The Girl in the Mirror (5 page)

M
andy stayed where she was, staring at the now empty drive. The air was still and the door to the house stood open behind her. Her heart was racing and her mouth was dry. It must have been a trick of the eye, she said, trying to calm herself, an illusion in the twilight. Of course there wasn’t a girl in the back of your father’s car. Don’t be ridiculous. You’re worried about Grandpa, and tired – it was nothing more than your imagination.

So, as a child accepts its mother’s reassurance that there is nothing lurking under the bed while not wholly convinced, Mandy turned from the drive and went into the welcoming warmth and light of her aunt’s house.

‘How would you feel about staying up with me tonight?’ John asked as she entered the study. He was in one of the pair of leather armchairs with his laptop open on his knees; Gran was in her usual chair by the bed. ‘Evelyn could do with a night’s sleep,’ he added.

‘Yes,’ Mandy said, and sat in the chair next to Gran at the side of the bed.

‘Only if you want to,’ John said. ‘You don’t have to. There’s a bed ready upstairs otherwise.’

‘No, it’s fine, really,’ she reassured him, and looked at Grandpa. Now the medicine had taken effect and he was sleeping comfortably, she could enjoy her time with him; they all could. One of
his hands jutted from beneath the bedclothes and Gran was stroking it tenderly. ‘Was your dad all right?’ she asked after a moment.

Mandy nodded. ‘He’s going to text when he gets home. Oh,’ she said, suddenly realizing, ‘I’ve forgotten to tell Adam where I am.’

‘Best phone him now,’ Gran smiled. She’d met Adam many times and liked him.

Mandy stood, retrieved her handbag from where she’d dumped it in the corner of the study and took out her mobile. There were five texts: two from Adam as well as a missed call from him. ‘I won’t be long,’ she said, and left the study.

Going a little way along the hall, she pressed Adam’s number and he answered immediately. ‘Are you OK, Mandy?’ he asked, concerned. ‘Wherever have you been?’

‘Sorry. I’ve had my phone on silent all day. I’m at my aunt’s in Cambridgeshire. Grandpa’s very ill.’ She then explained what had happened since her father had come to her flat early that morning. Adam sympathized; his pique of the night before had gone.

‘If there is anything I can do, promise me you’ll phone,’ he said kindly. ‘I know what you’re going through.’ His own grandfather had died the year before.

‘Thanks,’ she said, touched by his sensitivity and reminded of what she stood to lose. ‘And sorry again about last night.’

‘No problem. Take care.’

When they’d finished the call she texted him:
Luv u,
which she knew she needed to start showing more as well as saying.

Returning to the study, Mandy sat next to Gran and replied to the other texts, from friends. She sent the same message to all three:
Stayin at my aunts. grandpa ill. will fone on return.
Leaving her mobile on silent, she dropped it into her bag and took out her iPod. Gran was dozing now and John was still working on his
laptop. She plugged in her earpieces and gazed at Grandpa. He was still relatively peaceful. Occasionally his arm jerked, or a muscle twitched in his face, giving the impression he was frowning, but there was no sign of the shocking pain that had engulfed him during the afternoon. Perhaps the nurse had changed the medication, or given him a stronger dose of morphine? She hoped so, for as her father had said no one should have to suffer in this day and age. Her iPod was playing a Michael Jackson ballad, ‘Will You Be There’, and in the now calm atmosphere of the study with Grandpa sleeping peacefully, there was something almost perfect, almost ethereal in the love she felt for him, and she was so very pleased she’d stayed to help.

At 8.15 p.m. Gran was still dozing when Evelyn poked her head round the study door. ‘Mandy, I usually make Gran an Ovaltine drink at this time, before I help her get ready for bed. Would you like an Ovaltine?’

‘No thanks. Is it all right if I make myself a tea later?’

‘Of course. I’ll show you where everything is in the kitchen, just as soon as I’ve seen to Gran.’

Evelyn left the study and as the door closed Gran opened her eyes. ‘She thinks Ovaltine helps me sleep at night,’ she whispered conspiratorially, ’but I haven’t noticed any difference.’

‘You’ll be better tonight, upstairs,’ John said from the end of the study. Gran started, having forgotten he was there.

‘It’s very kind of Evelyn, though,’ Gran added quickly, looking guilty. Mandy smiled.

Evelyn reappeared ten minutes later with the hot drink. Gran sat by the bed with the cup cradled in the palms of her hands and slowly sipped it. At nine o’clock Evelyn returned, took away the cup and saucer, and then reappeared almost immediately.

