Last Christmas (29 page)

Cat chose that moment to return from work. He’d called her earlier when her mother had got agitated, but then she’d calmed down, so Noel had phoned back to say it was okay. Cat evidently had decided to come back anyway.

‘Oh God, not again,’ she groaned, when she saw what had happened. ‘It’s all right, Noel, I’ll deal with this.’

Noel retreated thankfully into the study, and tried to concentrate again on his CV.

A sudden shout pulled him out of himself.

He raced to the bathroom, where he found Cat hysterically screaming at her mother.‘Why can’t you just get dressed? It’s so simple. Why can’t you do it?’

Noel stood looking at Cat in shock. His normally calm
wife was totally out of control, while his mother-in-law stood in her underwear, crying and saying, ‘Please don’t be angry with me, please don’t be angry.’

Cat’s face suddenly crumpled and she ran out of the bathroom. Noel grabbed a dressing gown hanging on the side of the bathroom, wrapped it gently round his mother-in-law, and eased her into her bedroom.

Then he went to find Cat who was sitting bleakly on the end of their bed.

‘I know, I know,’ she said heavily. ‘Any more of this and I’m going to end up as a parent abuser.’

Noel sat down next to her and put his arm tentatively round her shoulder.

‘You do know we can’t go on like this, don’t you?’ he said.

‘I feel like I’ve failed her,’ Cat whispered.

‘You haven’t failed her,’said Noel. ‘Alzheimer’s is a ghastly disease. You just have to accept you can’t beat it. You’re going to hate me for saying this, but I don’t think this is working. Your mum needs to go into a home.’

Catherine leant against him and wept.

Marianne entered the Parish Centre where an impromptu meeting of the Save the Post Office Campaign was being held. The news that the post office was going to shut had been followed swiftly by the flood and the campaign had faltered, only to come back with a vengeance now. Marianne had missed the last couple of meetings, but she’d gathered from Pippa that the idea to have a One Stop Village Shop, which would be manned in part by volunteers from the village and would sell Pippa’s, Dan’s and Gabriel’s local produce, as well as offering post office services, was gaining ground, as was a distinct groundswell of opinion against the eco town. Luke’s attempts to win the villagers over had backfired badly and, as far as Marianne was aware, he had yet to sell a single house to an inhabitant of Hope Christmas. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to be able to sell them to incomers, but word on the street was that, with recession beginning to really bite, those urban dwellers looking for a good life in the country were somewhat more reluctant to bite the bullet than they had hitherto been. It was beginning to look as if Luke had a huge white elephant on his hands.

‘So we’re agreed that the next task is to start fundraising for the village hall and shop?’ Vera Campion was saying. ‘Albert has already drawn up a battle plan.’ She blushed when
she said this. It was not a very well kept secret that since the flood she and Mr Edwards had finally become an item.

‘I’ve got some really good news about that,’ Marianne stood up waving an envelope she’d brought with her. She came to the front of the room. ‘I believe some of you already know this, but I entered Hope Christmas for a competition to find the perfect Nativity in
Happy Homes.
And, I found out today that, incredibly, we’ve won. So this Christmas, a team from the magazine are coming up to photograph the Nativity, and write a feature on us. We may even get on TV. But the best bit is the prize money is ten thousand pounds, which I’m sure you’ll agree will help the campaign enormously.’

‘That’s fantastic,’ said Vera, leading the applause. ‘I think I speak for us all when I say how grateful we are to you, Marianne.’

‘Miss Woods was a great help,’ said Marianne, acknowledging the old school teacher who nodded graciously, ‘and without Sir Ralph promising to let us have the chapel at Hopesay, I’m not sure we would have won it.’

‘I hope you are going to direct it yourself,’ said Miss Woods, ‘as Diana Carew sadly won’t be able to help this year.’

Diana Carew was still out of action as her shoulder had been dislocated in the accident. Even she had realised that it was going to be impossible for her to run things this year, and she was grumpily ensconced at home discovering the wonders of the shopping channel.

‘I’d love to,’ said Marianne. She looked around her at the excited, enthusiastic faces. Luke didn’t understand anything about the community here. No wonder his houses hadn’t sold. People didn’t want to live a lifestyle, they wanted to live a life. For the very first time since he left her, Marianne felt truly glad he had.

‘Each of our guests is treated to the best care possible,’ the smartly dressed owner of the Marchmont Rest Home was saying as she showed Cat and Noel around. The place was much brighter than Cat had imagined, and a huge step up from the previous two places they’d looked at, neither of which was fit for a dog to live in, let alone her mother. The Marchmont was light and airy, the rooms luxurious, the carpets soft and springy.

