The Hopes and Dreams of Lucy Baker: The most heart-warming book you’ll read this year. Jenni KeerЧитать онлайн книгу.
and find her friend some clean clothes. Even though she’d been up to the third floor on numerous occasions, she hadn’t been in the master bedroom before. Like the rest of the house it was cluttered but in a welcoming, lived-in way. The imposing mahogany wardrobe stood with one door open, and a rainbow of clothes hung on old-fashioned padded hangers. There was a thick brown and orange geometric rug on the floor next to the bed and the room had a strong lavender smell. Like all the other rooms in the house, this one also held a noisy clock, its steady ticking adding to her feeling of unease. She grabbed a pair of wide-legged cotton trousers and a red loose-fitting top, remembering to pick up some clean underwear at the last moment.
In the bathroom she found a small plastic bowl, a flannel and a bar of home-made rose petal soap. Last year, whilst she sat in Brenda’s kitchen knitting clothes for premature babies, her friend melted tallow, added rose-hip-infused lye and a handful of petals (informing Lucy how good rose hip was for ageing skin) and finally poured the silky mixture into small lined bread tins to set. It had been left for a few weeks to age and then Lucy had been given a bar, tied in raffia with a dried rose tucked in the bow. It was some of the nicest soap Lucy had ever used and she understood Brenda’s passion for the natural and the home-made.
Whilst the old lady continued to sleep, Lucy dashed home for some clothes of her own, not wanting to deal with the doctor in her pyjamas. After locking her front door, she nipped into Brenda’s kitchen and made herself a much-needed cup of tea. It was a room that resembled an old-fashioned apothecary, with racks of jars and tins on every wall, but then Brenda was running an apothecary in all but name.
Finally, with the hot tea by her side, she sat down near her softly sleeping friend and tried to make sense of events. Something was wrong – very wrong. Brenda had never before displayed such unsettling behaviour. Putting the pieces together, she realised this wasn’t a simple and inevitable case of ageing – physical deterioration and a slowing of thought – but escalating issues with memory and confusion, highlighted by this episode. And there had been no husband or children to pick up on the signs or seek the necessary assistance. This dear old lady, who’d spent a lifetime helping others with her herbs and potions, now needed help herself. But, although she had no family, Brenda had one very special friend, one close at hand who would step up and step in, and that was Lucy.
As she wondered how much and how soon the care would be needed, and if she could work it around her job, she remembered the office. With all the running about, it had completely slipped her mind. Adam was unimpressed.
‘Where the hell are you, Lucy? We’re up to our earlobes here. Two members of sales are off for half-term and Sam has mentioned your unauthorised absence several times. Hope you’re going to come up with something better than the dog ate my homework?’
‘I tried earlier but the phones weren’t manned,’ she mumbled.
‘Then the reason for your no-show had better be good, Lucy-Lou, like decapitation or death. Are you actually dead?’
Lucy told him about her traumatic morning. ‘I don’t like letting everyone down, but I think I need to stay with her until she’s been seen by a doctor.’ She was aware her voice was wobbling but there were bigger things at stake here than her job. Her friend had disappeared into a world Lucy couldn’t follow her into, and it was heartbreaking. Getting her back was paramount. ‘I’m sorry, but Brenda is my priority. You can dock my pay, or make me work late all week, or take it from my holiday, or—’
‘Okay. Okay. I get the picture. Leave it with me,’ he huffed, and ended the call.
Dr Hopgood was a young man who had more stubble around his face than hair on his shaven head. It was very Vin Diesel, and obviously done to combat the prematurely receding hairline, but it suited him. He was wearing a loud pink shirt and a dazzling black and white spotty tie – one where the spots jumped about if you looked at them for too long. Answering the door and escorting him down the hall, Lucy quickly filled him in on the situation, mentioning she’d now washed and changed Brenda, and how drowsy her friend had been since the episode.
As they entered the room, Brenda stirred. The doctor walked over to the wing chair, knelt down next to the fragile old lady and put out a hand to her knee, gently teasing her for being somewhat of a stranger at the surgery.
‘And what’s all this I hear about you practically putting me out of a job with all your alternative treatments? Don’t get me wrong, my own grandmother is a fan of home remedies and she is one of the healthiest people I know. She still starts every day with two tablespoons of apple cider vinegar in hot water…’
For someone who didn’t like doctors, Brenda managed a surprisingly flirtatious smile.
Dr Hopgood then established that although Lucy wasn’t family, his patient was happy for her to stay, and began to assess Brenda in earnest. Lucy stood at the back of the room, uncomfortable intruding on a personal consultation but aware Brenda needed the support.
‘Give me your hand and I can do a little test to see if you’ve been drinking properly, young lady.’ He gently pinched the skin on the back of her hand and then jotted something down in his notes. ‘Okay, I’m going to need a sample. Do you think you could manage that?’ At ease with this softly spoken man, Brenda nodded and, with Lucy’s help, managed to produce the necessary sample. A urinary tract infection was diagnosed with a simple dipstick test.
The young doctor then asked Brenda a series of questions: what was the day? The month? The year? Who was the Prime Minister? Could she count backwards in twos? Her answers were vague and she was distracted and sleepy, worn out by the whole sample palaver.
After the consultation, and with Brenda’s eyelids drooping again, Lucy offered to see the doctor out.
‘When she’s on the mend, and with her permission, we can arrange for you to be listed as next of kin. She’s clearly fond of you.’
Lucy felt a lump rise up her chest and lodge in her throat.
‘I’m going to put a community admissions avoidance team in place,’ he continued. ‘She’s made it perfectly clear that she doesn’t wish to go to hospital and I respect that. They should be in touch within twenty-four hours and will help with her hygiene and so forth. They’ll make some general observations, check her blood pressure and pulse, and we can keep an eye on her condition. In the meantime, could you pick up this prescription for the antibiotics and keep up the fluids? You might like to try her with Dioralyte sachets. They are available from the pharmacy, and she should start to improve over the next day or so.’
‘And then she will be back to her old self?’ Lucy was hopeful but realistic.
‘The episode this morning was triggered by the infection, but the questions I was asking earlier were to help me assess her long- and short-term memory. I will refer her to a memory clinic when the infection has cleared up, but, taken alongside the things you mentioned earlier, I can’t rule out the early signs of dementia. We’ll see what happens a bit further down the line, but it may be a case of reviewing her long-term care. It’s a big, old house for her to manage, with lots of stairs, and no one immediately on hand if there is a problem. I know you are happy to help, but it’s those times when she’s home alone I’m worried about.’
Even though he was only voicing the thoughts that had been gathering in her head, Lucy momentarily closed her eyes. Dementia was a scary word, and one that never came with a happy ending.
‘But she doesn’t want to end her days anywhere other than this house. She’s talked about it many times and insists the only way we’ll get her out of here is in a wicker casket.’
‘I understand how fiercely independent she is, but, in all likelihood, there will come a point where she won’t be able to live alone any more, irrespective or not of a dementia diagnosis.’
Although Lucy understood it was Mother Nature’s way – people got old and simply