A Keeper(62)

‘If you’re sure,’ she said with a triumphant smirk.





NOW


Elizabeth wasn’t certain why she had come back here. To pay her last respects, or did part of her still hope that the old man might suddenly be jolted back to consciousness by her presence and reveal her past? She parked her car on the apron of gravel outside Abbey Court. Quite a few of the spaces were taken, so she hoped it might be a better time for visiting.

Inside, the doors to the day room were open and several older people sat slumped in chairs, staring into the middle distance. A few of them had visitors with them, some chatting, others just sharing the silence. No one greeted her, so Elizabeth headed straight for Edward’s room.

He looked as though he hadn’t moved since the day before: still propped up on pillows, arms crossed over his chest, eyes lightly closed. It wasn’t clear if he was asleep or simply resting. His parchment skin had a recently washed sheen to it even though there was an orange stain around his thin lips from whatever he had been fed. Patricia stood at the door for a moment just looking at him lying in his bed. This man, who her mother had erased from her childhood, was now the only real link she had to her past. Her father. She stepped forward.

‘Hello, Daddy.’ Elizabeth knew she was being foolish, but couldn’t help herself. She wanted to hear her voice say those words. There was no reaction from the bed, just the slow, even rasp of the old man’s breathing. She went and sat beside him. The picture of the wedding was still in her pocket and she had intended to return it, but now she had second thoughts. Surely it meant more to her than anyone else? She couldn’t imagine the collection of bones in front of her held together by faded pyjamas was ever going to want to see the face of his bride once more. They sat in silence. Somewhere nearby an electrical hum shuddered to a halt. Footsteps squeaked by on the polished lino of the corridor.

As if to give her visit a purpose, Elizabeth reached out and took her father’s hand. It was warmer than she had expected and the skin was rough and cracked. Their fingers were interlinked and she studied his nails and knuckles and imagined the last time they had touched her. How tiny she must have been.

Without warning Edward suddenly turned his head to look at her. She gave a little start of surprise. It was as if the dead had come to life. His dark eyes were open and staring at her and the tip of his tongue was moving gently against his dry lips.

Trying not to sound alarmed, Elizabeth leaned forward.

‘Hello.’

Her father gave a small cough and swivelled his eyes towards the bedside locker. Elizabeth picked up the plastic sipping cup he was looking at and held it to his mouth. He sucked at the raised hole in the lid three times and then moved away. She put the cup back.

‘Is that better?’ she asked.

Another cough.

‘I’m Elizabeth.’ She was going to add that she was his daughter, but then thought better of it. She didn’t want to give him a shock. Her return to his life shouldn’t end it.

A look of pain took hold of her father’s face and then he spoke. But what had he said? It sounded like ‘gorilla’.

‘I’m sorry. I don’t understand.’

He spoke again. This time a different word. Hill? Heel, maybe?

‘Are you in pain? Will I get a nurse?’

With a great effort he stuck his tongue out and licked his lips before swallowing. His hand tightened its grip on hers.

‘What is it? What do you need?’ Elizabeth hoped that someone might come into the room. She was feeling out of her depth. The look of pain came over his face again. He said something else that Elizabeth couldn’t understand, but then his eyes widened and he moved his other hand to hold hers.

‘Mary!’ The name rang out.

Elizabeth squeezed his hands. This old man had seen her mother in her face!

‘No. I’m not Mary. I’m Elizabeth,’ she tried to explain but Edward wasn’t listening. He just kept repeating ‘Mary!’ over and over again. He seemed distressed.

‘What is it, Edward? Mary isn’t here.’

He threw his head back on the pillow and began to shake violently. Elizabeth didn’t know what to do. He seemed to have gone into a spasm or a fit of some kind. She raced to the door and called out into the corridor.

‘Nurse! Can I get a nurse, please! Please, I need a nurse.’

Around the corner came a plump, dark-haired lady in a nurse’s uniform and behind her the nice ginger-haired boy she had met the day before. They rushed into the room.

‘I don’t know what’s happening. He was fine and then …’

The nurses were gathered around the bed. Gordon, the young one, turned to her. ‘Better go wait in the day room.’ He sounded solemn and firm, so she did as she was told.

It was only when she sat down on one of the high-backed chairs that she realised she was shaking. A girl, surely too young to be a nurse, noticed her and offered her a cup of tea which she gratefully accepted. This couldn’t be how they said goodbye. He had to survive this, whatever ‘this’ was. Had she upset him, or had the convulsions always been going to happen? Trying to steady her hands, she sipped her tea.

After a few minutes, tall, red-haired Gordon appeared. She obviously looked worried, because he smiled to let her know at once that things weren’t as bad as she feared.

‘He’s OK. We gave him a sedative, and the doctor will be out to him soon.’