Rumours and Red Roses (18 page)

I
T WAS
S
ATURDAY
and with Simon happy to look after Samantha for a while – a bit of daddy/daughter bonding – Becky was treating her mum to a slap-up lunch in what was generally regarded as the swankiest hotel in town.

‘Of course, all that sun over there does your complexion no good, no good at all,’ Shelley said, as they settled at a table by the window. The view wasn’t so great, just the busy street and shoppers battling against a stiff breeze today, and Becky preferred to look inwards, to watch the other diners. ‘That sun makes your skin all leathery. I tell you, I spend all my time trying to avoid it. Can you credit that? When you live here and you hardly ever see it, you’re desperate to sit out in it when it decides to show its face. I spend a fortune on sunblocks and face creams. There’s this particular cream which all the ladies swear by and I daren’t tell you how much it is for a bottle this size.’ She
indicated
the minuteness of it with her hand. ‘Alan has no idea. Money just comes in and goes out like the tide. No worries, he says. He gives me two hundred dollars just like that and off I go shopping. Two hundred dollars – Australian money, that is. He’s like that. When I think about your dad, how tight he was, I can’t believe they’re so different. We had to account for every penny when you were little. Mind you, we never had enough money but for all that we were happy. That says a lot, doesn’t it? Can you believe it, Becky, how it’s turned out for me?’

‘I’m glad for you. You worked hard, Mum. Thank goodness you don’t have to flog away at Ivana’s any more. You’re well out of that, especially now you’re getting older.’

‘Enough of that. I went to see her yesterday and we had a nice chat.
She sends her love and …’ She reached for her voluminous handbag. ‘She’s sent this little frock for the baby. Turned up trumps this time.’

‘How kind.’ Becky took it out of the bag. It was lovely, a little baby dress of the sort girl babies used to wear, pale pink with white smocking. ‘It’s gorgeous. We’ll have to find a special occasion to wear this.’ She very nearly said ‘when we visit her great grandfather’ but she was keeping quiet about that for the moment. She would tell her mum about it later, depending on how it went.

‘Ivana’s heart’s in the right place,’ Shelley said. ‘She missed me, she said. And the customers miss me, too. I bumped into Mrs Wearmouth and she said her hair hasn’t been the same since I went. Isn’t that nice to know that people miss you?’

Becky nodded. Her mum, in spite of the deep tan she was so desperate to avoid, was looking all right. She was wearing navy trousers today, which meant there were no worries about the length of her skirt, and a surprisingly old-fashioned blazer-jacket in a sunshine yellow. It made her look, although Becky would never have said it, like a holiday camp rep. Her hair was back to being blonde but it was nowhere near as brassy as it had been, a much softer honey colour which suited her. Added to that, she had several gold bracelets clanking round her wrist and numerous gold chains – the real thing, she was at pains to point out. She didn’t do costume stuff anymore. Yes, Australia and marriage to Alan had done her a world of good.

‘Now, you can have whatever you like, Mum,’ Becky said, opening up the menu. ‘It’s my treat. Don’t worry about the price. Choose what you want.’

‘Too true I will.’ Shelley frowned at her. ‘What did I just tell you? I’m married to Alan now and he’s made a killing down under. You should see him these days, Becky. He lives in these shorts, cut-off denims, and he won’t wear a top, just his bare chest, and he always has a wad of money stuffed in his pocket. If he ever got mugged …’

They ordered their meal and sat back to await its arrival. Becky chose the light luncheon wine, choosing an Australian one in honour of her mum. For a moment, just as she was perusing the wine list, their eyes met and her mum gave a broad grin at the absurdity of it.

Who would have thought it? What a difference a few years could bring. They neither of them made any comment on it but Becky knew they were both thinking it.

