The Girl in the Mirror

A NOVEL INSPIRED BY A TRUE STORY

Cathy Glass

SUNDAY TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

Author’s Note

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Forty

Forty-One

Forty-Two

Forty-Three

Forty-Four

Also by Cathy Glass

Copyright

About the Publisher

Author’s Note

Most families have secrets – skeletons in the closet that are never spoken of. Sometimes the secret is so painful, and buried so deep, that it becomes ‘forgotten’ by the family.

This is the story of Mandy, who wasn’t aware she held the key to her family’s dreadful secret until a crisis unlocked it.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Attitudes to the administering of pain relief are slowly changing.

Prologue

‘I’m sorry,’ Mandy said, stopping Adam’s hand from going any further. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t. Not now.’

‘It’s OK,’ he said a little too quickly, moving away. ‘I could do with an early night.’

She watched him cross her bedsitting room to the chair where he’d left his jacket. Throwing his jacket over his shoulder he continued to walk away from her – to the door. Stop him, now, Mandy told herself. Stop him before it’s too late. ‘Adam?’ she said.

He turned. ‘Yes?’

She hesitated, and then shrugged. ‘Nothing. I’ll see you tomorrow?’

He gave a non-committal half-nod. ‘I’ll phone.’

She watched helplessly as he let himself out. Idiot! she cursed herself. Go after him and try to explain. You’ve done this once too often. It’ll serve you right if he makes it the last time and you lose him for good. But even if she went after him what could she say? She didn’t understand why she behaved as she did, so how could she possibly explain it to him?

Tears stung the back of her eyes. She stood up, moved away from the bed and slowly crossed to the easel propped against the far wall. She stared at the canvas on it. It was entirely blank: an added testament to her failure. Failure as an artist; failure as a lover; failure as a daughter; failure even as a person. Her life was one long failure. She picked up the paintbrush and, deep in thought, stood for a moment holding it at either end, absently flexing the wood. It bent, and then snapped in two. The sound of splintering, cracking wood was satisfying in its finality. It was broken and could never be repaired.

One

Mandy woke with a start. The room was not as it should be; she could sense it. Something had woken her – something close and imminent. Something wrong? She raised her head and looked around. The room was empty, as it should be. Adam had gone and although he had a key he would never use it without asking her first.

Yet something had disturbed her. It was too early for her to wake naturally. The room wasn’t properly light yet, and even the weakest of suns came through the thin and faded curtains. And the street noise filtering through the ill-fitting Victorian sash windows of her bedsitting room suggested very early morning. Mandy turned on to her side and reached over the edge of the bed for her phone. Bringing it to her eyes she peered at the time: 6.29 a.m.

What sounded like hailstones landed against the window and she guessed it was the hail that had woken her. Another wet day, she thought, and to make it worse she’d argued with Adam. She closed her eyes again and hoped the day would go away. No rain followed the hail. She heard a car door slam and the engine start, and a lone police siren in the distance. Then another blast of hail.

A pattern of sound began to emerge as Mandy lay enfolded in her duvet, eyes closed, trying to keep the day at bay. A blast of hail, sand-like against the window, then silence, then another blast of hail. It gradually occurred to her in the half-light of her thoughts and consciousness that the pattern of noise was too regular, too neatly spaced to be hail. She decided it was more likely to be Nick from the attic flat, having locked himself out. As he’d done once before he was now throwing gravel against her window to wake her to let him in, rather than pressing the main doorbell and incurring the wrath of the whole house – six residents in self-contained bedsits, or studio flats as the landlord liked to call them.

Why Nick didn’t secrete a spare front-door key in the garden, as she had done, Mandy didn’t know, but would shortly ask. She knew he had a spare key for the door to his room hidden not very imaginatively under the mat outside his door, but that key was obviously useless if he couldn’t get in the outer door first. It crossed her mind to leave him there a while longer to teach him a lesson. But Nick had been helpful in the past – changing a light-bulb for her which had rusted into its socket, and disposing of a large spider lodged in a crevice of the window and out of her reach. Living this semi-communal existence had one advantage, she thought: they helped each other; that, and it went with the bohemian lifestyle she’d chosen to try and make it as an artist.

