Sea Glass Summer (15 page)

‘What problems does Gerard have, except for being stuck with me?' Oliver scowled. The five minutes grace period after church was definitely up. He'd already stopped striving to be a better person. As Brian's mother, Mandy Armitage, had said when she shut the car door on her foot and came out with a whole paragraph of bad words: ‘We're not all cut out to be Mother Theresa.'

‘He didn't look to be a man at peace with himself yesterday; there's surely something all tangled up inside him, was my thought. Grown-up worries. Happy people don't lash out for no reason.'

‘I wasn't nice to him, was I? About his fly being unzipped, I mean. And I went off some in the car on the way there.'

‘He and his wife were both surely bound to expect some resistance. They must have given some thought to a rocky start.' Twyla sipped her coffee.

‘Maybe it's just his nature,' Oliver conceded. ‘Being crabby, I mean. Brian's Aunt Nellie says some people are just born plain miserable. She says she's known plenty who'd have to take lessons to learn how to smile. Actually, I hope they are sick of me already.'

‘I know it's hard, lamb baby, don't think I don't ache inside for you. But, if it's in any way possible, will you try and make this work?'

Oliver was tempted to say he didn't want to, that he wished that on his return to the Cully Mansion he would find his suitcases out on the front step; he stopped himself in time. Twyla hadn't added that it was Grandpa's peace of mind that mattered; she wouldn't, even if she thought Oliver was forgetting for the moment. He had to cut out the whining for her sake too. Looking into her loving eyes, it came to him with a sickening jolt that the situation had placed an invisible wall between them. Just as he could no longer pour out his entire heart to her, she couldn't question him about how things were going at the Cully Mansion without feeling she was acting against Gerard and Elizabeth and in doing so make matters even worse for Grandpa. Oliver had never felt this alone in his entire life. The temptation to be cowardly and selfish was almost overwhelming. Being noble didn't feel anything like as great as he'd imagined it would when watching the hero of
A Tale of Two Cities
standing bravely under the guillotine. If he was to get out of this dark tunnel he had to cling to hope – that Gerard and Elizabeth would come to their senses and admit it would be better all round for him to go and live with Twyla. Somehow he would have to find a way to persuade them, but not by rudeness or temper tantrums that would put him squarely in the wrong and upset Grandpa and Twyla. It would have to be something crafty that would make Gerard and Elizabeth look unreasonable. What this could be he had no idea, but something would come to him. ‘Anyway,' he said, as if introducing a brighter note, ‘if it hadn't been for Elizabeth's headache they might not have let me phone to ask if you could pick me up for church.'

‘That opportunity made me happy.' Twyla patted his hand. ‘Let's get hoping the poor woman took something to ease the pain and went for a lay down in a dark room.'

‘The whole house is dark,' Oliver managed to speak casually. ‘It's like the one in that old movie we watched with Grandpa. Remember? There was an old lady sitting in a room wearing a horrible old wedding dress and veil and when the young man started shouting at her and tore down the drapes there were these huge cobwebs everywhere and mice running all over the cake.'

‘
Great Expectations
, the book by Charles Dickens.'

Oliver nodded, his mind returning to the guillotine. ‘He's the one who wrote
A Tale of Two Cities
, isn't he? I can never decide which one I like best. They both had awesome endings. But I can't see anything inspiring in sitting in a rotting old wedding dress for years and years, can you? It's not like marching up to the guillotine and giving your life for a friend, is it?'

‘Love sometimes asks more of us than we think we can bear. Poor Miss Haversham! That was her name, wasn't it? I guess Nellie Armitage is right: some people are born with misery bubbling up inside them. It doesn't stand thinking of, lamb baby. So let's concentrate on that French toast I see coming.'

This mundane prospect did not immediately grab Oliver's full attention. ‘I think I do like
A Tale of Two Cities
best. I wonder if I'd be brave enough to stand thinking noble thoughts while waiting to have my head sliced off for Brian?' He ceased musing on this when his plate was put in front of him. The bacon was all crispy, just the way he liked it, and the French toast thick, puffy and golden. He waited for Twyla to use the syrup then poured on a rich amber puddle and watched it seep slowly over the brown crusted sides. ‘I was coming down the hall last night, Gerard and Elizabeth were in the living room, and I heard him tell her that he thought it weird the way I used such big words for a boy of nine. He said it gave him the creeps. That sounds unreasonable, doesn't it?' Not to speak about
them
at all would have worried Twyla more than an occasional whine.

