Читать книгу The Hopes and Dreams of Lucy Baker: The most heart-warming book you’ll read this year - Jenni Keer - Страница 13

The next morning, Lucy ambled into her living room and heaved back the faded green velvet curtains, determined to embrace a bolder version of herself. Standing in the middle of Lancaster Road, wearing not much and holding the battered, floral-patterned cake tin, was Brenda.

Seeing the movement of swishing curtains from the corner of her eye, the old lady looked across to the window but registered no recognition. Almost looking through Lucy, she returned her gaze to the tin and shook her head as if she was trying to focus.

It was then that Lucy noticed the rain – a drizzly mist, not proper splashy raindrops, but enough to get a scantily clad old lady wet and cold, even in May. A creeping panic swept through her body. It was the first real and frightening embodiment of her recent fears concerning her neighbour. Not pausing for thought, or to even change out of her pyjamas, Lucy dashed to the front door, but Brenda was already scuttling towards the junction with Tudor Avenue.

Dashing past number twenty-four, Lucy paused as she noticed George’s incredulous face peering out the window. He stared at his pyjama-clad neighbour, bouncing around on the pavement in front of his house, gesturing something at him. The next moment she was banging at his door, hoping to enlist him on her search and rescue mission.

‘Brenda’s gone walkabout and she’s dressed completely inappropriately,’ she blurted out.

‘Unlike your good self.’

‘Seriously, she’s in a thin, cotton nightie. She’s seventy-nine. Please help.’ She swallowed back a sob. Her priority was finding her friend.

The mocking eyebrow dropped and he nodded, noticing her genuine distress.

‘Of course.’ He grabbed his keys and mobile from the otherwise empty side table next to his front door.

They eventually caught up with Brenda near the postbox at the bottom of the avenue. Lucy reached out for her friend’s shoulder and made eye contact.

‘Brenda? It’s me. Lucy.’ She gently took her neighbour’s hand in her own. It felt cold, and the drizzle was now turning to heavy rain.

‘Jim forgot his lunch again. I have to get to the school and give it to him…’ Brenda’s eyes were frantic.

‘It’s okay. Let’s get you in the warm and I’ll deliver it for you.’ The way the old lady’s eyes narrowed as she looked into Lucy’s face broke her heart, as she realised there was no sign of recognition. She bit back tears and forced out a gentle smile.

Brenda started to shake with the cold, so Lucy put an arm around her and rubbed her bare shoulders to try and warm her up. George, who was only a couple of paces behind them, started to pull his smart, grey V-neck jumper over his head, but as he did so, his shirt untucked itself and rode up his body with the jumper.

Lucy stood motionless for a fraction of a second and tried hard not to focus on the narrow trail of dark hairs that disappeared into the waistband of his navy blue suit trousers. And she totally failed not to gape at the muscle definition across his abdomen. There was an almost imperceptible flash of nipple as the shirt slid back down his body.

‘Put this over her.’

Lucy snapped her mouth shut and wriggled the jumper over a protesting Brenda. Between them they cajoled and coerced her back up the street and through the front door. Lucy collected a towel from the downstairs cloakroom and patted her down, aware of a strong smell of wee now they were inside. The orange and purple patchwork blanket Lucy knitted two Christmases ago was draped over the back of the upholstered wing chair, so she wrapped it around the shivering lady and finally caught Brenda’s eye. A trembling hand reached out and gripped her own, squeezing it for reassurance. Lucy squeezed back.

‘Everything’s okay, Brenda,’ she said. ‘We’re home. We’re safe. There’s nothing for you to worry about.’

A hovering George beckoned her into the hall, as Lucy felt more treacherous tears building. He studied her face for a second and then briefly reached out to touch her shoulder. At a moment when she felt everything was collapsing, it gave her the strength to pull herself together. His hand dropped back to his side.

‘I don’t want to interfere, but I think she needs to be seen by someone as a matter of urgency.’

‘I agree. I’ll try the surgery. Could you grab my mobile from my kitchen table? I don’t want to leave her. My front door isn’t locked.’

George nodded and returned with her phone two minutes later, handing it over just as his own started to buzz. He turned away to answer it.

‘No, I hadn’t forgotten… Has he? Oh, for goodness’ sake… I’ll have to sort it then…’ George covered the phone with his hand. ‘I need to go.’

‘I can manage. She’s much calmer now. Honestly. It’s fine.’ Brenda looked tired, her thin fingers stroking the blanket, and her eyes closing.

‘Give me a contact number. I’ll ring later to see how she is, but there’s an emergency at work.’

She gave him her mobile number. ‘Thanks for your help. I wouldn’t want you getting into trouble with the boss.’

‘Yeah, bit of an ogre.’ He put the phone back to his face. ‘With you in ten,’ he said, then slid it back into his trouser pocket. ‘Bye then, Grandma,’ he said to Lucy.

Lucy followed his eyes and remembered she was wearing her Keep Calm and Carry on Knitting pyjamas.

‘Russell Crowe knits,’ she said, indignantly.

‘Oh, you mean you actually do knit? I thought the pyjamas were ironic, or a gift, or something.’

‘It’s a very therapeutic pastime.’

‘Yeah, if you’re about ninety.’ He ran his hand through his thick brown hair, ruffling it up without realising. Brenda watched him from the living room and smiled. She looked at Lucy, who was sporting a cross face, and smiled even more. Then she clasped her hands together and let out a happy sigh.

‘The cat?’ Brenda called out to George. Lucy couldn’t work out if it was a question or a reminder. Or even if she knew who George was.

‘Oh yes. Did the rescue centre find it? They said—’ Lucy began.

