Читать книгу The Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop: The feel-good romantic comedy to read in 2018 - Tracy Corbett - Страница 7

An almighty thump from the bedroom prevented Scott from walking out of the door. He paused, waiting for further noises or cries of help to emerge, but none came. He had a job booked at a local florist’s this morning and he really needed to leave. The woman was already pissed off with him, unimpressed at having to wait four days for a call-out, so being late wouldn’t go down well. But guilt rooted him to the spot. It was no good, there was no way he could walk out without knowing if there was a problem.

Dropping his tool bag on the floor, he went over and knocked on his mum’s bedroom door. ‘Everything okay in there?’

There was a pause before the door opened. His mum’s nurse stood there, pristine in her blue uniform, her cheerful smile in place as always, no matter the challenge.

Scott tried to look past her. ‘I heard a bang. Is Mum all right?’

Oshma ushered him into the room. ‘Yes, yes, we’re fine. But we could do with a hand, couldn’t we, Billie?’ Oshma always included his mum in any conversation, despite her lack of reply.

His mum was perched awkwardly on the side of the bed, her wheelchair upturned. He went over and eased her off the bed, holding her steady as she sagged against him. Losing the use of two of your limbs made it hard to hold your own body weight, so even with the use of her right side, it was difficult for his mum to stand, let alone manoeuvre herself around.

She managed a smile, one corner of her mouth rising, the other remaining frozen. She mumbled something, but he couldn’t make out what.

‘I know you need to get off, Scotty, love.’ Oshma fussed around, bending to pick up the wheelchair. ‘But if you could help me get her into the shower, I’d be very grateful. I’m all fingers and thumbs this morning.’ Her face winced as she righted the wheelchair, leading Scott to the conclusion that Oshma’s back was playing up again. ‘Nothing like a nice shower, is there, Billie?’

Scott lowered his mum into the chair and wheeled her through to the wet room.

He didn’t mind helping. But if he was honest, he was still struggling to come to terms with how his life had changed in the last two years. One minute he was holding down a promising job with a big plumbing firm in London, engaged to the girl of his dreams and buying his first home, and the next he was giving notice on his job, splitting up with Nicole and relocating to care-assisted housing in Kent. It was a lot to get his head around.

Oshma turned on the shower and unfastened the buttons on Billie’s nightie. ‘Let’s get you undressed, shall we?’

Scott looked the other way, trying to be respectful. He couldn’t imagine it was fun having everyone stare at your broken body. He usually left the intimate bits to Oshma, figuring this was preferable than having your son do it. He busied himself by fetching towels from the airing cupboard.

‘Let’s get a move on, shall we,’ he heard Oshma say. ‘Let Scotty get off to work.’

With no husband to support her it had fallen to Scott to look after Billie. And it was the right thing to do, despite its difficulties. After all, his mum had done the same for him and his sister when their dad had been killed in a motorbike accident aged thirty-four. She’d had to pick up the pieces and dig deep. It was his turn now. He had to show some mettle. But it wasn’t without a price.

Two years ago his life had been all about him. Five-a-side footy on a Sunday, holidays abroad, saving for a convertible. He’d socialised with mates, ate out at nice restaurants and enjoyed a disposable income. Now his days were spent organising Billie’s medical needs, tending to her care requirements and, thanks to his sister, playing guardian to his eighteen-year-old nephew. He was exhausted, suspended in a constant state of worry. But his mum didn’t need to know that. He couldn’t let his frustrations show. She deserved better.

He checked his watch, it was just gone 9 a.m. He was officially late. The woman at the florist’s wouldn’t be happy. Tough. She’d just have to wait a bit longer to get her boiler fixed. Family came first.

At least setting up as self-employed eased the burden of constantly taking time off work, if not his on-going issues with paperwork.

As he headed for the bathroom, Ben’s bedroom door opened. His nephew appeared carrying his new tablet. ‘I thought you’d left?’

‘Oshma needed a hand with Nanny. I think her back’s playing up again. How’s the gadget?’

Ben’s face broke into a grin. ‘It’s got so many cool apps. Did you know it’s currently twenty-nine degrees in Bangalore?’

Scott smiled. The device hadn’t been cheap, but his nephew worked hard at school and all the kids seemed to have tablets these days. He hadn’t wanted Ben to lose out by not having one. ‘I hope you’re getting some homework done.’

