Nicholas Searle - The Good Liar

ing tighter. He looks up at her but she is looking at the doctor.

‘Perhaps we might have a word after your visit, Mrs Courtnay.’

‘I’m not Mrs Courtnay,’ says Betty with a shy smile. ‘I’m just a

friend.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ says the young man. ‘Please forgive me. I just

assumed.’

You might almost believe in his sincerity. It seems Betty does.

The doctor wanders off in his trainers, his hands in the pockets

of his coat.

‘How are you feeling?’ asks Betty.

Did she not hear the doctor? I feel terrible. I’m in pain. But he

smiles, and says, ‘I’m all right. Just a bit of a turn.’

‘Maybe you’ve been overdoing things.’

‘How?’

‘All the financial stuff. Vincent.’

‘Oh no,’ he says decisively. ‘Just a bit peaky. Must be some kind of virus. Back on my feet in no time.’

‘I’m worried. You mustn’t rush things.’

‘Don’t you worry about me,’ he says. ‘Be back home in two

shakes.’ He looks up at her.

‘It gave me a fright,’ she says.

‘No doubt. Must have been a bit of a crash.’

‘The ambulance crew were excellent. They were there in min-

utes and took charge.’

‘Good. Listen. Could you get in touch with Vincent? I’m sure

he’d like to know and, depending on how long I’m laid up, he might

want to drop in on me.’

‘All right. Do I have his number?’

‘I think your Stephen does. If not it’ll be on the papers he

gave you.’

‘All right.’

‘Betty?’

‘Yes, Roy?’

‘Don’t let them put me in a home. Please.’

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‘What are you talking about, Roy? Who’s said anything about a

home?’

‘It’s just a funny turn. I’ll be fine. Don’t let them put me in one of those places.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ she says, smiling. ‘You’ll be back home before you know it.’

2

‘The doctor wanted a word afterwards,’ Betty tells Stephen. ‘He suggested we should consider “other options” when he’s discharged.’

‘Such as?’ asks Stephen.

‘Isn’t the euphemism obvious? Some desperate institution with a

Happy Valley cover name. He wants social services to do an assess-

ment of care needs. You won’t be surprised to learn that he doesn’t want a bit of it. He can see the slippery slope.’

‘You should consider it seriously. What’s the diagnosis, anyway?’

‘A couple of cracked ribs. Painful, but he’ll recover. They put the fall down to high blood pressure. Anxiety may have brought it on.

He has a heart condition that’s kept under control by medication.

They’ve upped the tablets.’

‘Anxiety?’

‘Yes. Presumably all the stress with Vincent and the money.’

‘We’ve done nothing to heighten his stress levels. It’s all going

remarkably smoothly. Whatever he is, he’s not a panicker.’

‘I know. But he is very old, you have to remember. Like me. And

he’ll be more frail than he looks.’

‘We should think about the home option.’

‘I heard you the first time. They did some cognitive tests on him

too. For signs of dementia. He’s been disorientated since the fall.

The tests aren’t fully conclusive. They need to do more, but it could be that onset is occurring. If confirmed, given his age they’d anticipate full development being quite swift.’

‘How swift?’

‘Months, probably. Maybe a year or two. Possibly weeks.’

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‘Doesn’t that settle it? You can’t possibly take on that burden. He has to go into a suitable home. Then disengage.’

‘If it is dementia the early stages shouldn’t be too problematic,’

she says in a matter- of- fact tone. ‘There’ll be long periods of lucid-ity. As time goes on the confusion will increase. The doctors will

monitor it and there’s always the option of a nursing home later.’

‘But why? Just let it all go.’

‘Perhaps I’m selfish, but I can’t. I can’t let go. Not just yet. I’m holding on. Not losing my nerve. We have only a few weeks more

of this, you know, once he’s out. Would you believe, just before he had his accident, he asked me to share the large bedroom with him?’

‘What did you say?’ says Stephen quietly.

‘What do you think? I laughed it off. Perhaps we should consider

getting a double room together in some awful Sunset Pastures

place.’

Stephen evidently does not share her amusement.

‘We spoke of love,’ she says. ‘Or at least I did.’

‘Love?’

‘Yes. It slipped out, rather. It was something to say. I simply said love didn’t seem to be part of his vocabulary.’

‘Slightly injudicious, don’t you think? Talking to him about love?’

‘You sound like Gerald.’

‘Sorry. It just seems a bit risky. To be fair to him for one moment, it’s hardly a question many men in their eighties are equipped to

answer.’

‘No. He was a bit at sea. Anyway, I don’t really care about the risk.

This whole adventure is one big risk. And it is rather amusing to see him so uneasy. With all his certainty. A bit cruel, perhaps, considering what’s just happened. But that’s as maybe. The subject was soon closed.’

She pours the tea.

‘I’m just so . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘Concerned for you, I suppose.’

‘It’s all right. I have things perfectly under control.’

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‘I know, but I just worry. It’s a huge thing to take on. And him

being so close, physically. I worry it might end badly.’

‘I’m immensely grateful for your concern, Stephen. And it makes

a huge difference to know that you’re there – watching my back,

isn’t that the expression? But I can cope with him. Really I can.’

‘I just admire you so much and it makes me sick to think he might

be able to hurt you.’

‘Oh, Stephen. He can’t hurt me. I’m pretty tough. And though I

may have experienced a few things in my time I’m not sure I par-

ticularly deserve your adulation. I’m just a perfectly ordinary

person.’

‘You’re not.’

‘Yes I am,’ she insists, and they are silent.

‘But thank you,’ she says eventually. ‘You’ve been such a help, and a good friend too if I may say so. You’ve really made it possible for me to do all this. With your help I can manage him.’

3

‘I didn’t know what to bring,’ mumbles Vincent. ‘Grapes, I thought, or something . . .’

‘I bloody hate grapes,’ says Roy.

‘I didn’t know that.’

‘ Half- bottle of Bell’s would be nice. To pop under my pillow.’

‘Anyway, I brought these.’ Vincent gives Roy a brown paper bag

containing a box of cheap chocolates, which he accepts wordlessly

and places on the side table.

‘I wanted to make sure we were still on track,’ says Roy.

‘You are kidding, aren’t you? I thought you’d want it all on hold.

Until things were clearer.’

‘By which you mean if I get out of this place in a box or not.’

Vincent stares at him and does not deny his thinking.

‘Nah,’ says Roy. ‘Take a bit more than a little fall to put me out of action. Bruised and battered, maybe, but not beaten. Down but not

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out. Be back home before you know it. Full speed ahead as far as I’m concerned.’

‘You sure? I mean . . .’