7. Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
I scrubbed my eyes with my palm and walked into a scene of chaos in the kitchen.
‘Can you believe it, Mum? Emmy and Jake get coco-pops for breakfast EVERY DAY.’
‘Every day? Wow. Do you guys have any teeth left?’
My nephew opened his mouth wide to show me his chocolate-milk covered teeth. I cupped his chin, peering into his mouth. ‘Oooh, a few wobblers in there.’
Jake’s mouth fell into a grin. ‘Good. More cash from the tooth fairy.’
‘How much does the tooth fairy give you?’ asked Bertie.
‘Pound a tooth,’ said Jake, stuffing more cereal into his mouth.
‘Same. Mum, have you seen Jake and Emmy’s room? It’s all black. It’s waaaay cooler than mine.’
‘I have seen it. I helped paint it.’
‘Can you paint my room black? I want mine just like Jake’s.’
My heart plummeted. Sooner rather than later, I’d have to admit to my son that he no longer had a bedroom of his own, or a house, for that matter. ‘We’ll see.’
Cass rushed into the kitchen, tying her hair up while biting on the toast Jasper held out to her. ‘Emmaline May, go and wash your face.’
‘I’ve already washed my face and cleaned my teeth,’ said Emmy, her lips pouting in defiance.
‘Yes, but then you went and made yourself look like a panda. You need to wash off the eyeliner.’
‘Why?’
‘Why? Because it’s against uniform policy, but more importantly, makes you look like you’ve been punched in the face.’
Emmy pushed back her chair and stomped out of the room.
‘And change your tights for ones with no holes,’ shouted Cass to her daughter’s departing back. Emmy stuck two fingers into the air and Jasper smothered a giggle.
‘My God,’ said Cass, toast crumbs flying from her mouth. ‘I wish someone could fast forward me through the next eight years until I have a civilised woman for a daughter.’
‘You love the challenge, really,’ said Jasper.
‘Yeah, and you were just the same at that age,’ I said. ‘Do you remember stealing Mum’s lipstick and putting it on on the bus?’
‘I remember the day she was waiting at the school gates to catch me out. She’d watched the bus leave, then raced over to the school in her car. Sneaky.’
I laughed, letting the normality of family life soothe my sleep-deprived mind. ‘Bertie, you’re going to stay with Uncle Jasper today while I run a few errands and visit Gramps.’
‘I want to come and see Gramps too.’
‘Not this time,’ I said, leaning over and kissing his hair. ‘How about I take you to see him at the weekend?’
‘Won’t we be seeing Grandma and Grandpa then?’
‘Not this weekend.’
‘Yes!’ said Bertie, jumping from his chair, doing a dramatic air-grab, before running around the kitchen as though he’d just scored a goal.
‘Don’t say a word,’ I warned Cass as she hid a laugh behind her hand.
With the twins dispatched to school, and Bertie settled in front of Jake’s Xbox, I left the house and headed for my in-laws, my heart sinking with every mile chewed up beneath the car’s tyres. When I got there, there was no car parked in the drive and part of me hoped they were out, but then I’d have to come back, which would be worse.
My shoes crunched gravel beneath them, making a jolly percussive sound at odds with how I felt. I knocked on the door and took a step back. Just as I was convincing myself there was no one home, the door squeaked open an inch.
‘Marion?’
‘Oh, Olivia, it’s you.’ Marion opened the door a little wider, and I struggled to hide my shock at her appearance. Make-up free, her face looked a good ten years older than her seventy-five years. Loose around her face, her hair fell in tangled wisps. And were those jogging bottoms? Surely not.
‘Hi, Marion. How are you?’
‘We’ve been better. I suppose you’ve heard the news?’
‘What, that Rob’s lost everything? The bailiffs turning up to repossess our home was a bit of a clue.’
‘Yes, I suppose it was.’ Marion sniffed, and I kicked myself for being harsh. She may come close to a pantomime villain, but in this scenario, she was a victim, too.
‘How is Hugo?’
‘Angry, upset… I’m worried about his heart.’
‘I’m sure. Marion, do you have any idea how this happened? I wondered whether Rob might have confided in you?’
‘No, he didn’t. Do you think we’d be in this mess if he had? Anyway, you’re his wife, shouldn’t you have seen what was going on? Oh, I forgot, you’re from different worlds, so I suppose you wouldn’t have done.’
And there it was, her resting bitch face and sharp tongue. In some ways, it came as a relief.
‘Right, well, I don’t suppose you know where Rob is? There’s rather a lot we need to discuss, not least the child we share.’
