Chapter 12
MARY
I messaged Beckett on Wednesday night.
Mary
Any chance we can pop over to the church tomorrow morning? Sofia’s found a box of old costumes and leftover fabric and she’s going to bring her sewing machine for me to pick up
If not, we can collect it another day, but Cheris sent over the cast list this afternoon and I’m starting to panic about making eighteen costumes in three weeks
Especially given that one of them is a goblin shark Santa
Waiting almost two hours for a reply shouldn’t have felt so torturous, except, of course, that I’d not spoken to another adult the entire day.
Then he phoned me, which more than made up for the wait.
‘Sorry, Gramps only just settled down. He kept fussing about not being able to find the electric drill. The truth is, it broke a couple of years ago and I never got around to buying a new one. He kept insisting he needed to replace a curtain pole. Curtain poles are one of the few things in our house that don’t need fixing.
’ Beckett sounded grim. ‘Anyway, what time do you want me to pick you up?’
‘Sofia said around eleven is best for her. But, Beckett, the pole in my dining room fell off a few weeks ago, taking a hole out of the plaster. It’s propped up against the wall.’
He released a long sigh.
‘I thought he’d dreamt it up out of nowhere. Or had got lost in the past somewhere.’
‘I’m so sorry you’re having to go through this.’ My voice was thick with sadness for them. ‘Both of you.’
There were a few beats of silence before he replied. When he did, I had to press my phone against my ear to catch the words.
‘Having someone to talk to about it makes all the difference.’
‘Okay, I’ve nowhere else to be. Let’s talk.’
So, we did. All the way through Bob’s first feed of the night, a mug of tea and two rounds of buttery toast for me, three for Beckett.
He told me how Gramps had been worsening as I transferred wet clothes to the cranky drier, then described more about the man Gramps had been as I rocked an even crankier baby back and forth in front of the curtainless window, as the moon became gradually obscured by the next lot of snow clouds.
I read out the cast list for the carol concert, and we brainstormed ideas for how to create Shrek Santa and Taylor Swift Santa, until tea snorted out of my nose.
Oh my. Even as we laughed, and jabbered on, and both of us cried a couple of times, the truth of how achingly lonely I had been engulfed me, swiftly followed by the realisation of how precious this friendship had already become.
Eventually, as midnight rolled in, both of us now in our respective beds, we admitted that we were beyond coherent conversation and had to get some sleep if we had any hope of surviving tomorrow.
‘Goodnight, Mary,’ Beckett murmured.
‘One of the best,’ I mumbled back, my befuddled head misinterpreting what he’d said.
‘Really?’ He suddenly sounded a lot more alert.
‘Yes. Thank you for such a good night. Goodnight.’ I hung up before I could say anything else that I might regret in the morning.
Drifting off to sleep, I replayed one of the last times I’d spent an evening talking for hours, mask off and filter down, emotions meandering as we shared stories and opinions, and, along with them, our hearts. As always, it triggered a stab of pain. Although maybe less deep than usual.
That time, the other person had kept a big, fat filter up. One that hid from me the most important thing I needed to know.
Despite how, that time, I was talking to my husband. Not a brand-new friend who had no obligation whatsoever to tell me his biggest secrets.
This time, I was the one with a past I wasn’t ready to share.
* * *
Beckett flashed me a conspiratorial glance in the rear-view mirror as he stifled yet another yawn. The other passengers were, naturally, snoozing, and I gave Bob an exaggeratedly jealous glare.
‘You can sleep if you want.’ Beckett shrugged.
‘That hardly seems fair, given we are equally to blame for the foolishly late night. I insist on staying awake, in the name of solidarity.’
Twenty minutes later, I came to in the New Life car park with a stiff neck and a patch of drool on my scarf.
Beckett said nothing, but I caught the smug gleam in his eye.
* * *
‘Hi, guys!’ I’m not sure Moses could have seemed more pleased if Jesus had appeared in his church foyer. ‘You’re a few minutes early, but I guess that’s got something to do with the boxes in Sofia’s office.’
‘Um, yes. We’re here to pick up stuff for the carol-concert costumes.’
‘You don’t sound too sure.’ Moses started leading us towards the back of the building.
What I wasn’t sure about was his comment about being early, implying that there was another reason to be here.
Sofia’s office was empty, but there were three large, clearly labelled boxes, a sewing machine in its case and a closed basket containing threads, scissors, a tape measure and other essentials.
‘Why don’t Beckett and I load up the car while you and Gramps find Sofia? She’ll be in the small hall,’ Moses said.
Bob’s pram had arrived that morning, which Gramps now insisted upon pushing, so it took a few unsteady rams of the front wheel against the double doors and a polite-yet-assertive insistence upon me helping him before we made it into the small hall.
