Chapter 36
GOLDENWYCH, PRESENT DAY
Light blazed from Gillian’s windows as Caitlin pulled onto the wide driveway.
Gillian’s Mercedes convertible was in one side of the double garage but Alan’s Porsche Cayenne was missing.
He was at extra dance classes with Larry and George as they worked on a three-part routine to ‘Life on Mars’ by David Bowie for the madness scene.
Alan had placed a message on the family WhatsApp group saying he was unsure of this piece as he felt the contemporary dance element did not really suit them.
He had suggested they change it to ‘Wuthering Heights’ by Kate Bush and allow the female members of the cast to excel instead; no one had yet responded.
As Caitlin cut her engine, Rachel swept up beside her.
She looked tense and when Caitlin waved, her sister held up her phone to indicate she was in the middle of a conversation.
Caitlin gave her a thumbs-up and walked to the front door, she had no desire to hang around waiting for her sister to finish talking.
‘Hi, Moon,’ said Gillian, opening the door. She peered out at Rachel’s car.
‘She’s on the phone,’ said Caitlin.
‘I’ll leave the keys in the door, she can let herself in when she’s ready,’ said Gillian, and to Caitlin’s surprise, Gillian fished her door keys out of the wide unevenly shaped dark brown bowl Rachel had made for their parents.
‘Didn’t Rabbit want her dish?’ asked Caitlin.
‘No, it was in the skip,’ said Gillian, shutting the door. ‘I couldn’t bear to see it there, so I picked it out when she wasn’t looking.’
Caitlin was about to comment when the key grated and Rachel entered, her face white and her eyes red-rimmed. She threw Gillian’s keys in the bowl without seeming to notice it was the one she had abandoned.
‘Whatever this is about, can we be quick?’ she said. ‘Pete’s kicking up a fuss about babysitting the girls.’
‘You can’t babysit your own children,’ said Gillian. ‘It’s called parenting.’
‘Not helpful,’ muttered Rachel, hanging her jacket on the coat stand and stalking past her sister to the huge room at the back of the house where life was lived.
‘Come through,’ said Gillian, her voice heavy with sarcasm. She shook her head at Caitlin in mock despair, then led the way through the beautiful home she and Alan had created.
In happier times, Caitlin had always loved visiting Gillian and Alan, the house was warm, inviting and seemed to hug you as soon as you were over the threshold.
Caitlin was unsure whether it was Gillian or Alan’s interior décor skills that had created this ambiance but it held a memory of their family home when they were growing up, so she suspected it was her sister.
She followed Gillian into the large multi-functional space at the back of the house, where Rachel was texting, her back to her sisters.
Tri-fold doors overlooked a long, beautifully maintained garden and Rachel’s reflection was haggard as she wrote her message.
Caitlin gazed out at the garden, trying not to allow shock to register over Rachel’s appearance, instead letting her eyes follow the carefully placed lights which drew the eye down the lawn and through the flower beds, giving the outdoor space a magical glow.
A long, polished-wood table with velvet-covered seats in jewel colours stood to one side, while two sofas and several armchairs, including the patchwork wingback armchair that had once belonged to Miranda, were grouped around a modern log-burning stove.
On the wall was a huge television and, below it, a vast array of musical equipment, including shelves containing hundreds of vinyl records and others crammed with CDs.
Another shelf was lined with DVDs showing an eclectic mix of films, from black and white Westerns and early Hollywood musicals to modern French cinema.
Caitlin noticed the white rug that had once been in the centre of the room had been replaced by one in a dark burnt orange.
‘Tea, coffee, wine?’ asked Gillian.
‘Tea,’ Caitlin and Rachel replied together.
Gillian pulled an old-fashioned caddy from the cupboard and both her sisters smiled. This, too, was an old family treasure and had belonged to their grandmother, then their mother.
Gillian placed the tea tray on the dining-room table and the three women sat, Gillian at the head, Rachel on her right, Caitlin on her left.
‘What was so urgent it couldn’t wait, Moon?’ said Rachel, her phone face down on the table beside her. ‘If you’re trying to stage another intervention, you can forget it—’
‘Will you stop it,’ snapped Gillian. ‘Perhaps it’s time we discussed things and resolved them. Moon did what she thought was best.’
‘But we promised Mum,’ snapped Rachel and jumped as her phone pinged. She flipped it over and her eyes narrowed as she read the message.
Caitlin had heard Rachel’s rambling argument about respecting their mother’s last wishes before but ever since Lee’s discovery she wondered whether they had misinterpreted her words.
It was a huge assumption but once the possibility had lodged itself in her mind she had been unable to shake the idea.
