Chapter 21
BECKETT
On Saturday afternoon, Beckett welcomed yet another care manager into his kitchen. He’d been offered an airport run that morning, and was feeling broke enough to risk sticking on a podcast about Frederick the Great and taking Gramps with him.
Following that two-hour debacle, this meeting had to go well.
Which it did, for the first half-hour. Jaden, the care manager, was clearly passionate about ensuring her service users got the best possible care.
‘Health and safety, turning up on time, having carers who know you, that’s all essential, but we don’t settle for being caring and competent.’
Beckett was listening.
‘Our aim is that the people we work with look forward to our carers coming. It’s one of the highlights of their week, day, whatever.
I’m rigorous about only hiring and keeping staff who love their job and treat these precious men and women as if they were their own family.
Our staff receive the level of respect we expect them to show the service users, and everyone’s happy.
We’re a non-profit, so we can keep wages fair without working our team like pack mules. ’
The reviews that Beckett had found online certainly backed up what she was saying. One man wrote that he’d pretended to be ill in the hope his wife’s carer kept coming even after his wife died.
‘Is it okay if I meet Marvin?’ Jaden asked once Beckett was itching to sign the contract. ‘I won’t do an assessment or anything this time, but I’d love to say hi.’
Beckett really wanted to say no. Later on, he wished he’d made up some excuse, pretended Gramps was in bed.
Unfortunately, the second Beckett walked into the living room, Gramps jolted awake.
‘What?’
Jaden came to stand beside Beckett, politely waiting to be introduced.
Gramps had no such qualms.
‘Why is a woman watching me sleep like a psychopath?’
‘This is Jaden, from a care agency. She literally just walked in.’ Every muscle in Beckett’s body was tense.
‘She looks like a crow.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ Beckett turned towards Jaden, his hopes starting to crumble. ‘He’s sometimes confused when he first wakes up.’
‘I am not confused. I don’t need looking after. I certainly don’t want to be looked after by a fat old crow.’
And then he mumbled a racist expletive that Beckett knew Jaden heard because she flinched.
Before Beckett could usher her out of the room, Gramps stood up, grabbed his coffee mug and hurled it at the mantlepiece. A large photo frame flew off, shattering into pieces.
Jaden swore, diving back into the hallway.
Gramps and Beckett simply stood there, staring at each other. Beckett couldn’t have told you what damage hurt the most. His relationship with the man who’d raised him, or the picture of his mother, now lying in the hearth.
* * *
Beckett found Jaden in the kitchen, gathering up her things.
‘I’m so sorry. He’s never said anything like that before.’ Beckett rubbed a hand through his hair. He couldn’t believe this was happening. ‘The carer who’s been helping tide us over is Sri Lankan.’
She glanced up, a tight smile on her face.
‘Beckett, my team are trained in caring for people who exhibit challenging behaviours relating to their condition. We can work around that. However, I will need you to be honest if we’re going to provide the level of care that he needs and keep everyone safe. ’
‘I don’t know what to say. This is the first time he’s been violent like that.’
She picked up her bag. ‘I must stress that we are a person-centred organisation. Unless he’s been assessed as lacking the competency to provide consent, Marvin must agree to our care plan. I recommend you have a conversation with him, because we can’t move forwards if he’s not on board.’
Her tone softened slightly, which said a lot, considering the situation.
‘Reassure him that the crow is merely the manager, she won’t be doing the day-to-day fun stuff.
I’m also going to request that you make a GP appointment to discuss possible dementia, and assess for other signs of deterioration in his condition.
Once you’ve done that, if Marvin is up for it, we can try again. ’
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome. I know this is incredibly difficult for you.’ She squeezed his shoulder as she left the room. ‘Go and see to your grandfather. I’ll let myself out.’
* * *
Beckett swept up the shards of glass, then vacuumed for good measure. His hands shook as he placed the now bare photo back on the mantlepiece. Gramps stared at his quiz show and said nothing.
