shall we pop into Marylin’s? I could do with some tights. Or do you think it’ll be busy today? It’s usually busy at this time, with everyone coming out of work and popping in on their way home.’

‘Yes, let’s do that, good idea.’

I couldn’t imagine this place ever being busy. Perhaps on Friday mornings, market day. I could picture one or two people popping into Marylin’s Boutique then. I don’t remember ever seeing more than one other person at a time in that shop. I wondered how it kept going. We got some tights and also a blouse. It was a very good idea, most of her blouses were much too large for her now.

‘I think I’ll use the customer toilet while we’re here.’

The pharmacy was next door. We sat on the bench for a few minutes on the way. Mum needed to catch her breath. I considered going in the book shop, but that already closed at five. Shops were limited here and so were the opening hours.

I got some petrol on the way home and recognised the man at the till from the parents’ evening. He had a broad Suffolk accent and was chatty. I wasn’t sure if he recognised me or if he was always like that with everyone. Anna and Tim had often remarked on how friendly they found the people here in the country.