With a sigh Mandy left the warmth of her duvet and felt the cold air bite as she crossed the room to the bay window. One of the disadvantages of this lifestyle, she quickly acknowledged, was that feeding the electricity meter for heating had to be discretionary – almost a luxury. Easing back one of the curtains she looked down on to the front path to check it was Nick and not their local down-and-out hoping for a hot drink and a bed, as had happened once before. From her first-floor room she had a clear view over the front garden and path. The only place she couldn’t see was the porch – where Nick must now be, for the path and garden were empty.

She continued to look down, waiting for Nick to reappear. A moment later a man stepped from the porch and stooped to pick up more gravel. It wasn’t Nick but her father!

‘What!’ Mandy exclaimed out loud, and tapped on the window to catch his attention. Whatever was he doing here?

Arrested half into the act of picking up another handful of gravel, her father looked up and, seeing her, straightened. He mouthed something she didn’t understand, then he pointed to the front door and she nodded.

Dropping the curtain, she crossed the room and pulled her kimono dressing gown from the top of the dressing screen. What the hell? she thought again as she tied the kimono over her pyjama shorts and T-shirt. Her parents hadn’t been anywhere near her bedsit (or her bohemian lifestyle, come to that) since she’d taken a year off from teaching art to follow her dream of becoming an artist and paint full time. Now, here was her father, throwing gravel at her window to wake her at 6.30 a.m.! Shrugging off the last of her sleep she realized with a stab of panic something had to be wrong, badly wrong. And given it was her father who was here and not her mother, something must have happened to her mother!

Mandy’s heart raced as she ran down the threadbare carpet of the wide Victorian staircase. Arriving in the hall she turned the doorknob and heaved open the massive oak front door. ‘Mum?’ she gasped, searching his face. His expression seemed to confirm her worst fears.

‘No, your mother’s fine,’ he said sombrely. ‘I’m afraid it’s your grandpa, Amanda. He’s taken a turn for the worse.’

‘Oh…’

‘He has left hospital and has gone to your aunt’s. I am going there now.’

‘Oh, oh, I see,’ she said, relief that her mother was safe and well quickly turning to anxiety that dear Grandpa was very ill.

‘I thought, as you’re not working, you’d like to come with me,’ her father continued. ‘Your mother prefers not to go while Grandpa’s staying at your aunt’s.’

This came as no surprise to Mandy for, while her mother got on well with her in-laws, ten years previously there’d been what her father had called ‘a situation’, which had resulted in her parents severing all contact with Aunt Evelyn, Mandy’s father’s sister, and Evelyn’s family. Now, ten years on, and with no contact in the interim, her father was going to his estranged sister’s house! Mandy knew he would never have gone had his father not been ill and staying there; and her mother was still refusing to go.

‘Yes, I’ll come,’ Mandy said quickly. ‘I’d like to. I didn’t realize Grandpa was so ill.’

‘Neither did I. Your aunt phoned late last night.’

As he came in and Mandy closed the door behind him, she tried to picture the stilted conversation that must have taken place between her father and his sister – their first conversation in ten years. She wondered if her mother had spoken to her sister-in-law and decided probably not.

‘Is Grandpa very ill?’ she asked once they were in her room.

‘Your aunt said so,’ her father said stiffly.

‘So why is he at Evelyn’s and not in hospital?’

‘He was in hospital but your aunt had him discharged. She said she could look after him better at her home than the hospital could. Your gran agreed. She’s staying at your aunt’s too.’

‘I see, and what have the doctors said?’ Mandy felt fear creeping up her spine.

‘I’m not sure; we’ll find out more today.’ He thrust his hands into his trouser pockets and shrugged. ‘I don’t know, perhaps your mother was right and Evelyn is being hysterical, but I have to go and see him just in case…’

Mandy decided to make do with a quick wash rather than her normal shower so she turned on the hot tap, which produced its usual meagre trickle of lukewarm water. ‘Sit down, Dad,’ she said. ‘You haven’t seen my bedsit before. What do you think?’

In the mirror above the basin she saw him cast a gaze over the 1950s furniture, which had clearly given good service. He gave a reserved nod. ‘Is all this yours?’

‘No, it came with the room. Apart from that Turkish rug. And I bought a new mattress for the bed.’ She squeezed out the flannel and ran it over her face and neck. ‘Would you like coffee?’

‘No, thank you. I had one before I left.’

