Always You. Erin Kaye
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cheek. ‘Let me guess? You had spaghetti bolognese for tea.’
‘How did you know?’ said Lewis suspiciously, while Ian kissed the top of Molly’s head, her hair the same colour and texture as Sarah’s. He hadn’t done much right in life, but his children made his heart swell with unfettered pride.
‘That’d be telling,’ he said.
‘How’s Gran?’ said Molly.
‘She’s fine,’ said Ian without missing a beat. ‘Lewis, will you take your swim medal in to show Gran on Sunday? She’d love to see it.’
‘Come on kids,’ said Sarah. ‘Dad and I need to have a little chat. Why don’t you switch the TV on in the lounge?’ She glanced at the clock. 'The Simpsons are just coming on. I’ll bring you through some ice cream.’
‘Ice cream on a Wednesday?’ said Molly with an exaggerated look of surprise on her face. ‘What’s got into you, Mum?’ Sarah, who was a big fan of healthy eating, gave Molly a withering look. Ian was a bit shamed to admit that the children were spoiled when they came to him. Raquel seemed to think that plying them with sweets and sugary treats was the secret to winning their affection. It hadn’t worked.
‘Seeing as your Dad’s here,’ said Sarah with a conspiratorial wink at Ian. ‘Now scram before I change my mind.’ That was enough to send them scarpering into the lounge, slamming the door shut behind them.
In the kitchen, strewn with pots and pans, Ian smiled. Sarah had always been a messy cook, never tidying up as she went along. ‘Take the weight off,’ she said. ‘I’ll be right with you.’
He sat down at the table, pushed a plate out of the way and dabbed ineffectually at the spills on the table with a used napkin. He missed the mess of family life.
‘I don’t know about you but I could use a drink,’ said Sarah, as she came back into the kitchen, taking a half-empty bottle of white wine out of the fridge. ‘Want some?’
He shook his head. ‘No thanks. I’m driving. Some orange juice would be nice.’ He watched her drain the juice from a carton, toss the carton at the bin – and miss. She shrugged and he smiled, feeling himself relax for the first time that day. The homeliness of Sarah’s chaotic kitchen reminded him of happier times.
She handed him a tumbler of juice and half-filled a stubby-stemmed glass with wine for herself. Oblivious to the state of the place, which would’ve had Raquel hyperventilating, she sat down opposite him, the bottle of wine close at hand as if her glass might need replenishment soon. ‘What’s up?’
‘It’s just that … well. I wanted to ask your advice.’
She stared at him with grey eyes, steady and clear. ‘About Evelyn?’
‘Yes. I spoke with the staff on the way out. They assured me that she’d finished the antibiotics two days ago but that fall just made me realise how weak she is. That’s the second dose in the last four weeks. She just doesn’t seem able to shift that infection.’
‘Did you speak with Linda?’ Linda was the manager and a trained nurse.
‘No, she wasn’t there.’
‘Hmm,’ said Sarah, took a drink of wine and added, ‘And what have the staff done about it?’
‘Nothing, as far as I can see. They said she was tired and needed a chance to rest.’
There was a long pause. Sarah looked into her glass, held between both hands. ‘I think you should get Dr Glover back to see her tomorrow. If the chest infection’s not cleared, she might need stronger antibiotics. Left untreated, it could turn into pneumonia.’
He nodded glumly and took a swig of juice. She’d not told him anything he had not thought himself, but it was reassuring to hear that she agreed, that his instinct had been right. He swallowed, and emotion – something akin to, but not quite the same as anger – welled up inside him. ‘You know,’ he said, his eyes stinging the way they did when he took the kids to the chlorinated pool, ‘I don’t think the staff in that place know what they’re doing.’
He set the glass down on the table with more force than he intended and some juice slopped out, to mingle with the blob of bolognese sauce he’d smeared across the vinyl tablecloth. ‘How come they didn’t volunteer the information about her antibiotics? How come they haven’t called in a doctor already? They just leave her lying in that bed, hour after hour, all alone.’
Sarah sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Ian. I know how much it hurts you to see her like that. Me too.’
He put his hands over his face and his shoulders shook. ‘I hate to see her in that place.’
‘Don’t beat yourself up over that again, Ian. You had no choice. She needs professional care. And she’s in the best place possible.’
He removed his hands and looked into Sarah’s sympathetic eyes. ‘But they stole her Bible.’
‘I know.’ Sarah paused and added gently, ‘But we don’t know if that was the staff, another resident or a visitor. And from what I can see, they’re kind to her. And professional.’
He blew air out his nose noisily. ‘Professional, huh! That’s a joke. Half of the staff look like they’ve just left school and the other half can hardly speak a word of English.’
Sarah blinked and said carefully, ‘I know you’re upset, Ian, but that’s really not fair. They’re doing their best.’
His shoulders slumped and he suddenly felt desperately tired. He rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. ‘I feel as though I’ve let her down.’
‘You haven’t,’ she said softly. ‘It wasn’t really practical to have her come and live with you, was it? Not with you and Raquel out at work all day.’
He attempted a smile of gratitude for the kind words, though they did little to assuage his guilt. He ran his hand across the top of his head and thought for a few long moments.
‘Right, we need a plan.’ If he could inject some order into what was happening, maybe he could control things, maybe he could get his mother well again. ‘I think someone should go in and see her at least once a day now until this crisis is over,’ he said, the words that had been swimming around in his head all afternoon tumbling out too fast, one on top of the other. ‘Keep on top of the staff. I can do most days, except Tuesdays. Probably best not to take the kids too often – we don’t want to freak them out, seeing her unwell.’ He focused on the swirly pattern on the oilcloth in an attempt to slow down his thoughts. ‘Maybe we could both take them at the weekend and you could take them away after a few minutes. I think it’d do her good to see them, don’t you? And we could take turns to visit on the days when the other one’s got the kids. And –’
‘Ian,’ said Sarah gently and when he looked up her cheeks were red. ‘You know how much I love Evelyn and I’d do anything for her.’ She paused, stared at the table, and then went on, twisting the stem of the glass between her finger and thumb. ‘I’ll do whatever’s required. But don’t you think you should be having this conversation with Raquel?’
She was right, of course. A cold chill settled in his stomach. He had no right to be here, no right to ask this of her. And yet, who else could he ask? He had no siblings to call on. And Raquel, well, she would visit if he asked her, but it would be done out of a sense of duty, not of love. And there would be little compassion.
He cleared his throat and said disloyally, his cheeks flushing, ‘But there’s no bond, no connection, between Raquel and my mother. No … affection. They’ve never clicked. Whereas you two, well, you’re like mother and daughter. At least that’s how it’s always appeared to me.’ He would’ve married Sarah without his mother’s approval – but it had always pleased him that both his parents liked her so much.
Sarah lifted her eyes, held his gaze and said solemnly, ‘You’re right, that’s how it is. I love your mother as