Always You (6 page)

Jolanta shook her head and touched his arm. ‘It’s okay, Mr Aitken. You leave this to me. You go outside and wait.’

It was dark by the time he left the nursing home. He stood in the car park, ill at ease and worried. Light drizzle settled on his head and shoulders in glistening, translucent pearls. He needed to talk to someone about his mother, someone he could trust, someone who would understand the fear in his heart and the feeling of impotence that consumed him. He glanced at his watch, pulled out his mobile and called home. There was no answer. He remembered then that Raquel had gone late night shopping followed by a drink with her girlfriends. He left a message saying he would be home late. Then he got in the car and drove to someone who would understand his pain.

Her car was parked outside the house on the leafy street. He turned the engine off and glanced at the clock in the car. They would be in the kitchen at the back of the house having tea around the pine kitchen table, the windows steamed up and the scent of good home cooking in the air. The closest Raquel came to home cooking was opening a packet from Marks and Spencer.

Sarah, Molly and Lewis. The three people he loved most in the entire world. Why had he not been able to hold on to them? He leaned his head on the headrest and closed his eyes. He should not have come. But he could not go home alone to that empty house with its pale carpets and ridiculous white ostrich feathers in a vase on the hall table.

Waiting nervously on the doorstep, Ian stared at his reflection in the glass panelled door. His reddish-blond hair was receding, making him look more like his father every day. He had not expected to keep his hair, of course – his father had been bald by the time he was fifty – but now that the time had come for him, he found it hard to accept. It made the gulf between him and Raquel, ten years his junior and devoted to physical perfection, seem even greater. He’d even toyed with the idea of a hair transplant – until common sense kicked in.

Inside a light came on, his reflection disappeared and the door opened.

Sarah was wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, her hair tied up in a spiky ponytail, her feet bare. ‘Ian,’ she said, looking past him into the darkness as if looking for an accomplice. ‘What’re you doing here?’

He shuffled awkwardly on the doorstep, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, regretting the decision to come.

‘Is everything all right?’ she said and her eyes widened in alarm. ‘Is it Evelyn?’

He rubbed the end of his nose. ‘No. Yes … she had a fall on the way to the toilet but she’s okay.’

‘Is she hurt?’ gasped Sarah.

‘No, she’s fine, really. Jolanta says they’ll make sure she’s accompanied on trips to the loo in future. I … I was just wondering if you could spare some time for a quick chat. About her care.’

Immediately she stood aside and ushered him in. ‘Of course.’

‘I haven’t come at a bad time?’ he said, nearly falling over the pile of schoolbags, shoes and coats in the hall. Bisto, the brown-and-white cat Sarah had rescued from the cat home, came and circled his legs warily. He bent down to stroke his back, but he immediately scarpered up the stairs.

‘No, not at all,’ said Sarah, brushing crumbs off the front of her hoodie. ‘We’ve just finished eating. The kids will be thrilled to see you.’

Molly and Lewis, drawn by the sound of voices, appeared at the end of the hall. As soon as Molly saw him, her face lit up in a smile and she bounded along the hall like a long-limbed gazelle and latched on to his arm. Lewis barrelled up the hall at full pelt, colliding with his father and wrapping his arms around his waist. In spite of his worries, Ian laughed. Lewis lifted his head to look his father in the face, grinning cheekily. Ian leaned down and planted a kiss on his tomato-sauce-stained cheek. ‘Let me guess? You had spaghetti bolognese for tea.’

‘How did you know?’ said Lewis suspiciously, while Ian kissed the top of Molly’s head, her hair the same colour and texture as Sarah’s. He hadn’t done much right in life, but his children made his heart swell with unfettered pride.

‘That’d be telling,’ he said.

‘How’s Gran?’ said Molly.

‘She’s fine,’ said Ian without missing a beat. ‘Lewis, will you take your swim medal in to show Gran on Sunday? She’d love to see it.’

‘Come on kids,’ said Sarah. ‘Dad and I need to have a little chat. Why don’t you switch the TV on in the lounge?’ She glanced at the clock. '
The Simpsons
are just coming on. I’ll bring you through some ice cream.’