Her expression gave nothing away. ‘Seems likely to me he's never spent much time around children, so doesn't understand they're all individuals. Don't you go fretting on his opinion, OK? Truth is you do have an exceptional vocabulary for a child your age, part I'd say is a natural gift and the rest your grandpa's influence, and that's something to celebrate. I hope nobody went making Mozart feel bad because he could play the piano better than grown-ups at the age of two.'

‘Could he really?'

Twyla laughed. ‘You get the point, lamb baby.'

Oliver didn't tell her what else he'd overheard of that conversation, remembering in time that this could seriously worry her. What Gerard had said was: ‘The boy's too bright for his and our good, Elizabeth.' What had he meant by the last part? The one person Oliver would discuss this with, along with what he'd overheard in the car when pretending to be asleep, was Brian. The part about Oliver's being crazy and possibly getting worse. Together they would try to puzzle out why Gerard and Elizabeth seemed to prefer this idea to his being overly bright. Although maybe it didn't mean anything other than they were just plain weird and nothing they said amounted to anything more than noise. Brian's mother said Mrs Ellis down the road was one of those people.

The waitress appeared at their table, asked cheerfully if she could remove their empty plates and did so without any suggestion she was hurrying them to vacate. She headed for the swing door at the back of the restaurant and Oliver saw Twyla was smiling at him.

‘I've got a piece of news I think you'll like.'

‘What?' He reached across the table for her hand, hope beating like fledgling wings inside him. It couldn't be that Gerard and Elizabeth had changed their minds already? She would have told him that right off the bat, but it had to be something that would make things better.

‘It has to do with Brian's Aunt Nellie. I said something about her spirit guides when we first sat down and I hope I didn't sound like I was talking down about them, making fun of her beliefs, I mean. That would be unkind and narrow-minded. Who's to say who has things right and who has them wrong? Like we're taught – God moves in mysterious ways, his wonders to perform. And these guides of Nellie's do seem, from the way she tells it, the down-to-earth sort.'

Oliver smiled to let her know he got the joke, but he was impatiently eager to hear what else was coming. ‘What do they have to do with the piece of good news?'

‘They told her to get in touch with me.'

‘They did?' Oliver sat up straighter.

‘She phoned me yesterday morning about the possibility of a job in Sea Glass, more of a carer than a nurse, but one she thought would ideally suit me and this lady who's in need of help. Nellie's known her for a long time and says she's as nice as they come. I'd be mainly handling the nighttimes so would have plenty of spare time to visit your grandpa and keep the house up till he decides what to do about it.'

Something in Oliver's throat prevented him from answering. It wasn't exactly a lump, more a bubble of happiness. The rainbow glow showed on his face.

‘Well, lamb baby?'

‘You mean you'd be here – right here?'

Twyla nodded. Oliver was sure she had bubble in her throat too. ‘Nellie called back after going to see the lady and I'm to meet her at nine tomorrow morning to work out the details. She lives up the hill a pace from Nellie and was more than glad to hear I'd be free to come and help out.'

‘Is she very sick?'

‘It's her son that's not well. What you could call a tragedy.'

‘A little boy?'

‘Oh, no. He's in his late fifties and suffering from Alzheimer's. Terrible for him and his mother. There surely can't be many parents who have to face what nature would say is the wrong way round.'

‘Is his father still alive?'

‘Been gone some years. He and the mother were divorced and she married again, so her and the son having different last names. He's Charles Norris and she's Gwen Garwood. The second husband has passed away too and there's no other children to help out, so she's been battling on alone after bringing in carers that didn't work out because Mr Norris wouldn't accept them.'

‘He'll accept you,' said Oliver with total confidence, ‘and his mother will come to love you. How could anyone help it? Is she terribly old?'

‘Late seventies. She would have had him when she was very young. ‘I'll know more about them after the meeting tomorrow.' Twyla picked up the bill and stood up. The waitress had told them they should pay at the counter.