Ben laughed. ‘Chill, Uncle Scott. School is sorted. Need a hand with Nanny?’

On cue, the shower switched off. Before Scott could respond, Ben took the towel from him and headed into the bathroom. Scott often wondered who the adult was in their relationship and who was the kid. Still, he was grateful Ben was so mature. Parenting him otherwise might be far more challenging than it was.

Scott went into the bathroom. Between them they lifted Billie out of the chair so Oshma could dry her.

‘Guess what, Nan? I’ve subscribed to Netflix on my tablet. That means we can download films directly onto the TV without needing the DVD. Cool, huh?’

Billie nodded her agreement, although it was hard to tell how much she understood. She mumbled something Scott didn’t catch. Ben laughed and said, ‘Already ahead of you. Gladiator is downloading as we speak.’

Scott was hit by another pang of guilt. He shouldn’t assume Billie’s brain was affected; it was only her body that betrayed her.

‘“My name is Maximus Decimus Meridius, commander of the Armies of the North.”’ Ben’s impersonation of Russell Crowe made his nanny laugh. ‘“And I will have my vengeance, in this life or the next.”’

There was no doubt in Scott’s mind that Ben would indeed be commander of his own destiny. Luckily the kid had inherited his mother’s aptitude for study and didn’t have his uncle’s flawed intelligence. Scott had always struggled at school, unlike his sister, who’d aced her exams, gaining straight As in fourteen subjects before falling pregnant at sixteen following a drunken fumble at a school disco. But Lisa hadn’t let one mistake hold her back and, thanks to their mum, had achieved her goal of venturing into the world of academia. As a consequence, Ben’s progress had been mostly down to Billie, not his sister. Lisa had been working abroad since Ben was eleven, her career teaching applied mathematics far more important than playing mum. Something that still pissed Scott off.

Ensuring the brake was engaged on the wheelchair, Scott lowered his mum into a sitting position, lifting her lifeless leg onto the footrest. ‘You smell nice, Mum.’

Using her good hand, she reached out and stroked his cheek.

Billie had never moaned or resented her daughter for putting her career ahead of bringing up her son, but Lisa’s lack of involvement in either Ben or Billie’s life certainly infuriated Scott. Especially since the stroke. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d wanted to confront his sister, demand to know why he’d had to give up his life and sacrifice everything he’d worked for to become guardian and carer, whilst she got to continue enjoying her prestigious career. But history had shown that no amount of persuading or pleading impacted on Lisa, so in Bangalore she stayed, working in a field he couldn’t even comprehend. She’d got the brains, he’d inherited a heart. You couldn’t win them all.

As they wheeled Billie into the bedroom, Ben kept his nan entertained, updating her with news of his love life. ‘I’ve got a clip to show you of Amy, Nan.’ The kid had been struck by the thunderbolt of first romance. ‘I filmed one of her dance routines and posted it on YouTube.’ He grinned. ‘She’ll be on Strictly one day, you watch.’

Oshma wiped away a tear. ‘You’re a lucky woman, Billie, having such beautiful young men caring for you.’

Billie kissed Ben’s cheek.

Scott checked his watch, and then felt bad when Oshma caught him and started waving him out the room. ‘Go, go, we can manage from here.’

He hesitated, but Oshma was adamant, pushing him out the door. He sidestepped her, bending down to kiss his mum. ‘See you later. I won’t be late.’

She mumbled something like, ‘Don’t worry,’ but he did, constantly.

As he picked up his tool bag, Ben appeared in the lounge. ‘If you have time later can you help me with my UCAS application? I need a personal statement from someone who knows me.’

Scott felt an instant rush of panic. He couldn’t write his Ns the right way around, let alone write a personal statement, whatever one of those was. ‘Depends what time I get back. Write out what you want me to say and I’ll sign it.’

Ben looked disappointed, which made Scott feel like crap. He hated letting the kid down, but as writing a birthday card brought him out in a cold sweat, he wasn’t about to shame his nephew further by messing up his uni application.

‘Why don’t you search the net, see if you can find some examples and then we can use one as a template.’

Ben perked up. ‘Yeah, good idea. I’ll do that.’

Hopefully the kid would have sourced help elsewhere by the time Scott got home and he’d be off the hook. But for now he needed to get going. The bills kept piling up, and if he didn’t work, he didn’t earn. And they needed money, badly.