‘I heard on the grapevine he’s staying with a friend from his university days. I don’t know who, and I don’t know where. I tried to call him, but he wouldn’t speak to me. Hugo doorstepped Rob’s former secretary, but all he could squeeze out of her was that Rob had gone away. You’re best waiting for the dust to settle, then he’ll probably come crawling back. Not that I imagine you’ll want him back, now all the money’s gone.’
I didn’t stoop so low as to offer a reply. Instead, I turned back to my borrowed rust-bucket of a car, and screeched away from the house in a move I hoped would leave canyons in their carefully raked gravel. Small victories, and all that.
In contrast to my arrival at my in-laws, as I pulled up outside the nursing home, a rush of warmth spread through me. I climbed out of the car and looked up to see my dad waving from his first-floor window. A rush of relief hit me that Dad wasn’t reliant on Rob’s money to fund his stay here. Thank goodness for small mercies.
The friendly staff at the reception desk waved me through, the pots of daffodils lining the marble entrance hall filling me with yellow-petalled optimism. My trainers squeaked across the polished floor, then sank into the deep carpet of the stairs. Dad’s care home was posh, a reward for how hard he’d worked to claw himself up from jobless immigrant to professor.
I stopped outside room ten and knocked on the door.
‘Si.’
‘Hi, Dad.’
‘Ah, hola c… c… cari?o.’
I walked over and kissed his cheeks, pulling up a chair and taking his hands in mine. ‘How’ve you been, Dad?’
‘S…s… so so,’ he said, waving his good arm in the air to bat away my question.
The stroke may have stolen much of his movement and slurred his speech, but Dad insisted on pretending everything was normal. I could almost believe it if I focused solely on his eyes. Warm, deep brown eyes that oozed kindness and mirrored my own in appearance. If I ended my days with as much love in my eyes as Dad’s, I’d be satisfied.
‘B… bring her, cari?o.’
I walked to the dresser and picked up the photograph of Mum, taken the year before sickness came, ravaging her body before stealing her away from us. Only once Mum was propped up on a chair beside us was Dad content to continue our conversation.
Dad twisted the muscles in his face, willing them to express the words taunting him on the tip of his tongue. It took several attempts, but then he forced out the words in a rush. ‘Have you seen the snowdrops?’
I shook my head.
Dad’s muscles twitched. ‘You… you…’ he slapped his leg in frustration.
‘It’s OK, Dad, take your time.’
‘Y… y… you must see them. Beautiful.’
‘I’m sure they are. Have you been taken out to see them?’
Dad nodded. ‘N… n… Nature walk. N… n… nature push.’ He chuckled, looking across the room to where his hated wheelchair sat idle.
‘That sounds wonderful.’
Dad lifted a hand and pointed a finger at my chest. Part of a code we’d developed since the stroke, I knew it meant he wanted to hear about me. If there was a chance of sparing him the worry, I would. But, behind his laboured speech and limited movement, his brain was as sharp as ever. If I lied, he’d know something was wrong and trying to guess what would worry him even more.
I leaned back in my chair and took a deep breath. ‘Things with me aren’t so good, Dad. I still don’t really know what’s going on, but it appears Rob has lost all our money. The house has been repossessed.’
Dad’s wide forehead creased into a frown. ‘S… staying?’
‘Don’t worry, Dad. I’m staying with Cassie. Bertie’s loving being there with his cousins, although he doesn’t know why we’re there yet.’
The mention of his grandson caused Dad’s eyes to twinkle and twitch. Perhaps it was that I’d named Bertie after my father, or perhaps it was that they were two peas in a pod. Either way, Dad had carved a special place in his heart for his youngest grandson, and Bertie could do no wrong in his eyes.
‘Don’t ask me what I’m going to do,’ I said, ‘because I have no idea. I suppose I’ll have to start by getting a job…’
Dad nodded and smiled. My lack of work was an enigma to him, and I knew he mourned the fact my brain cells were slowly fading away beneath a mountain of washing and wifely duties. Well, not anymore.
‘R… Rob… p… p… polla.’ His eyes twinkled, the one side of his face which still worked pulling itself into a lopsided grin.
‘Dad, you really need to stop calling my husband that, at least around Bertie. You know he started calling his friends that at school?’
A muscle in his cheek twitched, and I’m sure if it weren’t so hard to push out the sound, I’d hear the laugh I loved so much.
‘Sorry,’ he said, but the creases around his eyes told me he wasn’t sorry at all. With his good hand, he squeezed mine. His forehead folded and the muscles around his mouth worked hard to form the words he needed. ‘You will… be… OK, Liv. Th… this could… be… the making… of… you.’ He flopped back in his chair, exhausted by the effort of communication.
‘We’ll see, Dad. But let’s hope you’re right.’