Taking the towel from the rail, she patted her face and neck dry and then crossed to the chest of drawers where she took out clean underwear, trainer socks and T-shirt. Collecting her jeans from where she’d dropped them on the floor the night before, she disappeared behind the Japanese-style dressing screen. In one respect it was just as well Adam had gone off in a huff the night before, Mandy thought. It would have been embarrassing if her father had come in to find him in her bed. But she was sorry she’d behaved as she had and if Adam didn’t phone as he said he would she’d phone him – and apologize.

‘Is Mum OK?’ she asked from behind the screen.

‘Yes, though she’s worried about your grandpa, obviously. She sends her love.’

‘And how are Evelyn and John?’

There was a pause. ‘Your aunt didn’t say much really.’

‘I guess it was a difficult call for her to make.’

Through the gap between the panels of the hinged dressing screen, Mandy could see her father. He was sitting in the faded leather captain’s chair, hunched slightly forward, with a hand resting on each knee and frowning.

‘By the way Evelyn spoke,’ he said indignantly, ‘you’d have thought I hadn’t seen my father in years. I told her I’d have visited him in hospital again if he’d stayed.’ Mandy heard the defensiveness and knew the peace between her father and his sister was very fragile indeed and only in place to allow them to visit Grandpa.

Dressed in jeans and T-shirt, she stepped from behind the dressing screen and crossed the room. She threw her kimono and pyjamas on to the bed and went to the fridge. ‘I’m nearly ready, I just need a drink. Are you sure you don’t want something?’

‘No thanks.’ He shook his head.

The few glasses she possessed were in the ‘kitchen’ sink, and to save time, and also because she could in her own place, she drank the juice straight from the carton. ‘Ready,’ she said, returning the juice to the fridge. She wiped her mouth on a tissue and threw it in the bin.

Her father stood and followed her to the door. ‘Have you painted many pictures?’ he asked, nodding at the empty easel.

Mandy saw the broken paintbrush and wondered if he’d seen it too. ‘Yes,’ she lied. She took her bag from the hook behind the door and threw it over her shoulder. ‘Yes, it was the right decision to give up work. I have all the time in the world to paint.’ Which was true, but what she couldn’t tell him or Adam – indeed could barely admit to herself – was that in the seven months since she’d given up work she’d painted absolutely nothing, and her failure in this had affected all other aspects of her life. So much so that she’d lost confidence in her ability to do anything worthwhile, ever again.

Two

Checking her mobile, Mandy got into her father’s car. There was no message from Adam but he would only just be up. She fastened her seatbelt as her father got in. On a weekday Adam left his house at 7.30 a.m. to catch a train into the City. Her heart stung at the thought of how she’d rejected him and she now longed for the feel of his arms around her. Bringing up a blank text she wrote: Im rly rly sorry. Plz 4giv me. Luv M, and pressed Send. She sat with the phone in her lap; her father started the engine and they pulled away. A minute later her phone bleeped a reply: U r 4given. C u l8r? A x. Thank God, she thought. She texted back: Yes plz. Luv M. Returning the phone to her bag, she relaxed back and looked at the road ahead.

It felt strange sitting beside her father in the front of the car as he drove. Despite the worry of Grandpa being ill, it felt special – an occasion – an outing. Mandy couldn’t remember the last time she’d sat in the front of a car next to her father. When she’d travelled in the car as a child her place had always been in the back, and later it had been her mother who’d taken her to and collected her from university. When she’d started work she’d bought a car of her own which she’d sold to help finance her year out. No, this was definitely a first, she thought. I don’t think I’ve ever sat in the front next to Father.

‘The hospital was pretty grim,’ her father said, breaking into her thoughts. ‘Apparently it’s a brand-new building, but staffed by agency nurses. Your aunt said there was no continuity of care and your grandfather was left unattended. She suggested they paid for him to go into a private hospital but your grandfather wouldn’t hear of it.’

Mandy smiled. ‘That’s my grandpa!’ Like her father, he was a man of strong working-class principles and would have viewed going private as elitist or unfair. She noticed her father referred to his sister as ‘your aunt’ rather than using her first name, which seemed to underline the distance which still separated them.

‘I expect he wanted to be out of hospital,’ Mandy added. ‘It’s nice to be with your family if you’re ill.’

‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘As long as he’s getting the medical care he needs.’

