sUnwanted Truthst (19 page)

Dad's agreed to come and stay with us, so you don't have to worry.' Jenny leaned forward on her chair and patted her mother's hand.

‘He says he does himself a meal when he gets back, but I know he doesn't bother. He's always been the same – rather go hungry than cook for himself,' Alice sighed and seemed to disappear as she sank back into the pillows.

On a stand above Jenny's head dangled a polythene bag of blood labelled “A negative”, broadcasting her mother's blood group to the ward. Jenny avoided looking at it, thinking that what flowed into her mother's veins was a private matter.

‘I'll be out of here soon, Jenny. I felt so much better after the last transfusion.'

Jenny looked across the ward. ‘I can't get used to seeing men in here, Mum. It feels – wrong somehow.' Jenny averted her eyes as the man in the bed opposite tried, with some difficulty, to manoeuvre his legs over the side of his bed.

‘I'm too tired to care Jenny.'

‘It's hot outside. Lorna's going to the Isle of Wight for a week tomorrow with the Brownies. She was up at six today packing. Do you remember when you and Dad took her there for the day? She never stopped talking about it.'

‘Yes, it was a good day,' Alice sighed again.

‘I've left Nicky at the flat. So when I collect him, I can help Dad pack a few things.'

‘It's a good job you had your holiday at the end of July.' Alice's eyelids began to droop.

‘Yes, it was,' Jenny had thought the same herself.

‘When do they… go back to… school?' Alice's voice trailed.

‘Two more weeks yet,' Jenny replied, but her mother was asleep.

*

‘Take a seat Mrs Maynard.' The doctor sat down behind his desk. ‘Your mother's done very well. It's been twelve years since her operation?' He looked down at the file on the table, and then peered over the rim of his glasses which had slipped down his nose.

‘Yes, I think the grandchildren keep her going.'

‘I'm sure you're right. But I'm afraid the cancer's spread to her liver and there's nothing further we can do surgically, but we can keep her comfortable. The transfusions are helping with her anaemia, so she shouldn't feel so tired.' He pushed his glasses over the bridge of his nose.

Jenny wished that she hadn't asked to see him, but there was never a doctor around at visiting times.

‘We'll keep her here until there's a vacancy at Copper Cliff. I expect you've heard of it – the nursing home in Withdean?'

Jenny's heart raced, she was no longer listening. Of course she'd heard of it – everyone had – ‘You know she's gone to Copper Cliff, don't you?' The news was always conveyed in hushed tones and the response would be a nod and a solemn face.

‘Don't worry. We'll make sure that her pain is controlled.' He wriggled his nose in an effort to keep his glasses from slipping back down, got up, walked around his desk and rested a hand on her shoulder. ‘I'm sorry it's bad news.'

Jenny's footsteps echoed along the long hospital corridor and reverberated inside her head. Robert was waiting outside. ‘She's dying Robert,' Jenny broke down as she sat in the passenger's seat. ‘What am I going to tell Dad?' she sobbed.

Robert pulled her towards him and hugged her. ‘You don't have to say anything Jen. I'm sure he knows.'

‘You think so?' she sniffed.

‘Yes, I do.'

*

Jenny looked up and searched the azure sky.
The swifts have gone
, she thought, wishing that she could just see one – a straggler from up north – but the sky was empty apart from a lone seagull and the vapour trail of a plane.
That's it for another year. They're probably in the South of France now, screaming over the gite we rented. When they're here, everything seems alright with the world, now…

She lingered in the shade of a horse-chestnut tree that fronted Preston Manor House. When they had first moved to Brighton, she had missed living close to the Downs, but now, she couldn't envisage living anywhere else. Stepping back into the late afternoon heat she crossed the main London to Brighton road to a small corner supermarket. Emerging with a bulging carrier bag she decided that as it was still early, she would walk along to the rockery. She sat on a wooden bench in the shade. Opposite, half a dozen stepping stones bridged a large irregular-shaped pond containing at least a dozen overfed goldfish. A small boy was jumping from stone to stone. Every time he landed he turned to his mother and shouted, ‘Look at me!'

Jenny wondered what she was going to tell Lorna and Nicky. They knew their Granny was ill, but assumed it was only a matter of time before she was better. They kept asking when she was going home.

‘I want to stay here!' the small boy screamed. Jenny stood up, thinking that she had enough screaming children at home. She crossed the main road and passed a hollow elm tree, one of a pair that had seeded and grown for centuries.
They've seen so many things
, she thought,
our lives are so short in comparison
.

Crossing the road from the park, she spotted Nicky waving at her from outside their front gate. She smiled and waved back. As she walked nearer she heard him.

