The Green Hills of Home (12 page)

"It’s about an hour’s drive
away."

"Okay, get ready; I’ll meet
you by my car in five minutes."

And with a quick smile, John got
up and marched purposefully upstairs, intentionally leaving Gwen no chance to
question him.

Gwen made sure she kept John
waiting for a couple of extra minutes. She could see him hanging around by the
car impatiently as she peeped out of her bedroom window. She diligently brushed
her hair for the recommended one hundred strokes and then went down to meet
him.

"Good, I was just about to
leave without you," said John as he unlocked the car.

"And just what makes you
think you can boss me around and demand I get ready for some mysterious
shopping trip?" she asked playfully.

"Don’t come if you don’t
want to," said John mischievously.

He opened the driver’s door,
climbed in and started the car. Gwen deliberately paused before jumping into
the front passenger seat and doing up her seat belt.

John only spoke to ask Gwen the
name of the shopping centre to set the destination on the sat nav. They sat in
silence, both looking out of the corner of their eye at the other, willing the
other to crack first. With a rueful grin, Gwen finally broke and asked:

"So, are you going to tell
me where we’re going?"

"You know where we’re going,"
was the annoying answer. He wasn’t quite able to hide the smile that threatened
to escape from the corners of his mouth. Gwen rolled her eyes with great exaggeration
before asking "And why are we going there?"

"To buy something."

Despite practically itching with
curiosity, Gwen couldn’t quite bring herself to inquire what they were going to
buy.

They reached the huge shopping
centre and John parked the car after several minutes of driving round and round
the extremely full car park.  They walked, still in silence, to the shops.

"Right, first things first,"
declared John, and he steered Gwen towards a very busy Starbucks.

"Two macchiatos please,"
he said to the girl behind the counter.

"And a chocolate muffin,"
added Gwen quickly.

John took out his wallet to pay
and Gwen didn’t stop him. He’d wanted to go on this magical mystery tour before
she’d had her lunch so she figured the minimum he could do was buy her a cake
and a coffee. A girl should never pass up the opportunity for cake.

Gwen saw that John also bought a
couple of packets of coffee beans. Puzzled, she pointed out to him that they
weren’t pre-ground and so, as she didn’t have a grinder, he wouldn’t be able to
use them at her house, even if he could manage to locate her mother’s ancient
cafetiere from wherever it had been hiding for the last decade at least.

"You just focus on your cake,"
he replied with another of his smiles.

They drank quickly and discussed
the second chapter of Gwen’s manuscript. Gwen was still determined not to ask
what they were doing here. But as soon as she’d finished John got up and set
off, obviously resuming his mission. She followed him around the shopping
centre feeling more and more curious with each minute that passed. Finally John
stepped into a very fancy kitchenware shop. Gwen paused to look in the window
but John glanced over his shoulder at her and called out "Come on then."

Even when they were inside the
shop John didn’t so much as hint as to what he had come all this way to buy. He
walked confidently over to a pretty blond sales assistant, who had the longest
legs Gwen had ever seen. He flashed her a particularly charming smile and said,
"Excuse me, I wonder if you’d be able to help me?"

The woman visibly brightened and
gave him a warm grin, "I’ll do my best, what are you looking for?"

"I need a coffee machine
please," replied John decisively.

Half an hour later, they emerged
from the shop, closely followed by the store’s assistant pushing a trolley
containing a very large box inside of which was a coffee machine Gwen thought
would rival that in Starbucks earlier.

It had cost almost as much as
Gwen paid in rent every month, and certainly a lot more then she’d ever be prepared
to pay to have a decent coffee whilst she wrote. Even the beans John had got to
use in it cost at least twice as much as she ever spent on coffee.

Gwen was unsure how to voice her
thoughts; she’d enjoyed their trip and the playfulness between them, it had
really distracted her from the ever present cloud of worry about her mother and
the house. She really didn’t want to spoil the atmosphere, but eventually felt
she had to admit: "I can’t afford to buy a machine like this."