She nodded.

‘It’s good weather for the journey,’ he said a moment later, changing the subject. ‘Not a bad morning for March.’

March, she thought. She was over halfway through her year out – five months before the money ran out and she would have to return to the classroom.

‘Does Sarah still live at home?’ Mandy asked presently as the dual carriageway widened into motorway.

‘I don’t know, your aunt didn’t say.’

‘It would be nice to see her again after all these years. I wonder what she’s doing now.’

Mandy saw his hands tighten around the steering wheel and his face set. She hadn’t intended it as a criticism, just an expression of her wish to see Sarah again, but clearly he had taken it as one. When her father had fallen out with his sister ten years ago and all communication between the two families had ceased, Mandy had been stopped from seeing her cousin Sarah, which had been very sad. They were both only children and had been close, often staying at each other’s houses until ‘the situation’ had put a stop to it.

‘It was unavoidable,’ he said defensively. ‘It was impossible for you to visit after…You wouldn’t know, you don’t remember. You were only a child, Amanda. It should never have happened and I blame myself. I vowed we’d never set foot in that house again. If it wasn’t for Grandpa being taken there, I wouldn’t, and I’ve told Evelyn that.’

Mandy felt the air charged with the passion of his disclosure. It was the most he’d ever said about ‘the situation’, ever. Indeed, it had never been mentioned by anyone in the last ten years, not in her presence at least. Now, not only had he spoken of it, but he appeared to be blaming himself, which was news to her. And his outburst – so out of character – and the palpable emotion it contained made Mandy feel uncomfortable, for reasons she couldn’t say.

She looked out of her side window and concentrated on the passing scenery. It was a full ten minutes before he spoke again and then this voice was safe and even once more.

‘There’s snow forecast for next week,’ he said.

‘So much for global warming!’

A few minutes later he switched on Radio 3, which allowed Mandy to take her iPod from her bag and plug in her headphones. It was a compilation – garage, hip-hop, Mozart and Abba; Mandy rested her head back and allowed her gaze to settle through the windscreen. The two-hour journey slowly passed and her thoughts wandered to the trips she’d made to and from her aunt’s as a child. The adults had taken turns to collect and return Sarah and her from their weekend stays. Mandy remembered how they’d sat in the back of the car and giggled, the fun of the weekend continuing during the journey. Then the visits had abruptly stopped and she’d never seen Sarah again. Stopped completely without explanation, and she’d never been able to ask her father why.

They turned off the A11 and Mandy switched off her iPod and removed her earpieces.

‘Not far now,’ her father said.

She heard the tension in his voice and saw his forehead crease. She wasn’t sure how much of his anxiety was due to Grandpa’s illness, and how much by the prospect of seeing his sister again, but Mandy was sure that if she hadn’t agreed to accompany him, or her mother hadn’t changed her mind and come, he would have found visiting alone very difficult indeed. His dependence on her gave him an almost childlike vulnerability, and her heart went out to him.

‘Don’t worry,’ she said lightly. ‘I’m sure Evelyn will be on her best behaviour.’

He smiled and seemed to take comfort in their small conspiracy. ‘We won’t stay too long,’ he reassured her.

They slowed to 30 m.p.h. as they entered the village with its post-office-cum-general-store. Mandy remembered the shop vividly from all the times she’d stayed at her aunt’s. Auntie Evelyn, Sarah and she had often walked to the store, with Sarah’s Labrador Misty. When Sarah and she had been considered old enough, the two of them had gone there alone to spend their pocket money on sweets, ice-cream, or a memento from the display stand of neatly arranged china gifts. It had been an adventure, a chance to take responsibility, which had been possible in the safe rural community where her aunt lived, but not in Greater London when Sarah had stayed with her.

Mandy recognized the store at once – it was virtually unchanged – as she had remembered the approach to the village, and indeed most of the journey. But as they left the village and her father turned from the main road on to the B road for what he said was the last part of the journey, she suddenly found her mind had gone completely blank. She didn’t recall any of it.

She didn’t think it was that the developers had been busy in the last ten years and had changed the contours of the landscape; it was still largely agricultural land, with farmers’ houses and outbuildings dotted in between, presumably as it had been for generations. But as Mandy searched through the windscreen, then her side window, and round her father to his side window, none of what she now saw looked the least bit familiar. She could have been making the journey for the first time for the lack of recognition, which was both strange and unsettling. Swivelling round in her seat, she turned to look out of the rear window, hoping a different perspective might jog her memory.

