Catherine O'Flynn - News Where You Are

Walter placed his first tile. ‘You remember Leonard, don’t you, Frank?’

‘Of course.’

‘I went up to see him today.’

‘How’s he doing?’

Walter shook his head: ‘That bloody place.’

Leonard was now looked after in the Golden Days facility at Evergreen. Back when Maureen had first moved to Evergreen, Leonard had been a fellow resident of Helping Hands. He had seen himself as a kind of self-appointed social secretary, liaising with Evergreen’s activities co-ordinator, planning various excursions and evenings, and went out of his way to make Maureen feel welcome. Frank had watched with a mixture of amusement and pity as Leonard’s efforts were met with Maureen’s steely determination to be miserable.

His optimism, though, had remained undimmed. ‘I think I may have found the key, Frank.’

‘Oh yes?’

‘Yes, indeed. Now, we’ve established, have we not, that she’s not interested in trips to local markets, country and western evenings or the majesty of the Peaks.’

‘Yes, I think we’ve established that.’

‘They are all, Frank, rest assured, crossed off my suggestions list for Maureen.’

Frank didn’t doubt that such a document existed.

‘But I think I’ve come up with something to get her up and about and involved.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, Frank. Next Saturday, a brass-rubbing excursion to Lichfield Cathedral — all materials provided.’

‘That sounds great, Leonard.’

‘Right up her street, I reckon.’

‘The thing is my mother’s never really been a team player — she likes her own company … well, I’m not sure she even likes that, but she’s stuck with it. I mean — don’t feel bad if she doesn’t go along. She just isn’t a joiner.’

Leonard nodded. ‘I know that, Frank. I know some people like to keep themselves to themselves and that’s the end of the story, but I don’t think that’s true with your mother. I think there’s something else there. I think she wants to join in; she just doesn’t know how.’ Frank thought Leonard was as wrong as he could be, but said nothing. Leonard smiled. ‘You’ll see. I’ll get her enjoying herself yet.’

As it turned out, though, Maureen’s will had outlasted Leonard’s. The first time Frank noticed anything wrong was when Leonard suggested a day trip to Salisbury Cathedral. When Frank said that a three-hundred-mile round trip seemed a bit too much for one day, Leonard had frowned at him and told him he’d often made the journey in fifteen minutes. As the months went on, Leonard became more confused about where he was, often thinking he was back in the Wiltshire village he had grown up in and waiting for his mother to bring his sandwiches. Six months ago on a trip to Warwick he disappeared from the group and was lost for hours. He was found by police walking along the hard shoulder of the M40 believing it to be the road to Swindon.

He moved into Golden Days shortly afterwards.

‘What’s it like up there?’ Frank asked.

‘It looks the same as down here. Same decor, same bloody menu even, but … bloody hell, Frank, is that what we’ve got to look forward to? People joke and say it’s better than the alternative, but I don’t think it is.’

‘How’s Leonard?’

‘Oh, he’s okay, I suppose. Happy if you take him some sweets; beams at you, he does. Hasn’t a clue who I am or where he is. But what chance has he got? You could go in completely compos mentis and you’d lose your marbles within a week. There was one old fella up there with no legs in a wheelchair. Almost knocked me over, whizzing across the floor, face like thunder. He goes haring across the room and I think he’s going to smash into the wall, but he brakes right at the last minute in front of some mirrored doors. Starts shouting: “Out my bloody way, you bugger!” and all this — turning the air blue. He doesn’t recognize his own reflection, Frank, thinks there’s some old codger in a wheelchair blocking his way. The nurses wheeled him away eventually, but he was still shouting.

‘Then some old dear next to us started crying. So I went over and said, “Come on now, love. It’s not that bad.” But she looked at me, and her face — you’ve never seen such pain, like she’d just lost everything and everyone. She was in a terrible state, really wailing. Then this nurse came over, a Philippine woman. I don’t know her name. She says: “What’s all this, Eva? Today’s not a crying day, it’s a smiling day!” She takes the old dear’s hand and shakes it gently like it’s a baby’s rattle. “Yes, a smiling day today. We’re all smiling all day. Not a crying day.” And do you know what?’

Frank shook his head.

‘She stopped crying.’ Walter’s eyes were wet now and he had to fight to control his voice. ‘Completely stopped crying. She started to smile — a big bright smile. Jesus Christ, Frank.’

Frank could think of nothing to say and they played in silence. After a while he noticed that Walter was smiling.

‘Your mother was saying the other day how much she loved the sea.’

‘Was she?’

‘Yes. It’s something we have in common. Funny really, both lived here, as far as you could get from the sea all our lives, and yet always had this hankering.’

Frank felt a little defensive. ‘I could take her to the sea if she wanted. She’s never said. I mean — I’m always asking her where she’d like to go.’ He wondered if he should add that Walter could come too, if he should acknowledge the friendship that seemed to be developing between the two of them. He decided against it. His mother wouldn’t acknowledge it — why should he?

It was a while before Walter spoke again. ‘You know, I feel just the same.’

Frank looked up. ‘Sorry?’

‘Inside. I’m seventy-seven now and I feel just the same today as I did when I was forty-seven or twenty-seven even. Nothing’s changed in here.’ He tapped his chest. ‘This fella’ — he indicated his heart — ‘is still the same stupid bugger he always was.’

Frank considered Walter for a few moments before answering. ‘I guess that’s a good thing, isn’t it?’

Walter smiled. ‘I think it is, Frank. I think it is.’

They stood on the landing with the ladder between them.

‘Are you sure you want to come up here with me?’

‘Yes. I’m going to help. Mom says you’re not very good at throwing things away.’

‘Well, Mom shouldn’t say that. I’m very good at throwing things away that are broken or unwanted. Your mother specializes in throwing away perfectly good things, things we still want and use. That’s not a virtue, Mo, that’s a mental illness. She throws away my clothes all the time — perfectly good clothes.’

Mo, who had helped her mother do the last sweep of Frank’s wardrobe, said nothing to this. She remembered how they had both laughed at a sweatshirt of Frank’s they’d found with a picture of a dog on it.

Frank looked up at the loft hatch. ‘Because you never used to like it up there.’

Mo rolled her eyes. ‘That’s when I was a baby, Dad.’

Frank nodded. ‘And you don’t get scared of things now, right?’

Mo shook her head emphatically.

‘It’s just, how can you know you won’t be scared when you haven’t been up there for years? You know, Mo, I remember the last time. You insisted that you wanted to come up and then when we got up there you didn’t like it. Do you remember? I don’t want to go through that again. We couldn’t calm you down. People in Birmingham could hear you scream.’

Mo tutted. ‘You’re an exaggerator, Dad.’

‘I’m not. I promise you I’m not. Do you remember what set you off?’

Mo shrugged.