Chapter 30
For Gemma and Laila, it was a fifteen-minute walk to Timothy’s home. Laila was on edge, fussing with her hair and looking as if she wanted to break out into a run.
‘I can’t stop worrying about Gramps and how his boat is one big accident waiting to happen,’ she said.
‘It’s the thought of something even worse happening to him …
You’ll see when we get there. I mean, maybe he shouldn’t be living on a houseboat at all.
But the last thing he’d want to do is move into an old people’s home. I just don’t know what we should do.’
‘Laila, you don’t have to shoulder all the worry on your own,’ Gemma said. ‘Let’s focus on what we can do today.’
‘Look,’ Laila said rushing ahead. ‘See what I mean?’ She pointed to a navy and white paint-chipped houseboat, its top deck overstuffed with pot plants, and just enough space for two deck chairs and an umbrella.
‘There’s hardly room to sit outside because it is so crammed with stuff.
And where’s a safety rail? He could topple over the edge! ’
Gemma caught her up. ‘Don’t panic, we’ll look at everything. Oh, hi, Nick.’
She hadn’t seen him waiting on the path that ran parallel to the river, outside the gate by the boat.
She went over to him and quietly said, ‘Laila’s really worked up about Timothy having another accident.
She’s taking full responsibility for his well-being, bless her.
It will comfort her if we can do as much as possible to make the houseboat safe. ’
‘Of course. Poor kid.’ He nodded, then called out, ‘Hey, Laila, do you want to show us around?’
‘You go in,’ Gemma said to him. ‘I’ll wait out here for Phyllida.’
Ten minutes later, Phyllida came hurrying along the path, apologising for being late.
‘Everything all right?’ Gemma asked. ‘I thought you might have pulled out.’
‘I wouldn’t do that, even if I didn’t get much sleep last night.
Robert came home late and very drunk,’ Phyllida grumbled.
‘So drunk he was spouting off about how much he hated himself and what kind of husband he’d become …
I had to shove him in the shower and hose him down to try and snap him out of it.
Then I put him to bed. I barely slept with all his talk rattling around in my head.
I hoped he’d have forgotten about it in the morning. ’
‘Had he?’
‘Thankfully, yes. And he apologised. Profusely. He’s very remorseful but I know that doesn’t mean he won’t gamble again. He’s an addict.’
‘You really don’t have to do this with us today, if you need to be with him,’ Gemma said.
‘He urged me to come, said he’d try to work out a way to turn things around.
To be honest, given the state he’s in, I don’t think he’s capable of feeding the cat.
Anyhow, I cooked him a large fry-up, made him eat it, then told him to watch something trashy on the TV.
I won’t lie, I’d rather not be at home right now and could really do with some of that support you talked about. ’
Gemma put an arm around her shoulder and hugged her gently.
Phyllida attempted a smile, then Nick called out from below deck. ‘Are you gasbags coming or what?’
Gemma looked questioningly at Phyllida, who nodded.
‘Coming!’ Gemma replied.
Gemma took Phyllida’s hand, led her to the boat’s entrance and down a set of wooden stairs to an open-plan living area with timber walls and floors.
Either side of the steps sat life-size majolica dogs – replicas of Timothy’s two deceased pets, according to Laila.
Books lined both sides of the space in a higgledy-piggledy manner.
The flimsy, jam-packed shelves looked as if they’d collapse the moment a high wind rocked the boat.
Gemma thought of her mother. The haphazard storage was exactly the sort of thing that would have given her heart palpitations.
What’s more, she’d probably have insisted on re-organising the books in a colour-coded fashion.
She’d tried it once at Gemma’s place, who quickly put a stop to it.
In the middle was a brown corduroy sofa and armchair (‘Gramps’ special chair’ Laila told them) and on the floor next to it, a tall pile of Antique Collecting magazines, some of which had fallen and scattered like a deck of cards.
A coffee table was covered with even more books, newspapers, two antique statues, a jar of pens, random pieces of paper, receipts and other things Gemma couldn’t make out.
There was a furnace in one corner, with an iron, a lamp and an old clock huddled on top.
The doorless kitchen cupboards exposed more hoarding, a collection of utensils and equipment, as did the open shelving.
On the floor, there was a slow cooker and a stack of boxes housing various antique knick-knacks and wartime memorabilia.
On the small semi-circular dining table with extendable flaps was a laptop, more paper, more books and more collectibles.
Not one surface was left uncovered. Even Gemma, who embraced clutter, could see that the place needed to be tidied at least and, at most, de-junked.