At a loss for what to do next, Beckett made them both a hot drink and turned the television off before sitting down.
He wanted to yell and curse. Spew out the frustration and pain of the past few years. Make Gramps feel terrible. However, Beckett saw the glint of fear in his grandfather’s eyes, even as he took a defiant slurp of tea, and knew that he already did.
‘What was that?’ he asked instead, as gently as possible.
Gramps turned his head away.
‘I know you aren’t racist. You’ve never thrown anything like that before. You scared me, Gramps.’ Beckett paused, trying to get a grip on the tremor in his voice. ‘I’m afraid something’s going on with you, you’re struggling, and if you won’t tell me about it, I can’t help.’
The only indication Gramps had heard was his lips turning white as he pressed them together.
‘I understand if you don’t know what happened or why, but if that’s the case, can you at least tell me?’
‘I’m missing the final round.’
‘Okay.’ Beckett stood up. He couldn’t stay here watching television as if everything were fine.
‘I get that you’re scared, too. We still need to talk about this care agency, though.
I have to get back to earning some money and at the moment there’s no other option.
Please. I need your cooperation on this. ’
Gramps stared stubbornly at the blank screen, until Beckett gave in, turning it on and leaving him to it.
He’d see if Mary could get him to open up, or Bill. Because today had made clearer than ever that Beckett was clueless.
* * *
When Mary messaged him that evening, it was like ointment on his emotional bruises.
Mary
How did the meeting go?
Rather than type the whole story, he called. Pouring it all out felt better than he could have imagined. Mary agreed that a GP appointment was a good idea, and offered at least some comfort in Jaden not shutting the door completely.
‘Even if he’d just woken up, I think he knew full well who Jaden was,’ she mused.
‘Agreed. But that doesn’t explain his behaviour.’
‘Is it frustration at needing looking after? You said he can be difficult with Sonali. Perhaps it’s deliberate sabotage. He could be trying to ensure no care agency will take him on, so you’re forced to leave him by himself. Is that what he wants?’
Beckett had considered this. ‘He did say he doesn’t need taking care of.
But he knows he needs help with bathing and getting dressed.
He can’t make a drink safely, let alone prepare a meal.
He can’t expect me to work and do everything else.
Gramps can be rude, and mean since the stroke, but that’s a whole new level of selfish.
Unless he simply doesn’t grasp how badly we’d struggle without an income. ’
‘On top of the all the night-time wanderings, the other stuff, it sounds like you need a professional opinion.’ Mary paused. ‘A second, impartial professional opinion.’
‘Yeah. Which only leaves the more urgent problem of the bills needing to be paid in the meantime.’
‘I’m here, Beckett. I can bring the sewing machine over and sit with Gramps while I sew. I’m not quite ready to give him a bath, but I can make lunch and ensure he’s not getting into trouble.’
Beckett was quiet for a moment. ‘I can’t leave you with him if he’s not safe.’
‘It was one incident. And like I said, I suspect he knew exactly what he was doing. Please don’t say I can’t come over any more.
While I love my Christmassy cottage, Bob has cried non-stop for hours.
After such a good day yesterday, I’d made all these constructive plans to go to the shops, do some batch cooking, figure out the wings for racing pigeon Santa and be a proper, functional human again.
I haven’t made it out of my pyjamas yet, and the closest I came to cooking was sticking the meal-train leftovers in the microwave.
I did stare at a pigeon out of the window while my baby screamed in my ear.
I have to get out of here and remember I’m not completely useless. ’
‘I’m sorry you had a bad day.’
‘Yeah, well. Nobody threw anything. Now, change of topic before we both drown in our own self-pity. What do I get Li for secret Santa?’
Heartened by Mary wanting to continue the conversation, Beckett opened the fridge and took out the beer he’d hidden at the back of the vegetable tray.
‘I thought that tall guy was playing Secret Santa?’
