Christmas at Rosie Hopkins’ Sweetshop
Page 51
‘Only on my mother’s side; my father’s parents died when he was small. He doesn’t even have a photograph.’
‘Right,’ said Lilian. ‘Right. That’s fine.’
She had started to move away when suddenly Dorothy Isitt arrived, her face furious as usual, for a duty visit to her mother, Ida Delia. As she stood there patting the snow off her arms in exactly the same way as Edward had, Lilian noticed suddenly that their eyes were also exactly the same greeny-brown colour. Of course Dorothy still had a mass of thick curly hair, greying now, where Edward had none.
And I, thought Lilian that night in her single bed – Lilian had never in her life not slept in a single bed – I am a silly, daft, romantic old lady. I am going completely round the bend.
Then a thought struck her. An awful, frightening, sad thought – but maybe a necessary one.
‘We’re a bit worried about your father,’ Cathryn had said to Edward earlier.
‘Oh dear.’
They watched him, still staring, the untouched book on his lap, his eyes miles away.
‘I hope he’s not causing any trouble?’
‘No, no trouble at all, he’s a pleasure to have around. But actually, that’s slightly my concern, to be honest. He’s become very quiet, showing none of the more violent signs of dementia, none of the physical activity you’d expect. Moray’s worried about his weight. He’s drawn very fully into himself.’
‘You think he’s unhappy here?’ said Edward, his heart starting to race. Please let her not say he had to go home. Not now, after everything they’d been through.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Cathryn. ‘I don’t think it’s that. But he seems very thoughtful, very wistful. It’s like he’s gone somewhere else.’
‘And that’s bad?’ said Edward with a gulp.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Cathryn again. ‘I expect lots of medical people would disagree with me, but there is a stage to dementia where living in the past all the time, rather than jolting horribly between past and present… it feels gentler, somehow. Kinder.’
Edward blinked.
‘You’re not just telling me what I want to hear?’
‘I would never do that,’ said Cathryn. ‘Getting old is a horrible business, Mr Boyd. It’s not my job to sugar-coat it to anyone. But here he seems…’
‘At peace?’ said Edward. ‘Do you think?’
‘I’m just passing on my observations,’ said Cathryn, turning briskly away.
Edward went and sat on the arm of the chair next to his father, and gently draped an arm over his shoulders. During the last horrible few years, James would have jerked, shouted; responding with fear, and on one or two occasions actual violence, to the point where they had all tried to avoid physical contact as much as they possibly could.
Now he let the arm rest there, without commenting or moving it, or possibly even noticing. Edward let his head fall to the side, so that it rested gently against his father’s, and then, without making a sound – he was an orderly man – he let his tears fall unnoticed into the old man’s soft white hair.
Rosie took Angie out shopping at Bennetts, followed by afternoon tea with a glass of fizz thrown in at the Cathedral Quarter Hotel in Derby. Stephen was taking his class sledging for PE and had invited the children along. Desleigh had sighed with relief and booked herself in for a ‘pampering day’, whatever that was. Angie had been up for going too, but Rosie had managed to bagsy her.
The wind was absolutely howling in their faces, and their carrier bags were flapping round their legs. They were glad to collapse with their packages in the steamy warmth of the hotel, heaving identical sighs of relief as they did so.
‘The works, please,’ said Rosie to the waitress, who still wore an old-fashioned black dress and a white apron. ‘This is on me, Mum.’
‘Actually, I should get it,’ said Angie. ‘You know the exchange rate is unbelievable. Everything here costs about five pence for me.’
Rosie briefly considered it – everything did not feel like it cost five pence to her – but of course fended her mother off at once.
‘Don’t be daft, Mum. Shut up and eat your scones.’
Angie smiled, put out her suntanned hand and rested it on Rosie’s pale one.
‘Oh, Rosie Posie,’ she said. ‘I do miss you.’
They had had such a fun afternoon, choosing gifts for the children, trying on clothes – Rosie as usual trying to steer Angie towards the more conventional, and Angie doing the opposite to her pretty daughter – and just spending time together chatting, gossiping, normal mother–daughter stuff. But it was not normal at all, because underneath it was the constant sadness that after Christmas Angie would depart – first for London, then for Paris so Desleigh could see it, then home. Back to Australia.
‘I miss you too, Mum,’ said Rosie. So much had changed during the last two years. She missed Sunday lunch at Angie’s, the gravy in the little gravy boat that was heated from underneath by a candle; going to the Next sale on Boxing Day; watching Corrie with tomato soup on nights when her ex, Gerard, was out. Or just their long chats on the telephone; the time difference between the UK and Australia meant their talks were never quite satisfactory. One of the benefits – possibly the only benefit – that Rosie could see about growing up without a father was that you became a mummy’s girl. You couldn’t help it.
‘You know, I’m sorry about what I said. I didn’t mean it to upset you – mostly just to annoy that horrible lady,’ said Angie. ‘But we have been talking amongst ourselves… Pip’s worried about you. I mean, you know there’s just so much opportunity in Australia. And nurses get paid really well, compared to here. You could have your own house, with a swimming pool, meet a nice man…’
‘I’ve got a nice man,’ said Rosie reflexively.
‘Really, babe? I mean, charming, posh, all of that, but…’
The champagne came, with tea, too. They paused whilst the waitress poured it out.
‘… that house, darling, that family… do you think so? Really? I mean, he said himself he’s got no interest in getting married. Are you happy just to stay his bit on the side for ever? Aren’t you better than that?’
