Sworn Secret (40 page)

Kate moved Jon’s mother over to one of the chairs at the table and sat her down. She noticed her eyes, red from crying some time earlier, with bags beneath them like deflated grey balloons. There was no tortoiseshell comb and her hair was loose, unbrushed and unruly. She looked like a mad, exhausted
Macbeth
ean witch. Kate went to the living room and grabbed a crocheted blanket off the sofa, which she took back to the kitchen and wrapped around Barbara’s shoulders. Then she knelt beside the chair.

‘Is everything OK with Peter?’ she asked.

There was no reply.

‘Barbara—’

The doorbell rang.

‘Lizzie, can you get that? It’ll be your dad.’

Kate stroked her mother-in-law’s knee.

‘Is she all right?’ he said as he came in.

Kate looked up at him. ‘Maybe you should check on your father?’

Jon didn’t move.

‘Jon, I think you should make sure everything’s OK upstairs.’

The first thing he noticed was the mess in his parents’ room. There were clothes everywhere, empty teacups, a plate with a half-eaten piece of toast on it. The curtains were drawn and it smelt musty. It was a shock. His mother was someone who colour-coordinated the towels in the airing cupboard, who always opened the curtains in the morning and spent considerable time arranging their folds until they were just so.

His father lay in his bed, the bedside light was on and the covers were crumpled loosely around his body. His withered arms lay close to his sides, and his eyes were closed, mouth slightly open. Jon wondered if, finally, his father had passed away. He certainly looked like a corpse, thin and drained of colour. Jon leant close to him and turned his ear towards his father’s mouth. There was a faint rasp of life; Jon pulled back. He was sleeping, peaceful, breathing invisibly, his wasted body housing a wasted brain, a brilliant mind that, with the callous march of time, had atrophied such that he hid his watch fifteen times a day and needed help to take a crap.

‘She’s been crying at night,’ said Dan’s voice from behind him. Jon turned. His brother stood in the doorway. He wore tracksuit bottoms and a T-shirt. His hatless head was more balding than Jon remembered, and he hadn’t noticed so many wrinkles before. ‘She goes downstairs and cries. Not loudly, mind; whimpering, really. I went down to her the first night I heard her. It was maybe three or four nights ago. I’d needed a pee. Anyway I went to see if she was OK, but she shouted. Told me to leave her alone. That she didn’t need fussing over.’ Dan laughed nervously. ‘I thought maybe he’d died, you know, because she doesn’t cry. And my first thought was thank God. Thank God he’s dead.’

Dan sounded incredulous, shamed even, by his statement, but for once Jon didn’t point the finger. He looked at the floor, noticing his mother’s hair comb half hidden beneath the bed. The mother-of-pearl glinted green and purple like treasure on the sea bed. He picked it up, put it on the bedside table and then stood and turned to go out of the room, waiting for Dan to go first rather than pushing past him.

In the kitchen Lizzie was sitting next to her grandmother and they both held cups of tea. His mother looked up when he and Dan came in.

‘Lizzie made me tea.’ She smiled. ‘She’s a good girl.’

‘Are you feeling warmer now?’ Kate asked.

‘Much, thank you. How ridiculous to be so cold in the summer. Honestly, old age.’ She turned to Lizzie. ‘You make the most of being young, my darling. It’s over in a flash.’ Her face fell. ‘I’m finding this terribly hard,’ she said. ‘Too hard. I . . .’ she hesitated. ‘You know,’ she paused a bit. ‘When I first met him, wow, he was quite something. Like no other man I’d ever come across. To this very day he’s the most intelligent person I’ve had the privilege of meeting. He questioned everything. He read everything. You could ask him about anything and he’d have an opinion, and not just any old opinion, but a coherent, knowledgeable opinion that demanded one listen.’

She looked up at Jon and then at Dan. ‘Can you imagine what it feels like to have that sort of mind then find yourself unable to remember the days of the week?’ She rubbed her lap with the flats of her hands. ‘The disease is becoming a living death. It’s like he’s dissolving in front of my eyes. He’s almost completely incontinent and recognizes me only intermittently. Everything about him is different. It’s like living with a stranger, and every day I mourn the man I used to know. It’s like he’s been possessed.’ The effort she had to muster to keep her emotions at bay was clear. ‘The doctor told me it was like looking after a child. He was trying to be sympathetic.’ She shook her head and rubbed the flats of her hands down her lap a couple of times. ‘Well, it’s nothing like looking after a child! With a child you watch them learn and develop skills. You see them grow in body and mind, but with Peter all I see is him falling apart in front of me—’ Her eyes had filled with tears, and she broke off for a moment until she had composed herself. ‘The illness has no regard for the man Peter was. I can’t sleep with the worry. I worry about our finances, about loneliness, how I’ll cope further down the line. I worry I missed Anna’s memorial. How could I do that?’