‘Ice cream on a Wednesday?’ said Molly with an exaggerated look of surprise on her face. ‘What’s got into you, Mum?’ Sarah, who was a big fan of healthy eating, gave Molly a withering look. Ian was a bit shamed to admit that the children were spoiled when they came to him. Raquel seemed to think that plying them with sweets and sugary treats was the secret to winning their affection. It hadn’t worked.

‘Seeing as your Dad’s here,’ said Sarah with a conspiratorial wink at Ian. ‘Now scram before I change my mind.’ That was enough to send them scarpering into the lounge, slamming the door shut behind them.

In the kitchen, strewn with pots and pans, Ian smiled. Sarah had always been a messy cook, never tidying up as she went along. ‘Take the weight off,’ she said. ‘I’ll be right with you.’

He sat down at the table, pushed a plate out of the way and dabbed ineffectually at the spills on the table with a used napkin. He missed the mess of family life.

‘I don’t know about you but I could use a drink,’ said Sarah, as she came back into the kitchen, taking a half-empty bottle of white wine out of the fridge. ‘Want some?’

He shook his head. ‘No thanks. I’m driving. Some orange juice would be nice.’ He watched her drain the juice from a carton, toss the carton at the bin – and miss. She shrugged and he smiled, feeling himself relax for the first time that day. The homeliness of Sarah’s chaotic kitchen reminded him of happier times.

She handed him a tumbler of juice and half-filled a stubby-stemmed glass with wine for herself. Oblivious to the state of the place, which would’ve had Raquel hyperventilating, she sat down opposite him, the bottle of wine close at hand as if her glass might need replenishment soon. ‘What’s up?’

‘It’s just that … well. I wanted to ask your advice.’

She stared at him with grey eyes, steady and clear. ‘About Evelyn?’

‘Yes. I spoke with the staff on the way out. They assured me that she’d finished the antibiotics two days ago but that fall just made me realise how weak she is. That’s the second dose in the last four weeks. She just doesn’t seem able to shift that infection.’

‘Did you speak with Linda?’ Linda was the manager and a trained nurse.

‘No, she wasn’t there.’

‘Hmm,’ said Sarah, took a drink of wine and added, ‘And what have the staff done about it?’

‘Nothing, as far as I can see. They said she was tired and needed a chance to rest.’

There was a long pause. Sarah looked into her glass, held between both hands. ‘I think you should get Dr Glover back to see her tomorrow. If the chest infection’s not cleared, she might need stronger antibiotics. Left untreated, it could turn into pneumonia.’

He nodded glumly and took a swig of juice. She’d not told him anything he had not thought himself, but it was reassuring to hear that she agreed, that his instinct had been right. He swallowed, and emotion – something akin to, but not quite the same as anger – welled up inside him. ‘You know,’ he said, his eyes stinging the way they did when he took the kids to the chlorinated pool, ‘I don’t think the staff in that place know what they’re doing.’

He set the glass down on the table with more force than he intended and some juice slopped out, to mingle with the blob of bolognese sauce he’d smeared across the vinyl tablecloth. ‘How come they didn’t volunteer the information about her antibiotics? How come they haven’t called in a doctor already? They just leave her lying in that bed, hour after hour, all alone.’

Sarah sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Ian. I know how much it hurts you to see her like that. Me too.’

He put his hands over his face and his shoulders shook. ‘I hate to see her in that place.’

‘Don’t beat yourself up over that again, Ian. You had no choice. She needs professional care. And she’s in the best place possible.’

He removed his hands and looked into Sarah’s sympathetic eyes. ‘But they stole her Bible.’

‘I know.’ Sarah paused and added gently, ‘But we don’t know if that was the staff, another resident or a visitor. And from what I can see, they’re kind to her. And professional.’

He blew air out his nose noisily. ‘Professional, huh! That’s a joke. Half of the staff look like they’ve just left school and the other half can hardly speak a word of English.’

Sarah blinked and said carefully, ‘I know you’re upset, Ian, but that’s really not fair. They’re doing their best.’

His shoulders slumped and he suddenly felt desperately tired. He rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. ‘I feel as though I’ve let her down.’

‘You haven’t,’ she said softly. ‘It wasn’t really practical to have her come and live with you, was it? Not with you and Raquel out at work all day.’

He attempted a smile of gratitude for the kind words, though they did little to assuage his guilt. He ran his hand across the top of his head and thought for a few long moments.