‘Mum will feel like she’s staying in a hotel here,’ said Cat. She still felt terrible about what she was doing, but both Noel and Angela had been very firm with her, pointing out the destructive effect Mum’s presence was having on their family life. Cat had tried to talk to the children about it and, while they all understood that Granny Dreamboat was very ill, none of them could cope with the fact that their beloved granny kept forgetting who they were, or that she was so fretful and tetchy a lot of the time. Paige and James had been particularly difficult about it and Ruby, being so little, didn’t quite understand what was happening. It was only Mel, whom Cat had thought would find it harder, who seemed to have grasped the complexity of the situation with a maturity of which Cat was incredibly proud. She was becoming a great help with Mum, bringing her a cup of tea in the mornings, patiently going over the same crossword puzzle in the evenings. But even so, Cat could see how upsetting it was for them all.

But the clincher had been the conversation she and Mum had had after Cat had screamed at her in such an unseemly fashion. Immediately after the incident, Mum appeared to have forgotten all about it. But a day or so later, she’d suddenly said, as Cat was putting her to bed, ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart, for being such a burden to you.’

Cat sat on the edge of the bed and held her mother’s hands. When had her skin become so paper-thin?

‘Mum, you could never be a burden,’ she protested. ‘I’m so sorry that I’m not as tolerant as I should be.’

Mum squeezed Cat’s hands and said, ‘Cat. I know what I am becoming. I know how I can be. It frightens me.’

‘Which is why I want to look after you,’ said Cat.

‘And why you’ll end up hating and resenting me,’ said Mum. ‘I won’t let you put yourself through this anymore. I want you to promise me that you will sell my house and find a home for me. I’m not going to be able to make that decision soon, so you have to make it for me.’

‘Don’t,’ said Cat through her tears.

‘Cat, you know it’s what has to happen,’ said Mum. ‘We’ll manage because we must.’

They’d both cried then, Mum for the loss of independence, Cat for the loss of her mum.

Since that moment, there had been precious few times when Mum had shown such lucidity, and Cat knew that she couldn’t put it off any longer. By dint of dropping the price to suit market conditions, her family home had sold so quickly Cat had had to come to terms with yet another blow to her bruised and battered heart.

Clearing out the house had been the worst thing she’d ever had to do. She and Noel had only had a week to pack things up, and in the end were reduced to shoving things in boxes without paying any attention to what was there. In the confusion, Cat belatedly realised she’d accidentally thrown out her mother’s favourite earrings, and a family Bible belonging to her grandmother. But the worst of it was the systematic stripping down of everything that she’d known since childhood, of everything that had made her mother the person she was. Somehow it diminished Mum in a way. Apart from the piano on which Cat had bashed out ‘Chopsticks’ as a child, her mother’s battered old furniture had gone to the charity shop; the bed that Cat was
born in, so battered and old, had ended up on a skip; the grandfather clock just wouldn’t fit in anywhere and had to go to an antiques shop; while the new owners had carelessly and unwittingly poured hot coals on Cat’s head by casually talking about getting rid of the Aga (‘So 90s,’ they’d declared), and putting in a shiny new stainless steel kitchen. Cat knew it had to happen but, as a symbol of the loss of all her memories, it seemed the most potent. Now when she thought of her childhood home, it was tainted with the memory of the way she’d last seen it, stripped bare, and denuded of all comfort.

But at least now they had the money to look after Mum and, of all the homes they’d looked at, the Marchmont was certainly the best they’d seen.

‘What do you think?’ She was pulled out of her reverie to discover that she was being required to give an opinion. Even now, a part of her wanted there to be another way to solve this. She looked at Noel, who gave her a small grin and the thumbs up.

‘You don’t have to make a decision straight away,’ the owner was saying, ‘your mother could come and try it out for a day, see how you all feel.’

Taking a deep breath, Cat said, ‘I think that would be perfect. When can we arrange for Mum to come for a visit?’

Gabriel was coming out of the solicitor’s office, one of the few buildings on the High Street not affected by the floods. He’d been so angry with Eve that, the day after she’d told Stephen what was happening, he’d immediately booked an appointment with a solicitor. He should have done it months ago, when Eve first left, to consolidate their position, but there was something about his relationship with Eve that had the effect of stultifying him, making it impossible for him to act. With the benefit of distance and hindsight, he
was beginning to see how bad they’d both been for each other.

It would be better with Marianne
, a voice whispered in his head. Gabriel knew he could have a thoroughly normal relationship with Marianne, had even dared hope that in time Stephen might come round and they could make a fist of a proper family life. But now? He stopped and sighed. Stephen was speaking to him again, but had retreated somewhere deep inside himself. He appeared to have forgiven Eve too and seemed to enjoy the time he spent with her at the cottage she was renting. Gabriel had offered to pay but she declined, making him wonder how she could afford it. True she’d mentioned a job in London, but Eve had been in Hope Christmas a month now, and there was no sign that she was going back to work anytime soon.

