The Choir on Hope Street: A gorgeously uplifting romantic comedy to make your heart sing!. Annie LyonsЧитать онлайн книгу.
really no need.’
‘All the same, I’d like to.’
‘Okay, and then we can take you to your mother.’
‘Well if she’s sleepy, there’s probably no point.’ I knew I was trying to wriggle out of it. Peter Jarvis knew this too. He gave me a grave look.
‘Mrs Taylor, I really think you need to see your mother. Forgive me if I speak out of turn but I think she needs to see you. The nurses tell me that she calls your name at night sometimes.’
Anger and guilt washed over me. ‘You are speaking out of turn, but seeing as we are laying our cards on the table, I will try to reason with her if you can promise to continue with my mother’s care as you see fit. Confiscate anything dangerous, sedate her if necessary but please, don’t cast her into the street.’ I stared him down, noticing how he shifted with discomfort in his seat. See? I can layer on the guilt and drama too.
He pursed his lips and smoothed his tie. ‘We will continue to care for your mother but please take this as a first and final warning. If anything like this happens again, we may need to exclude her.’
My cheeks burnt red with humiliation but I took it. I had to. St Bartholomew’s was my only hope. ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I appreciate your honesty and commitment to her care.’
He nodded, raising his hefty bulk from the chair. I followed him back along the corridor. Two nurses were walking towards us. ‘Oh, Laurie,’ said Peter to one of them. A woman of about my age with an open, friendly face stopped and smiled at us. ‘This is Mrs Winter’s daughter.’
I watched her face and saw no flicker of reaction to the incident. In fact, she held out her hand to me. It was small and cool to the touch. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ she said. ‘Shall I take you down to see your mum?’
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ said Peter, turning away. ‘I’ll be in touch, Mrs Taylor. Thank you for your time.’
Laurie nodded to her colleague before ushering me along the corridor. As we reached the door to my mother’s room, I stopped and turned to her. ‘I just want to say sorry—’
Laurie held up her hand. ‘There’s really no need,’ she smiled. ‘Your mum would never hurt me. It’s a stage of her disease, although I am concerned that something has upset her lately. She seems more het up than I’ve seen her before.’
‘Oh. I see.’
‘I’ve only been working here for about three months but she seemed a lot calmer back then. Have you noticed anything?’
I stared at her, unable to think what to say. I only saw her once a month so honestly had no real way of knowing. ‘Perhaps.’
‘I’m very fond of your mother. She thinks the world of you.’ She smiled again.
‘Does she?’ I asked with genuine surprise. Unlikely, given our history.
Laurie nodded. ‘She says your name all the time. I think she’s lost in memories from the past but you’re always in them.’
I felt my chest grow tight as she opened the door and I saw my mother lying in her bed. She looked tiny, like a child. Her face was grey, her hair matted and thin. I thought she was asleep at first but she turned her head towards me, a confused frown creasing her expression.
‘Hello,’ I said in a croaky voice.
Her face flickered with recognition but she didn’t speak. She just gazed at me as if searching for the answer to a question.
‘How are you, Mrs Winter?’ asked Laurie. ‘Are you feeling better today?’
My mother’s gaze transferred from me to Laurie. She raised her eyebrows and then smiled in reply.
‘That’s good,’ said Laurie. ‘And lovely to have your daughter visiting too.’ My mother glanced at me and then back to Laurie, like a spectator at a tennis match. ‘I’ll let you have some time together,’ she said, giving me an encouraging smile before she left.
I stood by the side of the bed and took in my surroundings. I didn’t usually come in here. My mother was normally sitting in the lounge area, staring into the middle distance, whilst activities such as bingo or singing went on around her. She reminded me of a lonely person at a party and I felt sad that she couldn’t seem to take part in her own life any more. Then I would remember how she had barely participated when she’d had her marbles and dismissed the thought.
The room was very pleasant, with two windows looking out over the garden and apart from the adjustable bed, it felt much like a miniature version of her old home. There were fresh flowers on the table by the window and a bowl of fruit as well. She had brought one of her chairs, her bookcase and quite a few of her knick-knacks. She had liked to collect miniature Wade figures and these were all arranged on a little wall-shelf in one corner.
I could remember loving these as a child but never being allowed to touch them for fear of breakages. One day, I had crept into the dining room where they were kept and picked up a tiny porcelain hedgehog that I liked the look of. I made him jump from surface to surface but had accidentally chipped his perfect black nose. My mother appeared at that moment, turning white with anger when she saw what I had done. She sent me to my room but I had been happy to hide there until my father got home, whereupon he had done his best to quell her anger.
I stared at the figures now, noticing the replacement hedgehog my father had bought, resisting a childish urge to knock it off the shelf. I turned away.
My mother was looking at me again now, so I pulled up a chair and sat next to her bed. I wanted to get this over with. ‘Do you remember what happened last night?’ I asked. She seemed to shrink into the bed even more. I should have felt sympathy but I was still heavy with childhood anger. ‘I’ve had to beg Mr Jarvis to let you stay here.’ My mother mumbled something. I frowned and leant in closer. ‘What did you say?’
‘Sorry,’ she whispered.
I was taken aback. Perhaps the sedation was still having an effect. My anger started to dissolve. ‘Okay, well, I’m glad you’re sorry.’ She stared up at me with huge eyes made all the more pathetic by her shrinking frame. I transferred my gaze to the garden and was surprised to see Guy Henderson wheeling an elderly lady in a wheelchair. My mother’s eyes rested on them too. There was a moment’s silence before she started to pound her fists on the bed, her face enraged.
I leapt up from the chair. ‘What’s the matter?’ I cried. She lashed out a fist in my direction but missed and slumped down onto the bed, before looking up at me. She seemed twice the size all of a sudden, her eyes narrow and angry. I recognise you now, I thought.
‘Fuck off,’ she hissed.
‘I beg your pardon?’ I cried. I had never heard my mother swear before.
‘Fuck off,’ she repeated. ‘Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off.’
I pulled the emergency cord and within seconds Laurie and a colleague were there. ‘All right Mrs Winter, let’s try to breathe and calm down, shall we? Jem, call the doctor,’ said Laurie, taking my mother by the shoulders in an attempt to soothe her.
‘I have to go,’ I said, heading for the door, not looking back. ‘I’m sorry,’ I added, but I’m not sure to whom. I hurried along the corridor, signed out and fled back to my car.
Once inside, I realised that I was shaking. I could hear my heart beating, a sense of panic coursing through my body. I could not believe what I had just witnessed and my urge to flee had taken over. I contemplated going back, to check if my mother was all right but I realised that I didn’t want to. I simply didn’t want to know. This woman was a stranger to me. She’d always been a stranger in that she never seemed like the mothers of picture books or films. There was no softness or gentle kindness in our relationship, no lap in which to snuggle or shoulder on which to cry.
Why should I care about her now