‘Right,’ said Lilian. ‘Right. That’s fine.’
She had started to move away when suddenly Dorothy Isitt arrived, her face furious as usual, for a duty visit to her mother, Ida Delia. As she stood there patting the snow off her arms in exactly the same way as Edward had, Lilian noticed suddenly that their eyes were also exactly the same greeny-brown colour. Of course Dorothy still had a mass of thick curly hair, greying now, where Edward had none.
And I, thought Lilian that night in her single bed – Lilian had never in her life not slept in a single bed – I am a silly, daft, romantic old lady. I am going completely round the bend.
Then a thought struck her. An awful, frightening, sad thought – but maybe a necessary one.
‘We’re a bit worried about your father,’ Cathryn had said to Edward earlier.
‘Oh dear.’
They watched him, still staring, the untouched book on his lap, his eyes miles away.
‘I hope he’s not causing any trouble?’
‘No, no trouble at all, he’s a pleasure to have around. But actually, that’s slightly my concern, to be honest. He’s become very quiet, showing none of the more violent signs of dementia, none of the physical activity you’d expect. Moray’s worried about his weight. He’s drawn very fully into himself.’
‘You think he’s unhappy here?’ said Edward, his heart starting to race. Please let her not say he had to go home. Not now, after everything they’d been through.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Cathryn. ‘I don’t think it’s that. But he seems very thoughtful, very wistful. It’s like he’s gone somewhere else.’
‘And that’s bad?’ said Edward with a gulp.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Cathryn again. ‘I expect lots of medical people would disagree with me, but there is a stage to dementia where living in the past all the time, rather than jolting horribly between past and present… it feels gentler, somehow. Kinder.’
Edward blinked.
‘You’re not just telling me what I want to hear?’
‘I would never do that,’ said Cathryn. ‘Getting old is a horrible business, Mr Boyd. It’s not my job to sugar-coat it to anyone. But here he seems…’
‘At peace?’ said Edward. ‘Do you think?’
‘I’m just passing on my observations,’ said Cathryn, turning briskly away.
Edward went and sat on the arm of the chair next to his father, and gently draped an arm over his shoulders. During the last horrible few years, James would have jerked, shouted; responding with fear, and on one or two occasions actual violence, to the point where they had all tried to avoid physical contact as much as they possibly could.
Now he let the arm rest there, without commenting or moving it, or possibly even noticing. Edward let his head fall to the side, so that it rested gently against his father’s, and then, without making a sound – he was an orderly man – he let his tears fall unnoticed into the old man’s soft white hair.
Rosie took Angie out shopping at Bennetts, followed by afternoon tea with a glass of fizz thrown in at the Cathedral Quarter Hotel in Derby. Stephen was taking his class sledging for PE and had invited the children along. Desleigh had sighed with relief and booked herself in for a ‘pampering day’, whatever that was. Angie had been up for going too, but Rosie had managed to bagsy her.
The wind was absolutely howling in their faces, and their carrier bags were flapping round their legs. They were glad to collapse with their packages in the steamy warmth of the hotel, heaving identical sighs of relief as they did so.
‘The works, please,’ said Rosie to the waitress, who still wore an old-fashioned black dress and a white apron. ‘This is on me, Mum.’
‘Actually, I should get it,’ said Angie. ‘You know the exchange rate is unbelievable. Everything here costs about five pence for me.’
Rosie briefly considered it – everything did not feel like it cost five pence to her – but of course fended her mother off at once.
‘Don’t be daft, Mum. Shut up and eat your scones.’
Angie smiled, put out her suntanned hand and rested it on Rosie’s pale one.
‘Oh, Rosie Posie,’ she said. ‘I do miss you.’
They had had such a fun afternoon, choosing gifts for the children, trying on clothes – Rosie as usual trying to steer Angie towards the more conventional, and Angie doing the opposite to her pretty daughter – and just spending time together chatting, gossiping, normal mother–daughter stuff. But it was not normal at all, because underneath it was the constant sadness that after Christmas Angie would depart – first for London, then for Paris so Desleigh could see it, then home. Back to Australia.
‘I miss you too, Mum,’ said Rosie. So much had changed during the last two years. She missed Sunday lunch at Angie’s, the gravy in the little gravy boat that was heated from underneath by a candle; going to the Next sale on Boxing Day; watching Corrie with tomato soup on nights when her ex, Gerard, was out. Or just their long chats on the telephone; the time difference between the UK and Australia meant their talks were never quite satisfactory. One of the benefits – possibly the only benefit – that Rosie could see about growing up without a father was that you became a mummy’s girl. You couldn’t help it.
‘You know, I’m sorry about what I said. I didn’t mean it to upset you – mostly just to annoy that horrible lady,’ said Angie. ‘But we have been talking amongst ourselves… Pip’s worried about you. I mean, you know there’s just so much opportunity in Australia. And nurses get paid really well, compared to here. You could have your own house, with a swimming pool, meet a nice man…’
‘I’ve got a nice man,’ said Rosie reflexively.
‘Really, babe? I mean, charming, posh, all of that, but…’
The champagne came, with tea, too. They paused whilst the waitress poured it out.
‘… that house, darling, that family… do you think so? Really? I mean, he said himself he’s got no interest in getting married. Are you happy just to stay his bit on the side for ever? Aren’t you better than that?’
