Present day #3
It was a surprise to find the curved reception desk unattended, where dusty plastic daffodils sat in a vase, unattended.
She stood, feeling a little awkward, her tasselled poncho hanging down over her jeans, wondering if coming here was such a good idea and looking for the door release button, in case she wanted to make a hasty exit.
An old woman using a walker, being chaperoned by a young carer in a pale lilac tunic, walked past. Slowly.
‘I’m seventy-six!’ the woman shouted, as if delighted by the achievement.
Lilly offered a benign smile while feeling the grip of horror in her stomach when she realised this lady was only six years older than her, yet Lilly was young, so young!
The borrowed phrase that Bertie had always favoured stuck in her mind, one that had stood her in good stead: It’s not how old you are that matters, darling, but how you are old!
It had never felt more true than in that moment.
‘Be with you in a sec!’ The young woman raised a finger towards Lilly and patiently wandered along with her charge.
It was some minutes before she returned, giving Lilly a chance to study the noticeboard that was haphazardly covered with notices and postcards.
Apparently there was a sing-along in the TV lounge on Tuesdays and Thursdays with Wendy on the piano.
Armchair yoga on Wednesday morning. And anyone wanting to go on the coach trip to St Leonards-on-Sea had to pay the deposit to Linda by next Friday.
It was heartening, to see so many activities, the sense of community, despite the slightly depressing exterior.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting. We’ve only just had lunch so always a lot of rejigging and getting residents to and from the dining room and cleaned up after lunch.’
‘Of course.’ She felt guilty for having interrupted the busy schedule, knowing she should have enquired as to when was the best time to visit.
‘Who are you here to see, my love?’ The young nurse had a wonderful way with her that she was sure must be most reassuring if this was your home.
‘Erm . . .’ It felt odd to be saying the name in anything other than a derisory way. ‘Derek Manners.’
‘Oh, yes. Lovely. Is he expecting you?’
‘No. No, he’s not.’ Lilly shook her head and laughed nervously, knowing she’d be the last person he’d be expecting.
‘He’s my, erm . . .’ What was he? She had never let him get close enough to be a stepdad.
But as someone once reminded her, a lot of water had flowed under a lot of bridges. ‘He was my mum’s husband.’
‘Right. Well, just sign in and I’ll take you to his room.’
Lilly filled in the time and date and signed before following the young woman up a flight of stairs and turning right along the wide corridor.
‘This is him.’ The carer smiled and rapped her knuckles on the door as she opened it. ‘Derek, love?’ Her voice was loud. ‘You have a visitor!’ She pointed at Lilly, who waved awkwardly from the doorway.
‘Good Lord!’ Derek looked like he might have been about to doze, and she felt bad for interrupting, watching as he shuffled into a more upright position in his recliner chair and pushed his glasses up on to his nose.
He was very old, frail and pale. Lilly could only reflect on how similarly she had aged since she had seen him last, on the day they buried her mother.
A quiet, poorly attended affair that had felt as awkward as it had sad.
‘I’ll leave you two to it.’ The young woman left them alone and Lilly wondered if this was such a good idea, was almost tempted to ask her to stay.
‘Pull up a chair.’ He pointed to a dining chair that was in a corner with a tapestry cushion on it. ‘Well . . .’ He took his time, speaking slowly, yet clearly, robustly really, for his age. ‘This is a turn-up for the books.’
‘Yes.’ She sat on the chair she’d pulled closer to him. He looked neat, hair brushed, whiskers trimmed, and wearing a camel-coloured cardigan that was buttoned up with a clean, pressed shirt underneath.
‘I got the fright of my life when I looked up.’ He paused. ‘For a minute I thought you were Jeannie! Thought she’d come to get me. Not that I’d mind. I tell her that every day. “When you’re ready, love!” I say.’
‘Oh.’ She hadn’t expected to get on to the topic of death or her mother quite so quickly. ‘I wasn’t sure you’d recognise me.’
‘I’m ninety-seven, the old legs have given up the ghost, my hearing’s not too clever, but my memory is good. Some poor souls in here, they don’t even remember who they are, let alone anyone else.’
‘That’s rotten.’
‘’Tis.’ He nodded. ‘Time is no one’s friend in here, Lilly-Bob, so you might as well cut to the chase.
’ He folded his fingers, now with large, knobbly knuckles, over his stomach.
He wasn’t rude, exactly, but was certainly cutting her no slack.