‘This isn’t for the play! It’s an actual secret Santa, with my actual new friends.’
‘So you have to actually buy Li an actual present?’ He wandered through to the living room. Gramps was in bed, so he was free to settle back, open the beer and take a blissful swig.
‘Yes! Did I just hear you open a bottle of beer?’
‘I’m having a beer on a Saturday night, as prescribed by the doctor in the house following a crap day. Who is Li?’
‘She was the one playing the violin at the advent service, but that’s not relevant here. She’s gorgeous and rich and perfect. Plus, to make matters worse, one of the nicest people ever.’
‘That is the worst. How awful to have to buy a nice person a present.’
‘For ten pounds! You can’t give someone that rich and that lovely a set of supermarket toiletries, or a bottle of cheap wine. The last secret Santa gift I bought was a cushion printed with Sean Bean’s face. I’d known the recipient for fifteen years so had no doubt she’d love it.’
Shay’s Auntie Ada had slept with that cushion.
‘Do you have anything from your accessory company? Surely a scarf or a bag or something would make a good present? It’s secret Santa, no one expects to like what they get.’
‘Hang on. I’m putting you on speaker while I get a tonic and gin.’
‘I don’t want to indulge you by asking why you call it that. Do you also partake in chips and fish, with pepper and salt? Do you eat them with a fork and knife?’
‘It’s a glass of tonic, with one tiny splash of gin. I won’t have to feed Bob for another few hours, but just in case. Wait a sec, I’m getting the reindeer blanket.’
Beckett waited a lot of secs.
‘Okay. I’m sorted.’
‘Where are you?’
‘I’ve pushed the sofa around so I can see out of the glass doors. It’s snowing again. In the glow of the garden light it’s magical. Whereabouts are you?’
‘I’m also on the sofa, gazing winsomely at where the yellowing wallpaper is starting to sag off the wall.’
‘I have a really cool umbrella.’
‘What?’ Beckett had completely forgotten what they were talking about.
He shouldn’t have asked Mary ‘where are you?’ It sounded like something you’d ask on a phone date.
If phone dates had become a thing in the twelve years since he’d casually dated.
The beer had seemed a good accompaniment to a chat with a friend.
Now the drinks and the blanket, the warmth of Mary’s voice, had lit a sparkler in his stomach.
The gentle crackle that, if he didn’t hold it carefully, could start a wildfire.
‘I could give Li an umbrella. Although she’d know that brand costs more than the budget, so I’d have to explain where I used to work. If they decided to google me, and I can’t believe those coffee mums wouldn’t, they’d find out who I am.’
‘Is that a problem?’ Beckett couldn’t believe he’d never thought to google her. He’d obviously underestimated the scale of the fashion company.
There was a pause before she replied. Would the internet reveal how she’d ended up in Sherwood Forest? Was Mary a fashion celebrity? Would there be images or articles about Bob’s father?
And in what universe could Beckett think hunting online was better than simply asking her about it?
‘I don’t know. Rosie has one of our bags.
It’ll be a big deal to them. People treat me differently when they think I’m some glamorous, swanky fashionista.
I’ve always felt uncomfortable with it. Now more than ever, because that person, that life, has gone.
I want my new friends to accept me as me, without my past swaying their opinion.
’ She sighed. ‘One day, I’ll be ready to share all about it. Not yet.’
Beckett made a silent promise not to search for Mary Whittington online, however tempting.
They carried on talking for another half an hour or so, but Mary was clearly exhausted, and so Beckett made the mature move and insisted they ended the call before it got too late.
He sat for a long time on the sofa once they’d both rung off with a jokey ‘Love you!’
Beckett loved Mary, that was in no doubt.
What shook him to his core was finally admitting to himself he was falling in love with her.
You idiot, he berated himself, finally dragging himself up to bed. This is only going to end badly.
Badly. Or was there the tiniest chance it could be the start of something wonderful?
Either way, he felt helpless to stop it.