‘Lost something?’ her father asked.

‘No. Have Evelyn and John moved since I visited as a child?’ Which seemed the most likely explanation, and her father had forgotten to mention it.

‘No,’ he said, glancing at her. ‘Why do you ask?’

Mandy straightened in her seat and returned her gaze to the front, looking through the window for a landmark – something familiar. ‘I don’t recognize any of this,’ she said. ‘Have we come a different way?’

He shook his head. ‘There is only one way to your aunt’s. We turn right in about a hundred yards and their house is on the left.’

Mandy looked at the trees growing from the grassy banks that flanked the narrow road and then through a gap in the trees, which offered another view of the countryside. She looked through the windscreen, then to her left and right, but still found nothing that she even vaguely remembered – absolutely nothing. She heard her father change down a gear, and the car slowed; then they turned right and continued along a single-track lane. Suddenly the tyres were crunching over the gravel and they pulled on to a driveway leading to a house.

‘Remember it now?’ she heard him say. He stopped the car and cut the engine.

Mandy stared at the house and experienced an unsettling stab of familiarity. ‘A little,’ she said, and tried to calm her racing heart.

Three

It was like déjà vu – that flash of familiarity, sensed rather than consciously thought. A dizziness; a feeling of not being there. It was as though she’d been given a glimpse of another life. It had been fleeting, and without detail, but as Mandy looked at her aunt’s house, panic rose. She’d been here lots of times as a child but couldn’t remember any detail. It was like looking at a holiday photo in someone else’s album of a place she too had once visited.

She read the old wooden signboard – Breakspeare Manor – and then looked at the house again. It was a large sprawling manor house with two small stone turrets and lattice period windows. The front of the house was covered with the bare winding stems of wistaria. Instinctively Mandy knew that in a couple of weeks the entire front of the house would be festooned with its lilac blooms, like the venue for a wedding reception at a far-off and exotic location. She knew it without remembering – a gut feeling – and also that the house was 150 years old.

‘Ready?’ her father asked after a moment, gathering himself. She nodded and, taking a deep breath, picked up her bag from beside her feet and got out. The air smelt fresh and clean after London but it had a cooler, sharper edge. Drawing her cardigan closer, she waited for her father to get out. He reached inside the car for his jacket, straightened and, pointing the remote at the car, pressed to lock it. Mandy looked around. There were no other cars on the sweeping carriage driveway, and the double garage – a separate building to the left of the house – had its doors closed. None of the rooms at the front of the house had their windows open and the whole house looked shut up and empty.

‘There must be someone in,’ her father said, echoing her thoughts. ‘Grandpa’s here and we’re expected.’

She walked beside her father as they crossed the drive to the stone arched porch. Mounted on the wall to the right of the porch was a black-on-white sign announcing ‘Tradesmen’, with an arrow pointing to the side of the house. Mandy didn’t remember the sign but knew her aunt had insisted the butcher, housekeeper, gardener, newspaper boy, plumber and electrician used the side entrance, while friends and those arriving in big cars used the front door. She also remembered this had seemed strange to her as a child. At her house everyone used the front door, including those delivering goods and reading the gas and electric meters; the side gate was only used to take out the garbage.

‘Shall we let ourselves in the tradesmen’s entrance?’ her father asked, taking a step out of the porch and looking up at the front. ‘I don’t want to press the bell and disturb Grandpa if he’s sleeping.’

‘The gate is kept locked and the bell is even louder than this one. So they can hear it from the kitchen and laundry room.’ Her father looked at her, mildly surprised she’d remembered this detail. She shrugged and hid her discomfort.

Mandy didn’t know how she knew about the bell; her reaction had been instinctive, as though she’d absorbed the information from being part of her aunt’s family during all the times she’d stayed as a child. And while she still couldn’t remember visiting the house as such, nor had the least idea what the rooms would look like once they were inside, she found she knew that breakfast and lunch were taken in the morning room and supper in the dining room, and that Wednesday was the housekeeper’s day off. Perhaps she’d remembered this because it was all so very different from her own family’s modest home and routine, she thought.

