Читать книгу The Last Day of January - Greer Decker - Страница 9

6

Mum was not feeling so good when I got home on Friday. She went to bed early and woke up with a nasty cold. It was bedrest on Saturday. I sat in my room working all afternoon, stopping to bring her tea and water and she was too weak to protest when I insisted she took a few sips. It was much the same on Sunday, only it rained all day.

Rachel rang early evening.

‘Hi. How are you getting on?’

‘Okay. Mum’s got a bad cold. She’s been in bed all weekend.’

‘Oh dear. Do you think she should see a doctor?’

‘I’ll see how she is tomorrow. We have an appointment on Wednesday in any case, but I don’t want to leave her on her own tomorrow.’

‘Really? Is she that bad?’

‘Yeah. She can’t look after herself anymore. She doesn’t know whether she’s coming or going.’

That was an exaggeration perhaps, but Rachel seemed a bit naive to me.

‘We’ve just come back from Rügen. We went with Thomas and Nele and had a great time. It was cold but sunny and the coast there is beautiful. It reminded me of Southwold, but with Strandkörbe instead of the beach huts.’

‘Nice.’

I felt nervous about mentioning The Grange to Rachel, but I didn’t want to put it off either.

‘I’ve been thinking about the home I saw two weeks ago. I think it might be an option for mum and wondered if we should put her name down on the waiting list. It might be months before they can take her. James thinks it might be the best place in the area.’

‘Who’s James?’

‘The teacher who took me with him when he visited his dad. Stanley. He’s ninety!’

‘Sounds good. Where is the place exactly? I’ll have a look at it on the internet. I wish I could come and see it for myself but that’s not possible at the moment.’

Rachel sounded irritated now. I didn’t know if it was at me or at the fact that she was so far away.

‘It’s a massive decision you know. We also need to look at the financing,’ she said.

‘Yes, I know.’

‘We need to get together and discuss it properly and find out what all the options are.’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Do you really think she needs full-time care?’

‘Yes. She’s terrible, as much as it pains me to say so. She doesn’t know whether it’s Christmas or Easter and she can’t find anything or remember anything.’

That was definitely an exaggeration. I just felt frustrated and alone.

‘Talking of Christmas. I’m sorry but we won’t be able to come now as Peter has to work most of Christmas this year and Peter’s parents said they’d like to spend Christmas Eve with us.’

‘Okay.’

‘But we’ll come for mum’s birthday of course.’

‘That’ll be nice. I just hope I can keep going till then.’

Rachel recognised the desperation. ‘You’re right. We need to think about a home. I’ll ring you in the week. Does mum want to speak to me, do you think?’

‘She was asleep a moment ago. Shall I see if she’s awake?’

‘No, leave her. I’ll speak to her when I ring you during the week. We’ve got a concert tomorrow evening and Friedrich is coming on Tuesday.’ She paused. ‘I’ll try and ring Wednesday.’

As I put the phone down, mum called me.

‘Yes?’ I sounded irritated and felt exhausted. The conversation with Rachel had hugely depressed me. I wished I was going to a concert tomorrow. And then she’d mentioned Friedrich. He hadn’t crossed my mind for a long time. Friedrich was an accomplished musician and member of the Berlin State Opera’s orchestra. I’d met him two years ago in Berlin, when he’d come over for dinner a couple of times and gone on an outing with us to the Uckermark region. We’d talked about Brexit and had got on well. We’d exchanged several emails after that, but they’d stopped a few weeks before Christmas. Then Rachel told me he’d got married and moved to Hamburg. And that was the end of Friedrich, at least for me.

In bed I read an article about hyper empathy and how it was important to filter some things out, just as James had said. Otherwise, you risked developing a disorder called empathic distress. It discussed the difference between empathy and compassion and how too much empathy could have a negative effect on you. I tried to think of nothing.

Mum was much better the next day. I left a plate of sandwiches and jug of water besides her bed. I rang at lunchtime from the school. To my surprise she answered.

‘Hi, Mum. I just wanted to see if everything was alright. How are you feeling?’

‘I’m fine. What about you? Where are you?’

‘Have you had your sandwich?’

‘Not yet, but I’ll make one for myself in a minute. I was just having a rest. Where are you?’

‘At school. I’ll be home at four. Make sure you have plenty to drink.’

‘Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I must have fallen asleep, but I’ll get up in a minute. When are you coming home?’

‘I’ll be there at four.’

Wednesday morning was a nightmare as I had to wake mum up early and tell her we had a doctor’s appointment. She took a while to come round in the mornings and was most confused then. Any tiffs between us were generally early in the day. She said she didn’t feel up to it and had nothing suitable to wear. At that point, I decided she was up to it. She was bad tempered getting dressed, but I tried not to let it bother me.

This time, I managed to sneak in with mum. The outcome, predictably, was antibiotics. The doctor seemed in a hurry, aware perhaps of all the other patients waiting, and I was also keen to get to school. I parked directly in front of the chemists, thinking that I’d missed another chance to speak to the doctor about mum’s memory.

Back home and with mum in bed, I quickly made her a sandwich and she took the first of the antibiotics. Then I rushed off to school.

