Chapter 18 #2
‘Do you have children, Stanislaus?’ Mary asked with a subtle glance at his name badge.
‘Four sons,’ Stanislaus said, sticking out his barrel chest. ‘All of whom require shoes, endless food and the latest iPhone gadgetry under the tree. Are you suggesting I tell them that this year it’s a second-hand Nokia instead, because I’m cheering local community hearts?’
‘Would they like front-row seats at a fabulous Christmas carol concert?’
‘They also have six cousins. And three grandparents. My wife also very much enjoys a good show.’
‘It can’t be front row, then. In the general front-ish area? This deal’s a lot cheaper than taking them all to the pantomime.’
Stanislaus grinned. ‘Are you guaranteeing a pantomime-quality performance?’
‘Are you questioning it? We’ve got Santa-day Night, performed by the Christmas Day Twins.’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Will my children have heard of them?’
‘Maybe.’ Mary gave a nonchalant shrug. ‘Either way, the concert’s called “Everyone’s a Santa”.
This is your chance to start the ball rolling, Santa Stanislaus.
Which means, of course, our appreciation for the brilliant Stan’s Fabric Merchants will be clearly displayed in the programme, including a half-page advert. ’
He upped another twenty pounds to her offer, and the deal was sealed.
‘You’ve done a lot of that before,’ Beckett said as they walked back to the car, his admiration clear.
‘I have. Usually brokering contracts for things that would otherwise be thrown away, but in far larger quantities. I never dreamed I’d be haggling over lime-green netting.’
* * *
When they arrived back at the church building, Mary went to tell Sofia about the deal she’d made with Stanislaus, so Beckett ended up chatting with Bill for a few minutes.
‘Has he been okay?’ Beckett asked as someone helped Gramps zip his coat up.
‘An absolute pleasure. He smashed me at chess and draughts.’
Beckett frowned. ‘Please be honest with me if he was rude, or upset anyone.’
‘Not at all.’ Bill dismissed this with a shake of his head. ‘The guys loved trying to puzzle out his riddles.’
‘Okay.’ Gramps had been a pleasure? Beckett was still absorbing this riddle when Bill handed him a slip of paper. ‘You asked about care agencies? Here’s a few that’ve been recommended.’
‘Thank you.’ Beckett scanned the list. ‘Do you know if any of them provide care to people with dementia?’
Bill gave him a sideways look. ‘I don’t. But, Beckett, Marvin remembered the name of half the people here, which is about the same as me on a good day, and I’ve known some of them forever. He’s sharper than a steak knife. What on earth would make you think he has dementia?’
Beckett shrugged. ‘Oh, you know. He’s not been formally diagnosed yet, but the signs are starting to show. Forgetfulness, confusion. A couple of days ago I found him digging up a plant with a dessert spoon in the middle of the night, wearing only pyjama bottoms and a vest.’
Bill’s eyes studied him. ‘Did he say why?’
‘Nothing that made sense.’
‘Aye, well. No harm in a chat with his doctor. I’d wager decades of experience that he knows exactly what he’s doing.’
Then how come he walked straight past the taxi Beckett had been driving for six years and tried rattling the handle of a strange car?
* * *
Once back in Bigley, Mary helped clear out the remaining clutter in the living room, before insisting Beckett went out for an hour.
He tried to protest that, having already been out, he was perfectly fine staying in, but Mary was still in boss-mode, and before he knew it he found himself bundled out of the front door.
‘It’s not about what you need today,’ she insisted. ‘We’re getting Gramps and me used to each other, remember? So you can leave him with me when you really need it.’
With no excuse other than the truth, that he preferred hanging out at home with Mary than going out by himself, which he didn’t know how to express without sounding worryingly stalkerish, he checked the time and headed off into the village, planning to return an hour later, and not a minute more.
When he did come back, almost two hours later, the living room was virtually unrecognisable.
Mary had taken down the net curtains hanging at the large window overlooking the back garden and draped a throw she’d found in a cupboard over the back of the tired sofa.