She understood that he had no need to watch his tongue or his tone, no Jeannie around to impress, no apple cart that might be upset, and he owed her nothing.
‘How . . . how have you been?’ She didn’t know how to start.
‘How have I been?’ He laughed until he wheezed. ‘What is it you want, Lilly?’
‘I don’t know really, Derek Ma—’ She caught herself just in time.
‘What do I want?’ She thought about it, looking around the room, and her eyes landed on a shelf where, next to a thriving spider plant, sat a picture of him and her mum, laughing into a camera, decades younger.
Her mum looked happy and in love; they both did.
‘You still hate plants?’ he asked with the smallest hint of irony to his question.
‘No,’ she conceded. ‘I quite like them now.’
‘Well, there we go. People change, right?’
‘Yep, they do.’ She took a deep breath, floored that he remembered that conversation too. ‘I’m probably going to be moving from the flat.’ It felt important to let him know.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Not sure yet.’
‘I never thought you’d leave the place.’
‘Neither did I. It’s not by choice,’ she explained. He shrugged, as if where she did or did not live would scarcely affect or concern him and, again, she understood.
‘I’m clearing out cupboards, starting to pack up, and I found some letters that Mum wrote to my dad. And I guess I just wanted to come and see you, to ask you some things.’ Her mouth was dry; this was a lot harder than she had anticipated.
‘Because I’m the last one standing?’
‘Yes, I guess so. It’s always the way, isn’t it? It’s only when people have gone that you realise the many things you wish you’d asked them, all the curious small stuff that you ponder in the early hours.’
‘Not me and Jeannie.’ He smiled, as if the thought of her was enough to invoke joy. ‘We left nothing unsaid: it was one of our rules – to always communicate honestly and openly. It stood us in good stead.’
‘I bet.’ She felt the pang of envy that they had known each other so well – nothing left unsaid – and yet her mum was to her, in so many ways, a stranger.
‘I guess I’ve only just understood that she wanted to see me more, wanted me to come and stay, things like that.
’ Her words were coated with the embarrassment of her teenage self.
‘Oh yes, that was what she wanted, but not what she got.’ Derek nodded at her most matter-of-factly. ‘What she got in fact was very little, and it hurt her. It hurt me, too, to see it. To love her and not be able to fix things, not able to give her what she really wanted.’ He shook his head.
‘I didn’t know.’ Lilly felt suitably admonished.
‘Yes, well. Let’s just say there were decisions made, boundaries put in place that your mum had no choice but to abide by.’
‘By my dad?’ Lilly pushed, sensing this to be the case but hoping for an explanation.
‘I’m sure he had his reasons. He was a troubled man, Lilly, but not a cruel one, I don’t believe.
As with anything, hindsight is a wonderful thing, and I spent an age thinking how I might or should have done things differently.
It was hard for me; I didn’t really have a seat at the discussion table. ’
‘No.’ This much she knew to be true. ‘In one of the letters, Mum said that she used to come and watch me while I painted. Do you know anything about that?’
He leaned back in the chair and looked up at the swirl-patterned ceiling. ‘Yes. It was your dad’s suggestion, actually. Jeannie wanted to see you, but it was obvious you didn’t want to see her. You were so angry, and your dad felt it was confusing for you.’
‘I was angry. I found the whole thing confusing. I still do.’
‘Kids aren’t meant to get the detail. I guess your parents did what they thought was best to protect you.
’ The way he spoke suggested her mum and dad had further collaborated.
This, too, was new information, and an odd concept, Lilly having always believed that her mum had simply left and hadn’t looked back .
. . ‘But yes, she used to come and watch you paint. I tried to keep out of the whole thing, knowing I couldn’t win, damned if I did, damned if I didn’t, but I’d come with her sometimes.
She just wanted to sit and look at you – your dad suggested you sit on the towpath one day so she could see you more easily from the other side of the bank.
And then on the days he knew you were there, he’d call her, quietly tip her off. ’
There’s something quite lovely about sitting on the towpath, getting lost in the river, the sounds, the sights . . . Give it some thought. She remembered him suggesting it.
‘It was a clever move from your dad.’
This hint of admiration coming from his rival was quite unexpected.
‘Jeannie would sit and stare across the water, tears streaming down her face. And we’d get the bus home in silence, and she’d go straight to bed, no matter the time of day.
Didn’t eat, didn’t talk, just lay on the bed with her arms wrapped around herself, like she was hurt, injured, and I can’t say it made me very fond of you. ’
Lilly felt the rise of tears and could only nod.