A Keeper(41)

‘Edward,’ she said and then a little louder, ‘I’m Elizabeth.’ Reaching forward she touched his arm. It felt so warm and thin beneath the fabric of his pyjamas.

Gordon pushed a chair towards her. ‘Have a seat. I’m going to shoot off. Nice to meet you.’

‘You too, Gordon. Thanks for your help and good luck with everything.’

‘And you.’ As he left the room he turned and said, ‘Be patient. Teddy has his moments.’

Left alone with the man who was her father, Elizabeth began to question why she was here. Even if he suddenly became completely lucid what good could come from this? He knew nothing of her life and she was completely ignorant of his. All she could tell him was that her mother had told her he had died many years before and what person on their deathbed needed to hear that? With Gordon gone she felt more comfortable holding the old man’s hand. Stroking it, she repeated her name and then added quietly, ‘And I’m your daughter.’

The rasp of air entering and leaving his lungs continued like a slow, steady drum.

‘I was out at Castle House. It’s very beautiful. You must have hated leaving it.’

His gaze didn’t shift.

Elizabeth found that her eyes had filled with tears. She brusquely brushed them away. This was maudlin nonsense. She didn’t know this man or anything about him. Why should she weep for him?

‘Sorry to interrupt.’ It was Sarah Cahill at the door. ‘I was just checking everything was all right.’

‘Yes,’ Elizabeth said as brightly as she could. ‘Everything is fine.’

‘Gordon tells me you are Mr Foley’s daughter?’ Her tone suggested she needed some clarification.

‘Well, technically I am, but my parents were estranged. We never knew each other.’

‘I see. I see. Well, lovely that you got to spend time with him before it was too late.’ The Care Director seemed sincere.

‘Thank you. Yes. I never thought I’d get to meet him.’

‘If you are interested there are some old family photos that he brought in with him. It’s nice to have some personal effects in the room, if not for them, then for the staff. Makes the residents seem more like real people.’

She reached down and opened the drawer in the bedside table.

‘They’re in there. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you having a look.’

‘Thank you.’ Elizabeth spoke quietly as if the two women were sharing a secret. Sarah withdrew, closing the door gently.

A small stack of photographs was at the front of the drawer alongside a packet of Rennies and an old ballpoint pen. She picked the pictures up and placed them under the bedside lamp.

A woman sitting on a tartan rug on the beach with two little boys. That must be the dead brother, thought Elizabeth. There was something about the way his lips were slightly downturned that reminded her of Zach. She peered closer to get a better look at Mrs Foley. Her grandmother was probably younger than Elizabeth in this photograph but had the air of a pensioner with her headscarf and tightly permed hair. What was most striking however was the way she was holding her sons. They were both gripped tightly to her sides. In contrast to the wide, tooth-filled smile their mother wore, both boys looked sullen and uncomfortable. It seemed an odd picture to have kept all these years.

The next photograph showed a youngish Edward, twentyish, Elizabeth would have guessed, posing proudly beside a cow, brandishing a rosette and a small silver trophy. Elizabeth compared the man in the picture with the old man in the bed next to her. How had that beaming youngster so full of joy and pride become this faded husk? She felt her eyes fill with tears once more as she remembered her own mother and imagined that she too must have been bright-eyed and full of hope and laughter as a young woman. She struggled to imagine a version of her mother that had ever been carefree. Old age was such a cruel price to pay for youth. Elizabeth sighed and picked up the next photograph.

At first she wasn’t sure why the little girl in the red dress looked so familiar but then she realised that it was herself! She had never seen the picture before, though she had a vague recollection of the bright red pinafore. How old must she have been in this photo? Four or five? She looked so happy, her little face bursting open with laughter. She peered at the background. Just some green shrubbery. She had no idea where it had been taken. Then she was struck by the realisation that her mother must have had some contact with Edward over the years. How else would he have had this photograph? Had she met Edward before, unaware that he was her father? There was no writing on the back. No clues.

She shuffled through the next couple of photographs. A view of Castle House and some people she didn’t recognise standing by a gate. The next one was a large group shot at a wedding. They were seen through that mauve haze that old colour photographs always seemed to have.

She examined the line of people standing awkwardly on the top step outside a faceless chapel. There was Mrs Foley, still severe but now looking a little older, wearing a large brown hat. The frothy bride was more handsome than pretty but her happiness lit up the whole picture. The groom … Elizabeth froze. He looked very like Edward. Perhaps it was the dead brother but surely he had died before any wedding day? She turned the photograph over and on the back there in the handwriting she knew so well was inscribed, ‘Teddy and Mary – 1972’. The year before she was born. She looked at the picture again. That was definitely her father beaming at the camera with his arm around the bride. It made no sense.