‘It’s a beautiful country, love,’ Shelley said in a quieter voice, watching the waiter as he smartly turned tail and went off in search of their wine. ‘It’s almost worth the flight, which takes forever and a day. You should see the sky, Becky. It’s so big and so blue. And did you know the stars are different in the southern hemisphere? Alan told me that. We went out on to the balcony one night and he said to me, “Just look up at those stars and tell me what you see, Shelley, love.”’

‘And what did you see?’

‘Stars,’ she said simply. ‘I mean, until he pointed the different constellations out, stars are just stars, aren’t they? I can’t say I’ve ever taken a lot of notice of them. It makes me dizzy looking up like that. I never realized before …’ She picked up a fork, fiddled with it. ‘I never realized how squashed we are here, how tight the sky is. You get such a feeling of space out there. The weather is just wonderful.’

‘We’ll have to come and visit sometime,’ Becky told her, noting the shining eyes. Thank goodness, she was happy, and that’s all she could wish for even though she was counting the days now to her mum going back and dreading it. She had got used to her being around again and it would be no easier to say goodbye this time round. As for Samantha, well, she was really beginning to get to know this new grandma, smiling when she saw her and holding out her little arms to be carried. And she often surprised the two of them having a little giggling game together.

‘You wake up to sunshine every blessed day,’ her mum went on, smiling flirtatiously at a different waiter as their starter arrived. ‘It’s our winter now but it’s not a bit cold. And we’re right next to the sea. There are miles and miles of lovely beach and surf. It’s called Paradise Beach and it is. It reminds me a bit of Blackpool except it’s sunny and there aren’t any donkeys.’

‘What about the insects?’ Becky asked mischievously, for she knew her mum was none too keen on them. ‘What about those little poisonous spiders that lurk in the lavatory pan? What are they called?’

‘Redbacks,’ Shelley said, tucking into her garlic mushroom starter with relish. ‘And if you ask me, that’s just a tale. I haven’t met one yet and I haven’t seen a single snake either. Mind you …’ She paused and shuddered. ‘I did find this enormous spider in the bathtub. It looked like something out of a joke shop except it was real and moving.’ She laughed at Becky’s expression. ‘I ran out screaming in just my bra and
pants and when I went back in sometime in the afternoon it wasn’t there any more, which was worse really because I couldn’t help worrying about where the bugger had gone.’

‘Ssh.’ Becky glanced round as her mum’s voice had risen in her telling of the tale. ‘How is Alan?’ she asked.

‘He’s doing very well. Fit as a fiddle and brown as a berry because he spends all his time outdoors. He might as well sling a hammock in the tree and sleep out there for all I see of him. The honeymoon’s well and truly over. He’s bought a yacht with his brother.’

‘Wow. That sounds lovely.’

‘It is. It’s very plush. I don’t want to know how much it cost. Alan’s brother made his money in the music business and he’s loaded. They’re going to charter it out to tourists. Swimming. Snorkelling. Diving. You name it, Alan does it on the water. He might as well have webbed feet these days.’

‘What about you, Mum? What do you do? You don’t like getting your feet wet.’

‘No. I still can’t swim. I’ve tried but all I do is swallow a gallon of water and I’m frightened I’ll drown. Alan’s tried to teach me but he has no patience. I just can’t get the hang of it so having a pool is a waste of time. Alan’s not keen on me working so I spend my time round the house, like I told you, although now that we have this girl coming in to help out with the housework there’s not a lot for me to do. She’s a nice girl, oriental, but she doesn’t get into corners. She wafts around. Ivana would have a fit if she saw her. “Get a move on,” she would say. I have to follow her around with a duster. You do right not to have a cleaner. I have to tidy up before she arrives and put everything back in the right place when she’s gone.’

‘It must be a long day, doing nothing,’ Becky said thoughtfully, noticing her mum was starting to look melancholy.

‘I find things to do. I wish I could get interested in reading like you but I haven’t the attention span. So, I potter around and dangle my legs in the pool. But …’ She hesitated. ‘It’s lonely, love. I have no friends yet, Becky. A few ladies who pop by but they’re not friends, not like Ivana and the girls at work and the neighbours in the old house.’

