Chapter 19
19
‘Tilly!’ Jonathan beams as I walk into a living room that’s probably the size of our entire flat and is also festooned with paintings. ‘I wondered if that was your voice I could hear just now. Come to check I’m being a good boy and doing what I’m told?’
‘Nothing so sinister,’ I tell him. ‘I happened to be passing and saw Will, who invited me in.’
‘Of course you were,’ he says, his eyes twinkling with mischief. ‘Well, it’s very nice to see you. Take a seat and keep an old man company.’ He indicates a generously upholstered leather recliner chair next to his own and reaches for the remote control to turn off the largest flat-screen TV I think I’ve ever seen. ‘I’m afraid I’ve already done today’s crossword,’ he informs me once I’ve manoeuvred my way into the chair. My attempt to give the impression I’m not staying long by perching on the edge of the seat fails spectacularly as I promptly slide backwards into its leathery embrace. ‘If I’d known you were coming, I’d have saved you some clues.’
‘What were you watching?’ I indicate the now blank TV screen.
‘Nothing important. One of those property shows where people want to relocate somewhere hot and sunny. It’s something Geraldine and I used to do together when she got too infirm to move about much. It gave us something to think and talk about that wasn’t her illness, if that makes sense.’
‘Perfect,’ I tell him.
He smiles ruefully. ‘She was one of those people who refused to accept there was anything she couldn’t do. As her illness progressed, she was forced to come to terms with her diminishing abilities, but she found it so hard.’
‘Do you know the Dylan Thomas poem?’ Will asks as he sets down a tray with three mugs of tea and a plate of biscuits. ‘“Do not go gentle into that good night”? That was Mum. She raged against the dying of the light right until the end, didn’t she, Dad?’
‘That she did. She was always a fighter, your mum. She faced her condition head-on and, although she was realistic about the outcome, she never gave in to it.’
There’s a silence but, for the first time with Jonathan and Will, it’s not entirely comfortable. I suspect it’s because they’re both contemplating the elephant that’s silently snuck into the room – namely that Jonathan did try to give in rather than fight when the going got really tough.
‘I love your house, and the artwork,’ I tell him to try to defuse the sudden awkwardness. ‘I’ll admit it’s not quite what I was expecting.’
‘The paintings are all Will’s. Good, aren’t they?’ His voice is full of pride and I’m amused to note that Will is blushing slightly. ‘The house itself was another distraction technique, if I’m honest,’ he continues with a sigh. ‘It was so awful watching Geraldine getting weaker, so I threw myself into various home improvement projects to give me something else to focus on. I told myself I was doing them for her, but the reality was they were just a clumsy way for me to step away from the reality of her illness for a while. The only one that really benefitted her was the stairlift and, if I’m honest, I absolutely hated the thing from the moment it went in. Not just because it got in the way; it was an unavoidable reminder of her illness every time I went up or down the stairs.’
‘Mum loved it though,’ Will says softly.
‘She did,’ Jonathan admits. ‘We would have had to set her up a bedroom down here if we hadn’t got it, and she would never have agreed to that.’
‘And she’d have missed out on all the crazy things you put in the bathroom to make her life easier,’ Will reminds him before turning to me. ‘Have you ever come across a walk-in bath?’
‘I’ve heard of them.’
‘Dad put one in for Mum but, being Dad, no ordinary walk-in bath would do. This is a top-of-the-range one with Jacuzzi jets and a powered seat to lower you in and lift you out of the water. Did she ever use the Jacuzzi function, Dad?’ His eyes crinkle with amusement.
‘Only once,’ Jonathan admits. ‘She said it didn’t do anything for her.’
‘You were going to put in that extraordinary kitchen too,’ Will continues. ‘The one with the worktops that went up and down so she could reach from her wheelchair.’
‘She did put her foot down about that,’ Jonathan agrees. ‘She said there wasn’t any point in throwing tons of money at a kitchen that nobody else would ever want, when she could simply teach me to cook for free instead. Always practical.’
I sip my tea and let the conversation wash over me as they reminisce, each trying to outdo the other with some story either of Geraldine’s forceful personality, or one of Jonathan’s often half-cocked ideas to make life easier for her. I may never have met her but, from the way they describe her, I think I would have liked Geraldine. She sounds like she was a lot of fun to be around, if a little terrifying at times. I start scanning the room, looking for a picture of her but, although there are plenty of Will, or Will and Jonathan together, there are none of her.
‘I put them in the drawer after she died,’ Jonathan admits sadly when I ask him carefully about it. ‘I couldn’t bear to look at her. It just reminded me of everything I’d lost. Will, I think it’s time we put that right, if you don’t mind doing the honours.’
I watch as Will crosses the room and slides open the top drawer of a small chest. As he brings out each framed photo, I realise that there is an order to them. Each one fits neatly into a gap among the other photos that I hadn’t even noticed before. I get up and go to stand beside him while he works, taking the opportunity to study some of the pictures. Even without the descriptions I’ve listened to, I can somehow tell just by looking at her that Geraldine wasn’t someone to be messed with. Short and dark haired, she oozes personality even in grainy 2D. However, although there are a good number of pictures of the three of them, or her with her arm round Will in some holiday destination, they’re all quite old. The newest one I can see looks to be from Will’s twenty-first birthday celebrations.