‘Mummy, quick, it's Granddad. He's fallen over.'

Jenny ran towards their gate and dropped her shopping on the tiled path. ‘What do you mean?'

‘Quick, he's fallen over. Lorna's with him.'

Jenny ran through the open door, along the hallway and into the kitchen. Her father was lying at the bottom of the concrete steps that led down from the side door to the back garden.

‘Thank God you're back. It's my leg. It's painful when I try to move it.'

‘Well don't move it then. What on earth were you doing?'

‘I was going to mow the lawn while you were out. I missed my footing that's all. Can I have my cigarettes?'

‘Lorna, go and get Granddad his cigarettes, and the matches. For God's sake Dad, you didn't have to do that. Robert will do it at the weekend. I'll have to phone for an ambulance now.'

‘Course you won't woman. There's no need for that. Just help get me up.' Jenny took one arm, while Charlie gripped the railing with the other arm. ‘It's no good,' he puffed. ‘I can't put any weight on the bugger.'

*

The accident and emergency doctor strode over to Jenny. ‘I'm afraid your father's broken his femur. He'll need an operation. Hopefully, we can fit him in tomorrow.'

Jenny stared at the specks of blood on his white coat, and hoped they weren't her father's. ‘Oh no, my mother's seriously ill.'

‘I'm sorry, but he has to stay in. I'll ask the nurse to get you some tea. You can go and see him now. Stay as long as you want.'

‘Mummy, why has that girl got bandages around her wrists?' Nicky tugged at Jenny's arm.

‘Shh, not so loud, I don't know. Go and get a comic.'

The nursing home stood in the shadow of a hangar of beech trees. Jenny carried a bunch of orange gladioli up the carriage drive and pushed the doorbell. Alice had been admitted a week ago, and Jenny had visited every day with Charlie. But today she was alone.

Her heart sank as she crossed the polished hallway and climbed the sweep of stairs to the first-floor bedroom. Opening the door she thought that her mother was asleep so laid the flowers on her bed, and stepped over to the large bay window. The manicured lawn was surrounded by neat borders filled with late summer blooms. She thought how her mother would have loved the garden. It was unfair that she was only here when she was too ill to enjoy it.

‘Hello dear.'

Jenny turned, ‘Hello Mum, I thought you were asleep. I've brought your favourite flowers,' she said picking them up. ‘I thought they would remind you of your garden.' She kissed her mother on her cheek, feeling the bone through her paper thin skin.

‘They're beautiful.'

Jenny noticed her pupils, they were like pinpricks.
Is that the morphine? Should I tell her about Dad's accident? She must wonder why he isn't here.

‘You look comfortable, Mum.'

‘Mmm… I am.'

‘You're not in any pain are you?'

‘No, not now, they're giving me injections.'

‘Good,' Jenny said, thinking that her mother sounded hoarse.

‘You can sit on the bed. They won't mind.'

‘I'll change the flowers.'

‘No, leave them for now,' her voice became stronger. ‘Sit here for a moment.'

Jenny's heart raced as she thought she was going to ask why she was on her own.

‘You must go and see if you can find your father.'

‘I thought I'd give Dad a break this evening,' Jenny said, glad that she didn't have to lie.

‘No, no.' Alice moved her head from side to side on the pillow.

What does she mean? I'll have to tell her about the accident now.

‘No Jenny – your real father,' she rasped.

‘What! You don't need to say anything about that, Mum. I don't want to talk about it.'

‘He was from Africa.'

‘Africa!' Jenny stared hard at her mother. ‘Africa? What are you talking about?'

‘South Africa, he was from South Africa. He was a soldier.'

‘I'm not interested Mum. I never will be. You and Dad are my parents.'

Her mother's lips lifted at the edges, and she closed her eyes.

Jenny remained seated on the bed, staring at her mother until her heart slowed, then picked up the vase of carnations – their blooms browning around the edges – from the bedside table. She refilled the vase from the wash basin, arranged the gladioli, positioning them so that her mother could see them and sat by the bed for a further half an hour. Her mother's breathing became shallower. At nine o'clock she kissed her on her forehead and left.

Driving home her mother's words ran through her mind.
It must be the morphine. It can't be true?
The only things she knew about South Africa were the cities of Pretoria and Cape Town; Table Mountain and apartheid. She remembered a scrapbook she had when she was a child, and the hours she had spent cutting and pasting pictures of hippos and elephants. She remembered pestering her parents to emigrate to South Africa, saying it sounded so much more exciting and warmer there. Why would she remember that, when she had forgotten so much else?
‘He was a soldier. It was the end of the war. Things were different then.'
Her mother's words reverberated in her head.
Why should she tell me to find my father? What about my mother?