Gabriel’s solicitor had been confident that he would win custody. ‘With your wife’s history of mental illness, not to mention the abandonment issue, we have a very strong case,’ the lawyer had advised. ‘Are you ready to start proceedings?’

Gabriel couldn’t give him an answer. Eve’s solicitor hadn’t written the letter she’d been promising him was on its way. It was like the sword of Damocles hanging over his head. She seemed to him increasingly skittish and erratic, and he was on the verge of suggesting she go back to their doctor, but now he felt in some odd limbo, where he felt he couldn’t be so involved.

‘Penny for them.’ As he walked down the High Street, Marianne was walking up, laden with books. Her eyes were sparkling, her long dark curls tumbling over her shoulders, the cold autumnal air giving her cheeks a healthy glow. It had been weeks since he’d seen her. And suddenly she was there, lovely and natural, and for the moment completely unattainable.

‘Marianne,’ Gabriel felt suddenly awkward; she must think he’d totally lost interest in her. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch.’

‘I know it’s been tough,’ Marianne’s ready sympathy was like a balm to his battered soul, but she looked as awkward as he felt. ‘Pippa told me what’s been happening. Is there anything I can do?’

‘Nothing,’ said Gabriel. ‘But thanks.’

There was an uneasy pause, then he said, ‘You’ve got a lot of books there. I didn’t realise teaching reception was so academic.’

‘It’s not,’ laughed Marianne, slightly more at her ease. ‘No, these are research. Courtesy of Miss Woods.’

‘Research?’ Gabriel was puzzled. He’d completely lost touch with what was happening in Hope Christmas over the last few weeks.

‘Didn’t you hear? We’ve won a competition to put on the perfect Nativity, and yours truly is running the show.’

‘I hope you’re going to keep the elves,’ said Gabriel, his mood lightening.

‘Of course,’ said Marianne mock seriously. She paused and then said: ‘I realise this might not be the best time to ask this, but do you think Stephen would like to do a solo? He has such a lovely voice, and I thought he’d be perfect to sing “Balulalow”.’

Gabriel was suddenly hit by a pain so intense it nearly stopped him breathing. Stephen might not even be with him at Christmas. Besides, he was so fragile, it didn’t seem right to put him through that, even if he were here.

‘Now’s not the best time,’ said Gabriel. ‘Sorry, the answer’s no.’

‘But—’ Marianne started to protest.

‘I said no,’ said Gabriel. ‘Stephen has enough to cope with.’

‘It might help,’said Marianne,‘give him some confidence. You saw how much he enjoyed it at Easter.’

‘Marianne, I know you want to help,’ said Gabriel stiffly. ‘But I can assure you I know what is best for my son. And right now singing in your Nativity isn’t. Please let’s leave it at that.’

‘Fine,’ said Marianne equally stiffly. ‘But just suppose you’re wrong. Stephen has a rare talent. I think it should be encouraged, not stif led.’

‘Like I said, he’s my son,’ said Gabriel. ‘Don’t ask me again.’

‘I think you’re being very unfair,’ said Marianne, but Gabriel didn’t answer, and strode off down the hill, unable to articulate further the rage that was coursing through him, but dimly aware that somehow he’d managed to direct it at entirely the wrong person.

Noel looked at his email inbox. Another slew of rejections to match the ones that seemed to be dropping through his letterbox at a phenomenal rate. He couldn’t imagine that he would ever get another job again. Maybe he
could
commute to Hope Christmas and back.

‘Cup of tea?’ Cat had come in silently. She’d barely spoken all the way back from the visit to the care home. Noel didn’t blame her. It was nice as these places go but, however the dedicated staff dressed it up, it was an institution and, judging by the majority of its inmates who had sat rocking silently in chairs in front of the TV, the residents were swiftly institutionalised. It wasn’t a fate he’d wish on anyone, not even his mother in her worst moments. Although miraculously of late she seemed to be a lot more helpful than she’d ever been, even turning up today to make sure they could go out together to visit the care home. Cat had told him what she’d said about not helping
out before, and for once Noel was prepared to admit that maybe he too had got it wrong, and he’d actually managed to tell her so.

‘That’s all in the past,’ his mother had said to his astonishment. ‘For now, Cat needs you,’ she’d admonished, and he knew she was right. Cat did need him. Cat was so gorgeous and vivacious, Noel had always felt slightly amazed he’d caught her eye all those years ago when they’d first got together, and now, with his confidence at rock bottom, he wasn’t sure that he could keep it.

‘Tea would be great,’ said Noel. ‘How’s your mum?’

‘Asleep,’ said Cat with a sigh. She looked tired and worn out.

‘Fancy going out tonight?’ he said. ‘I mean, my mum’s here, we could manage a curry or something.’