Go Not Gently (9 page)

I was directed along a corridor to the right and then out and across a courtyard. The gardening budget had obviously been cut. Untended beds and containers sprouted dead grass and frost-hardy weeds.

The Marion Unit was a modern, two-storey concrete rectangle with a large grey metal triangle leaping upwards from the flat roof. As if the architect had tried to redeem the utter lack of imagination by plonking a concept on top.

Inside and immediately opposite the heavy glass entrance doors there was a reception area with a glass booth and a small office. Three women, one in uniform, were chatting there. I approached and the huddle broke up. A woman in a smart grey wool dress, her name badge identifying her as Mrs Li, greeted me.

I asked if I could visit Lily Palmer and explained she’d been admitted on Monday night. She told me to take a seat for a moment.

She went into the office and used the phone. I sat in the waiting area. Some attempt had been made to make it comfortable. The seats were padded foam, there were a couple of inoffensive prints on the wall and a large drinks machine. There were magazines on the table here too along with leaflets about the Alzheimer’s Disease Society, ‘Caring for an Elderly Person’ and ‘How to Stay Warm in Winter’.

After a couple of minutes a young nurse appeared from one of the doors to the waiting room and took me through to the dayroom. It was large and brightly lit, with a television at the far end. Low tables and chairs were clustered here and there, as well as a couple of ordinary ones with cards and dominoes on them.

There were quite a lot of people in the room. Some sat quietly, withdrawn, others muttered or sang to themselves. One man was shouting. The room stank of potpourri and there was a stale, sour smell that it couldn’t quite mask.

I followed the nurse briskly through the lounge to the corridor at the bottom. I glanced into the rooms as we passed by. Most seemed to have four beds in. Some beds were occupied.

‘How’s she been?’ I asked the nurse.

‘Fine,’ she spoke with an Irish accent, ‘just fine. There’s a lot they can do with the medication. She’s a bit sleepy with it but a lot calmer.’

‘Who decides on the treatment?’

‘Dr Montgomery, he’s the consultant. Have you not seen him yet?’

‘No.’

She paused outside one of the doors, knocked, then without waiting for a reply she opened the door and we went in.

Lily sat in a chair next to her bed, eyes half-shut. She wore a hospital-issue nightgown and a blanket round her knees.

‘I’ve brought her some things of her own.’ I turned to the nurse, uncertain whether Lily could hear me.

‘They can go in the locker. They might go walking. Some of them lose track, they’ve no sense of personal possessions. There’s nothing valuable, is there?’ I shook my head. ‘Do you hear that, Lily?’ The nurse raised her voice. ‘Here’s someone to see you. They’ve brought your things. You can put them in your locker.’

Lily opened her eyes but they remained unfocused.

‘I’ll leave you then,’ said the nurse. ‘I’ll be in the dayroom if you’re needing anything.’

I pulled up a second chair and sat down. ‘Hello, Lily. Agnes asked me to bring these for you.’ There was no response. She gazed across the room, her glasses smeared and speckled with dirt. I placed the bag on her lap. She never moved. She didn’t seem to be aware of it let alone the fact that I was there. I felt foolish. When she got up the bag would fall on the floor, she could trip over it and hurt herself.

‘Shall I put it in your locker?’ I reached over and put my hand on the bag. Swiftly Lily brought her hand up and gripped my wrist.

‘Agnes won’t come,’ she said urgently.

‘She couldn’t,’ I replied, ‘not today. She had a funeral to go to and an appointment.

‘Won’t come,’ she repeated. ‘Kingsfield. Nora came.’ She let go of my wrist suddenly so I almost overbalanced. I sat down again.

‘I’m sure Agnes will come as soon as she can,’ I said, ‘and I’ll tell her Nora’s been. Agnes is worried about you. She wants to know if you’re all right. Is there anything you need?’

She closed her eyes. I sat waiting for her to open them but she’d gone to sleep. I took the bag and placed it on top of the locker.

