Chapter Sixty-Eight
Despite the gravity of the situation, I felt as if an enormous weight had been lifted from my shoulders. For now, I could concentrate on Mum and Dad with clarity, instead of dread. You see, a plan was in place. A plan that should have been made a long time ago.
When I arrived at my parents’ house, the ambulance had gone. Using my key, I let myself in. Mum was sitting in her usual chair. She looked surprisingly chipper. Their immediate neighbour, June, was sitting on the sofa. A couple of empty coffee cups had been placed on the occasional table.
‘Hello, darling,’ beamed Mum, as I pecked her on the cheek. ‘How wonderful to see you. I’ve been having a lovely chat with’ – my mother frowned – ‘sorry, what was your name?’
‘June,’ said my mother’s neighbour.
The poor woman looked slightly frazzled. I had a feeling that she’d told Mum at least fifty times what her name was.
June stood up and I gave her a grateful hug.
‘Thank you so much for staying until I could get here.’
‘It’s no bother, love,’ she said warmly. ‘All’s well that ends well, eh?’
‘Yes,’ I nodded. ‘Er’ – I picked up the empty cups – ‘could you possibly help me with, er, the washing up?’ I said brightly.
She immediately caught my drift.
‘Of course, love.’ She turned to Mum. ‘We won’t be a moment, Deirdre. I’m popping into the kitchen with Maggie to give her a hand. You stay right there.’
‘Okay,’ trilled Mum.
I placed the cups in the sink and turned to June.
‘My father has broken his hip,’ I began. ‘Do you, by any chance, know how it happened? In fact, if you could talk me through how you came to be involved, I’d be most grateful.’
‘Of course, love,’ said June.
Her bosom swelled with importance. At eighty-one years of age, she was no spring chicken. But she was spright, nimble on her feet and had a razor-sharp mind. Absolutely nothing like my parents.
‘I was putting the bins out – my Norman never does it, the lazy whatsit – and your mum was standing at her front door. She was shrieking but making no sense. So I went over. Asked what was wrong. But she couldn’t tell me. Deirdre was in a terrible state. Hanging on to the doorframe. Gasping for breath from the exertion of shouting.’
Oh God. My poor mother.
‘Anyway’ – June continued – ‘that was when I heard your father shouting for help too. His voice was ever so weak. Like he’d been calling for ages. Trevor was quite hoarse, bless him.’
My heart squeezed at the thought of Dad as vulnerable as a newborn.
‘Did he tell you how long he’d been lying there?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ said Jean sadly. ‘Over an hour.’
‘What? I gasped.
So while I’d been eating dinner with my children… drinking wine… listening to jokey innuendo about sex in the sixties… happily joshing along with the kids, my father had been spreadeagled on this floor. I closed my eyes. Instantly saw him unable to move. In terrible pain. I quickly opened my eyes again.
The usual guilt threatened to consume me. I should have invited them to dinner. I should have picked them up. I should have been more available. Should, should, should.
June was talking again.
‘Your father told me that he’d repeatedly asked your mother to phone you. But every time she left the kitchen, she forgot his instructions. Instead, she kept saying, “Trevor! What on earth are you doing down there. Get up you daft bugger.” I must say, Maggie, I had no idea your mother’s memory was so impaired. I mean, I knew she had dementia, but it’s been a few months since I last saw her.’ She looked defensive for a moment. ‘I should have been a better neighbour.’ That word again. Should. ‘But my Norman isn’t terribly well himself. I’m always scampering around after him.’
‘June, you don’t have to explain yourself,’ I said sadly. ‘Mum and Dad are my responsibility. Not yours.’
She looked at me earnestly.
‘Don’t take this as a criticism, love. But why didn’t you sort out a carer for them?’
I shook my head.
‘Oh, I’ve tried, June. Believe me. On numerous occasions. I even had Social Services involved. To no avail. Dad wouldn’t play ball. He told me I was interfering.’
‘I see,’ she nodded. ‘He’s a proud man.’
‘And look where that got him,’ I said crossly. ‘They say pride comes before a fall. Quite literally in his case.’
‘Yes, you’re right, dear.’ She patted my hand before continuing her story. ‘Anyway, your father told me that, in frustration, he lost his temper with mother. Yelled at her to go into the hallway… open the door… find someone to help him up. He kept yelling at her until, eventually, she managed to do most of what he asked. Unfortunately, your mum didn’t have the wherewithal to knock on our door – or anyone else’s for that matter. So, she just stood there, shrieking. It’s lucky I was outside. Your mother’s voice isn’t one that carries. Who knows how long she might have stood there. This is a small cul-de-sac. Folks don’t pass by every few minutes.’
‘Thank goodness you heard her,’ I said.
‘That I did, love.’ June patted my hand again. ‘When I realised your father needed some strong arms to get him up, I went over to Charlotte and Ray’s place. They have a couple of strapping lads still at home. The boys were brilliant. They got Trevor on a chair while I called an ambulance.’
‘I must thank them,’ I said. ‘But what I don’t understand, June, is how my father fell in the first place. Did he say?’
For a moment, June looked awkward.
‘Your mum attacked him,’ she said quietly.
‘What?’ The word caught in my throat. Came out as a strangled whisper.
‘Apparently, Deirdre sometimes gets aggressive. I’ve heard that dementia can do that.’
‘Yes,’ I said shakily. ‘It can.’ I remembered how my mother had recently struck me across the face. How my father had sat there. Head bowed. Subservient. Accepting such behaviour, because he’d experienced it too.
‘Trevor said he’d been making them both a drink when Deirdre took him by surprise. She came up behind him. Shoved him hard. He lost his balance, and down he went.’ June regarded the kitchen’s stone floor. ‘The poor man didn’t stand a chance.’
‘No,’ I agreed.
‘Anyway, love’ – she made to move towards the hallway – ‘I know you need to oversee a bag for your dad. I’ll leave you to it. And I hope you can sort things out for your mum while he’s in hospital.’
‘Thankfully respite care is already in place.’
‘Gosh, that was quick,’ said June in surprise. She touched my arm. A gesture of reassurance. ‘Don’t worry about this place, Maggie. I’ll keep an eye on it for you. I have your phone number. I’ll call if there are any problems.’
‘That’s so kind of you, June,’ I said, giving her another hug.
‘It’s the least I can do,’ she said. ‘Keep your pecker up.’
My mother suddenly appeared in the doorway.
‘Who’s pecker needs keeping up?’ she scowled. ‘And where’s your father gone? He’s always disappearing. Sometimes I think he deliberately avoids me.’