‘Bedtime now,’ Gran said stoically to Mandy. ‘It takes me a while to get ready and I need some help.’

Mandy stood aside as Evelyn helped Gran to her feet and on to the walking frame.

‘If only I had your youth,’ Gran said to Mandy. ‘Goodnight, love. See you in the morning. And thanks for staying.’

Mandy gave her a hug and kissed her cheek. ‘Night, Gran.’ She watched as Gran slowly crossed the study with Evelyn following, ready to assist if necessary.

John closed his laptop and set it on the coffee table. ‘I’ll give them a hand getting upstairs. Are you all right here alone, Mandy? I won’t be long.’

‘Yes, of course.’

The three of them left the study in a small slow procession as Mandy sat again by the bed and looked at Grandpa. On his back, with his jaw gaping in sleep, the only sound was that of his laboured breathing. Longevity didn’t really have much to recommend it, she thought, if it reduced you to this. Yet she had to admit that her grandparents had gained something special from growing old together; they had a lifetime of shared experiences and mutual support to look back on and draw strength from. Growing old with a loved one, Mandy thought, was far better than growing old alone – old age didn’t seem quite so threatening if you had someone to share it with.

Twenty minutes later John returned to the study and said Gran was in bed. ‘Evelyn’s in the kitchen, so if you’d like to go through she’ll show you where everything is now.’ He said it with a cocked eyebrow in a slightly disparaging tone as though he thought Evelyn was fussing unnecessarily, but should be indulged. It was a collusion Mandy had noticed him attempt with her before and, as before, she ignored it.

‘Thanks,’ she said lightly, and left the study.

The kitchen was huge, nearly as big as her entire bedsitting room, and was clearly brand new. ‘We’ve had it refurbished,’ Evelyn said proudly, standing in front of the disarming array of oak cupboards and granite work surfaces, which shone in the concealed lighting and seemed to go on for ever.

‘It’s lovely,’ Mandy said admiringly.

Evelyn smiled, pleased, and began opening and closing the cupboard doors, showing her where things were kept. ‘Tea, coffee, drinking chocolate and sugar, etc.,’ she said, ‘are here. Mugs, glasses, cups, here. The fridge and freezer are in here, and the dishwasher is here.’ Everything was behind an oak door – even the oven. ‘Help yourself to whatever you want,’ she said. ‘If you fancy a sandwich, the bread is here, or cake and biscuits here.’

‘Thank you,’ Mandy said again.

‘And upstairs,’ Evelyn continued, ‘I’ve sorted out some overnight things to see you through until your dad returns tomorrow with your own. I’ve put them in one of the guest rooms, which will be your room. If you come up now, I’ll show you, then I’ll go to bed. Are you sure you’re all right to stay up tonight?’

‘Positive. I don’t need much sleep.’

Evelyn smiled. ‘No, I didn’t at your age either.’ She led the way out of the kitchen up the stairs.

Mandy found she remembered going up the stairs from when she’d stayed as a child. It was a huge winding staircase with a small landing halfway up, and so unlike her staircase at her parents’. There was a window on the landing with a windowsill that had always contained a vase of fresh flowers. The vase was still there but without the flowers. Mandy remembered the polished brass handrail which she and Sarah had been told off for
using as a slide. At the top of the stairs she followed Evelyn into a bedroom at the rear of the house, overlooking the gardens. Neatly folded on the bed was a set of towels, face flannel, soap, toothbrush, toothpaste, nightdress and two pairs of new pants.

‘Thank you very much,’ Mandy said, impressed that Evelyn had produced this at such short notice.

‘Thank
you
, for staying. It’s much appreciated. I’ll sleep better knowing John has your help. But for goodness’ sake wake me if I’m needed.’

‘I will,’ Mandy said, and then hesitated. She glanced around at the magnolia-emulsioned walls and flowered duvet. ‘Evelyn, is this the room I used to sleep in when I stayed as a child?’

Evelyn looked at her, clearly shocked. ‘No. You had the Pink Room, at the front of the house. Don’t you remember?’

‘No, not really.’

‘But, Mandy, you stayed with us regularly. How can you not remember? You were always here – weekends and school holidays. You and Sarah were inseparable between the ages of four and twelve. You’d turned thirteen the last time you came.’ She stopped as though suddenly realizing something and looked at her oddly.

Mandy gave a small shrug. ‘I know,’ she said carefully. ‘But my memory is very bitty. I have vague recollections of being in the house but no detail. I guess ten years is a long time.’

Evelyn held her gaze and Mandy could see that not only did her aunt not know what to say, but that she wasn’t sure whether to believe her.