She’d rearranged the smaller furniture and added a couple of lamps, which Beckett vaguely remembered seeing somewhere lying around.
The swirly rug had gone, every surface gleamed and she’d done something with the remaining photographs and other bits and pieces so that the overall effect was cosy, yet so much calmer. The room appeared about twice the size.
‘How did you do all this?’
Mary smiled. ‘Gramps helped.’
‘What?’
‘Not with moving the furniture! He dusted, and vacuumed. Helped unhook that filthy net monstrosity. Another time, I’ll wash the curtains and bring a few cushions, and it’ll be perfect.’ Her eyes shone. ‘You might even have room to squeeze in a Christmas tree.’
‘It’s already perfect.’ Beckett didn’t ask why, when she’d been able to transform this room in two hours, her own house still looked so drab after months.
‘So, the living room’s not been this afternoon’s only transformation.’
Mary reached up and ran a hand over Beckett’s newly cut hair, which now sat just below his cheekbones. Her expression was playful, but the way Beckett’s body responded was deadly serious. He had to turn away, fighting the urge to grab her hand and press it against his face.
‘It looks lovely.’ She spoke more gently, perhaps assuming Beckett’s awkwardness was down to feeling self-conscious, rather than his nervous system going into overdrive after being touched tenderly for the first time in forever. ‘It’s made me realise I’ve not been to a hairdresser since I moved.’
‘Next time, leave Bob with me and you go.’
Beckett took his time after offering to make them both tea, so when he turned around he could at least pretend he’d yanked himself back together. ‘Goateez down the road will do you a snazzy short back and sides.’
‘What else did you do, then?’ Mary sat down at the table. ‘It’s a great cut, but can’t have taken two hours.’
‘I had to wait in the queue for twenty minutes. Then, afterwards I walked around for a bit, worried about Gramps. Worried more about why he’s been so uncooperative with me since the stroke, so determined to sit at home and feel miserable, and now he’s happily hobbling into church to charm everyone.
Then I come back and he’s cleaning! Yesterday I couldn’t persuade him to throw out an old VHS remote. ’
‘Surely that’s a good thing?’
Beckett rubbed his eyes. ‘Except it shows how badly I’ve been letting him down all this time.’
‘What? Beckett, you gave up a medical career to take care of him! You lost your fiancée. Until Tanya quit, you’ve been working all day, looking after Gramps the rest of the time.
You get hardly any sleep, handle his insults and unreasonableness, keep an eye out constantly.
You’ve given time, energy, patience. Everything.
You told me he wasn’t interested in clubs and day centres before.
Maybe he’s simply ready for them now. Maybe Tanya leaving was the catalyst he needed. ’
Beckett shook his head. He needed to get this out before it ate him alive.
‘I didn’t try hard enough. I know I didn’t.
For the first few months, getting him out of bed felt like an achievement.
Then, I don’t know, there was so much to figure out.
It was easier to stay at home and let him watch quiz shows than think about the next week, let alone what the next few years would be like.
I was completely out of my depth. Relying on random care-agency staff who didn’t even know him, weren’t going to care about finding a way to get beyond survival and start living again.
Why would they, when his own grandson didn’t? ’
‘You were mourning.’
‘For six years?’
‘Beckett, you were so young. It’s a miracle you managed to do any of it alone. Most people would have found him a care home and got on with their lives ages ago.’
Beckett’s jaw clenched at the thought of it. ‘I promised him I wouldn’t do that. And still, I wasn’t good enough. This past couple of weeks have proven how different things could have been. Should have been.’
Mary screwed her nose up. ‘When you’re already at breaking point, sometimes all you can do is choose the option that seems safest. You did your best.’
‘He’s so old. He’s getting worse every week. How much precious time have I wasted? How can I begin to make that up to him?’
She reached across the table and took his hand. ‘You don’t squander the time you have left. You do better from now on.’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘We both do.’