‘Theirs is such a sad story. It feels wrong in a way to feel so happy for us.' Oliver got to his feet.

‘It shouldn't, lamb baby. There's always times in life when sorrow walks hand-in-hand with joy. That's part of the great mosaic, as I've heard your grandpa say many a time. Let's go see him.'

They sat in companionable silence for most of the short ride to Pleasant Meadows. So much to think about. Oliver couldn't see why Gerard and Elizabeth would try to stop him from seeing Twyla every day if she could manage. Probably they would be glad to have her drive him into Ferry Landing on weekday mornings until school was out if that could be agreed with Mrs Garwood. Of course, he wouldn't want Twyla tiring herself out if she wasn't getting much, if any, sleep at night. She would say she was used to that and had long ago worked out a routine of naps. With Mrs Garwood there she might be able to take them without one ear on the listen, but even so he mustn't be selfish. Just knowing she was close by was the biggest thing. His thoughts turned to Aunt Nellie and from her to Reverend Marjorie Ansteys' sermon about the two men on the train. And how the one who was out of work had never afterwards taken the time to seek out his old friend and thank him for the gift of the gold cuff links that he'd been able to sell so he could look good when he went for the job interview, even though getting the job had changed his whole life for the good. Oliver understood that Reverend Ansteys was pointing out how often people forget to thank God for answering their prayers. In this case He had worked through Aunt Nellie. It wasn't the big miracle Oliver had begged for – that Grandpa would get well – but it wasn't small either and maybe just the start of something even more wonderful. He would definitely go and thank Aunt Nellie.

‘That man and lady in church next to us were rather inspiring, weren't they?' he said as Twyla came to a stop at a red light. ‘You could just see how much they loved each other. I wonder if they'd been married a very long time?'

‘I was just thinking about them. That's what I took them for at first glance – husband and wife, but then I noticed what looked like a family resemblance and wondered if they were brother and sister. Now it's come into my head . . .' Twyla's attention returned to the road when the light turned green.

Oliver gave her a couple of minutes. ‘What were you saying?'

‘It crossed my mind . . .' A car from the opposite lane swerved with nothing to spare in front of them. Twyla had to break so sharply that Oliver lurched forward. The seat belt did its job but the jolt momentarily took his breath away.

‘You all right, lamb baby?'

Oliver nodded. They were turning into the Pleasant Meadows parking lot and in the excitement of seeing Grandpa he forgot all about the man and lady in church. The nursing home was a one-story cream-sided building with a brown roof. It might have been an insurance office made to look friendly by the surrounding lawns and flowerbeds. The rhododendron bushes were already in deep pink flower and the forsythia was brightly splashed with yellow. He remembered Grandpa saying they looked as though they had been produced by an artist of the Impressionist period. Oliver hadn't known what that was and Grandpa had brought out a book with glossy pictures of famous paintings. Some by someone named Monet and another man whose name had sounded almost the same. Oliver had agreed about the forsythia. He asked Twyla as they got out of the car if they could bring Grandpa out in a wheelchair to look at these bushes.

‘Sounds a great idea. We'll see if he's up to it.' She took his hand as they walked to the entrance. His heart was beating fast. There was nothing miserable or scary-looking about the outside of the building. But they had to make it look that way, didn't they? If it were anything like the Cully Mansion no one would allow their old and sick relatives to live there. It never occurred to Oliver that people might be guided by desperation or self-interest. What scared him was knowing that however cheerful-looking the inside of Pleasant Meadows might be, it couldn't get away from being the final stop between this world and the next. Some of the patients must feel panicky and hopeless. The sense of being imprisoned would reach down empty hallways and creep into every room, like mildew from a cellar. And Grandpa would breathe it in. He would pretend not to notice, but Oliver wasn't sure he could do a real good job of pretending. He'd never been able to fool Grandpa. He held on tighter to Twyla's strong brown hand as they went through the door into a short narrow vestibule with a big window on their left looking into an office lined with gray file cabinets where a man sat facing them at a computer. Ahead was another door with a brass bell alongside. A notice above read:
Ring and wait for buzzer.
Twyla pressed the bell, the man at the computer looked up, shifted a hand sideways on the long counter desk top and they heard the buzz.