‘I suppose it is,’ Evelyn conceded after a moment. ‘Anyway the guest bathroom is next door.’ With a brief air-kiss she said goodnight and quickly left.

Mandy crossed to the curtains and, parting them, looked out. This room was at the rear of the house; Evelyn had said the Pink
Room was at the front. Although it was pitch dark outside she could see the upper terraces subtly lit by small round sunken lights. This view was unfamiliar whereas the view from the Pink Room would presumably be familiar from when she’d stayed as a child. The Pink Room, Evelyn had said, expecting her to remember it, and the name almost rang a bell. Almost. Somewhere in the crevices of her mind Mandy thought she had stayed in that room. Possibly. But at thirteen of course she should have remembered, and in detail. No wonder Evelyn had looked at her oddly. But apart from a vague feeling that she’d heard the name before, she could recall nothing else about it. And in the backwater of her mind an unsettling premonition told her it was better it stayed that way.

M
andy washed her face and brushed her teeth in the guest bathroom, and then went downstairs. Most of the main lights in the house were off now, and she guessed that while she’d been in the bathroom Evelyn or John had locked up for an early night. A single wall-light lit the landing at the top of the stairs, and a lamp on an onyx table lit the front hall. A light glowed in the porch and through the leaded light window of the front door Mandy could see the silhouette of a tree stirring eerily in the wind outside. Towards the back of the house, the rear hall was lit by a nightlight, and the doors to the morning room and dining room were closed. The kitchen door had been left open but the light was off, Mrs Saunders presumably having gone home. Mandy had never liked the dark, particularly in a strange house; as a child she’d imagined all sorts of ghoulies and ghosties lurking in the shadows. She’d slept with a lamp on in her room at university, and even for the first three months of living in her flat, despite the room never being dark because of the street lamp right outside her window.

The door to the study was closed. Giving a small knock, she turned the handle and gently eased open the door. Here, too, the main light was off, and she was surprised to find a red glow illuminating most of the room. It came from a lava lamp on a table in one corner. Mandy went in and silently closed the door behind her. Grandpa was asleep on his back, mouth open and breathing
heavily. John was dozing in one of the armchairs. She quietly crossed the room, sat in the other armchair and looked across the room at the lamp. She hadn’t noticed the lava lamp during the day, presumably because it hadn’t been switched on. Its red glow now gave the room a strange, almost surreal hue. As she looked, a red bubble of oil in the lamp slowly elongated upwards and a smaller bubble appeared to the right. She was surprised her aunt and uncle had such a modern and popular (to the point of tacky) artefact amidst their antiques and hand-crafted reproduction furniture. It seemed incongruous.

Reaching down beside the chair into her bag, Mandy quietly slid out her mobile and checked for messages. There were three texts: one from a friend replying to her earlier text, one from her father staying he’d arrived home safely and would ‘
c
’ her tomorrow, and the third from Adam: ‘
Luv n miss u 2. hugs n kisses. adam
’. Mandy smiled to herself as she returned the phone to her bag. She’d been forgiven. Resting her head back she gazed at the lava lamp. The larger of the red bubbles of oil was still contorting upwards, becoming thinner and longer, while the smaller one was growing rounder and fatter. The trouble with lava lamps, she thought, was that your eyes were drawn to them, and you had to watch, whether you wanted to or not. Like a television left on with the sound off, it was difficult to look away or concentrate on anything else.

It was only 9.50 p.m. but with the early start and the emotional rollercoaster she’d been on all day it seemed much later and she felt pretty exhausted. Grandpa’s heavy and laboured breathing continued in the background; she saw his legs occasionally twitch beneath the sheets. She wondered if the medication was wearing off already. The nurse had come again at 8 p.m. and given him another injection, which also contained a sleeping draught and was supposed to see him through the night.

Tired, reasonably comfortable in the upholstered chair, and mesmerized by the swirling glow of the lamp and Grandpa’s almost hypnotic breathing, Mandy’s eyes slowly began to close. His breathing seemed louder now her eyes were shut, and with nothing else to concentrate on she found herself silently counting the seconds in the rhythm of his breathing. In – one, two, three, four, and then a pause of five seconds before he breathed out for three seconds. It was far, far slower than her own breathing – she’d taken nearly three breaths to his one. She assumed it was his medication slowing his body rhythm at the same time as it suppressed the pain. Counting the seconds of his breathing was as soporific as counting sheep and, combined with the warmth of the room, soon made her doze.

