Falling For You (44 page)

There are so many things he needs to hear. The unspoken words that Ty still needs to speak twist uncomfortably in my stomach. The family are going to say you need to leave. I know you won’t want to. Because of Mum.

But maybe - I stroke his head tenderly -
maybe if things had been different
, if you’d never walked those two miles to the hospital on that clear, cold afternoon eighteen years ago and you’d never laid eyes on me, your only child, or made that decision to give up your old life for me and my mother - then you’d never have come here in the first place. You’d never have felt you had to be the guardian of it. Imagine that. If he’d had his way, Macrae would have torn those woods down for development nearly two decades ago. Everyone would already have forgotten they were ever there. There’d be a whole bunch of families bringing up their kids on ‘Topfields’ Drive and ‘Topwoods’ Road and they’d never stop for a moment to wonder where the
fields
or the
woods
went. They’d never stop to wonder what wildlife might have been sacrificed for the homes they now lived in. Nobody would care.

Isla cared, passionately, but... Isla’s gone, Dad. When I went back into her room just before Christmas, I knew it then. She’s gone. Perhaps it’s about time that we made plans to leave, too? 

I pick up my bowl of soup and turn to go downstairs, leaving him to his peaceful dreams for just a few moments longer.  Sam told me just before I came in here that he hasn’t slept all night and he’s only just dozed off. It would be cruel to wake him.

He’s going to find out the truth soon enough.

‘Darling, what we’ve got to do here, is persuade your dad it’s in his best interests to sell Clare Farm.’

I
knew
something like this was coming; I could feel it.

I’m sitting on the edge on one of my own sitting room sofas, feeling warmer and drier than I have in days and yet I’m finding myself more uncomfortable by the minute. This feels wrong. It feels wrong to me that we should be talking about selling up behind Dad’s back while he’s asleep upstairs. It feels wrong to me that Lawrence wanted me to come on ahead so I could speak to my Dad first and I haven’t managed to do that, but I’m still down here talking about these other matters.  Lawrence is going to be here any moment and then I’ll have even
more
explaining to do and all Ty cares about is getting his own point across... 

I try and keep my mind on what Ty’s so desperate to talk about.    

‘Dad won’t sell up,’ I tell my uncle tightly.

‘Hear me out please, Rose
.
’
A
small edge has crept into Ty’s voice now.
Maybe he’s not feeling too comfortable about all these ‘proposals’, either?

‘We’ve been looking into things on your dad’s account while you’ve been away
.
’
H
e glances at my aunt. ‘I understand you’ll probably feel... we haven’t been of much use to you before, but I hope you’ll appreciate that what I’m going to put forward next is something that has your father’s best interests at heart.’

I fold my arms, sit back on the sofa and the cushions behind my back feel suddenly very soft, as if I’m sinking into them. They aren’t supporting me at all.

‘Being stranded here with my brother these past few days has been a complete eye-opener for us, Rose. I’m ashamed to say it, but now I see quite how bad things have been for Jack I only wish to goodness we’d got involved in his care programme a whole lot sooner...’

I can feel my breath coming in huge long waves in my chest. As if no matter how much air I suck in there is no way to get enough into my lungs.  I’m waiting, waiting and listening and yet it feels like he’s taking a very long time to get to what he wants to say.

‘You want him to go into a care home,’ I say in a strange breathy voice at last. ‘You’ve seen the level of care he needs and you think that’s why I was asking you for help? You think... I want to go and study and maybe I need you to fund his care in some way...?’  Why does my face feel as if it’s gone a bright pink colour right now? Why do I feel as if what Dad’s brother wants is going to take precedence over anything
I
might want or say?

‘That isn’t what I want,’ I grip the side of the sofa and haul myself upright though I still feel as if I’m sinking. ‘I know we haven’t had a chance to speak properly yet, but that was never what I wanted. It isn’t what he wants either.’

Ty and Carlotta look a bit sheepish at that. I get the sense they’re both feeling a little cowed.     

‘I appreciate that.’ Ty leans over and the sudden gesture silences me. ‘I’ve been doing a bit of research on Jack’s behalf. On the
I
nternet and such. I’ve been putting out email enquiries all over the place. Everyone’s off for Christmas, of course. But I did manage to get through to the father-in-law of a work colleague of mine. He sustained some terrible injuries in a crash a few years back but he’s come through.’