Her father pressed the bell and almost immediately the door opened. For a moment Mandy thought the dark-haired woman standing before them was her aunt, until she saw the apron.

‘Good morning. Please come in,’ the housekeeper said, clearly expecting them. ‘Mrs Osborne is busy with her father.’ She smiled warmly and stood aside to let them in.

Although Mandy couldn’t have described the housekeeper from when she’d visited as a child, she felt sure this wasn’t the same woman, but they clearly used the same polish. The faint but distinctive smell of beeswax drifted into the hall from the dining room, and Mandy instinctively knew that the dining table needed a lot of polishing.

‘Please come through to the sitting room,’ the housekeeper said, leading the way along the wooden panelled hall, which seemed vaguely familiar.

Mandy felt the same vague familiarity as she entered the sitting room, while not actually recalling ever being in the room. She looked at the off-white sofa and matching armchairs, the light beige carpet, curtains and soft furnishings, and wondered if she and Sarah hadn’t been allowed in this room as children, which could explain her lack of recall.

‘Sit down and make yourselves comfortable,’ the housekeeper said, waving towards the armchairs and sofa. ‘I’m Mrs Saunders. Mrs Osborne will be with you shortly. Can I get you coffee?’

‘Yes please,’ Mandy said, and her father nodded.

‘That’s not the same housekeeper who was here when I used to stay, is it?’ Mandy asked her father as soon as the door closed behind her.

‘No. That was Mrs Pryce. She left –’ He stopped as though he had been about to say something but had thought better of it. ‘This one is new.’

They sat for a while, both gazing out of the French windows and on to the upper terraces. Although it was only March the gardener had clearly been busy. Brightly coloured spring blooms dotted the terracotta pots on the patio and the neatly tended flower beds beyond. Instinctively Mandy knew that further down the gardens, out of sight on the lower lawns, there used to be swings, which Sarah and she had played on as children.

The room was quiet, save for the ticking of the brass pendulum clock mounted in the alcove by the fireplace. Indeed, the whole house seemed quiet; unnaturally so, Mandy thought. It was a sharp contrast to her studio flat where the comings and goings of the other occupants meant there was always noise of some sort.

‘I don’t know why we have to wait here,’ her father grumbled after a moment. ‘I’ve come to see my father, not drink coffee.’

‘The housekeeper said Evelyn was busy with Grandpa,’ Mandy soothed. ‘I’m sure she won’t be long.’

He harrumphed. Mandy could feel his tension and knew that unless he changed his attitude he was going to start off on the wrong foot when he met his sister again after all these years.

‘Has this room changed much?’ she asked shortly, still unable to place it and trying to cut the silence with conversation.

‘I don’t know,’ he said quickly. He looked away, deflecting further questions.

They sat in silence again, gazing out of the window, until a knock sounded on the door and the housekeeper returned carrying a large silver tray with coffee, and biscuits arranged on a white porcelain plate.

‘Help yourselves,’ she said, placing the tray on the coffee table between them.

‘Thank you,’ Mandy said, grateful for the biscuits, having not had breakfast. Her father nodded.

‘You’re welcome. Mrs Osborne is on her way.’ She smiled and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Mandy put sugar in one cup and passed it to her father and then picked up the other cup and took a sip. It felt very odd sitting here drinking coffee with the sense that it was all familiar while not actually recalling it – like watching someone’s home movie. You saw the intimacy of their lives but weren’t part of it. The sitting-room door opened again and Evelyn came in. Mandy knew immediately it was her aunt: a smaller, female, and slightly younger version of her father. Her father stood as she entered and put down his cup. There was a moment’s hesitation before Evelyn came over and they air-kissed. ‘Hello, Ray,’ she said, and then, turning to Mandy: ‘Good to see you again, love, though it’s a pity it’s in such sad circumstances.’

Mandy felt another stab of familiarity as she stood to kiss her aunt. Evelyn had always called her Mandy, as her friends and work colleagues did, while her parents still used her full name: Amanda.

‘How’s Dad?’ her father asked.

Evelyn took a step back and Mandy saw the anxiety in her face. ‘Very poorly. Sit down while I explain what has happened. You need to know before you see him.’

Mandy thought he was going to protest at being kept longer from his father, but he clearly thought better of it. He returned to the armchair while Evelyn sat on the sofa beside her. Drawing her hand anxiously across her forehead, she looked from Mandy to her brother, her face sad and serious.

