Chapter Forty-Three
I left the scrambled eggs, along with some toast, on a low heat in the oven. I was just putting the kettle on when the doorbell rang.
Bess bustled in from the garden, eager to see who was visiting. Together, we walked to the front door. A kindly-looking lady was standing on the doorstep.
‘Morning,’ she beamed.
The woman was about ten years younger than me. She had a lovely vibe. Warm. Comforting. Like crumble and custard on a winter’s day.
‘Hello.’ I returned her smile. ‘You must be Irene.’
‘Indeed,’ she nodded. ‘And you must be Maggie.’
‘I am.’ I opened the door wider and grabbed Bess’s collar. ‘Do come in. Are you okay with dogs?’ I held on to Bess in case Irene had the heebie-jeebies at a German Shepherd checking her out.
‘I adore dogs,’ she assured. ‘I have a Labrador. A rescue. In fact, I got her from the local rehoming centre.’
‘Snap!’ I beamed. I was liking Irene more and more by the second.
‘Rachel and Luke were so helpful. Hello, darling,’ she cooed, rubbing Bess’s ears.
‘Go through to the kitchen,’ I said, letting go of Bess’s collar. ‘Second door on the left.’ I paused at the foot of the stairs. ‘Dad?’ I called. ‘Our visitor is here.’
I caught up with Irene. Bess had disappeared into the garden again. A quick glance through the window revealed her settling down in the shade of a tree. The back door could stay open. The weather was warm, plus tension in my body was making me feel hotter than usual.
‘Would you like a cuppa?’ I asked Irene. ‘Or would you prefer a cold drink?’
‘Tea would be lovely,’ she said, sitting down at the kitchen table. She set down her bag, then placed an A4 notepad on the table’s surface. ‘One sugar and a dash of milk, please.’
‘Coming right up,’ I said, just as Dad wandered in. Thankfully he was now dressed.
‘Hello, Trevor,’ said Irene warmly.
‘Hmm,’ Dad replied. He pulled out the chair opposite Irene and sat down heavily. ‘You seem to know me, but I don’t know you. What do you want?’ he demanded rudely.
Oh Lord. His bottom lip was protruding again. Belligerence was emanating from every cell of his body.
‘I’ve come to see how you’re coping and–’
‘Perfectly well,’ Dad interrupted.
‘And if we – by that I mean Social Services – can help in any way,’ Irene added.
Dad narrowed his eyes.
‘My daughter is the culprit behind this meeting.’
‘Yes, Maggie did reach out to us,’ Irene confirmed. ‘She told us that you’re managing splendidly’ – I silently thanked Irene for her diplomacy – ‘but that your wife could do with a little extra help.’
‘Not true,’ said Dad. ‘Deirdre is perfectly fine.’ His tone dared her to contradict him. As far as he was concerned, this matter was now closed.
I set the teas down on the table.
‘Dad,’ I said gently. ‘While Mum isn’t in the room, we can talk freely. So, let’s have an open and honest discussion, eh?’ I moved to the oven and withdrew his scrambled egg and toast. ‘As Irene said’ – I set the plate before him – ‘you’ve been amazing.’ Yes, I was shamelessly borrowing the social worker’s tactics. ‘You’ve done a wonderful job looking after Mum.’
‘And I still am,’ he said, picking up his knife and fork.
‘But you deserve a break now and again. Mum doesn’t give you any opportunity for respite. You can’t even leave her alone for a minute. You can’t even go to the corner shop to buy a newspaper.’
‘Yes, I can. And do,’ he added.
‘But she shouldn’t be left alone,’ I said quickly. ‘She wanders off. Goes looking for you. And stops strangers in the street, asking for help. Not everyone is scrupulous, Dad. Mum could get mugged.’
‘Don’t be dramatic, Maggie,’ Dad tutted. He loaded his fork, then paused for a moment. ‘And anyway, after that last episode, I now lock your mother in. She can’t wander off.’ He popped the food into his mouth. He gave me a crafty look as he chewed. One that conveyed, you won’t catch me out – I’ve covered all bases.
‘But Dad, it’s dangerous to leave Mum alone,’ I pointed out. ‘What if she tried to make herself a hot drink?’
‘She’s perfectly capable.’
‘But she really isn’t,’ I said gently. ‘Have you forgotten the time she put the kettle on the stove?’
Dad put some more food in his mouth. He didn’t want to answer. Instead, he glared at me while he chewed. Nobody spoke until he’d swallowed.
‘And your point is?’ he finally asked.
‘My point is that one doesn’t put electric kettles on gas hobs.’
Dad waved his fork in the air. The gesture implied such an action was a blip.
‘At our age, one is allowed to make the odd mistake.’
‘Where is Deirdre?’ asked Irene. ‘I’d love to meet her.’
‘Upstairs,’ said Dad. ‘Getting dressed. I don’t know why Maggie has dragged you here. I’m sure there are more pressing things for you to do. You don’t need to waste your time on us. Spend the taxpayers’ money on something worthwhile. For once,’ he added nastily.
‘Dad,’ I hissed. ‘There’s no need to–’
But my words died on my lips. My mother was standing in the kitchen doorway. And she was completely starkers.