‘Isn’t this a sight,’ Phyllida exclaimed, attempting to push aside her distress and focus her attentions, for the time being, on Timothy’s chaotic living conditions.
‘See, I wasn’t exaggerating,’ Laila said. ‘And you haven’t seen the bedrooms.’
‘Yeah, this is … What did you call it, Laila?’ Nick said.
‘Hectic.’ Laila nodded. ‘It’s so not a place for an injured elderly man who’s got the clumsy gene.’
‘Where do we start?’ Phyllida asked, already looking dumbfounded at the scale of what needed to be done. Or perhaps it was the combination of stress and a sleepless night catching up with her.
‘I don’t know. It’s so bad.’ Laila looked like she might start crying.
‘It’s okay, Laila,’ Nick said gently. ‘It might seem overwhelming, but if we break it down into smaller tasks, it won’t seem so bad. I reckon we start by clearing all the surfaces, then sorting out the kitchen cupboards, and removing anything that’s on the floor which shouldn’t be.
‘We can put any item he has more than one of or those we think he could get rid of in a pile under the stairs. He can sort through them when he comes home. Then we wash the stuff in the sink, dust and vacuum, and return things in a more ordered fashion.’
‘Excellent, Nick,’ Gemma said.
They each went to different corners of the boat and got to work.
At one point, Gemma disturbed so much dust that she had a sneezing fit.
Laila went to find a cotton scarf she could use to cover her face.
After nearly two hours, Phyllida’s phone beeped loudly.
It kept sounding again and again. She frantically pulled the phone from her back pocket and scrolled through her messages, worry lines creasing her face. Gemma went over to her.
‘Is it Robert?’ she whispered. ‘Do you need to go?’
Phyllida shook her head. ‘You won’t believe it.
He wants to know where the beer is. I hid it before I went out.
Hair of the dog may be helpful after a boozy night, but right now I don’t want him touching the stuff.
He also messaged saying again how sorry he is, asked me to buy more paracetamol and checked three times whether I’m genuinely going to come home.
’ She sighed. ‘Isn’t it enough that he deceived me and lost our money?
Now I’m also lumbered with all this neediness and extra worry about him.
’ Phyllida pushed her hair out of her face and rubbed her temples.
‘What’s up, you two?’ Nick asked, sidling over to them and waving a blue duster he’d found somewhere. He looked at them both and realised he’d interrupted something serious. ‘Would you like to break for a cuppa?’ he suggested.
‘I think, in fact, it’s time for a mudlarking meeting,’ Gemma said. ‘What do you say, Phyllida?’
Before they could sit on the sofa, they first had to remove the kitchen items Nick had dumped there. In his enthusiasm to ‘Marie Kondo’, he’d overlooked the fact the sofa may be a handy place to sit. Laila made a pot of tea and they found their seats. ‘So what’s going on, Phyllida?’ Nick asked.
‘I’m in a bit of a pickle, to put it mildly, thanks to my husband,’ she said, staring into her lap and at her fretting hands that wouldn’t stay still. Her lips began to quiver and her eyes were teary. ‘Gemma, can you tell them? I don’t think I can.’
‘Of course,’ Gemma said. She gently and considerately explained Phyllida’s personal crisis, while Nick and Laila listened. When she was done, Laila went to one of the bedrooms and returned with a box of tissues.
‘Take the whole thing,’ she said to Phyllida. ‘Believe it or not, there’s more. Gramps is a fan of bulk-buying.’
‘Thanks,’ Phyllida sniffed.
Then Laila knelt on the floor next to Phyllida and rested her arm on the sofa arm. ‘It’ll be all right. I’m sure your husband can get help.’
‘Exactly,’ Nick said. ‘There are support networks for gamblers and those affected by gambling, like the National Gambling Helpline. I did an article on it once. Interviewed a couple of gamblers. I’ll fish it out for you.
It’s always good to read about other people going through the same thing as you are. ’
‘Can’t you get cognitive behaviour therapy to help with gambling?’ Gemma wondered out loud. ‘And I’m sure there’ll be financial services help as well.’
Phyllida nodded. ‘Robert says he only wanted to reverse the financial mess he’d gotten us into and never thought he’d get addicted.’
‘I guess the key to moving forward is being on the same page and to support each other,’ said Gemma. ‘That’s what went wrong with my marriage. We ended up being not just on different pages, but in two different books, written in different languages.’
‘Second that,’ Nick said.
‘Yes, how are you doing, Nick?’ Gemma asked, feeling bad she hadn’t thought to ask him.
‘Something’s happened to you, too?’ Phyllida said, blowing her nose.