‘Right, we need a plan.’ If he could inject some order into what was happening, maybe he could control things, maybe he could get his mother well again. ‘I think someone should go in and see her at least once a day now until this crisis is over,’ he said, the words that had been swimming around in his head all afternoon tumbling out too fast, one on top of the other. ‘Keep on top of the staff. I can do most days, except Tuesdays. Probably best not to take the kids too often – we don’t want to freak them out, seeing her unwell.’ He focused on the swirly pattern on the oilcloth in an attempt to slow down his thoughts. ‘Maybe we could both take them at the weekend and you could take them away after a few minutes. I think it’d do her good to see them, don’t you? And we could take turns to visit on the days when the other one’s got the kids. And –’

‘Ian,’ said Sarah gently and when he looked up her cheeks were red. ‘You know how much I love Evelyn and I’d do anything for her.’ She paused, stared at the table, and then went on, twisting the stem of the glass between her finger and thumb. ‘I’ll do whatever’s required. But don’t you think you should be having this conversation with Raquel?’

She was right, of course. A cold chill settled in his stomach. He had no right to be here, no right to ask this of her. And yet, who else could he ask? He had no siblings to call on. And Raquel, well, she would visit if he asked her, but it would be done out of a sense of duty, not of love. And there would be little compassion.

He cleared his throat and said disloyally, his cheeks flushing, ‘But there’s no bond, no connection, between Raquel and my mother. No … affection. They’ve never clicked. Whereas you two, well, you’re like mother and daughter. At least that’s how it’s always appeared to me.’ He would’ve married Sarah without his mother’s approval – but it had always pleased him that both his parents liked her so much.

Sarah lifted her eyes, held his gaze and said solemnly, ‘You’re right, that’s how it is. I love your mother as if she were my own. That’s why I’ll do whatever it takes to make what’s left of her life as happy and comfortable as possible.’

‘I knew that I could rely on you, Sarah,’ he said, relief and gratitude flooding through him. ‘Thank you.’ Instinctively, he reached his hand out towards hers, lying on the table, then snatched it back when he saw the look of puzzlement on her face.

‘I’m doing this for Evelyn, Ian,’ she said quietly as her hand slid off the table onto her lap.

‘Yes, of course. And I’ll never forget that, Sarah. I’ll never forget that you make time to visit her, no matter how busy you are.’

Sarah shook her head. ‘After all she’s done for me … for them, it’s nothing. And the divorce didn’t change anything between us. She treated me just the same. Do you know she paid for the kids’ childcare so that I could go back to work?’

He shook his head. ‘I didn’t know. But it doesn’t surprise me.’

Suddenly, Sarah put her hand over her mouth and her eyes filled with tears. ‘She’s always been so good to me,’ she choked. ‘To all of us.’

He let the comment settle between them like a feather drifting slowly to the floor. The silence between them was comfortable, a blanket round their shared grief. And it seemed like the right moment all of a sudden to say what had been on his mind lately. He took a deep breath. ‘I know I’ve said it before, Sarah, but I am sorry for walking out on you and the kids. I’m sorry that I hurt you.’

Her hand fell from her mouth but she said nothing for a few moments. She took a sip of wine, high colour in her cheeks, and said, ‘I appreciate you saying that, Ian, really I do.’

‘I just want you to know, that’s all. Sometimes I feel like a real heel. I just wish … well.’ He looked at the palms of his hands, white and smooth, and left the sentence unfinished. He wondered if he’d stayed, would the marriage have survived?

‘I don’t blame you,’ she said and his head snapped up. She cocked her head to one side the way she did when she had something difficult to say.

He’d walked out before Lewis could even walk and Molly was still in nappies. He’d hated himself for it. But he couldn’t stay. The Sarah he’d loved had simply disappeared, consumed entirely by motherhood. At least that was what he thought had happened. It wasn’t until after Lewis’ birth that he’d realised Sarah did not love him the way he loved her. If she loved him at all.

Her love for him had always been an elusive thing, rarely voiced. She’d maintained that words were cheap and that she preferred to show love rather than constantly declare it. As a new bride she’d been kind and attentive but her interest had waned over the years and towards the end of their marriage, he’d felt nothing but loathing emanating from her like heat from a fire.

‘If you’d been happy you never would’ve left,’ she went on. ‘And I was largely responsible for that unhappiness.’