‘Oh, Mum.’ Becky pushed her plate aside. For all the stars this hotel might have, she had tasted better smoked salmon. ‘Are you unhappy?’

‘How can I be unhappy, you daft so and so?’ Shelley asked, looking
across at her plate. ‘Finish that up. It looks bad leaving something on your plate. I’ll have it if you don’t want it.’

‘No.’ Becky held on to her plate. ‘We can’t swap plates in a place like this.’

‘He wasn’t happy about me coming over,’ her mum said suddenly. ‘He doesn’t understand. I told him straight. “I’m a grandma,” I said, “and I haven’t seen my little mite for such a long time and she’s had a big operation …”’ Her eyes filled with sudden tears. ‘“And I wasn’t there for Becky when she needed me so you can sod off,” I said to him. “I’m going and that’s that.” I used his credit card to book the ticket, upgraded at that, so he’ll have a shock when he gets the bill. A return ticket costs a fortune.’

Becky smiled, reaching over to touch her hand. ‘Cheer up,’ she said. ‘You’ll make it up with him when you see him.’

‘I won’t.’ Shelley paused as their plates were removed. ‘That’s just it, you see. I had a lot of time to think on the flight over. I’m homesick, Becky.’

‘Homesick? What are you talking about? You’ve just been telling me how wonderful it is, all that sunshine and the beach and everything. How can you be homesick?’ she asked, looking out on to the grey and blustery summer day.

‘Crazy, isn’t it?’ Shelley followed her gaze. ‘Homesick for the rain and the cold and the little skies? But most of all, love, homesick for you and the baby. I can’t leave you and the baby. Not again. But I
can
leave Alan.’

‘Hey, hang on a minute.’

‘No. You hear me out. It was a mistake. I didn’t play the game, you see. Over the years, since your dad died, he’s asked me to marry him more times than I’ve had hot dinners and every single time I said no. But the last time he asked, I said yes. And that was not really in his game plan. I’ve made my mind up so don’t you try to stop me. I’m not going back, Becky. I’m leaving him. I’m staying here. Ivana says I can have my old job back any time I want. And I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I can find myself a little place of my own.’

A great wave of relief passed over Becky.

She should not be pleased that her mum was walking out on poor Alan but she was. Thank goodness they wouldn’t have to go through the agony of an airport goodbye again.

‘He’ll not be too down,’ Shelley said, giving her a moment to digest
the news. ‘He was planning a long cruise with his brother, leaving me for about four months, so he’ll probably be delighted I’m not coming back. It didn’t work out, love. And I was a fool to think it would. Alan’s all right, a nice enough man, but he’s not your dad. You only get one shot at it, one proper go, one man that’s meant for you,’ she added, lowering her voice. ‘All that tripe. But there’s something in it, isn’t there?’

‘What about Johnny?’ Becky asked quietly. ‘Can you handle him?’

‘You bet. Have no worries there. If he dares to try anything I have a very good line in put-downs.’ 

F
OR THE VISIT
to her great grandfather, Samantha was wearing the dress Ivana had given her, white frilly socks and her red shoes. Becky had opted for a pale grey severely cut suit with a white blouse, as if she was attending an interview for a job. She was feeling nervous and Simon was not helping, reiterating as they drove over to the coast that this was going to be no picnic.

‘I know. I almost wish we weren’t coming now,’ Becky said, having chosen to sit in the back of the car beside the baby seat. Despite feeling tense, she softened a little as she looked at the back of Simon’s head. She could tell how anxious he was purely from looking at it.

‘He hasn’t improved with age and he was always plain spoken. He’ll say exactly what he thinks,’ he told her. ‘And his language can be a bit colourful.’

‘That’s OK,’ she said with a smile. ‘I’ve lived with my mum for forty years. I’ve heard the lot.’