‘The thing is, he tells me, sometimes there’s a lot more that could be done to get people mobile again than they realise. He’s going to put me onto the guy - Dr Singh - who successfully treated him, in the States.’ 

‘What are the chances, though?’ I look at him sceptically. ‘This guy Singh - I guess he’d have to see all Dad’s notes and stuff before we’d know if he could help?’ 

‘Naturally, he would. I found a link to his website yesterday evening. All I can say, Rose, is that it looks promising.’ His eyes on mine are intent. ‘From what I’ve read, it looks like they’ve been able to make monumental progress in some cases. I think he’s just the right person who might be able to offer hope to Jack.’ Hope? For Jack? I feel my heart leap but there is something else coming, I can feel it...

‘
But
?’ I perch on the edge of the sofa, waiting for the catch with baited breath. My uncle exchanges another glance with his wife who’s remained remarkably quiet up to this point.

‘It means Jack would need to go to the States for up to a year.’

‘
A year?’
The States. The words seem to fly right over the top of my head. I can’t take them in.

‘While they carry out the tests and procedures and implement their recovery programme. It’s possible that there’s a lot they might achieve for him, Rose. Imagine it. If he could walk properly - what a difference it could make.’ He lets that sink in for a bit. ‘Look, it’s a long shot, I know. You have to realise that nothing may come of it, nothing at all...’

‘And if he goes for it, it means we’d have to sell Clare Farm?’         

‘This is where some tough decisions are going to need to be made, Rose. Singh’s research is part state-funded, but a lot of it comes from private donors and patients are required to pay a proportion of their costs. We’d help out as much as we can, of course but, frankly, it would entail you selling the family home for your dad to even have a look-in.’

So that’s why he wants us to sell Clare Farm? Not to pay for Forsythes, but to pay for the treatment?

‘It’s a gamble, though?’ I say slowly. And Dad won’t want to sell up. Uncle Ty doesn’t understand that bit. It’s not just because we have no other assets - and Dad would naturally be worried about how I’m going to live - it’s because of what’d happen to the land if we did move out.

‘Life is always a gamble, Rose. Don’t you think this one might be worth the risk?’

I don’t answer him. Maybe it is a good idea. If it worked it would be beyond my wildest dreams, give Dad his life back again. It might. But it’s not what
I
think that’s going to count, here. Dad would have to be persuaded and when it comes down to it he can be every bit as stubborn as my mum was. And if we went for it - gambled our house in the hope of Dad getting better - there’s one thing that wouldn’t be in question at all. Macrae would develop the land if we left here.
We
might lose everything, but however it turned out for us, he would certainly win. 

And then there is Lawrence. I turn my head slightly to the sitting room door, still waiting for the doorbell to go, waiting for the moment to come when I can get it over with, take Lawrence upstairs and then Dad -
Oh God, if only Dad will listen
- he’ll find out he doesn’t have to worry anymore. I get up, feeling suddenly jumpy again, nervous.
Oh, when is Lawrence going to get here? What’s taking so long?
I don’t want to sit here any longer. I can’t.

‘This is all... great news,’ I choose my words carefully. ‘Potentially.  I’ll talk to Dad, okay? See what he feels about it.’ From their faces, I can tell they already know what he feels about it. They’re banking on me to persuade him differently.

And I... I’m banking that Lawrence will still be along any minute. That he’ll do what he promised he would.  That he won’t wimp out. That Dad will take it all okay. I’ve been sitting here talking to my uncle and aunt for a good half hour, I realise. Might he be awake yet? I need to go up and find out.
Life’s always a gamble, Rose
, My uncle’s words return to me as I make my way to go back up the stairs again. 

 I’m hoping this one will be worth the risk.

‘Dad,’ I shake him gently. ‘Dad, I’m
back
.’ There is a length of shiny golden tinsel entwined around the handlebars of his chair, I see now. A Christmas touch.  I didn’t put that there. A small pang goes through me, both of sadness because of the things that I have missed out on, and gratitude that other people have been here to look after him, to make his chair look Christmassy... 

He stirs in his sleep, a brief smile crosses his face and I stop shaking him. He’s … happy, where he is right now. I need him to wake up, to talk to me, but - should I just let him sleep; leave him to his dreams, his few moments of peace?

No.

