Amanda Brittany - Tell the Truth

‘That’s the way it’s done these days,’ I said, with a smile.

She blew on her coffee, and took a delicate sip. She’d told me before how she’d taken early retirement, and recently she’d felt a bit lost. ‘I just want someone to share my evenings with, Rachel. Is that too much to ask?’ she’d said. ‘It’s lonely spending twenty-four hours a day in your own company.’

Now she glanced over her shoulder, and into my lounge: a square room with an original fireplace I adored. Toys were put away in the wicker chest, and I’d straightened the cushions and throws, put the books on the crammed shelf in height order, and dashed the hoover over the grey carpet. I was grateful the room looked tidy. Angela’s house was always spotless. Not that she judged me.

‘I’m guessing Lawrence has Grace?’ she said.

‘Mmm. They won’t be back until Sunday evening, so I’m hoping to drive down to see my mum shortly. I prefer not to take Grace any more.’ Another stab of guilt – what about the times Mum recognised her? ‘It hurts … you know,’ I went on. ‘When Mum doesn’t know us.’ Sharp tears prodded my eyes, and I took a deep breath. I’d done far too much crying.

Angela reached over and patted my arm. ‘I know, sweetie,’ she said, her voice soft and warm. ‘I know.’

***

Dream Meadows Residential Care Home was deep in the Suffolk countryside, and my mother seemed happy there, as far as I could tell.

I parked and headed into the front entrance, spotting Margo, a care assistant with a permanent smile and short silver-grey hair.

‘Are you looking for your mum, dear?’ she asked breezily, hurrying across the reception area. She’d taken a shine to my mother, and Mum liked her too. ‘She was sleeping when I last put my head round her door. Go up. She’s had a busy day today, but she’ll be delighted to see you.’ She went on her way, straightening her navy tunic over her midriff, as I climbed the stairs.

Mum’s was a cosy room: a single bed, and a wardrobe and chest of drawers in antique pine. The surfaces were filled with framed photos jostling for space with trinkets Mum had asked me to bring from her house.

She was asleep on the bed, a duvet with lilac butterflies pulled over her, her breathing shallow. I stepped towards the window, and dragged back the thin curtains that matched the quilt cover.

Fields extended for miles – sheep and cows no bigger than ants dotted in the distance, and I imagined Mum painting the scene.

She stirred behind me, and I went over and perched on the edge of the bed near her head, watching her sleep, my body tensing as I pretended she was fine. Her quiet breaths were rapid, her eyes moving under closed lids. What are you dreaming about, Mum? Is it the times we spent together when I was young? Trips to Southwold – eating chips – flying kites – walking along the beach?

Should I wake her?

As though sensing me, her eyes flickered and opened. ‘Rachel,’ she said, and my heart sang. It was a good day. Thank God it’s a good day.

She pulled herself to a sitting position and leaned her head against the wall behind her. She was wearing a faded orange kaftan dress that was creased from sleep. I remembered her wearing it when I was young, yet it still fitted perfectly; she’d never gained weight over the years. I remembered visiting her house a few years ago, and trying to get her to throw a few things out. She’d been horrified when I suggested the dress should go, clutching it to her like a security blanket.

Now she pulled her plait over her shoulder, reminding me of a character from a Brontë novel.

‘It’s so lovely to see you, darling,’ she said, burying her fists into her eyes and rubbing them, childlike. She leaned forward, and I took her into my arms and hugged her close, breathing her in.

‘Where’s Grace?’ she said, when I released her.

‘She’s with Lawrence.’ I hadn’t told her we’d broken up. Not yet. I wanted to save her from that. ‘Are you getting up? We could go for a walk in the grounds. It’s cold but bright.’

‘Yes. Yes, let’s do that.’ She swung her legs round, and a furry toy rabbit in a waistcoat fell to the floor.

I picked it up. ‘Mr Snookum,’ I said, placing a kiss on his head. ‘I haven’t seen you for years.’ I thought he was in my attic.

She took him from me, and began fiddling with his ears. ‘I gave him to you when you were little, remember?’

‘Yes,’ I said, raising a brow. ‘I didn’t realise you had him.’

She placed the love-worn rabbit on her pillow, and covered his small body with the duvet, so just his head poked out. Then she slipped her bare feet into canvas shoes.

‘Will you be warm enough? It’s been snowing.’

‘In summer?’

‘It’s winter, Mum. You’ll be cold.’

‘Of course I won’t,’ she said, standing and pulling on a long, thick cardigan that brushed against her ankles. ‘Let’s go,’ she said, and I followed her from the room, closing the door behind me.

We strolled around the grounds for about half an hour, our arms linked as we pointed out crocuses and snowdrops pushing their way through the cold earth. We talked about art – her favourite subject, and how different areas in the grounds would make beautiful paintings. Bare trees lined up against a pale sky in the distance with a hint of sunlight glowing around the branches, caught her attention. ‘I’ll paint those,’ she said.

‘I love you, Mum,’ I said, resting my head on her shoulder, wanting to capture the lucid moment – a second of clarity amongst her sea of confusion. I wanted to bottle it so I could drink it in whenever I felt down. I couldn’t bear that I was losing her, and battled down tears.

‘Love you more, Rachel,’ she said, as I brushed my cheek with the back of my hand. ‘You’re not crying, are you?’

‘No, no, of course not,’ I said, breathing deeply.

‘Is this because Lawrence left you?’

I shook my head. How did she know? We stopped and stared at each other for several moments, her blue eyes shimmering. She took hold of my wrist, her hand freezing. And there it was, that look. I was losing her again. ‘There are things you should know about the past, Rachel,’ she said. ‘Before I go.’

‘Where are you going, Mum?’

‘Laura.’ Margo was dashing across the grass towards us, a little breathless. ‘It’s time for your heart tablets, love.’

To my frustration, Mum released her grip on my arm. ‘I don’t want to take them. They’re poison,’ she said, as Margo took her arm and led her away.

Our conversation was over for the day.

February 2018

‘She said there are things I should know about my past,’ I said, as Angela and I sat next to each other on my sofa. I admit, I’d have preferred to be with Zoe, who I could rely on to pull me round and tell me I was daft to worry, but she was always so busy with work and her new romance with Connor – who was so cute she could eat him, apparently.

Angela’s eyes were fixed on mine. Her curiosity, or maybe the wine, made them sparkle. ‘What do you think she meant?’

I shrugged. ‘She gets confused,’ I said, stating the obvious.

‘I know, sweetie. It must be dreadful for you both.’ Angela leaned forward and filled our wine glasses for the third time, before handing me my glass. I wasn’t sure I wanted another. I certainly didn’t need a hangover tomorrow. But I took it anyway.

‘She isn’t herself at all,’ I said. Another obvious.

‘How much do you know about your past?’ she asked.

I shrugged again. ‘I was born in Ireland, County Sligo, but I can’t remember that far back. We moved to Suffolk when I was about four, I think.’