‘I’ve had a word with Matron,’ he told her. ‘I felt I had to because it’s a while since I’ve been to see him. She was very honest, told me exactly how he is these days. Time means nothing to him, she says. He often harps back to the past, usually does in fact, so he doesn’t make sense. But sometimes, he seems very nearly normal so he’s not completely slipped away, not yet. It’s best, she says, to just go along with it. Don’t try to contradict him, whatever you do. He’ll get upset if you try to do that.’

‘Look, will you stop worrying? It’ll be just fine,’ Becky said, none the less feeling a whole flutter of butterflies dancing about her stomach as they drove into Lytham.

William would receive them in the quieter of the lounges, Matron said after they had signed their names in the book in reception. They had dispensed with the television in the quiet lounge, she explained, because it had to be on so loudly that you couldn’t hear yourself speak. It’s a comfort to them, she went on chattily, and they will watch absolutely
anything
and some of them were particularly fond of the children’s programmes. They had a pianist come in one night a week and they all had a sing-song and those that could played bridge and they were fond of jigsaws, although she found it was best to stick to just the 500-piece ones. They have bouts of bad temper, she explained, and if they got
frustrated
that’s when things got knocked over or they lashed out.

Her determinedly cheery manner and the way she referred to the
residents
as
they
and
them
irked Becky but at least the place had a pleasant feel to it. It didn’t smell too bad and there were plenty of flowers dotted about even if she suspected them to be artificial. She clutched the chocolates and the grapes they had brought with them – scant
consolation
, she thought, for the lack of visits.

Mr Blundell was having a good day today, surprisingly lucid, so they had chosen a good time to visit, she told them, but she warned that the confusion could come along any time so they must be prepared.

‘He’s had a bath this morning so he’s a bit tired now,’ she said. ‘Any extra activity wears him out. He’s not walking too well nowadays and we have to use the wheelchair but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s been told that you are coming along,’ she said, pausing a minute before smiling at Samantha who, safe in her father’s arms, waved back. ‘What a little sweetheart! Come this way. He’ll be pleased to see you. He has few visitors.’

Not sure if that was the slightest of reprimands, Becky exchanged a quick worried glance with Simon as they were shown into the lounge, whose wide windows had a view across the road of the green and the seashore. It was a large airy room, maroon flock wallpaper and a busy carpet, with a multitude of high-back armchairs, standard lamps and small tables. Just a few residents were there, only one of whom looked at them with any interest as they went by, Simon heading purposefully towards the window area.

‘Hello, Grandpa,’ he said, his voice abnormally bright, as he neared the man who had now looked up. To Becky’s relief, there was instant recognition in his eyes.

‘Well, if it isn’t our Simon. I haven’t seen you in a while, lad.’

‘No.’ Simon coloured, looking at Becky for support. ‘I’ve been a bit busy.’

‘Too busy to visit your grandpa?’

Oh God. Simon’s face had gone from flushed to wan in the space of a few minutes. ‘I’ve brought Samantha to see you,’ he carried on gamely. ‘She’s your great granddaughter. And this …’ He flourished a hand at Becky, who stepped forward. ‘This is my wife Rebecca.’

‘Is it, by God?’

She wasn’t sure what to do. Shaking hands seemed wrong but kissing him seemed equally so but, catching a look from Simon, she did just that anyway, going forward and reaching down to drop a kiss on his cheek. His skin was paper thin, crinkled like tissue paper. He was wearing a royal blue sweater over a lighter blue shirt with dark blue trousers, looking rather natty and nautical, in fact. She was pleased that he was dressed nicely although the trainers he was wearing seemed incongruous. He smelled cleanly of a strong soap and Becky
remembered
at once that Marina had said as much.

To her surprise, he grabbed her hand, stilling her there, his grip surprisingly firm, looking up at her with an old man’s eyes. ‘Rebecca …’ he repeated softly. ‘I like that. A good plain name. It suits you,’ he finished, letting go of her.