In the dayroom the man was still shouting and the Irish nurse was joking with a group of residents. I found the sister in charge, Sister Darling. I told her I wanted to talk to the consultant about Lily. Was I next of kin? A close relative? No. She apologised but Dr Montgomery could only see next of kin.

‘Who is Mrs Palmer’s closest relative?’

‘Her son. But he’s down in Devon.’

‘Nevertheless he’ll be informed of anything that matters. Perhaps you should talk to him. Are you related at all?’

‘Just a friend,’ I smiled. I didn’t want questioning too closely. ‘I’ll speak to her son then.’

After the sweltering heat of the hospital the outside world felt arctic. I was shivering by the time I got into the car. I drove back along the dual carriageway and past Southern Cemetery. Lily would end up here. How long would the disease take to kill her? If it had come on more quickly than usual would it progress quickly too? And would that make it any easier on Lily or those who loved her? Impossible questions.

I cut through East Didsbury and up to Withington. At the office I switched on the heater and stomped around until it felt safe to take my coat off. I made a few notes about my visit, checked the answerphone and locked up. But I couldn’t lock up so neatly my memories of that woman, alone in the hospital. Nor could I forget that momentary feeling I’d had that Agnes wasn’t being quite straight with me.

The wind had got up by late afternoon. Straight from the North Pole by the feel of it. My nose dripped and my eyes watered. I wrapped my scarf tighter round my face and struggled to school. The children hated it, whining all the way back about being freezing and stinging snow (meaning hail) and how itchy their hats were. I bought crumpets from the corner shop to celebrate our return to base camp.

The house was like an ice-box. I checked the central heating dial. It had stopped. The lights were on in the kitchen but the fridge wasn’t working either. Or the toaster.

‘I want my crumpet now,’ demanded Maddie, bashing the washing machine controls with her fist.

‘You’ll get it as soon as I’ve sorted this out,’ I snapped.

‘I hate you,’ she retorted.

‘You could come and help. We’ll have to check the fuses in the cellar.’

She wheeled away disdainfully.

‘I will,’ piped up Tom.

‘It’ll all go dark for a bit,’ I called after Maddie while I rooted around in the drawer for the torch.

Some brilliant thinker had actually labelled the fuses in the past so I could find the right one quickly. And, joy of joys, there was fuse wire on top of the fuse box. I switched off the mains and removed the fuse. It was burned through.

Solemnly Tom held the fuse while I measured a piece of wire in the light from the torch. I could hear Maddie shuffling on the cellar steps, wanting to be with us but not wanting to admit it.

‘Maddie,’ I called, ‘could you hold the torch?’

‘Why?’

‘Then I can fix the new wire.’

Big sigh. She came down and took the torch. I fixed the fuse and replaced it, turned the power back on. Tom and Maddie ran upstairs to see if it worked.

Victory. Crumpets on, heating reset, oven warming up. I grabbed a crumpet and some tea. Then chopped vegetables up and slung them in a casserole with tinned butter beans and stock.

The evening paper had arrived. I picked it up and returned to the kitchen. It was warm now, smelled good. I closed the blinds, turned Digger out of my chair. Fifteen minutes’ peace catching up on the local news would be just the job. I’d empty the washing machine first, a reminder to take it downstairs to dry later. I opened the door. Gallons of cold soapy water gushed over my feet and into the kitchen.

Ray came in cursing the weather. It had affected supplies of various materials and as a result he was laid off until further notice. The bright side, as far as I was concerned, was he’d be around to take his turn with the school run and the cooking. I didn’t think it would be tactful to point it out at the time.

We’d just finished eating when the bell rang and Sheila introduced herself. She was older than I’d expected, with a grey bob and wire-rimmed specs. We talked first in the kitchen. Explained how things were organised, rent, bills, shared use of the kitchen, the washer and drier and so on. There were few rules; no smoking and clean up after yourself being the most important.

Sheila grinned. ‘Tell me about it. I’m sharing with two students at the moment. The mess. I got it through the university – I’m doing a degree course. I’d no idea there’d be so little choice. I might have been able to stand it at eighteen but…’ She looked over at Tom and Maddie, who were silently fighting over a chair. ‘I’ve two boys myself actually.’