Two days later the phone rang, ‘Mrs Maynard?'

‘Yes.'

‘It's Sister Gillespie here. I'm phoning to tell you that your mother has slipped into a coma, but there's no need for you to rush over.'

‘A coma, what do you mean? She was dozing on and off last night, but she knew we were there. I'll come over. I was just about to phone the hospital to see how my father is.'

‘Look, as I said, there's no rush. You can go and see your father first, and then come over.'

‘Alright,' Jenny's hand shook as she replaced the handset. She stood and stared out of the lounge window. A postman was opening the gate to the house opposite.
I must phone Robert.

*

Robert put his arm around Jenny's shoulders as they approached Charlie's bed. She drew a deep breath and pulled the curtain back. The hospital gown had slipped off his shoulder, exposing a white triangle of flesh. His face had collapsed. A pair of false teeth lay in a glass of water. ‘Hello Dad, they fixed your leg then?'

‘Bit sleepy, but I'll soon be on the mend,' he slurred.

‘Well you're bound to be for a while, because of the anaesthetic.'

‘Mum alright?'

Jenny bit her lower lip. ‘Yes, they're looking after her really well. We saw her last night and we're going up again straight from here. We can let her know that we've seen you; and that you're O.K.'

Robert put a hand on Charlie's bare shoulder. ‘Now, you just concentrate on getting better Dad.'

‘Tell her, I'll be out of here soon.'

*

‘How long will it be?' Jenny asked at the bottom of the sweeping staircase, thinking it was always dark in there, even when the sun was shining.

‘It's hard to say. It could be tonight, or it could be a couple of days. You go up and I'll make you both a cup of tea.'

‘If it's a couple of days, my dad might be able to see her. The hospital said they may be able to bring him then, didn't they?' she looked at Robert.

‘Yes, they did. But would she know he was here, Sister?'

‘Well, hearing is always the last of the senses to go. So, yes, she would recognise his voice.' She placed her hand on Jenny's arm.

Tears welled behind Jenny's eyes. ‘I really hope she can hang on a bit longer. At least Lorna and Nicky are back at school, I've arranged for our neighbour to look after them until we get back.'

‘Stay as long as you like. I'll be here ‘til ten o'clock this evening.'

Jenny gripped the polished curve at the bottom of the banister. ‘I don't want to go up, Robert. I don't want to see her.'

‘Come on, take my arm.'

They walked slowly up the staircase and into the bedroom. The curtains were drawn, but a gap in the centre threw a shaft of afternoon sunlight across the carpet. Jenny sat down on the bed and took her mother's hand. She stared at her cracked lips; every intake of breath was an effort; and each exhale a relief. She no longer looked like her mother. They stayed until nine-thirty. Before going to bed that evening, Robert moved the telephone from the lounge onto the bottom stair. When the phone rang early in the morning they didn't speak. Jenny sat up and stared into the darkness. She heard Robert's voice, ‘We'll come straight over,' and then his feet on the stairs coming closer, ‘get dressed Jen. We'd better go.'

*

A nurse Jenny hadn't seen before opened the door. ‘I'm so sorry Mrs Maynard, but your mother slipped away ten minutes ago.'

‘ ‘You mean we're too late, she's gone?' Jenny cried. ‘We came as fast as we could. We should have stayed last night Robert. Then we would have been here. I should have stayed. Why didn't I stay? Now we're too late.'

‘It's very difficult to anticipate when it's going to happen. The change in breathing is an indicator, but sometimes, relatives just leave the room for a moment and they go; it's almost as if they wait until they're on their own.'

Jenny turned to Robert, ‘I didn't have to go home, it was you who said we ought to go. You could have gone back for Lorna and Nicky, and I could have stayed. I could have slept in the chair. Why didn't I do that?' Tears rolled down her face.

‘Jen, Jen, try not to think of that, it's not going to make any difference. As the nurse said, you could have been here and just left the room for a minute, and it could have happened.' He pulled Jenny towards him but she pushed him away.

‘But at least I would have been with her,' she cried.

*

Jenny braced herself as she walked into the ward. She couldn't erase the picture of her mother's body from her mind. She had never seen a dead body before, and it wasn't how she wanted to remember her. They had stayed in her room until the nurse had persuaded them to leave. She could still feel the coldness of her mother's skin on her lips. She took a deep breath and parted the floral curtains around Charlie's bed. Pulling up a chair she reached for his hand and took a deep breath. ‘Mum's gone, Dad.'