Becky stretched up, holding on to her smile. He meant no harm, obviously did not intend to offend. Glancing across at Simon she saw that he, too, was smiling. ‘We’ve brought you chocolates,’ she said, placing the box on the little table beside him. ‘And some grapes.’

‘I don’t like grapes,’ he said. ‘The pips get under my teeth.’

‘Oh … sorry.’

‘Let me have a look at the little ’un. Bring her a bit nearer then I can see her up close.’

‘Do you want to hold her?’ Becky asked. ‘She wriggles a bit.’

‘No, no, good God, no. I’ve never been one for holding babies. Holding the baby is for women,’ he said with a sudden twinkle in his eye. ‘Didn’t know you were wed, our Simon! Nobody invited me. I like a wedding. Good excuse for a knees-up. I suppose it was your dad who didn’t want me there.’ He looked at Becky. ‘Did he tell you that we don’t get on? Me and my son Johnny. He’s the only son I’ve got at that.’

There was an awkward silence. This man was supposed to be
confused but just now he was as sharp as a needle. Becky threw a cross glance towards her husband, a glance that clearly said ‘I told you so,’ but how could she explain that she hadn’t even known of this man’s
existence
until a little while ago and that by accident? She wondered just when Simon would have got round to telling her, if ever. They had decided on the way not to mention Samantha’s heart problem so as not to upset him. Distraction seemed the best option at the moment and Becky used the age-old technique of talking at him through the baby.

All was going well or reasonably so when the door opened and a woman came in. At once, William’s face changed and he straightened in the chair.

‘There she is,’ he said loudly. ‘Bonny-looking woman, isn’t she? She suits her name. Belle, I call her. It’s French. It means beautiful. Did you know that?’

Becky looked round, embarrassed, but the woman, small,
bespectacled
, round shouldered, wearing a knitted suit, seemed unperturbed, removing herself with the aid of a walking stick to the opposite end of the room well out of range.

‘Shirt collars,’ William said suddenly, out of nowhere. ‘Loose shirt collars. We get a lot of those in these days at the laundry. They dig into your neck, they do, but by God they cut the mustard. You can’t beat putting a clean collar on. Newly laundered. Shirt collars maketh the man.’

‘That’s our business, Grandpa, commercial laundering,’ Simon said, brightening at being thrown a likely topic of conversation. ‘Bell’s is doing well. We’ve expanded a lot since you were running it. We have contracts with most of the hotels now and there’s more and more B&Bs coming on to the books. I’ve had to get a couple more big vans to cover the area. And we’ve branched out into making work clothes. That was my idea. It’s a separate unit and I’ve put a manager in charge of that side of things. We make them and then we’re in charge of maintaining them. I know people have their own washing machines but laundering can still be a chore for busy people. I think there’s going to be a revival for
launderettes
, particularly if we offer an ironing service. We’ve taken some over and we’re going to modernize them, have a coffee area where people can sit and wait in comfort.’ He paused to draw breath, looking triumphantly at Becky.

Shop talk.

Becky sighed, shaking her head slightly. She knew that Simon was nervous and, when he was nervous, he resorted to the comfort of shop talk. It seemed, however, to be passing over his grandfather’s head.

‘Where’s my wife?’ William interrupted Simon in full desperate throttle as Becky shot him an amused glance. ‘Has she bucked up at all? Once she gets a mood on, there’s no doing with her. She never comes to see me. Mind you, I’ve a bone to pick with her when she does. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Who said that?’

‘No idea.’ Simon glanced at Becky, avoiding looking at his
grandfather
and tickling the baby’s toes instead. Obligingly, the little girl giggled, eyes dancing as she looked at her daddy.

‘
Why
doesn’t Isabel come to see me?’ William went on.

‘She’s very busy,’ Becky said quickly, worried that Simon might speak the truth. ‘She’s shopping and having her hair done.’