Jon glanced at Kate, but her eyes stayed fixed on his mother.

‘He needs so much care, and I’m weak with tiredness. I can’t keep up with the housework and I haven’t had a bath in days. I even went to the doctor last week to see if there was some sort of tonic I could take to boost my immune system. The silly man suggested anti-depressants. He said they would help.’ She paused and shook her head scornfully. ‘How on earth would they help? Would the pills wash him? Change wet bedsheets and soiled underclothes?’ She closed her eyes, her hands rubbing down her lap over and over. ‘I spoke to Peter last night about a nursing home. I told him I’d been looking on the interweb and found some quite respectable places. One has an ornamental pond where the residents take afternoon tea, and he loves water. But he got upset, scared, he . . .’ She took a deep breath. ‘Well, he became so agitated he raised his hand to me.’

‘Oh, Granny,’ said Lizzie.

‘Don’t you worry, my darling,’ she said, suddenly sounding stronger. ‘These old bones can survive a knock or two. Goodness me, but he was upset. And then I got so angry with him. Suddenly. It hit me like a steam train. Anger and frustration and so much resentment. I shouted at him and told him to leave me alone. Didn’t he understand what I was doing for him? Didn’t he see how hard it was? How dare he make me feel so worthless! Such a damn failure. I shouted terribly and he crumbled like a terrified child, but I kept on. I told him how unfair it was. This wasn’t what I planned for my life. I’ve spent my whole life caring for children, and now him. I told him I wanted my life back.’ She stopped, her head dropped, and she was quiet for a moment or two. ‘Then I walked out and left him. I went out of the front door, but as soon as I was on the doorstep, as soon as the breeze hit my face, I realized I had nowhere to go to. My life is with him. For better or worse. This is my lot and I knew I couldn’t leave, and I knew I could never put him in one of those dreadful places with people who don’t love him. How can you clean diarrhoea off a man if you don’t love him? The thought that he would be shut in a room, alone and unloved . . .’

Then her face shattered like a stone might shatter a pane of glass, and tears began to tumble down her cheeks. She rubbed her lap faster, desperate to regain her composure. ‘I even thought about . . .’ She stopped talking and shook her head. ‘I was . . . lying next to him . . . and he was barely breathing. It was as if his body was only just holding on to life. So I got up and I kissed him, and I told him how very much I loved him and that I would see him soon, and then . . .’ She paused as crying swamped her words. ‘I took hold of my pillow . . . and I held it above his face.’

Jon felt his stomach cave in.

Kate reached for Lizzie’s shoulder.

‘I couldn’t do it,’ she whispered. ‘I just couldn’t.’ She looked up at her family. ‘You’re shocked, aren’t you? I can see by your faces. You’re asking yourselves how I could have even
thought
such a thing. What kind of person it makes me.’

‘It makes you a very normal, very human kind of person,’ said Kate, without a hint of blame or shock. She knelt. ‘Barbara, you don’t have to do this alone. You have us. We’ve been distracted, not thinking about you, and I am so sorry. We’re your family. We’re Peter’s family.’ Jon felt a tremendous rush of love for her. ‘We’ll get the house organized and bring you food. We’ll help every day. And if that’s not enough, if it’s still too much, he can come and stay with us.’

‘But you’ve so much on your plates,’ his mother said. ‘It’s not fair; you’re both exhausted. You’ve had such a dreadful time recently. I know there are things you’re not telling me to do with Anna. And Lizzie. It’s Lizzie who needs your time and support. Not me.’

‘I could move back,’ said Dan. They all looked at him. ‘I could come home and help. To be honest, I’m finding the whole New York thing rather dull now.’

‘That’s very kind of you, Daniel,’ his mother said fondly. ‘Thank you. But you are a disaster area. You can’t even look after yourself, let alone your father.’

Jon and his brother exchanged a brief flash of understanding.

