Just The Way You Are(68)

‘And you were sure that nothing was wrong? That Leanne was a capable mother, there was nothing of concern going on?’

The bubble popped.

Pia studied my sudden deflation, before pulling out a hardbacked notebook and pen.

‘Shall we sort some rotas?’

‘Rotas?’

‘I’ve made a start with meals, taking Joan to visit her mother – trusted, DBS-checked people only, but hopefully we won’t need that one for long. Cleaning, washing, shopping. Is there anything else you need? Would it be useful to have some people walk Nesbit?’

‘I don’t… I’m not sure what… are you making rotas for people to help me?’

‘Well, of course. You’re the one doing all the work.’

‘Listen, that’s very kind of you, and I do appreciate it, but I really don’t need any help. I’m the one helping Leanne. Once she’s discharged, I suppose someone else could chip in with some meals for her, but I’m fine.’

Pia actually laughed. She tried to hide it, but her face was like a pane of glass. ‘My dear, everyone needs help. That’s how life works.’

‘I’m actually kind of trying to manage without, at the moment. It’s complicated – family history, past issues, that sort of thing, but it’s important that I see this through on my own.’

‘Ollie, I have just been inside your kitchen. I’ve never drunk black tea in my life, but when I tried to add milk it plopped out in a perfect cube. Your trousers are on inside out. I’m pretty sure your dog has eaten a packet of crackers and vomited it back up again. You need help. We all need help, all the time. That’s why I pay for a cleaner and have just spent the week driving my grandchildren about. But sometimes, we need more help than others. This is one of those times.’

I shook my head. I had spent too many years being organised and bossed about and told that I couldn’t manage on my own, and all those memories were on red alert, determined not to let this pushy woman push her way into my home and my life and start controlling it.

Pia narrowed one eye. ‘I heard that social services are assessing the best options for Joan. Do you think you can convince them that you can provide her with the best possible care, like this? Insisting that you do it on your own?’

Ooof!

She might as well have punched me in the face.

I took a moment to recover, my conversation with Steph echoing amongst the frustration and anxiety. I glanced down at my trousers, which were indeed inside out.

‘Some meals would be very helpful. Just for the next week or so while we find our feet. Leanne is hoping to be home in the next few days, but if someone could take Joan to hospital on one or two of those, that would also be great. Once we’ve walked Nesbit, we’re going to have a big tidy up and a clean. Sunday we’ll do a food shop on the way back from the hospital. Thank you for telling me about my trousers. I was half asleep when you knocked and pulled them on in a hurry.’

‘Excellent. How about we swap numbers, and I’ll let you know who and what to expect when. And no problem about your trousers, but my son said he might have those chairs ready for you today. I didn’t want you to end up caught with your crotch hem on show.’

Before she left, Pia unloaded three shopping bags full of essentials like bread, milk and cake, along with a giant lasagne.

‘It’s not quite your standard, but better than a microwave meal.’

‘Thank you.’

Her face creased up again. ‘It’s the least I can do. If you don’t mind, I’ll take Joan to visit her mother when it’s next convenient. I feel I must speak to her in person.’

‘We were going to head over this afternoon. If you take Joan, I could stay and get the house straight.’

‘Or, I could take Joan and you could read a book, or have a long bath and a sleep?’ She winked at me. ‘We’ll take our time, give you long enough to do both.’





I was scrubbing the shower when there was another knock on the door. And yes, I might have brushed my hair and put on a discreet swipe of mascara and lip gloss. I knew there was nothing ever going to happen between Sam and I, but my foolish heart was finding it harder to accept.

I opened the door to find him sitting in an oak chair on my doorstep, adopting a clichéd model pose. It would have been funnier if he didn’t look like a model.

‘I heard you’ve had a busy week. Thought a comfy chair might help,’ he said, standing up and picking up the solid chair like it was made of polystyrene.

‘Just one?’ I asked, peering behind him to see if there was another one for me to carry.

‘Then where would I sit?’ he replied, as if confounded by the very thought. ‘They’re heavy, though. Why don’t you open a beer or put the kettle on or something? Mum’ll kill me if she finds out I’ve had you hefting furniture.’

I opted for beer, given that the sun was starting to probe through the murk. I was tipping one of the giant bags of crisps that Pia had left in my cupboard into a bowl when Sam found me.

‘How are you holding up?’ he asked, brow furrowed with concern. His voice was so kind and gentle that all my determination to appear competent melted into a sudden rush of tears that, once they’d started, wouldn’t seem to stop.

‘Come here,’ he muttered, pulling me up against him and enfolding me in his solid arms. He was wearing a soft grey T-shirt, and my face ended up pressed against the bare skin above his collar. It was warm and smooth and smelt like sawdust and summertime.