‘She wouldn’t let us take any pictures of her when she started to need sticks and, ultimately, her wheelchair,’ Will explains, seemingly reading my mind. ‘She said she didn’t want to be remembered that way.’
‘Somehow, from what I’ve learned about her, that doesn’t surprise me,’ I reply.
‘It’s a shame you never met her,’ Jonathan says from his chair. ‘I think the two of you would have got on. What do you think, Will?’
‘Yes, she’d have liked you,’ he agrees. ‘She would either have adopted you as a surrogate daughter, or tried to marry us off. Don’t take it personally,’ he adds, realising what he’s just said and backtracking furiously. ‘She was the worst kind of matchmaker. Every girl I spoke more than three words to at school was instantly in her targets. She even had a go at you, Dad, didn’t she?’
‘Shh,’ Jonathan says, pointing at the ceiling. ‘I don’t want Gina overhearing.’
‘Gina?’ I ask, as Will and I sit back down.
‘Towards the end, Mum got the bit between her teeth about Dad being alone after she’d gone,’ Will says quietly, before shooting a meaningful look at Jonathan. ‘Given how things turned out, I’m inclined to agree with her.’
‘Yes, yes,’ Jonathan says with a sigh. ‘Get it all off your chest, why don’t you?’
‘Anyway, the point is,’ Will continues, evidently warming to his theme, ‘by then, Mum was pretty much housebound, so the only women she saw were either long-term friends who came to see her, or Gina the cleaner. The problem with the friends was that they all inconveniently had husbands who were very much alive, so she turned her focus on to poor Gina.’
‘She’d follow her around the house, asking questions about her personal life, her politics, the kinds of things she liked to do and so on,’ Jonathan adds. ‘I think Gina was a bit scared of her by the end. It was a little like living in one of those old sitcoms. I’d hear the whirr of the stairlift as Geraldine went up, swiftly followed by the clattering of Gina’s heels as she hurried downstairs to “find something she’d forgotten”. Geraldine would then come back down and Gina would find an excuse to go up. If you filmed it and showed it at double speed, it would have been comedy gold.’
‘Of course, the sad part is that Mum needn’t have bothered, because everyone knows Gina’s in love with Dad,’ Will says with a laugh.
‘No, she isn’t. You mustn’t say things like that.’ Jonathan looks horrified.
‘Oh, she so is. It’s fine. I’m here to protect you from the scary lady.’
‘She isn’t, and I don’t need your protection. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Will.’
Will merely raises his eyebrows and stares at his father.
‘You know what I mean,’ Jonathan says sulkily.
‘Are you two always like this?’ I ask.
‘Like what?’ Will replies.
‘Sparring constantly.’
‘No,’ Jonathan says, pointedly looking at his son. ‘There was a time when Will respected me.’
‘That was before you started behaving like a consummate arse,’ Will retorts.
Jonathan sighs. ‘You’re never going to let this go, are you?’
‘Not for as long as it gives me the upper hand, no.’
At that moment, a late-middle-aged woman who I’m guessing is the fabled Gina sticks her head around the sitting-room door. Her black hair is either the result of amazing genetics or, more likely, a bottle, and she’s heavily made-up.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Mr Barwell,’ she says in a sing-song voice. ‘I didn’t realise you had company. I was just going to say I’ve finished everything so I’m going to head off. I do hope you feel better soon, and don’t hesitate to get in touch if there’s anything you need. I mean it. I’m often in the area so I can collect shopping, or things from the pharmacy. Just call and I’ll come running.’
‘Thank you, Gina,’ Jonathan says. ‘You’re very kind.’
‘It’s not a problem. The least I can do for my favourite customer.’
I feel like we’re collectively holding our breath as we wait for the sound of the front door closing and, sure enough, Will explodes with laughter as soon as it does.
‘I’ll come running anytime for my favourite customer,’ he says in a high-pitched voice between gasps for air. ‘Come off it, Dad. She’s nuts about you.’
‘She’s just a kind person, that’s all.’ Even Jonathan doesn’t look sure though, and if I had to describe his facial expression, the word ‘hunted’ would sum it up best.
‘The official story we’re telling is that Dad had some sort of collapse due to the pressure he’s been under,’ Will tells me. ‘We aren’t mentioning the “S” word, just so you know.’
‘Thank you, Will. Can we change the subject now, please? Tilly, have you had a chance to consider my invitation for lunch one Sunday?’
I was going to say no. Part of me feels I should still say no, really. There aren’t any specific rules about befriending ex-patients, but it doesn’t sit that easily with me. The problem is that I like being around them. Although they have done nothing but riff off each other during my time here, the love between the two men is palpable and I’ve really enjoyed spending time in their company. Before I have a chance to overthink it, I open my mouth.
‘I have,’ I tell him. ‘And I’d love to.’
‘Splendid. We’ll start with roast lamb, I think. Maybe a crumble for pudding now the weather’s turned colder. How about this Sunday? Strike while the iron’s hot?’
‘I can’t this Sunday, I’m afraid. I’m working. I’m free next Sunday though?’
‘It’s a date. I’ll even save you a crossword clue or two.’
Things wrap up fairly quickly after that, and it’s not long before I’m back in my car and turning towards home. It’s only as I leave Paddock Wood behind me that I realise it’s still only been a few hours since the horrible meeting with Luke and, even more strangely, I haven’t thought about him, Cindy or Richenda in the time I’ve spent with Jonathan and Will. At all.