‘She's gone. Gal, gone, you say she's gone.' Charlie gripped Jenny's hand and frowned at her as he tried to make sense of what she was saying.

‘She didn't suffer, Dad. Robert and I were with her at the end.'

‘Peaceful?'

‘Yes, yes it was.'

‘She'd put up with enough pain in her life. She was a fighter.' His blue eye moistened.

‘Yes, she was.' The sight of his tears released her own. ‘I've spoken to the ward sister, and Robert's waiting to speak to the doctor.'

‘I saw her at the weekend, didn't I? It was the weekend wasn't it, before my op? She spoke to me didn't she?' Charlie tried to hoist himself up in the bed.

‘Yes, you did.' Tears streamed down each cheek.

‘Gal, Gal!' he shouted out.

‘Dad, Dad,' Jenny rested her hand on her father's arm. I think the doctor's coming over to give you an injection.'

‘Injection, I don't want no bloody injection. You tell him.'

‘We'll do everything that needs to be done Dad. You just concentrate on getting better.' Jenny pulled a crumpled tissue from her bag and wiped her face.

A doctor carrying a kidney dish parted the curtains.

‘Gal, Gal!' Charlie shouted louder than before.

*

Jenny opened her eyes and felt a giant standing on her chest, pinning her to the bed. She remembered what she had to do. There was no alternative but to get through the day as best she could. She didn't cry until she saw her father being wheeled carefully down the ramp of the ambulance and up the path towards the churchyard gate. ‘Hello Dad, you look very smart in your best suit and tie,' she leant over and kissed him on his forehead. Wiping her eyes, she lifted his cold hand and gave it a squeeze in an attempt to reassure them both.

‘It was a lovely service; just what your mum would have wanted.' Doris caught up with Jenny as she pushed Charlie's wheelchair out of the west door of the church, and into the autumn sunshine. Her husband George lingered a few yards behind. Jenny noticed he'd put on weight around his midriff since she had last seen him, and now looked less like a Greek god, and more like Aristotle Onassis.

‘I chose the readings and hymns myself. I couldn't ask Mum what she wanted when she was so ill,' Jenny whispered. ‘As for Dad, well, he always refused to talk about anything like that.' She thought they had never talked about anything important, even when they were well. ‘I'm pleased that you could both make it.'

‘We flew back yesterday. We're staying with Alan and Jackie.'

‘You must be warm in that fur coat?' Jenny said. ‘The sun's quite hot.'

‘No I'm not. It's freezing here compared to Larnaca.'

Five years earlier, Doris had sold her house in Woolwich and bought a villa in Cyprus where they now spent the majority of the year. Since her marriage Jenny had taken to visiting her aunt regularly, and had found that she missed their conversations. She could talk to her aunt about subjects she felt inhibited about discussing with her mother. Alice always made some disparaging remark when she mentioned she was seeing Doris. When Jenny had told her about her aunt's intended move, and that Doris would have preferred an apartment in Torremolinos, but to please George – who had wanted to return to his roots – she had agreed to buy in Cyprus. Her mother had said that, ‘She never wanted to please Jim.'

‘Jackie and I are so sorry about your mum. My dad… Uncle Jim always had a soft spot for her. Here, let me wheel him for you?' said Alan.

‘Thank you, but it's a bit tricky between the graves. Just let me take those tissues off his lap.' Jenny leant over her father, picked up the box and adjusted the tartan blanket around his legs.

‘That's better isn't it Dad?'

Charlie sat erect in his wheelchair and stared straight ahead; his plastered leg jutting out from under the blanket. The wheelchair seemed to diminish him.

A family of jackdaws cackled as the mourners gathered in silence around the open grave. Alice's coffin was slowly lowered into the ground.

As the familiar words of consolation were spoken by the vicar, Jenny bent down, picked up a handful of earth from the pile and scattered it on the coffin. She passed a handful to Charlie and manoeuvred his wheelchair closer to the edge making it easier for him to perform his final duty.

Alan stood aside as Robert gripped the wheelchair. ‘Let's go and look at the flowers Dad.' He pushed Charlie back up the grassy slope to a concreted area by the west door. Jenny followed hand in hand with Lorna and Nicky, both wearing suitably solemn faces. She hadn't wanted them to come to the funeral, knowing that their tears would make her more upset. ‘They can stay next door and join us at the house afterwards,' she had said to Robert.

‘No Jen, it's best that they come. They're old enough to say their goodbyes.'

The autumnal sprays and wreaths were laid in a row. Jenny knelt down looking at each message of condolence in turn.