"I didn’t ask you to,"
he answered curtly.

When they got back to the house,
John began to unpack and set up the new, extremely shiny and very complicated
looking machine. It looked completely out of place in Gwen’s traditional
farmhouse style kitchen – a bit like John himself with his suit and perfectly
pressed shirt.

"Are you quite ready to
start work now?" asked Gwen with a cheeky grin, imitating John’s usual
gruff manner.

"Almost, would you like a
coffee?"

"No" laughed Gwen.

"That’s a shame, because
you’re getting one."

In just a couple of minutes Gwen
was presented with her coffee and they settled down to business. Gwen had every
intention of treating the beverage with a haughty disdain, avoiding any sign of
relish, but it smelt so good she found she was drinking it without realising.
She looked in the mug and saw almost half of it was gone. She glanced at John,
and they both laughed.

"I didn’t need you to buy me
a coffee machine you know. Millions of people get by without them."

"Consider it a gift. You
can’t possibly continue to write as well as you do whilst drinking the
dishwater you currently make."

Gwen was shocked – had John
actually just complimented her writing?

"Thank you" she managed
to murmur.

"Don’t worry, I’ll show you
how to use it," said John, misinterpreting her quietness.

They soon settled themselves back
into work, the silence only punctuated by the busy tapping of keyboard keys,
then with a cough John nonchalantly made his second major proclamation of the
day; "I’ve sorted out a mortgage for you."

"Sorry?" said Gwen,
looking up from her laptop, sure that she hadn’t heard correctly.

"The mortgage you needed.
It’s sorted for you. The details are by the phone in the hallway," added
John, his eyes firmly fixed on the paperwork in front of him.

"I… I don’t understand; I
don’t know what to say."

"You don’t have to say
anything. I have some contacts I thought could help," said John firmly. "Just
give them a call before five to confirm you want their offer."

"Right, um, I’ll have a look."

Gwen walked out into the hallway
with her heart pounding. Picking up a sheet of John’s impeccably neat
handwriting, she took the phone off the cradle, and went nervously into her
study, closing the door behind her.

Supressing her rising emotion,
she silently berated herself to be calm: she must not let herself become
carried away before checking all the details very thoroughly.

Tense but focused, she
meticulously considered each point of the offer, trying to weigh things
dispassionately. After what seemed both a mere moment and an eternity, she
finally allowed herself to welcome the rising joy and accept that the mortgage
in front of her would be very worth taking. It wasn’t the best interest rate
she’d seen, but any mortgage was better than no mortgage at all. With building
excitement Gwen reached for the phone and dialled the number John had printed
at the bottom of the page.

By the time she joined John back
at the kitchen table Gwen had an official agreement for a mortgage and a
massive grin across her face. It was very lucky that there was only a short
time until Gwen was due at the hospital as she couldn’t concentrate on work:
she couldn’t wait to finally be able to get rid of the burden she’d been
carrying around and tell her everything that had been happening with the house,
now that the story was going to have a happy ending.

Only one small worry broke her
euphoria – how on Earth was she ever going to be able to thank John adequately
for this?

"John?"

"Yes," replied John,
not looking up from his screen.

"About the mortgage offer."

"What about it?"

"I’m really grateful to you
for your help."

"It was nothing."

"Well, it really meant a lot
and…"

She could see he looked
uncomfortable and was fighting not to meet her eyes.

"Look Gwen, I’m trying to
concentrate here. I’m glad you’ve got the mortgage and that I could help a
little. We’ve got work to do and moving would have meant you having even less
time, now can we get back to it?"

"Sure" said Gwen
quietly, hurt by his coldness. Deflated, she busied herself rearranging some
papers.