‘That’ll be it,’ he said, satisfied. ‘Women and shopping, eh? I expect she’ll come to see me soon. We need to talk. She is a grand woman but she can be a bit rum. When I first met her I thought she was very high and mighty. She comes from a big Scottish family. Owned nearly half the Highlands, they did. I liked that. I like a woman with a pedigree. But when it comes down to it, she’s just a woman like any other and she showed me up by doing what she did. What was it she did?’

Becky struggled for a suitable answer. As she didn’t know exactly what it was that Isabel had done, it was difficult. As the silence
lengthened
, she looked helplessly towards Simon for inspiration but he shrugged, no good at this either. Exasperated, she clicked her tongue and started to talk to the baby.

‘You don’t lose control, not in circles like that,’ William said suddenly. ‘I’ll not forget what she did. She made my son hate me, she did. Where is she now, then? Why isn’t she here with you?’

He was getting agitated, shuffling in his chair, looking as if he was about to get up, and Simon moved to help but then the door opened again and one of the nurses came in.

‘Here she is,’ William said, sitting back down heavily in his chair. ‘About bloody time, Isabel. Get Mary to put the kettle on and we’ll have a cup of tea. Come over … I have something to say to you, madam.’

The nurse came across, smiling understandingly at Simon and Becky.

‘Hello William,’ she said. ‘How are we, today?’

‘No better for seeing you. Where the hell have you been, Isabel?
Frightened to show your face? Our Simon’s come to see us. He’s brought his wife and his little girl.’ He turned to look directly at Becky, eyes boring into her, and she flinched at the look, unsure whether he was momentarily lucid or not. ‘The little lass
is
called Isabel, isn’t she?’

All eyes turned to Becky.

They were silent in the car on the way back and when they arrived home Simon flung the car keys on the desk and spent a moody hour in front of the television. Knowing the visit had hit him hard, Becky wisely left him to it. She understood a little more now, now that she had seen William and witnessed his confused state for herself.

Any thoughts she might have had of returning him to the bosom of his family had been wiped out this afternoon. Common sense dictated it was impossible for him to live alone in his confused state but it was also impossible for the family to consider having him live with them. He could not be placed under lock and key at their homes, protected from himself as he was in this one. The staff at the nursing home were caring, she had seen that, and judging from the smiles of the
occupants
towards them she didn’t think it was a kindness put on solely for their benefit.

But, even if he had to be incarcerated there, that didn’t mean that they couldn’t go to see him regularly. Some of the time today, when he was coherent, he had known exactly what was what.

And that was the trouble.

‘If I’d known, we could have given her Isabel as a second name,’ Becky said, smiling at her daughter as she bathed her before bed. The scar was still there but not quite so glaring now and eventually it would fade to almost nothing. ‘It would have been a nice touch, that. Samantha Isabel, after her great grandmother. My mum wouldn’t mind. She hates her own name so she told me on no account to call her Shelley.’

Simon was leaning against the bathroom door, holding the baby’s towel, supposedly helping.

‘Sorry. I know it was hard for you today but you did very well.’

‘Thanks a lot,’ she said ungraciously.

‘I didn’t mean it to sound patronizing,’ he went on. ‘You did cope well, better than I did, but I wish you’d met him when he was more himself. He had a great sense of humour.’

‘It was so sad when he thought that the nurse was his wife,’ Becky said, helping Samantha play with the bubbles and a bright floating ball.

‘He thought that old girl in the red suit was her, too,’ Simon reminded her. ‘Belle. That must have been his pet name for Grandma.’

‘Very appropriate. She was beautiful once upon a time. Look, Simon, I know he’s not with it at the moment but I don’t like the idea of excluding him completely from family life. After all, he did know you when you first went in and, more to the point, he did know that he’d not been invited to the wedding. That was awful. We should have invited him to Samantha’s christening as well. We could have brought him here and taken him back.’