The Girl in the Mirror (10 page)

H
alf an hour later Mandy dried her eyes, heaved herself from the bed and pushed her feet into her slippers. If she was staying to help she needed to get a grip and be of some use, otherwise she might as well go home. Putting on a face to mask feelings seemed to run in the family and she was sure she could do it just as well as anyone else. There would be time later to consider the past; now she needed to simply get on with it and help. Smoothing her hair flat, she checked her face in the dressingtable mirror and then returned downstairs.

Evelyn was coming out of the study with the urine bottle. ‘I’m just going to empty this,’ she said. Mandy nodded. ‘Sarah phoned while you were asleep. She and her partner, Simon, are visiting tomorrow.’

‘That will be nice,’ Mandy said, ‘I’ll look forward to it,’ and returned to the study. It was nearly 2 p.m.

Gran was in her usual chair beside the bed. Someone had unpacked Grandpa’s flat cap and it now lay on the coffee table next to his glasses as though at any moment he might step from the bed and put them on. She sat in one of the armchairs and gazed across the room towards the bed and the chair where Gran sat holding Grandpa’s hand. All that could be heard for some time was Grandpa’s breath, then Gran began to doze. Mandy checked her phone and then listened to her iPod. Ten minutes later Evelyn returned with the empty urine bottle and tucked it beside the
bed. Gran stirred and Evelyn said she was ‘seeing to the arrangements for our guests’: Sarah and Simon on Friday, and Mandy’s parents on Sunday.

As the afternoon passed Mandy felt a rising sense of occasion. Evelyn looked in regularly to check they were all right and give updates on what she was doing to prepare for the guests: she was having Mrs Saunders give the house an extra clean and polish; she was trying to decide on the menus – did her parents like rainbow trout? She’d have to go into the town rather than order online, and so on and so on. Mandy took her earphones out each time Evelyn came into the study and Gran woke and smiled and nodded politely. ‘She’s a great one for entertaining,’ Gran commented dryly after one visit.

Presently Evelyn reappeared looking concerned. ‘Are you certain your parents like rainbow trout?’

‘I’m certain they do,’ Mandy said. ‘But please don’t go to any trouble.’

‘No trouble. We’ll have the trout with new potatoes and French runner beans on Sunday when your parents come, and the lamb tomorrow when Simon and Sarah visit.’

‘I’m sure that’ll be lovely,’ Mandy assured her.

Without doubt all Evelyn’s preparations were a distraction from what was really going on, Mandy thought, and she hoped her parents could be persuaded to stay for lunch or dinner, or whichever meal the trout was for, otherwise Evelyn would be sorely disappointed, and the tenuous relationship her aunt had with her parents would be strained even further.

After Evelyn’s last visit worrying about the trout Gran gave up trying to doze and stayed awake. Mandy put aside her iPod and took out her sketch pad. She drew a large picture of a trout with its mouth turned down in a sulk. She headed the sketch
Trout
with a Pout
and showed it to Gran, who laughed out loud. No matter how upset you were you couldn’t be sad all the time, Mandy thought, it simply wasn’t possible.

Grandpa’s pain always seemed more manageable during the day, but then during the day the nurse came every four hours to give him a morphine injection, compared to the one at 10 p.m., which, with the sleeping draught, was supposed to see him through the night. When the nurse made his 6 p.m. visit they remained in the study and the nurse said Mr Edwards’s pulse was noticeably weaker in his neck. Gran and John nodded stoically as though they knew what this meant and had been half expecting it, but Mandy didn’t know and thought it sounded bad.

‘My parents aren’t coming again until Sunday,’ she said anxiously to the nurse. ‘Should I tell them to come sooner?’

The nurse looked up from Grandpa and smiled kindly. ‘I don’t think there’s any immediate concern. I’m sure Sunday will be fine. Your grandpa could stay the same for many days, but not weeks. I’ll check again when I settle him for the night.’

When the nurse returned at 10 p.m., after Gran and Evelyn had gone to bed, he took Grandpa’s pulse and said he was ‘holding his own’ and his pulse hadn’t weakened further, which seemed good news. After this 10 p.m. injection Grandpa slept reasonably peacefully until just after 2 a.m., when he awoke with a start and cried out. Mandy was already awake, with her iPod on low, and went straight to the bed, followed by John. John took his shoulders and she took Grandpa’s hands and together they tried to soothe him. But it had no effect and he grew delirious. ‘Get it off me!’ he cried, trying to knock something off his chest. Then, squinting towards the curtains: ‘Close the windows! They’re getting in!’