Because we’ve been sleeping for long enough, the two of us. Maybe it’s time to wake up and face some truths?

‘Dad,’ I crouch down and shake him more urgently now. ‘Wake up. It’s me, Rose. I’m back.’

‘You’re back.’ He opens his eyes and a flash of pure warmth and love crosses his face. ‘I saw you coming down the hill and then … you were gone again. I thought it was a dream
.
’
H
e sounds a little sad.

‘It wasn’t a dream,’ I say. ‘It was real.’ My face colours at the thought that Dad must have been watching us, coming back down together.  For how long? Did he see Lawrence, too? He must have. The thought flitters through my mind; did he see us holding hands? Did he see it when Lawrence bent to kiss me as we parted?

‘I got your meds, look,’ I rush on before he mentions it, if he did see him, ’Do you want to take one now? The locum said you could take one as soon as I got them.’

He holds out his palm and I place one of the little red tablets in it. I hand him the water beaker and he swallows it down.

‘That’s better,’ he says. As if it could ever have worked so quickly. He makes me smile.

‘You
could
be better, you know,’ I put in hesitantly. I bend, busying myself suddenly with tucking the blanket back around his legs. I don’t want to speak just now about the fact that I have been gone for a few days. That when I left, I went feeling in a huff with Carlotta. It seems so petty and pointless now. Is he even aware of the manner in which I left?      ‘Uncle Ty has been telling me about some treatment you could go for,’ I bring up instead. ‘Do you want to do that?’

‘In the States?’ There’s been some discussion about this while I was
away
, just as I thought.  Dad looks away now, immediately
un
interested. His gaze stretches out over the huge mounds of snow in the garden.

‘It’s been snowing all the time you’ve been away, Rose. I slept through most of it. Every time I woke up and looked out - there was more of it,’ there’s a soft wonder in his voice now. A child-like wonder as if he’s forgotten all the other years of his life we’ve been snowed in. What else has he forgotten?

‘Ty tells me there’s a consultant in the States who he believes might be able to help you with your condition.’ As I say the words to Dad, for the first time, the magnitude of them begins to sink in. When Ty brought it up earlier, I was too surprised, too well-defended to take it in fully. But here, in this quiet, private space with my father, the full reality of what it could mean, dawns on me. ‘Will you at least agree to have an assessment?’

Dad looks at me listlessly.

‘You know I won’t.’

‘
Why
, Dad?’ I straighten, then walk over to sit on the window ledge, blocking out his view so that he’s forced to look at me, concentrate properly on what we need to talk about. ‘Why won’t you even consider it? You think there’s something noble about being in your condition?’ I frown, feeling a sudden desperation at his predicted stubbornness, at the fact that he seems happy to carry on like this, for nothing to ever change. 

‘There isn’t. There’s nothing noble about it.’

I didn’t come up here to talk about the neurologist Ty has discovered, I realise that. I came up here to tell Dad about Lawrence, to help prepare the way for him but I have no words right now, no grounds for dialogue of any sort if he really doesn’t want anything to change... 

‘Staying here and giving up on all hope for yourself because of that bloody patch of land Mum cared so desperately about… you might as well be stuck in a burrow under the tree roots like she was. What difference does it make?’

I have no idea where all those words came from. They just surged up from a deep unconscious well of frustration at him.  Frustration that we never really speak.  Frustration that I could never speak to Mum because she only ever listened to what she wanted to hear. That I’ve never really been able to speak to him either because since she died and he got attacked, he’s felt somehow too fragile; I’ve felt that if I said the wrong thing I might somehow break him in two.

Except...

I didn’t let Lawrence get away with not hearing what I had to say to him, did I? I made him stay there and hear me, everything that I felt, all the horrible, painful, difficult things that I needed to say to him, I made him listen to me. Dad will, now, too.  

‘What difference did it make to
you
, that I let my brother open up Mum’s room and use it, Rose?’ Dad comes back softly. Oh. So he knows then. He does know why I left on Christmas day. How I left. I bite my tongue.

‘I got upset, yes. That was before I realised that my upset - it was never really about the room. Never about the room at all. Maybe I was like you - I thought I could lock up my grief over losing Mum and throw away the key forever. I don’t need to do that anymore.
You
don’t, either.’