‘It’s all in hand.’ He nodded at Brenda to signal his departure and the front door clicked shut. There was a pause and the old lady noticed the battered tin by her feet. Bending forward, she prised open the lid enough to see the contents. Lucy waited for her to comment but she didn’t.

‘A cup of tea will warm us both up,’ Lucy finally said. ‘I’ll nip upstairs and get you some more suitable clothes, if that’s okay?’

Brenda nodded slowly, although Lucy wasn’t convinced she understood what she was agreeing to.

‘You stay there under that snuggly blanket and keep warm.’ She tucked the sides around her friend to keep it from falling. ‘I won’t be long. Just need to make a quick call.’

‘Use the phone in the hall, dear. Mind the flex though. It’s dreadfully frayed. Jim will keep playing with it and putting his fingers through the fabric, but he says we can’t afford a replacement, and it still does the job.’ Her eyes looked glazed but she suddenly became aware of the blanket on her knees again and started to pick at the threads.

Lucy’s heart heaved, but she pulled herself together and went into the hall. Brenda’s phone was quite a modern walkabout one and the base unit was in the kitchen, not the hall, but the number to the surgery was on her mobile contact list so she used that.

Lucy explained the situation to the receptionist, trying to keep her voice low so she didn’t alarm Brenda, who was now singing ‘The House of the Rising Sun’ quietly to herself. Establishing Brenda was calm and safe and that Lucy could stay with her for as long as necessary, the helpful lady asked her to hold and said she would see if she could catch Dr Hopgood before he started surgery. Lucy popped her head around the living-room door whilst she waited. Brenda looked drowsy and her singing had slowed to a mumble. The surgery hold music stopped and the phone line clicked.

‘Given everything you said, including the possibility your neighbour is currently incontinent, Dr Hopgood suspects some sort of urine infection. They can lead to spells of delirium in the elderly and are quite common. He’s put her down as a priority house call and she’ll be first on the list. If you are happy to stay with her, he’ll be out to you just after twelve.’

‘That’s not a problem, thank you.’ Although Lucy was starting to suspect there was more to this than a simple UTI.

‘He also suggested getting some fluids into her, as UTIs tend to go hand in hand with dehydration. See if you can get her to drink some water, or even some tea.’

After hanging up, Lucy tried the office, but the out-of-hours answerphone was still on. Because recording messages made her feel self-conscious, she decided to wait until the phones were manned and explain the situation properly.

When she returned to the living room, Brenda was asleep, so Lucy took the opportunity to run up the first flight of stairs and find her friend some clean clothes. Even though she’d been up to the third floor on numerous occasions, she hadn’t been in the master bedroom before. Like the rest of the house it was cluttered but in a welcoming, lived-in way. The imposing mahogany wardrobe stood with one door open, and a rainbow of clothes hung on old-fashioned padded hangers. There was a thick brown and orange geometric rug on the floor next to the bed and the room had a strong lavender smell. Like all the other rooms in the house, this one also held a noisy clock, its steady ticking adding to her feeling of unease. She grabbed a pair of wide-legged cotton trousers and a red loose-fitting top, remembering to pick up some clean underwear at the last moment.

In the bathroom she found a small plastic bowl, a flannel and a bar of home-made rose petal soap. Last year, whilst she sat in Brenda’s kitchen knitting clothes for premature babies, her friend melted tallow, added rose-hip-infused lye and a handful of petals (informing Lucy how good rose hip was for ageing skin) and finally poured the silky mixture into small lined bread tins to set. It had been left for a few weeks to age and then Lucy had been given a bar, tied in raffia with a dried rose tucked in the bow. It was some of the nicest soap Lucy had ever used and she understood Brenda’s passion for the natural and the home-made.

Whilst the old lady continued to sleep, Lucy dashed home for some clothes of her own, not wanting to deal with the doctor in her pyjamas. After locking her front door, she nipped into Brenda’s kitchen and made herself a much-needed cup of tea. It was a room that resembled an old-fashioned apothecary, with racks of jars and tins on every wall, but then Brenda was running an apothecary in all but name.

Finally, with the hot tea by her side, she sat down near her softly sleeping friend and tried to make sense of events. Something was wrong – very wrong. Brenda had never before displayed such unsettling behaviour. Putting the pieces together, she realised this wasn’t a simple and inevitable case of ageing – physical deterioration and a slowing of thought – but escalating issues with memory and confusion, highlighted by this episode. And there had been no husband or children to pick up on the signs or seek the necessary assistance. This dear old lady, who’d spent a lifetime helping others with her herbs and potions, now needed help herself. But, although she had no family, Brenda had one very special friend, one close at hand who would step up and step in, and that was Lucy.

As she wondered how much and how soon the care would be needed, and if she could work it around her job, she remembered the office. With all the running about, it had completely slipped her mind. Adam was unimpressed.

‘Where the hell are you, Lucy? We’re up to our earlobes here. Two members of sales are off for half-term and Sam has mentioned your unauthorised absence several times. Hope you’re going to come up with something better than the dog ate my homework?’

‘I tried earlier but the phones weren’t manned,’ she mumbled.

‘Then the reason for your no-show had better be good, Lucy-Lou, like decapitation or death. Are you actually dead?’

Lucy told him about her traumatic morning. ‘I don’t like letting everyone down, but I think I need to stay with her until she’s been seen by a doctor.’ She was aware her voice was wobbling but there were bigger things at stake here than her job. Her friend had disappeared into a world Lucy couldn’t follow her into, and it was heartbreaking. Getting her back was paramount. ‘I’m sorry, but Brenda is my priority. You can dock my pay, or make me work late all week, or take it from my holiday, or—’

‘Okay. Okay. I get the picture. Leave it with me,’ he huffed, and ended the call.