’The windows are closed,’ John reassured him. ‘Nothing can get in.’

Mandy tried to hold Grandpa’s hands to stop him from hitting his chest while John soothed his forehead, but he kept pulling away. And while Mandy wouldn’t have admitted it she was slightly spooked by Grandpa’s insistence that ‘they’ were getting in, for the threat seemed real. She glanced around the room at the shadows in the corners and then put the main light on. ‘He hasn’t got a temperature,’ John said, feeling his forehead. ‘It’s probably all the morphine making him see things.’

With the main light on Grandpa gradually began to calm down as though the light had banished the demons. The hallucinations stopped and he lay back on the pillows, exhausted, and slowly drifted into unconsciousness. They’d just returned to their chairs when he called out again; they were immediately by his bed. The pain was as bad as the previous night now and although John massaged his shoulders and Mandy stroked his head, all the time talking and trying to calm him, it had no effect. Then his eyes suddenly shot open and he stared up at John. ‘End it now,’ he gasped between breaths. ‘You promised. I’ve had enough.’

Mandy looked at John, who’d visibly paled. He took his hands from Grandpa’s shoulders and crossed to the phone on the desk. ‘Sorry, Dad, I can’t. I’ll call the nurse.’ Grandpa groaned.

As they waited for the nurse they soothed and comforted Grandpa as best they could. The agony drove him in and out of consciousness. In his waking moments he shouted out and stared around, not knowing where he was, then his eyes rolled upwards and he was unconscious again. The minutes ticked by and John kept glancing at his watch. ‘Where the hell is he?’ he demanded, channelling his worry into anger.

At last the pain seemed to peak and was subsiding when he began to retch. Mandy grabbed the bucket and he vomited the thick brown foul-smelling liquid. The doorbell rang. ‘Thank God,’ John said.

Mandy stayed where she was and wiped his mouth on a tissue while John answered the door. ‘The nurse is here,’ she soothed, but there was no reply.

Coming into the study, the nurse took charge. Mandy stood away from the bed as he turned Grandpa on to his side and gave him the morphine injection in his thigh. He opened a sterilized packet containing moistened cotton buds and carefully wiped the inside of Grandpa’s mouth. The smell rose from the bucket. ‘It’s faecal vomiting,’ the nurse said. ‘When the lower bowel becomes obstructed it contracts and forces the waste up through the intestines where it is ejected as vomit.’

Mandy thought she was going to puke.

John grimaced. ‘Can you think of anything more degrading than being forced to vomit up your own excrement!’ he said bitterly.

‘It won’t happen again,’ the nurse promised. ‘I’ll make sure he has an anti-nausea drug in with the morphine. You’re doing a good job,’ he added, touching John’s arm reassuringly. ‘Mr Edwards is a lucky man to be able to die at home surrounded by his family.’

Mandy flinched at the word ‘die’, which they’d all been carefully avoiding.

‘Is he?’ John said tightly. ‘I wouldn’t want an end like this.’

Mandy silently agreed.

T
he following morning, as usually happened, everything returned to ‘normal’, and John and Mandy continued their collusion by withholding the details of the night and passing it off as ‘restless’. Once breakfast was over and 12 noon began to approach – the time Sarah and Simon were expected – excitement over the ‘sense of occasion’ fuelled by Evelyn continued to rise. Mandy wondered if Sarah and Simon were always treated to such a ‘red carpet’ welcome, as if they were visiting dignitaries rather than daughter and boyfriend. It was nothing like Mandy’s visits to her parents when she simply dropped in or, if Adam was going too, phoned to say they were on their way. But then Mandy supposed her family (including her grandparents) would be deemed working class while her aunt’s family was clearly something more.

By 11.45 a.m. she was feeling quite nervous, partly because of Evelyn’s continual fussing and tidying, and also, if she was honest, at the prospect of meeting Sarah again after all this time. What memories would Sarah have of their time together? Would they even recognize each other?

