Chapter 18
Chapter eighteen
Matty sat up on the kitchen counter, legs swinging, as she waited for Gloria to finish breakfast. There was nothing to organise for lunch. Sloan had stocked up over the weekend and there was a ready-made, just-reheat quiche waiting.
She noticed the pad Sloan had scribbled information down on and realised she’d never looked at it properly. Regimented, neat handwriting—the kind that looked as though every letter were written with deliberate care. Legible and beautiful.
It was the list of phone numbers: office, mobile, her secretary, the doctor’s surgery. It also told her which doctor Gloria saw, and when she needed to nap, eat, and take her medication.
Matty pushed it back to where she’d found it and jumped down from the counter.
“All done, Mrs S?” she asked as she turned into the lounge and noticed the empty plate and the satisfied grin on Gloria’s face.
Gloria was looking past the television now, towards the window, where a square of pale spring sunshine had spilled across the carpet.
“I want to go shopping,” she said.
Matty picked up the tray. “For food? Clothes? A quick trip into Come Again?”
“Into where?”
Matty chuckled. “It’s an adult shop,” she whispered. “They’ve got a Wet For Her range now.”
Gloria pulled a face. “What would I want with that?”
Matty shrugged. “We all have needs, Gloria. So, what kind of shopping did you want to do?”
“I need new shoes.”
“Alright. Is there a wheelchair?”
Gloria looked unimpressed.
“If you want to walk, you can, but we need to take the chair for when you get tired, because you will until you’ve built up some stamina. So stop being stroppy about it—we’re taking it.”
“It’s under the stairs,” Gloria acquiesced.
“Right, then. I’ll get this washed up and tidied. Do you want to get changed or are you alright going out as you are?”
Gloria looked down at herself. She was dressed casually, and nothing like the way she’d have dressed in her heyday.
“We are in no rush if you want to change into something else,” Matty offered, seeing the cogs whirring in Gloria’s brain. “It’s a nice day. Will be good to get some sunshine on our skin instead of being cooped up in here all day.”
Grabbing her stick, Gloria heaved herself up to a standing position. “I’ll be upstairs.”
“Righto,” Matty said.
She followed Gloria towards the stairlift, detouring to the cupboard under the stairs as though she wasn’t hovering to make sure she didn’t fall.
Gloria paused at the foot of the stairlift, one hand tight around her stick.
Matty hovered by the cupboard door, pretending to inspect the folded wheelchair like she knew what she was doing. “You alright?”
Gloria gave a short, irritated snort. “Do I look alright?”
Matty stood up and gave her full attention. “Honestly? You look like someone trying very hard not to say what she’s actually thinking.”
Gloria sniffed. “And what would be the point in that? Nobody listens anyway.”
Matty let that sit for a moment, then said, “I do.”
Gloria turned her head and looked at her properly then, as if weighing whether she believed her.
Matty leaned against the wall. “You don’t want shoes that fit some old woman who never leaves the house. You want your shoes.”
A flicker crossed Gloria’s face—annoyance first, then something more brittle.
“I used to have standards,” she said. “I wasn’t always sat in that bloody chair with a blanket over my knees and people discussing me like I’m not in the room.”
Matty said nothing.
“I had a life,” Gloria went on, quieter now, but no less bitter for it.
“I went where I liked. Wore what I liked. Drove. Worked. Managed my own house. My own money. My own body.” Her mouth tightened.
“Now everyone looks at me as if I ought to be grateful for being allowed to choose between jam and marmalade.”
Matty winced. “Yeah. That’d piss me off too.”
Gloria let out a breath through her nose. “It does more than piss me off.”
There was a pause.
“I know I can’t do everything I used to,” Gloria said at last. “I’m not stupid.
But every time someone tells me no, what I hear is not anymore.
Not anymore, Gloria. Not for you. Sit down.
Be careful. Don’t try. Don’t bother.” Her fingers shifted on the handle of the stick.
“You start to feel as if you’re disappearing by inches. ”
Matty’s expression softened, but she didn’t move towards her. Didn’t crowd her.
“You’re not disappearing,” she said.
Gloria gave her a look. “Easy for you to say.”
“No.” Matty shook her head. “Easy for me to spot, maybe. There’s a difference.”
Gloria frowned.
“You’re still in there,” Matty said. “Still wanting things. Still caring what you look like. Still getting cross. Still being nosy and rude and bossy.”
Gloria’s mouth twitched, despite herself.
“And for what it’s worth,” Matty added, “I don’t think you’re difficult because you enjoy it. I think you’re angry because everyone keeps trying to shove you into this neat little box labelled Frail Old Lady, and you don’t fit.”
For a second, Gloria said nothing. Then her chin lifted, proudly even. “I do not.”
“No,” Matty said, “you really don’t.”
Gloria looked away, blinking once, quickly. “Well. Glad that’s sorted then.”
Matty pushed off from the wall. “So go upstairs. Find something that feels like you. Not what’s practical. Not what Sloan would pick. What you want.”
Gloria’s grip tightened on the stick again. “And if what I want is ridiculous?”
Matty grinned. “Then I’ll be honoured to wheel you about in something ridiculous.”
That got a proper laugh out of Gloria—small, rusty, but real.
“Cheeky girl,” she muttered.
“Terrible influences I have to put up with,” Matty agreed.
Gloria moved on towards the stairlift, slower now, but with a touch more purpose. Before she lowered herself into the seat, she glanced back.
“Don’t call me frail,” she said.
Matty held up a hand. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Gloria sniffed, but there was less sting in it this time. Then she settled herself into the stairlift and pressed the button.
Matty waited until it began to move before turning back towards the kitchen, smiling to herself.
***
The sound of the stairlift starting up again gave Matty the heads-up Gloria was on her way back down. She got up from the sofa and wandered into the hallway. The wheelchair stood by the front door, still folded.
Matty whistled as Gloria came into view—a touch of rouge on her cheeks, lipstick on her thin lips, and a summer dress that showed the pale skin of her arms and chest. “Mrs S... Look at you.” She’d even found a sunhat.
“I’m going to have to be on my guard for those charming older gents who’re going to be swarming. ”
Gloria couldn’t stop the chuckle, or the blush. “Oh, stop it.”
Matty smiled.
“Right, let me change shoes and we can get going.”
Gloria came to a halt, unclipped herself, and stood up. She watched as Matty kicked off her Vans and picked up her bag.
She sat down on the bottom stair, pulled out her skates, eased each foot in, and tied the laces.
“Are you mad?” Gloria said. “How will I keep up with you on those?”
Matty skated across to the wheelchair and pulled it open. “Strap in, Mrs S. We’re going for a ride.”