The room had been rearranged since Sunday’s lunch.
The sofas were pushed up against a back wall, and the rest of the space was now filled with different-sized tables.
A stack of board games covered a smaller one, another had neat rows of plant pots and seed packets.
A third held various materials that, judging by the predominance of red, green and gold, were probably for Christmas decorations.
Bill and another person were laying the empty tables with cutlery, napkins, glasses and tiny vases of autumn foliage.
Were we being corralled into yet another lunch? Because we really didn’t have time for board games and crafts.
Sofia appeared from the door into the kitchen, greeting us with a delight completely out of proportion considering we’d arranged for me to come only the night before.
‘We’ve got fish pie, with smoky baked beans or cabbage, then blackberry cobbler.’
‘I hate cabbage,’ Gramps announced.
‘Perfect, you can have beans,’ Sofia said, utterly unfazed. ‘Do you want a drink first? Why don’t we find you a comfy seat, then when some of the others arrive I’ll introduce you.’
‘I don’t like new people.’
Sofia linked her arm through his and began steering him over to a sofa. ‘Well, once I introduce you they won’t be new any more, will they? They’ll be Jan, Inga, Derek and Baljit.’
‘Um, we can’t stay,’ I said, scanning behind me for any sign of Beckett.
‘Absolutely. Even if you wanted to. We sometimes allow a companion for the first week, if needed, but strictly speaking that should be agreed in advance because of catering. The funding won’t budget for extras.
It was all on the leaflet. You can pick him up around two-thirty.
Have you decided on that drink yet, Marvin? ’
‘The usual please.’
* * *
I had to hurry after Sofia back towards the kitchen. ‘I don’t understand. You’re offering Gramps lunch, but you said we can’t stay?’
‘Well, yes, because he’s over seventy. I presume. He must be over seventy? Oh my goodness, don’t tell him if I’ve made a boobie.’
‘He’s eighty-two.’
‘Phew! I thought so. Anyway, you and Bob, definitely being under seventy, are not invited.’
‘Okay. So this is some sort of older people’s thing?’
‘Yes. It’s our Long-Life Lunch Club. I gave Beckett a leaflet.’
‘He didn’t mention it.’
‘Oh.’ Sofia looked slightly crestfallen. ‘Marvin can join us, though?’
At that point, Beckett arrived. ‘What’s happening?’
‘An over-seventies’ lunch club. Gramps is having beans but no cabbage.’
‘What?’
‘No youngsters allowed, so we’ll pick him up at two-thirty.’
‘No.’ Beckett shook his head, disconcerted. ‘We can’t leave him here.’
‘Yeah, you can.’ Sofia grinned, reappearing with a mug of tea. ‘He’ll have a great time. I reckon Doreen could out-insult him any day of the week. Especially when it’s fish pie.’
‘No, he’s not safe.’
‘Which is why we have trained, experienced volunteers.’
‘He has significant cognitive impairment, some apraxia, other issues…’
‘Did you fill in the form online?’
‘No, because I had no intention of him coming here.’
‘Hang on.’ She called across the room. ‘Bill? Can you come and help Beckett sort a form for Marvin, please?’
Sofia nipped past us and went to give Gramps his tea.
‘Sorry,’ Beckett said, face creased with anxiety as Bill approached. ‘He can’t stay without someone who can manage his needs. I’ll let him finish his drink and then we’ll go.’
Bill gave Beckett a patient stare. ‘I worked as a geriatric nurse for thirty-six years. In the seven years since retiring, I’ve volunteered with a dementia charity, a stroke support group, in five different nursing homes and here. I can manage his needs.’
‘Sometimes… he can’t feed himself properly.’
Bill nodded at a woman in a wheelchair, her limbs and neck painfully contorted. ‘That’s what we’re here for.’
‘We can’t afford this,’ Beckett said. ‘I’m in between home carers at the moment, so barely managing to work… I… Thanks for the offer.’
Bill grinned. ‘There’s no charge, pal.’
‘What?’ Beckett frowned as he scanned the room, which was now filling up with more elderly and in some cases very infirm people. ‘You do this for free?’
Bill put a hand on Beckett’s shoulder as his tone grew serious.
‘I’ve spent enough time with families going through what you’re facing to know what a lifeline a few hours off a week can be.
Take your lovely friend here out for a nice wee lunch, aye?
’ He held out a twenty-pound note, which was a sweet gesture, but would definitely limit us to a ‘wee’ lunch.
‘Marvin will be in safe hands with us. I’ll see to it personally. ’
Beckett looked at me, as if hoping I’d be able to come up with a better excuse.