Midday came and went. Gran and she were in the study sitting beside the bed while Grandpa slept. Evelyn and John were upstairs ‘getting ready’, and Mrs Saunders was busy in the kitchen.

‘Sarah’s always late,’ Gran said. ‘She takes after her mother. Evelyn always used to be late until she married John.’

Mandy gave a small nod. ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s not as though we’re going anywhere.’

‘No, love, that’s for sure,’ Gran said. ‘The only person going anywhere is Grandpa, and he’s in no hurry either. Are you, Will?’

Mandy smiled. Gran’s humour was like Grandpa’s, dry; it had seen them through many of life’s downers. The fact that Gran was able to make a joke suggested a semblance of normality – an acceptance of what was happening. Mandy supposed this was a result of gradually coming to terms with Grandpa’s condition. Nursing a loved one at home gave you time to adjust, she thought, compared to visiting in the emotional sterility of a hospital ward, where dying was safely removed but left you ill prepared for the end when it came. Whether her parents had made the same adjustment she doubted – it was hands-on nursing that prepared you.

‘She’ll regret not spending more time with him,’ Gran said, breaking into Mandy’s thoughts. ‘This will only be Sarah’s second visit and she only lives fifteen minutes away.’

Mandy could appreciate Gran’s concern but she could also understand Sarah’s reluctance to visit and see Grandpa so poorly. ‘Evelyn said Sarah’s finding it very difficult.’

‘And you’re not?’ Gran said, turning to look at her.

Mandy shrugged. ‘Perhaps I’m made of stronger stuff. It doesn’t mean Sarah cares less.’

‘I know that, love. Sarah’s been good to us in her own way.’

At 12.20 they heard the door chime; Mandy felt a surge of relief and apprehension. Two minutes later the study door opened and Evelyn came in, followed by Sarah and then Simon, both tall and very smartly dressed. Would she have recognized Sarah? Only from her photograph in Evelyn’s sitting room. Mandy stood to greet them.

‘Hi! It’s my little cousin,’ Sarah cried, taking Mandy’s hands between hers and air-kissing her cheeks. ‘Great to see you again! Fantastic,’ she enthused. ‘This is my partner, Simon.’

Simon air-kissed Mandy. ‘Lovely to meet you,’ he said.

‘And you.’

‘Sarah’s told me so much about you. All the time you spent together as children, and the mischief the pair of you got up to. Sounds great fun.’

Mandy glanced at Evelyn, smiled at Simon, and hid her shock. She’d assumed, wrongly, that because she hadn’t been allowed to speak of Sarah or her family to her parents during the past ten years the same had been true for Sarah speaking of her. Now she found not only was her name known to Simon, but that Sarah had been reliving fond childhood memories, apparently with her mother’s approval. Adam knew nothing of Sarah, beyond that she was a cousin whom Mandy hadn’t seen since a family argument a long while ago.

‘How’s Grandpa?’ Sarah asked, going over and kissing Gran’s cheek. ‘He looks so pale and thin, doesn’t he, Si? Not at all like he should.’

Simon nodded and hovered at the end of the bed. Mandy moved to one side so Sarah could get closer to the bed.

‘He’s holding his own,’ Gran said.

‘Is he going to wake up?’ Sarah asked. ‘We’d like to say hi.’

‘He’s heavily sedated,’ Evelyn said. ‘It’s for the best.’

‘Oh dear, what a shame. We’re disappointed, aren’t we, Si?’

Mandy looked at Sarah and tried to visualize her as a child, but it was difficult. Like so many things connected with the house and the time she’d spent here she had the vague feeling of familiarity without the clarity of proper recall. Had Sarah always been this flamboyant and extrovert? Mandy thought she
might have been. And she was sure Sarah had always been the taller. Now, at about five feet nine inches, Sarah was still five inches taller than Mandy – the reason she referred to her as ‘little cousin’. Simon was tall too, and they made a handsome couple: confident, sleek and slender. Sarah’s fair hair shone in a fashionable bob, and her light make-up accentuated her high, aristocratic cheekbones and clear blue eyes. Her smooth pencil skirt and short-sleeved cashmere jumper were clearly not chain-shop; suddenly Mandy felt under-dressed in her jeans and T-shirt. Simon’s grey flannel trousers and matching V-neck jumper complemented Sarah perfectly. Evelyn was right to be proud of Sarah, Mandy thought; there was a sense of occasion in being with her.