‘This isn’t about Mum,’ said Caitlin as Rachel slammed her phone back on the table. ‘It’s about Dad.’
‘You’re not planning to boycott the musical, are you?’ asked Gillian. ‘I admit, in your position, I’d be upset because Dad isn’t being very encouraging but it’s important we present a united front.’
Gillian poured the tea, pushing a cup towards each sister, followed by a plate of chocolate biscuits.
‘No, this has nothing to do with the Players,’ Caitlin said, sipping her tea, recognising the blend as her mother’s, which Gillian had obviously bought from the café, purchasing it when Caitlin had been absent.
‘What is it then?’ barked Rachel.
‘Do you remember the secret cupboard in Mum and Dad’s bedroom?’ Caitlin asked.
‘Dad wallpapered over it,’ said Rachel.
‘No one’s used it for years,’ added Gillian.
‘When Lee’s builders were redecorating the bedroom, they discovered the door had been opened recently and these were inside, stowed in the old biscuit tin Dad used for valuables and the briefcase Mum gave him for his thirtieth birthday.’
She reached into her handbag and placed the diary and the Alzheimer’s leaflets on the table. Gillian and Rachel stared at them in confusion.
Caitlin flipped open the diary to the dates of her father’s appointments.
‘Dad’s been visiting a private doctor,’ she said, ‘and a few weeks before his TIA, he went for an appointment at a private clinic specialising in the care of people with Alzheimer’s, dementia and other associated conditions.
I suspect it’s where he acquired these leaflets. ’
Rachel pushed the leaflets away from her, as though they were contaminated, but Gillian began flipping through the diary, turning page after page, running her finger down the list of visits to the private doctor.
‘But he’s too young,’ Rachel said, echoing Caitlin’s words from her discussion with Lee.
‘Lee said not,’ she replied.
‘Should Lee be discussing his patient with you?’ snapped Gillian, looking up from the diary but Caitlin knew her sister’s harsh tone was caused by fear.
‘Lee and Uncle George knew nothing about it,’ she said. ‘Lee’s meeting his dad after the dance class to tell him. Dad has been keeping this a secret from everyone.’
‘First Mum and now Dad,’ said Rachel and her voice broke into a sob.
Gillian closed the diary, then stood up, pacing the room, her face white with anguish.
‘At the end of last year, Dad put the paperwork in place to give Alan and me Lasting Power of Attorney when the time was necessary,’ Gillian said. ‘We work with Dad, it seemed a sensible precaution, it never occurred to me there could be another reason.’
‘How have we missed this?’ said Rachel.
‘No one would have guessed,’ said Caitlin. ‘Dad’s always had moments where he has become fixated on an idea and refused to listen to reason. Whenever he does anything erratic, we all think, “Oh, it’s Dad being Dad”, why would we have suspected there was a different reason?’
Gillian sat down again, reaching for the biscuits.
‘When Mum was dying, she asked us to protect Dad,’ said Gillian. ‘What if Mum had her suspicions Dad was ill?’
Caitlin felt all the stress she had been carrying since Lee had discovered the leaflets and diary dissipating.
Gillian’s keen analytical mind had drawn the same conclusion as her and the relief was immense.
She could not fully explain why this release was so important except it meant she no longer bore the burden alone.
‘How would she?’ asked Rachel.
‘She knew him better than anyone,’ said Gillian. ‘Don’t you remember? On the night Mum died, Dad was with her for hours, then suddenly, she announced Dad was leaving, that he was going to collect George for a Players’ meeting.’
‘We were furious,’ said Caitlin, ‘but when Dad said goodbye, it was with such love – they knew they were saying their last farewell. It was after that, when we were alone with Mum, she told us the secret they’d been keeping and asked us to take care of Dad, to protect him from what was to come, to forgive him because he didn’t always have control over his actions. ’
‘You’re right,’ said Rachel. ‘Perhaps she had guessed.’
‘Which means, the secret she wanted us to keep wasn’t the one we thought,’ said Gillian.
‘What?’ said Rachel.
‘Perhaps Mum was trying to prepare us for what she feared lay ahead with Dad’s health,’ said Caitlin, ‘and she wanted us to know we weren’t alone.’
Rachel stared at her in horror as realisation dawned. ‘Do you mean, all this time, we’ve been wrong about what Mum meant?’
‘Yes,’ said Caitlin. ‘What do you think, Bean?’
Gillian took her sisters’ hands, Caitlin leaned towards her, so their foreheads were nearly touching, Rachel mirrored her actions. The position was one they would adopt when they were growing up when they had made up after an argument – they called it the Triangle of Sisterhood.
‘We have to tell our older sister,’ said Gillian and there were tears in all their eyes.