Tipping her head to the side, Beryl gave a gentle sigh and thought,I bet whatever this is, it’s going to be a right load of old rubbish.
Nevertheless, and as instructed, before being dispatched to make a cup of tea, Beryl had searched the bureau in the lounge and found a notepad and a biro, both of which were in the pouch of her apron, ready and waiting. It had to be said, much more patiently than she was.
Perhaps catching the aroma of buttered toast or being woken by her very obedient body-clock, Molly began to stir and stretch, before turning her head towards Beryl. ‘Ah, there you are. What time is it?’
‘8am, just like it always is when I bring your tea and toast. Here, let me raise the bed.’ Taking the remote Beryl pushed the button that gracefully lifted Molly into a sitting position. After which, she plumped pillows, smoothed down the duvet and refastened a button on Molly’s cardy.
Flicking away Beryl’s hand, Molly’s characteristic impatience and forthright manner had her daughter retreating, but not before she’d slid the table along the bed and checked the pot was still warm. Ignoring the irritable huffs and puffs by her side, Beryl poured the tea.
‘Oh do stop fussing Beryl. Sometimes I wish you’d just sit. You make me anxious with your constant tidying and to-ing and fro-ing.’ Molly ended her reprimand with a loud tut, then proceeded to get stuck into her snack.
‘The butter isn’t runny. It’s soaked into the bread again and this tea is stewed.’ But still she ate and drank, her back arched and her shoulders hunched over the table.
Beryl sat as instructed and rolled her eyes because her mother’s tetchiness was the norm. Her pernickety and sometimes ungrateful attitude was water off a duck’s back. She was no better with the nurses.
So while Molly nibbled and slurped, Beryl fought the urge to tap her foot and tell her mother to hurry up. To be fair, caring for Molly meant nothing more than making numerous little snacks and keeping her company, which was a doddle, seeing as since the divorce Beryl had been forced to move back home. It wasn’t like she had to traipse across town or go out of her way. She now resided in the second largest bedroom, the one that used to be Ernie’s when they all lived under one roof, many moons ago.
Silence and inactivity and slow-eating eighty-four-year-olds were the enemy because they allowed Beryl time to dwell on her circumstances and the shame she felt about all of it; her husband’s dalliances; splitting everything down the middle and ending up with half of nothing she really wanted; becoming the odd one out; morphing from contentedly married woman to the spinster; the ultimate loser who’d run back to Mum because she had nowhere else to go. Apart from Ernie’s, but that wouldn’t be fair on him and Nancy. So there she was.
At least she had Ernie’s son, Kevin, her grown-up nephew. And his little gem of a daughter, Honey, who she adored. Kevin’s wife, Astrid, was an acquired taste and not particularly enjoyed by anyone in the family. The thing was, Beryl took immense comfort in her kin, and cherished them. And once her mum was gone they would be her everything; all she had.
CHAPTER22
The clatter of crockery rescued Beryl from her lonely meanderings and her attention was drawn elsewhere. Molly drained the teacup, and after a dab-dab of the lips, she slumped. Her shoulders sagged and her head flopped onto the pillows as though it was too heavy, or the mere act of eating and drinking had been an immense effort.
Beryl knew why: the doctors and nurses had explained it all very simply and with kindness. Her mother’s body was slowly shutting down and therefore they should make the most of the good days, when Molly was on form and present. On the bad days, when it was touch and go if she was about to slip away or manage another episode ofCountryfile,they should hope for a peaceful end.
Today had been a good day and Beryl knew she had to grasp the nettle and chivvy Molly along, otherwise the not knowing would drive her mad to the end of her own days. She had to find out, one way or another, what on earth her Mother Molly had been rattling on about, before the nurses arrived to bathe and change her.
‘So, Mum. About this secret you mentioned earlier… do you still want to tell me about it?’ Beryl removed the tray and set it on the dresser, not sure whether to get out the pad and pen just in case she appeared too eager. Which she was.
Molly shifted her gaze to the window ‘No, not yet.’
Beryl angled a look at her mother, irritation buzzing like wasps in her head.I knew it, she’s just being melodramatic.’
But before the wasps could settle, she was swiftly corrected by Molly whose voice, often brusque, always clear with perfectly formed consonants, had taken on a softer tone. Tentative tinged with sadness. ‘First I need to explain why I’m telling you. And why now. And I need to apologise, too.’
Beryl was more intrigued than ever. ‘Apologise for what?’
Molly pulled at her cardigan, wrapping it around her sparrow-like body as if for protection before she spoke. ‘For being a coward. For burdening you with my secret because if I tell you, that’s what I’ll be doing. And now I’m thinking it’s not right, to do that… so maybe I’ll stay quiet. Take it with me to the grave and have done with it. Might be for the best.’ She sounded wistful as her words trailed off but even that didn’t quell Beryl’s mounting irritation.
Talk about dangling a carrot!
‘Mum, listen. Whatever it is, it’s clearly bothering you so perhaps sharing it will make you feel better; and let’s face it, this big secret hasn’t had a terrible effect on your life has it? You’ve been happy, had a nice home and husband, and a family that loves you, so it can’t be that bad, can it?’
Beryl was very confident about her general appraisal and even gave her mum’s hand a pat, as if to offer extra reassurance. In the grand scheme, and even considering the Ernie-blips along the way, they’d had a decent enough family life. However, going by the look on Molly’s face, mother-ship didn’t agree.
‘And what would you know about it?’
‘Pardon?’ Beryl was stung.
‘I said what do you know about the things I kept in here,’ Molly tapped her liver-spotted forehead with a bony, yellow-nailed finger. ‘I hid it all from everyone, what I did, so I could keep this family together, so you and Ernie would have a home and a family. I’m telling you, if your dad’d found out he’d’ve chucked me onto the streets.
‘Mum… I don’t underst–’
‘No of course you don’t. None of you did. None of you had a clue what it was like for me back then… always, every day of my life. But I did it for you. That’s what I need you to understand because I couldn’t take it back, couldn’t change what I’d done, and I’ve had to live with it all these years.’
Beryl swallowed, and tried to ignore the dread that was building inside, but she had to ask, ‘Mum, what did you do? Please tell me and then I can help you sort it out.’