‘Is there anything we can do, Mummy?’ Sarah asked, looking at Evelyn.

‘Not really, pet. Dinner will be at one thirty. Mrs Saunders is making Simon’s favourite.’

‘Not the rack of lamb?’ he asked, his eyes widening.

Evelyn beamed and nodded, flattered by his enthusiasm.

‘Mum, you’ll spoil him,’ Sarah cried, squeezing Simon’s arm. ‘You know I can’t cook, although I am going to join an evening class next term.’

‘Not a moment too soon,’ Simon joked. Sarah poked him playfully in the ribs.

Mandy wondered how long Simon and Sarah had known each other and decided it couldn’t have been long. They were very attentive, constantly touching and exchanging glances, as you do with a new partner, treating each other with exaggerated care. They hadn’t yet developed the more comfortable, take-each-other-slightly-for-granted behaviour that came from knowing someone a long time. She thought Adam and she had reached that
comfort zone, except of course when she threw a wobbler and couldn’t bear him to touch her and rejected him. Then he recoiled for his own protection and put distance between them and she panicked at the thought of losing him.

‘I’ll be in the dining room if I’m wanted,’ Evelyn said.

‘We’ll come with you,’ Sarah said quickly. ‘We need to speak to Dad.’ Then, flashing Mandy a smile: ‘Will you call me if Gramps wakes?’

‘Of course.’ Mandy returned her smile.

Sarah and Evelyn left the study with Simon right behind them.

‘What does Simon do?’ Mandy asked, returning to sit beside Gran.

‘A broker in the City, I think. He’s always talking about stocks and shares.’

‘And Sarah?’

Gran smiled to herself. ‘Not a lot. John set her up with a beauty salon, but it’s never made any money. I overheard him saying he can’t prop it up for ever. I expect that’s why she needs to talk to him – it’s usually about money.’ Gran paused. ‘I wouldn’t let anyone else say this about Sarah but I can as her gran. John and Evelyn have spoilt her and it’s given her airs and graces. She’ll be twenty-five next birthday. She should be standing on her own two feet instead of relying on them. She needs to get a proper job and do an honest day’s work.’

Mandy didn’t comment, it wasn’t her place; and she was aware that she wasn’t exactly doing ‘a proper job’ either at present. Yet Gran had given her nothing but encouragement in her venture to paint full time, and Mandy wondered if it was Sarah’s ‘airs and graces’ that needled Gran, for she could see, even in their brief meeting, that Sarah’s flamboyant, dizzy nature had the potential to irritate.

Grandpa slept on, unaware there were visitors in the house. Sarah didn’t appear in the study again until 1.15 when she came in with Simon and announced lunch was nearly ready: ‘Mummy says if you need to use the cloakroom could you do so now.’

Gran said she did want to and Mandy helped her on to her walking frame. Sarah said she would go with Gran so Mandy would have a chance to get to know Si. Mandy wasn’t sure she needed to know him, and Simon looked unconvinced too. They watched Sarah and Gran leave the study, glanced at each other awkwardly, and then looked at Grandpa who was on his back, mouth open and breathing heavily.

‘You’re doing a good job,’ Simon said. ‘I’m afraid Sarah can’t help much. It makes her too upset seeing him like this. She’s very sensitive.’

Mandy nodded.

‘I hear you’re an artist?’

Mandy looked at him, surprised. How did he know? Presumably Evelyn had said something. ‘Not really,’ she said, embarrassed. ‘I’m just treating myself to a year off. A bit of self-indulgence really.’

‘I used to be pretty good at art at school, but I don’t have the time now. May I have a look at your drawings?’

It seemed churlish to refuse, so reluctantly Mandy crossed to the armchair and picked up the carrier bag from beside the chair. Taking out the sketch pad she passed it to him. ‘There isn’t anything exciting,’ she apologized. ‘Just a few views I’ve seen since I’ve been staying here. I thought I might try and paint them when I go home.’ She waited self-consciously as Simon flipped through the pages, examining the half-dozen drawings. He laughed at the picture of the trout.

‘They’re good,’ he said. ‘I like your style – very realistic.’

‘Thank you.’ She returned the pad to the carrier bag and tucked it out of sight beside the chair.