‘How old are they?’ piped up Maddie.

‘Nineteen and twenty-two. Dominic’s up at St Andrew’s studying law and Peter’s in India backpacking.’

I wondered whether Peter and Dominic would descend on Sheila in between terms. And what had happened to the family home? Sold, she later told me, to pay off her husband’s debts. His business had failed, spectacularly. And then the marriage

failed, too.

‘I’m five,’ announced Maddie.

‘I’m four,’ said Tom.

Would she be tempted to interfere with how we raised the children? She seemed easy-going enough.

‘Would you like to have a look at the rooms?’ I suggested.

‘Follow the leader, I’m leader,’ shrieked Tom.

We filed upstairs to the first floor.

‘Bathroom,’ Ray pointed out, ‘bath and shower. Sal’s room, mine.’

‘This is my room,’ called Maddie.

‘It’s not just yours,’ Tom proclaimed, ‘it’s mine as well.’ Sheila tolerated a tour of the children’s room and made all the right noises as they showed her their treasures. We climbed up the attic stairs. Digger lay sprawled on the landing.

‘We’ve got a dog,’ I said.

‘He’s called Digger,’ said Tom.

‘Do you like dogs?’ Maddie asked.

‘I like cats better,’ Sheila replied diplomatically.

‘He’s Ray’s dog,’ I told her. ‘I rescued him from the pound and then discovered I wasn’t all that keen on dogs.’

‘He’s a great dog,’ said Ray proudly.

Digger pricked his ears, opened his eyes and beamed love at his master. His tail thumped the ground. We stepped over him to show Sheila the rooms. ‘Bedroom here, loo in the middle, sitting room there.’

‘You can shift them round,’ said Ray.

‘It’s lovely,’ said Sheila, ‘all the sloping roofs, and you’ve kept the old fireplaces.’

‘They work too,’ I said. ‘The windows are pretty poky but I think the owners ran out of money once they’d put the central heating in up here. We’ll leave you to look round a bit,’ I suggested. ‘We’ll be down in the kitchen.’

Downstairs Ray and I had a quick confab and agreed that we’d like her to move in if she was still keen. When she reappeared Ray asked her what she thought.

‘It’s lovely. I don’t know if you’re seeing other people.’

‘No,’ I said, ‘it’s yours if you want to move in.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Her hands flew to her mouth as she stifled an exclamation. ‘Oh, it’s such a relief.’ For a moment I thought she was going to go all weepy on us but she took a deep breath and beamed. We agreed that she’d bring her stuff on Friday and sorted out a time when we’d be in.

Everybody was happy and a third adult paying into the rent and bills would ease the financial strain that Ray and I had been under for the last few months.

That evening Ray did bedtime and I put my feet up, sank into one of my books. When the phone rang I thought it was going to be Agnes but it was my friend Diane.

‘I need a good natter,’ she said. ‘This weather is driving me round the bend. Do you know what I ate for tea last night? All because I couldn’t face walking to the shops – tinned pilchards, pitta bread and limp celery.’

‘Probably very nutritious,’ I said.

‘It was revolting. Anyway I had to go out today. I ran out of biscuits.’

Diane is a foodie. Any food. Health food, junk food. And most of all sweet food. She’s also fat, her word for it. She gave up dieting in her teens and now she’s completely comfortable about her size. Big and bold about it, she wears bright, patterned clothes which she runs up on an old treadle sewing machine.

We arranged to meet up at our usual local for a drink the following night.

While I was in phone mode I rooted out Agnes’ number and rang her. I told her I’d seen Lily, passed the clothes on, that she’d been fairly sleepy. I didn’t go into exactly what Lily had said, I felt it might be less upsetting to Agnes if I told her face to face that Lily felt abandoned.

‘I asked about seeing Dr Montgomery, the consultant, but they only allow next of kin. Have you spoken to Lily’s son?’

‘Charles? No.’