‘You know, Mother, there are lots of options,’ said Jon. ‘And we can help you decide which is the best.’

‘And if he needs to come and live with us, even for a short time, if you need a break or something, there’s Anna’s room,’ said Kate, her voice a little strained.

Jon thought of their daughter’s room, just as she’d left it, and imagined them packing her things away, taking her toys off her bed, the make-up and jewellery off her dressing table, in order to move his father in. He reached for Kate and pulled her hand to his mouth and pressed it against his lips.

‘For now, though, I think Jon should take Dan to the airport while Lizzie and I stay here and tidy up a bit. We’re going to run you a nice warm bath, and you’re going to wash your hair and have a soak.’

As Jon and Dan were leaving the house, Jon kissed his wife. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you, too.’

‘I won’t be long. I’ll drop him at Heathrow and turn right around.’

‘OK,’ she said. ‘But we’ll be fine.’

‘I know.’ He walked out of the house and down the steps. Then he remembered the tortoiseshell comb. ‘Her comb is by the bed. Maybe she’d like to wear it.’

The Girl in the Cage: Part II

Lizzie and her mum worked quickly in the kitchen. It didn’t take too long, and though she wasn’t a massive fan of housework it felt great to be helping her grandmother. Seeing her so upset had shocked her because as far as she was concerned, the woman was made of rock. When Lizzie was seven Anna told her that their granny would never die because she was a white witch. Lizzie believed her, of course, and they used to spend hours poring over photo albums and picking out pictures of their grandmother that clearly showed she hadn’t aged a day in decades.

‘And that hair?’ Anna had said. ‘Only a real witch can have hair that long and white.’

Lizzie sprayed Pledge on the cleared table and polished in big sweeping circles. She was glad her grandmother was clean and dressed again, and her hair had lost that crazy bedhead look. It hadn’t suited her.

‘Have you spoken to Haydn since you came out of hospital?’ her mum asked suddenly.

Lizzie’s heart skipped. ‘Um, no,’ she said.

‘Maybe you should.’

Lizzie nearly choked in surprise, and she stopped polishing.

‘I thought you didn’t want me anywhere near him.’ She couldn’t stop her heart thumping against her chest.

‘He saved your life.’ Her mum turned on the tap and squeezed some washing-up liquid into the sink.

‘But you said—’

‘I said many things, Lizzie, but we owe him a lot. And at the very least I think it’s right you thank him.’ Her mum said the words as if she were rehearsing them for a play.

Lizzie nodded. ‘I would like to do that. I’d like to thank him.’

Her mum tried to smile.

Lizzie put the polish and duster on the table. ‘Can I call him now?’

Her mum looked reluctant, nervous even, but nodded.

Lizzie went through to the living room and then turned her phone on. There were dozens of missed calls from Haydn and four texts.

Call me asap :L xx

I need to talk to you!!! :s

Please Lizzie my hearts breaking :((x

Lizzie you have to call me

She sat on the sofa and laid her head back and closed her eyes. Just those four texts filled her with glorious thoughts of him. But then, as easily as those things came into her head, so did the nasty stuff. Was this how it was always going to be? Her thoughts of Haydn forever tinged sour by spiking imaginations of his perverted dad and murdering mum?

She picked up her phone and took a deep breath. Then she hesitated, resting the phone against her mouth, her mind turning over and over.

No
, she thought.
You have to
.

He answered the call before the first ring had finished.

‘Lizzie?’ Just hearing his voice sent shivers down her spine.

‘Hi.’

‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you.’ He sounded desperate. ‘I called you loads.’

‘I know. My phone was off.’

‘We’re leaving.’

‘What do you mean, leaving?’

‘Me and my mum.’

‘Leaving where?’

‘Here. London. We’re going to stay with my nan in Leeds.’

‘Leeds! Oh my God. How long for?’

‘I don’t know. Mum says she can’t live in London any more.’

‘When are you going?’

‘She packed last night. We’re leaving this afternoon. I’ve been trying to call you.’

Lizzie felt sick.

‘I want to see you,’ he said.

‘OK,’ she whispered.

‘I’ll come to yours, if that’s all right. I’ll get Mum to pick me up on the way.’

Lizzie tried to say OK again, but she couldn’t speak because she was crying.

‘Lizzie?’

‘Yes,’ she managed. ‘I’m at my grandmother’s. I’ll leave now.’