Dad doesn’t answer me but I need to make him understand there
is
something that could make a difference to his life. If he chose it. If only he wouldn’t be afraid. If only he could be open enough. I’m aching to tell him about Lawrence but we haven’t finished speaking about Mum yet, have we?  There are more words yet, tripping up over my tongue now that they’ve suddenly somehow been released...

 ‘Why won’t you go for treatment, Dad?
Why
? Is it guilt? Is that what’s keeping you here now? You cried when you lost Mum but you… you never did anything to stop her wilting away. You never lifted a finger to try and help her, did you?’

‘Is that what you think, Rose?’ he comes back surprisingly forcefully now. ‘I’d have done anything for your mother. Anything in my power if she’d only let me. She didn’t let me though. She never wanted any medical intervention…’

As you don’t now
, I think. I cross my arms over my chest.

‘And you just let her get away with that?’

‘I let her…’ his voice is starting to wobble, ‘
I let her
because I made a promise when she married me that I’d never force her into doing things my way or living her life
m
y way.’

I throw my hands up in the air.

‘Why? What a stupid thing to promise. In this case you were right and she was wrong. You should have forced her to …’

‘I promised it the day you were born,’ he cuts across me now, stopping me in my tracks. ‘I swore it on your life. I had to or she’d never have agreed to come and live with me.’

‘You swore it …?’

‘So that I could be near
you
, Love.’ His voice is trembling now and I can see what a terrible, horrible mistake I’ve made in assuming what I have all these years; that he hadn’t noticed how sick she was.

 ‘I never foresaw what it might come to. How could I have known that? But never once think I turned a blind eye to how sick she was because I didn’t care! It seems she’d been sick like it before, growing up, she told me. It was some tropical disease she’d contracted as a teenager. She’d had to go through all sorts of unhelpful interventions at the time and she swore she would never do it again. That was her choice and I couldn’t compel her.’

‘She didn’t get sick because of being under the damp tree roots then?’

He gives a painful smile.

‘It wasn’t the trees that killed her.’

‘…And you?’ Chastened, I come back to him at last. ‘Are you prepared to go through some treatments that might help you? If we sell this place and the Macraes get the land after all this time … so be it. Is it worth giving up your life for?’

‘I made her a promise, Rose, that I wouldn’t give up on the home we’d made together.’ He shoots me a regretful look.

‘One promise that cost you her life. A second promise that will cost you yours. And what about me? Don’t I figure in any of your decisions? Doesn’t what I think and want and feel matter to you? She’s gone, Dad. I’m not. I’m still here and I still need you to be here.’

‘You really think …’
H
e holds out his trembling hands – ‘Anyone can get these to work again?’

‘I think you need to trust that they might.’

He seems to consider it for a moment, then;

‘I was the one who made the undertaking to stay here, Rose. You didn’t. You don’t need to stay here with me, do you?’

‘You know I do! I can’t leave you, can I?’ I get up from the window-ledge and push my hair back in frustration. ‘You’re as good as blackmailing me into helping you keep a promise that needs to be broken now, one that should never have been made.’

 ‘I need some air,’ Dad’s saying, and I know that our conversation has to end because he’s gasping now. I can’t keep going on at him like this. I need to back down.  

‘Here you go.’ I go and fetch him his nebuliser, which has been placed by his bed. ‘You’re supposed to have this by you at all times,’ I rebuke gently.

‘I keep dropping it,’ he says. He holds his hands out and his fingers are trembling uncontrollably.
He’s not fine
. My eyes fill with tears again. He’s not. I wipe the tears away roughly. Right now I feel so frustrated with him that he won’t let me - or anyone else - help him. I feel so frustrated that he won’t let me tell him everything I know. Oh, I could tell him all the things that have happened over the last few days and how they’ve affected me deeply; how I really believe his injuries were the result of mistaken identity but could Dad ever bring himself to believe that too?

He won’t believe me.

‘You still need it by you,’ I say. I don’t know what else to do. And Lawrence isn’t here yet. Maybe he’s never even coming?

The thought makes me realise I need to get on with the things I still need to do. I don’t want to keep hanging about on tenterhooks, doing
nothing
, just waiting...  

‘Dad, I need to get something proper to eat. I need to run a bath and chill for a bit. Will you at least
think
about what I’ve just asked you? Will you do that?’ 

He looks at me blankly. It’s a look which says nothing but which I suspect masks a lot of his own tears.  He doesn’t answer.