On Thursday morning, mum was much perkier, while I was feeling a bit rough. I forced myself to go into school.

‘Mum, I’ll try and call at lunchtime, okay?’

When I was at school, I believe mum might have thought I’d gone back to London. There’d been lots of goodbyes after a weekend together. In the latter years, she’d often ask several times when I was leaving and would stand at the door waving as though she was glad to see me go. She would never have complained of loneliness. I should have come more often, I knew that now, but I’d got the impression she wasn’t bothered whether I came or not. I’d misread the situation, her seeming indifference was part of the illness.

On the way home on Friday, I realised Rachel hadn’t rung back yet. That annoyed me. It wasn’t easy here and she knew mum was ill. I went in the house and straight upstairs to change. Glancing in the mirror, I looked tired and bitter. Mum was in the kitchen, in a bad temper.

‘Have you got my handbag?’

‘It’s here. On the chair.’

‘Oh. I’m tired today. It’s been hectic.’

‘Why was that?’

‘I don’t know. Lots of people kept calling. And then the hairdresser came.’

‘Your hair looks nice.’

‘It’s a bit short.’

‘How’s Alison?’

‘She’s well. I think she’s going on holiday soon, so she gave it a good cut. It’s a bit short. You should have yours done.’

I noticed a conservatory and window brochure on the table. A salesman had probably called too.

Rachel rang in the evening.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t ring earlier on the week. It’s been mad here. How’s mum?’

‘Much better thankfully. She’s back on form. I almost preferred it when she slept all day.’

Rachel laughed. ‘Poor you. It must be exhausting. Peter and I had a look at The Grange’s website last night. We think you should put mum’s name down on the waiting list. As you say, it might take a while for her to get offered a place.’

‘Okay. I think so too. It would help me, knowing there was that option sometime in the future.’

‘Let’s try and talk more often. I’ve been thinking, is she drinking enough?’

‘Definitely not. She refuses to drink water and only drinks half her tea or coffee. She’s probably worried it will make her spend even more time in the bathroom. I keep telling her how important it is, but she won’t have it.’

‘Oh dear. I don’t know. Well, keep trying anyway. You know you can ring me anytime. Or send me a WhatsApp and I’ll call you straight back.’

That was good coming from her. She never had time and was never that quick at getting back to me. We hung up. She hadn’t even asked to talk to mum this time.

‘That was Rachel, Mum.’

‘How’s she?’

‘Fine. Busy as usual.’

‘She’s always so busy. I don’t know how she manages.’

I took offence at that. Busier than me? A teacher and carer?

I went to bed. At least Rachel had agreed to the waiting list. I’d snapped a couple of times at mum tonight but knew that was more to do with my own desperation at her situation than anything she’d said. I would be more patient tomorrow. It was a combination of things. Mum’s condition, Rachel’s distance, a gradual boredom with the routine here, the prospect of another weekend just with mum. I was discontent with everything, most of all myself.

I slept late on Saturday morning. Mum was chirpy for once when I got up. She couldn’t sleep, she said, after all those days in bed. She initially rejected the idea of coming to the supermarket, saying she wasn’t going back to where she’d fallen over recently because she’d had to carry all the shopping herself. That was four years ago at a different supermarket in Norwich with Rachel and her children. I didn’t say anything.

Half an hour later, she asked me if we could go to the supermarket as she needed a few things. She just needed to find her shopping list and coat. She had her slippers on as they were comfiest. I told her the sandals were better.

At the supermarket, I made the mistake of leaving her in an aisle looking for talc for a couple of minutes and when I returned, she’d gone. I calmly walked up and down the central aisle, looking left and right, but there was no sign of her. I made a beeline for the main doors in case she’d wandered out. A few minutes later I found her looking at the marmalades.

‘Where on earth have you been?’ she asked.

On the way out, she almost walked into a glass door – easily done; I’d walked straight into a window at a filling station recently.

On Sunday, we went to Hearty’s again. Mum kept saying she was thinking of moving up north, finding a bungalow with a smaller garden and closer to the shops. I listened, nodded, and gave short responses. Either she was in denial or she really wasn’t aware how bad her condition was.

We both ordered the sausages this time and found a table at the window. I looked out for Izabela. Perhaps she didn’t work there anymore, or only during the week. When we’d eaten and mum was looking at the birthday cards, I went over to the lady at the café till.

‘Excuse me, does the young Polish lady still work here, Izabela isn’t it?’

‘Oh yeah, Izabela, that’s right. I ain’t seen her all week. Do you know her?’

‘Ah, no, not really. I was just wondering. We’ve chatted a couple of times.’

‘I see. Oh well.’ She smiled.

I returned to mum.

I had a strange feeling, driving home. I didn’t know the girl, but I was concerned about her.

‘Let’s take Rachel and the children next time. I really enjoyed that. Thank you.’

Rare words from mum and lovely to hear.

‘We could come here when they are over for your birthday.’

‘Oh yes,’ said mum, ‘that’s what I meant. When are you going back?’

‘To London?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m working at a school here now for this year, Mum. They needed someone to cover for a teacher who’s away for a year.’

‘Oh, I see. That’s good. It’s nice to have you around.’