She was a child again, in this house, and looking out of a window at the front, looking down on the driveway below. She was in the Pink Room, so named because it was decorated pink. Mandy could see herself standing at the window and looking down on to the drive. It was late at night and very dark outside. A car was pulling away, leaving the house, its headlights illuminating the gravel ahead. It was her father’s car and there was someone in the back. As she watched, the girl with the ponytail turned to look at her, just as she had earlier that evening when she’d waved goodbye to her father. Tears streamed down the girl’s cheeks and Mandy could feel her terror and distress. ‘Help! Someone help me. Daddy, no!’

‘Help, Mandy, quick.’ Mandy’s eyes shot open. ‘Wake up. I need your help!’ John’s voice.

The dark of the night outside had gone, and so too had the red glow of the lamp, replaced by the main light of the study. Mandy was immediately on her feet, going to the bed; her heart raced from the shock of suddenly waking. ‘He needs the toilet,’ John said, struggling to get Grandpa out of bed and over to the
commode. Grandpa groaned but his eyes stayed closed; he was a dead weight and powerless to help.

Mandy pulled the commode to the bed and then yanked off the lid, but it was too late. As John lifted Grandpa on to the commode, he groaned again, and they heard the rush of water as a wet patch appeared on his pyjama bottoms. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled in a small voice, and Mandy could have wept.

‘It’s not your fault, Dad,’ John reassured him. ‘I should have woken sooner.’

So should I, Mandy thought, if I’m going to be of any help.

Grandpa’s eyes stayed closed as John steadied him, a hand on each shoulder. Mandy knelt at his feet and carefully slid off the wet pyjama trousers, one leg at a time. ‘Thanks, love,’ he said, his eyes still closed.

‘I’ll get you clean ones,’ she said quietly, humbled by his humility.

He gave a little groan of acknowledgement but didn’t open his eyes.

‘You’ll find the clean stuff either in the dryer or the airing cupboard – in the laundry room, behind the kitchen,’ John said.

Mandy rolled up the wet pyjamas and left the study. She knew she’d let Grandpa down by not hearing his calls for help. The rear hall was lit only by the nightlight and now seemed even darker after the main light of the study. She passed the kitchen, which was still in darkness, and then stopped outside the next door which John had said would be the laundry room. Turning the knob, she felt inside for the light switch and clicked it on before entering. The room was bare and cold compared to the rest of the house, and smelt of pine disinfectant.

She saw the washing machine straight in front of her and next to that the dryer. Crossing the red slate-tiled floor, Mandy pushed
the wet pyjama trousers into the washing machine ready for the next wash the following day, then opened the dryer door. There was a single sheet from Grandpa’s bed and two pairs of his pyjama bottoms, still warm from drying – Evelyn must have put them in before going to bed. She gave them a shake and loosely folded them over her arm. She guessed this room was mainly the domain of the housekeeper, Mrs Saunders; her apron hung on the back of the door and the shoes she wore in the house were paired just inside the door. Switching off the light, Mandy came out and returned to the study. If she’d ever been in the laundry room as a child she certainly didn’t remember it.

Grandpa was as she’d left him: on the commode, eyes closed, with John standing behind, holding him. ‘Well done, you found them,’ John said, glancing at the clean laundry draped over her arm. Grandpa didn’t stir and could have been asleep.

Leaving the sheet and spare pair of pyjama trousers on the foot of the bed in case they were needed later, Mandy knelt and concentrated on easing Grandpa’s red and swollen feet into the pyjamas, first one leg then the other. His legs were like dead weights, and there were notches of blue veins clustered on both ankles where the blood had flowed down from sitting. She drew the trousers up to his knees; his pyjama jacket hung over his lap.

‘Ready,’ she said to John, and straightened.

‘On the count of three, Dad,’ John said. ‘One. Two. Three.’ As John lifted, Mandy quickly pulled up the pyjama trousers as she’d seen John previously do, which gave Grandpa as much privacy as possible. ‘Now into bed,’ John said.

Taking most of the weight, John swung Grandpa towards the bed and Mandy guided in his legs. Grandpa moaned but his eyes stayed closed. She pulled up the sheet and tucked it around his neck, as John straightened the pillows. The commode was empty
and Mandy moved it to one side, but left the lid off ready for next time. They waited by the bed for Grandpa’s breathing to slowly regulate, signalling he was asleep.

‘Shall I make us a cup of tea?’ Mandy asked, now wide awake.

‘Please. Mine’s skimmed milk with no sugar. And thanks for your help, Mandy. It’s so much easier with two. We make a good team – you and me.’ His gaze lingered appreciatively.