John heard the phone ring in the
hallway; Gwen was walking Oscar so he got up to answer it. It was only after
he’d picked up the receiver that he realised just how comfortable he felt doing
things like that in Gwen’s house. There was something about the place that really
made it feel like home. Perhaps it was to do with how obviously loved the house
and its contents were; every object seemed to fit so perfectly and have such
meaning. When he’d moved into his flat his interior designer ordered everything
he thought he’d need from a department store on the internet, and he probably
hadn’t even used half of it. In Gwen’s house, even the pots and pans had a
history: they’d been handed down to Edith when she and Gwen’s father married
and had originally belonged to Edith’s grandmother. A lot of the plates and
bowls were the ones Gwen’s parents had been given on their wedding day. Gwen
always seemed slightly embarrassed to be telling him these stories – she’d
start off confidently enough but she’d then begin to get quieter and kept
checking his face, presumably for signs of ridicule. But John wasn’t laughing
at Gwen at all, he was fascinated and found himself continually comparing his
own family and upbringing with Gwen’s – and finding his own lacking by
comparison, despite the wealth and privilege that had come with it. These
feelings were the real reason he’d organised the mortgage for Gwen, not that
he’d ever admit that to her.

On that sad note he came back to
the present.

"Good afternoon, is Miss
Jones there please?" said the voice on the other end of the phone.

"No, I’m afraid not, can I
take a message?"

"Yes, this is Doctor
Connolly’s secretary at the Memorial Hospital; would she be able to call
regarding her mother as soon as possible please? It’s quite important."

"I’ll let her know as soon
as she gets home," replied John.

"Thank you, goodbye,"
came in answer but John barely heard. He put down the phone automatically
wondering what could have happened. Was Edith okay? He silently cursed the fact
that Gwen didn’t carry a mobile phone and began pacing the hallway impatiently.
It was only a couple of minutes later, however, that Gwen came in the front
door, laughing at something silly that Oscar had done, her cheeks rosy from
walking home quickly to continue work.

John rapidly filled her in with
what the hospital had said and she called them straight back. Thankfully Gwen’s
mother was fine: John could tell from the way Gwen’s body visibly relaxed after
the first few words; it seemed the hospital only wanted to discuss Edith’s
long-term care before her consultant left on holiday. Damn clerical staff, John
thought, more than a little embarrassed at his over-reaction. Gwen agreed to
come in earlier than usual, before visiting hours, and speak to her mother’s
doctors and therapists.

Although Gwen had been reassured
that the hospital weren’t calling a meeting due to a deterioration in her
mother’s health, she was still a little apprehensive as she arrived. She knew
all but one of the staff waiting to speak to her. Her mother’s consultant was
obviously in a bit of a hurry and immediately took control of proceedings. He
explained that her mother was progressing as much as could be expected; she’d
responded to the drugs begun after her second stroke very well, and they wanted
to start working towards discharging her. Essentially they wanted to move her
mother to a care home in the very near future.

Most of Gwen’s questions
regarding how much physio and occupational therapy her mother would receive
were being skilfully evaded or just ignored, as were her queries about where
exactly her mother would be moved to. They were very clear on one point though
– the hospital would not provide the means for Gwen’s mother to be able to
return to her home to live. If Gwen wanted her mother at home with her then she
would have to pay for everything apart from a very basic wheelchair and a small
amount of physical therapy.

Gwen had a little time to kill
after the meeting ended and visiting hours began. She’d brought her trusted
notepad and pen with her in case of such an eventuality and managed to find
herself a quiet corner in the hospital’s coffee shop. She gave up attempting to
write after only a couple of minutes though, her head in turmoil over what
would happen to her Mam. Surely there must be a way for her mother to be able
to return to her own home. It seemed too cruel that Gwen finally seemed to have
sorted out a way of buying the house only to find that her mother wouldn’t be
able to live in it.

The medical staff appeared very
unsure whether Gwen’s mother would even be able to be placed somewhere close to
Gwen; if she wasn’t it might mean that Gwen would only be able to visit her at
weekends – Gwen could imagine how much that would upset her mother and even
delay her recovery.

Gwen wished she’d asked John to
come to the meeting – he was so strong-willed and had such a powerful presence.
She imagined he often had his colleagues quaking in their boots. He would have
known exactly what to say and how to take control of the situation so that her
questions were answered properly.