The Girl Who Cried Wolf(17)
I digest this in seconds and grab on to my next thought. ‘Take me to Jules!’ Jules and her boyfriend Eddie shared a grim flat in an equally grim location, but anywhere was preferable to what had been proposed.
‘With Jules and Eddie? Do you really think they’ll take care of you? They’ve only visited a couple of times; they have no clue what type of care you need.’
That silences me for a second. It is true that my visitors seem to have declined in line with my hair follicles. The sicker I looked, the less they came.
‘Izzy, please, don’t make me spend my last few weeks with her looking after me. It will be the actual death of me.’
I groan dramatically but I do feel utterly doomed.
My one chink of light had been the warm, relaxed home of my grandparents. They would have left me alone to wallow in my misery, and turned a blind eye if I raided the drinks cabinet. Now I would be offered endless cups of green tea and miracle cures from her herbal remedies collection. She’d tell me to stop feeling sorry for myself, and I could already feel the sun pierce my eyes as she pulled open the drapes at some ungodly hour every morning.
Izzy knows I am upset and leans forward from the back seat to put her arms around me. ‘I’ll be there. I’ll be there to look after you. It’s better this way, trust me, Anna.’ She leans forward and whispers in my ear, ‘I’ll sneak you in the odd brandy and Coke.’
I smile and lean my head against hers.
***
Despite my gloom at the change of plans for my ‘rest’ period, my heart lifts just a little as we pull on to the long driveway that leads to Elm Tree. Tudor-style with white walls and black beams, it’s actually quite beautiful. Surrounding the house are green lawns, lily ponds and weeping willows that wouldn’t be out of place in a Monet. Despite having a regular gardener, the grounds had been left a while so wild flowers could flourish, and poppies surround the low stone walls. Perhaps my father had had his say outside, because inside was one hundred per cent Mother.
This becomes all too depressingly apparent as we open the huge front door to the entrance hall that looked more hotel than home: Mahogany furniture, a round table supporting an oversized Japanese vase of faux flowers and a burgundy Chesterfield. Hardwood flooring made our arrival echo around the walls, as the house came out of its high-polished silence. The familiar smell of air freshener and cleaning products filled my nostrils, and I felt sick.
‘Here we are,’ Lillian says quietly. ‘Do you want to go to go to your bedroom or shall I make up the living room?’
I scowl at her. I’m still angry with her for talking to Michael. Not that I would give her the satisfaction of saying so.
‘Why not shove me in the attic, Mummy dearest? That way you won’t have to follow me round with disinfectant everywhere I go.’
I’m very satisfied to see her knocked down by my words, and head for the drawing room, intentionally choosing the one room she would not want me ensconced. It was specifically reserved for entertaining Father’s important guests before dinner. We had never been allowed in there – it was mostly white. Sofas, carpets, even the walls were ghostly alabaster. I open the door, leaving Izzy and Mother whispering something at each other, and take in the antiques and exquisite paintings. But the room is cold and unwelcoming; I have to force myself across the threshold.
Above the fireplace is a painting of three angels reaching down to a cherub offering gifts of golden musical instruments. Rows of portraits hang under brass display lamps on each wall. People from a different century, who once sat for those paintings with beating hearts, had now been a long time dead. Ten pairs of cold, unsmiling eyes watch me as I step tentatively backwards and out of the room.
‘What a shithole,’ I say loudly, making my mother wince. ‘I’ll go straight to my room. No doubt you’ve taken my absence as an excuse to tidy up and snoop around.’
I turn the brass knob and push the door open, its drag familiar over the thick pile carpet, and I see my room is just as I left it. She has made the bed, but that is all. My green dress is still on the floor next to the open wardrobe, drawers hang off their hinges where I dragged my clothes out in haste. The pictures of horses I have outgrown but never want to take down remain Blu-tacked to the walls. I am so taken aback she has not gone through it all that I jump when I heard her voice next to me.
‘I like a little chaos, Anna. When you were in hospital I would come to this room and be comforted.’ She pauses and does the little cough she does when she feels awkward. ‘We’ve missed you terribly these last few weeks. Just waking up here, having breakfast together …’
***
We had argued the day I went into hospital, but there was nothing new there. I told her it was all her fault that Dad worked away so much, that he couldn’t stand her and neither could I.
I was about to say she could have at least tidied up for today when she knew I would be back, and did she expect me to do chores already? But something stopped me and I just mumbled, ‘Thanks.’ Her cold hand touched my arm and I unintentionally flinched, spoiling the moment.
On cue, Izzy breezed in and busied herself by picking up my dress and closing the drawers.
‘I’ll start dinner,’ Mum said, bidding a hasty retreat leaving Izzy and me alone.
‘What now?’ I said, feeling lost.
She looked serious for a second, then beamed and said, ‘Let’s try on all of your jeans and see if they aren’t too big for you.’