Mandy looked away.
A good team.
She would have given her right arm to have heard him say that when she’d had her schoolgirl crush. Perhaps it was the embarrassing reminder of that time, or the intimacy of the sick room, but she suddenly felt uncomfortable. ‘I’ll make that tea then,’ she said with a small nod, and left the study.

As she moved around the unfamiliar kitchen, trying to remember where Evelyn had said things were, her thoughts went to her parents. She was pleased her father hadn’t stayed; he would never have coped with seeing Grandpa so vulnerable and compromised, not even able to make it to the commode without wetting himself. Now she was worried her mother wouldn’t be able to cope either when she visited tomorrow. For although her parents hadn’t spoken to John and Evelyn in ten years, they’d always been in close contact with Gran and Grandpa. Indeed her mother saw more of her in-laws than she did her own parents, who lived a long way away. Her mother would be devastated when she saw how ill Grandpa really was and Mandy hoped her father would warn her, although in truth, she thought, nothing could prepare you for the reality of his decline.

She made tea and placed the two mugs on a tray, together with a plate of digestive biscuits, and returned to the study. Grandpa was asleep and John was in his usual armchair with his laptop open before him. He had switched off the main light and the red
glow of the lava lamp once more fell across the room, supplemented by the brightness coming from the computer screen. Mandy placed the tray on the coffee table between them, closed the study door and sat in the other armchair, next to John.

‘Thanks, Mandy,’ he said without looking up. ‘You don’t mind if I catch up on a few things?’

‘No, of course not.’

Taking one of the mugs and a couple of biscuits, she sipped the tea and dunked the biscuits as John tapped on the keypad, occasionally extending his arm to reach for his mug. She resisted the temptation to look at the screen, although her eyes were drawn to it. The lava lamp didn’t give off enough light to read a book by and she wanted to stay awake to help if Grandpa woke. Finishing her tea, she checked her phone again. The time showed 11.43. There were no new messages; most of her friends and certainly her father would be in bed now. Returning the mobile to her bag she took out her iPod. Suddenly Grandpa’s legs jerked and he cried out in pain. It was a cry like no other and seemed to rip straight from his body into hers. She was immediately on her feet; so too was John.

‘It’s all right.’ With a hand on each shoulder he began gently massaging, trying to ease away the pain.

Grandpa’s eyes were screwed tightly shut and, despite John’s comforting hands, his face contorted in pain. Then his clenched fists began pummelling the bed either side of him and his legs drummed beneath the sheet. ‘Make it stop. I’m begging you. Please, John!’ he pleaded. ‘I can’t take any more.’

His agony was even worse than it had been that afternoon. Tears sprang to Mandy’s eyes. She felt utterly helpless in the face of his pain. She saw the anguish in John’s face too as he continued rubbing Grandpa’s shoulders, trying to give some relief.

‘Is there nothing we can do?’ she asked in desperation.

‘If it doesn’t pass soon I’ll call the nurse to give him another shot.’

‘Shouldn’t we call him now?’

‘If he gives him a shot now he’ll have to delay the next one. It’s morphine. Too much could kill him.’

Mandy stared in horror as Grandpa’s body arched in pain and John tried impotently to soothe him. It seemed there was nothing they could do to help him and it made her afraid. Guiltily, she thought an overdose of morphine was preferable to this suffering; she would have given it to him herself if it had been possible. Grandpa cried out again. John continued massaging and talking to him in a low, reassuring voice: ‘The pain will pass, Dad. I promise. It will go just as it did last night. Mandy is here with you. Ray has been, and Jean will come tomorrow. We all love you, Dad.’

Tears stung her eyes. Clearly a deep bond had developed between the two men in their nights together, when John had had to deal with Grandpa’s suffering alone and as best he could. Putting aside her own fear she moved closer and, taking one of Grandpa’s hands between hers, began rubbing it. Suddenly his back arched again and, just as Mandy was sure he couldn’t take any more, the pain seemed to peak and subside. His body went limp, collapsing flat on the bed. He was so still and quiet that for a moment she thought he was dead.

‘Thank God,’ John said quietly, taking his hands from Grandpa’s shoulders. ‘He should sleep now.’ Only then did she hear Grandpa take one long deep breath and saw his chest rise and fall.

Mandy remained where she was at the side of the bed, frozen in the horror of what she’d seen. Her heart raced and she felt icy cold. Never before had she witnessed someone in such torment.
Grandpa shouldn’t have to suffer; he was a good, kind man, proud and caring, who’d always done the best for his family. He shouldn’t have to end his life begging for release; he should leave it as he lived it – with dignity and self-respect.