A moment later the study door shot open and Sarah appeared. ‘Lunch is ready!’ she cried. Grandpa stirred but didn’t wake. ‘Mandy, Mummy said to tell you Gramps will be OK alone while we eat, but to leave the study door open so we can hear him.’

Sarah linked Simon’s arm and Mandy followed them into the hall. ‘Si used to paint,’ Sarah said over her shoulder at Mandy, ‘but he doesn’t have the time now he goes into the City.’

‘No,’ Mandy agreed. ‘It’s very difficult to get out the brushes after a day at work.’

‘I want him to paint me,’ Sarah said, turning to Simon as they walked. ‘I could pose draped over a couch, like one of those Rubenesque women.’

‘Mnnn, sounds good to me,’ Simon said seductively and kissed the end of her nose.

They filed into the dining room and settled around the table. Mrs Saunders set the dishes and platters down the centre of the table with a serving spoon in each as John opened a bottle of wine. They helped themselves and began eating. Mandy found she didn’t have much to say during the meal, which was just as well as there wasn’t a great deal of opportunity. Sarah was clearly the star attraction and occupied centre stage, which she did naturally and successfully, Mandy thought. She talked continuously – to the neglect of her lunch – of her beauty salon and the media clients who patronized it; Simon’s success in the City; their apartment; entertaining; and their most recent holiday in Gran Canaria. Sarah’s monologue was only interrupted by the occasional and very small portion of food, which she delicately forked into her mouth where it seemed to dissolve rather than be chewed; and confirmation from Simon that what she was saying was true –
‘Isn’t that right, Si?’ she said, to which he invariably replied, ‘Absolutely.’ And Mandy thought, a little unkindly, that appreciation from Sarah’s audience ran on a decreasing scale – from Evelyn and Simon who laughed and agreed unreservedly with everything Sarah said; to John who nodded occasionally; to Mandy who smiled faintly but appropriately; and Gran who, on the same side of the table to Sarah, said nothing, clearly used to Sarah’s chatter and refusing to indulge her.

The door chime rang at 2 p.m. and Evelyn left the table to let the nurse in. Gran had finished her main course and told John she didn’t want pudding but would go and sit with Will instead. Sarah paused briefly from talking to help Gran on to her walking frame. Sitting down again she resumed the story she’d been telling. Mandy would have liked to have excused herself from the table too, but Sarah was seated directly opposite her and was addressing much of her monologue to her. She was reaching the climax of what had been a long story about a mouse which had got into her salon one night and scared her senseless in the morning. Her voice rose, her eyes flashed and she waved her arms as she described the search of the premises that had resulted in the mouse escaping out of the back door. Mandy smiled and nodded.

The meal drew to a close with fruit salad and ice cream shortly after 2.30. Once finished they stood and began moving away from the table and out of the dining room. Sarah said she was going to the ‘little girls’ room’, and after she’d gone Mandy suddenly found herself alone with Simon in the front hall. ‘Sorry,’ he whispered. ‘Sarah always talks too much when she’s nervous.’

Mandy glanced at him and smiled, unsure of what he meant.

‘She can talk for England when she’s worried, but she’s got a heart of gold. She was worried about meeting you again.’

‘Was she?’ Mandy asked, surprised, for Sarah hadn’t given the impression of being nervous. Far from it.

He shrugged. ‘She thought it might be embarrassing meeting again, given what happened. But you’re fine about it all now, aren’t you?’

Mandy turned to look at him squarely. They had come to a halt at the end of the hall. Evelyn and John were still in the dining room, talking to Mrs Saunders – congratulating her on the meal. ‘Fine about what?’ Mandy said.

‘You know, what happened when you were kids.’

She stared at him, completely taken aback. She didn’t know ‘what happened’! She hadn’t got a clue, but clearly Simon knew. ‘Why exactly was Sarah worried?’ Mandy asked carefully, watching his expression.

‘Oh, well, she thought you might want to keep talking about it, you know, like some people do. There’s a guy I work with who was on the tube when the bombs went off – he had a few cuts but nothing serious. He keeps talking about it – reliving it, over and over again. Post-traumatic shock, I suppose. But you’re not like that. I can tell. You’ve moved on from the past. I expect your painting helped – it’s a type of therapy, isn’t it?’