‘Dad is very old,’ she began slowly, ‘and his heart is weak. He was lucky to recover from the stroke last year, but it has taken its toll. His body is slowly closing down. As you know he was admitted to hospital two weeks ago with a chest infection. They put him on intravenous antibiotics. Although the chest infection cleared, his general condition deteriorated.’ She paused and Mandy thought she was choosing her words very carefully, as though trying to let them down slowly.

‘Dad had never been in hospital before,’ she continued, ‘apart from when he had pneumonia as a child. He was very upset by the whole experience. He felt no one cared and he insisted he wanted to go home. Clearly it was out of the question for him to go to his house – Mum couldn’t have coped, so I made the offer for them both to come here, which they accepted. Ray,’ Evelyn said, looking directly at him and her eyes misting, ‘Dad won’t be returning to hospital, nor to his home. He has come here so he can have peace and quiet among his loved ones at the end.’

‘But I don’t understand,’ her father said abruptly. ‘You said Dad responded to the antibiotics, so why shouldn’t he make a full recovery?’

Evelyn paused and glanced at Mandy, almost for support. ‘His body is slowly shutting down. He’s tired, Ray. He’s had a long life and a good one, and now it’s coming to its natural end. I don’t know how else to put it, Ray, but Dad is dying.’

There was silence. Mandy looked from Evelyn to her father, who was clearly as shocked as she was. He had gone very pale and was absently wringing his hands in his lap. Presumably Evelyn had had time to come to terms with the seriousness of Grandpa’s condition while they had not. ‘Has the doctor said this?’ he asked at length.

‘Not in so many words,’ Evelyn said gently, ‘but it will be obvious when you see him.’

‘I’d like to see him now, please,’ he said, standing. ‘And I think we should leave the prognosis to the doctor.’

Mandy felt embarrassed by her father’s curtness and hoped Evelyn appreciated it was a result of the shock of hearing how poorly his father was, and didn’t take it personally.

‘I’ll take you to him now,’ Evelyn said evenly, also standing. ‘We’ve converted the study into a sick room. Mum sits with him for most of the day.’ She hesitated and looked again to Mandy for support. ‘Be prepared to see a big change in him. He’s lost a lot of weight.’

‘Why? Isn’t he eating?’ her father asked as they crossed the sitting room. Mandy knew he hadn’t really grasped the implications of what Evelyn had told them.

‘He takes a little water sometimes,’ Evelyn said. ‘But even that is getting less. He’s sleeping more and more. My hope is that in the end he’ll just fall into a deep sleep from which he won’t wake.’

Four

Mandy felt her pulse quicken as she followed her aunt and father along the hallway at the rear of the house. When her father had said Grandpa had taken a turn for the worse she hadn’t for a moment thought he could be dying, only that he was ill. She was struggling to take in what Evelyn had told them; she could see her father was too. They walked in silence down the wood-panelled hall, which, like the reception hall and the other rooms they passed, seemed vaguely familiar. Evelyn stopped outside a closed door on their right and, giving a brief knock, eased it open. ‘All right, Mum?’ she said, poking her head round. ‘Ray and Mandy are here.’

They followed her in. Gran was sitting beside a single bed, a little away from the wall, where Grandpa lay on his back asleep. ‘Don’t get up,’ her father said as Gran began struggling on to her walking frame to greet them. He went over and, kissing her cheek, helped her back down. Mandy saw his face crumple as he looked at the bed.

‘He’s asleep,’ Gran said protectively, her voice small and uneven. ‘He’s very poorly. I’m so pleased you’ve both come.’

Her father nodded but couldn’t say anything.

Mandy kissed Gran, hugging her thin shoulders, and then looked at Grandpa. She could have wept. It was only three weeks since she’d last seen him and although he was in his eighties he’d been fit and well. He’d taken her on a tour of his garden and had proudly shown her the spring bulbs and the forsythia which was about to flower. Now he lay on his back propped on a mountain of pillows, his previous ruddy complexion waxen and his cheeks hollow. His jaw had relaxed in sleep and his mouth hung open as his head lolled to one side. His right arm, thin and wasted, jutted from the sheet and Gran held his hand. It was pitiful how quickly someone of his age could deteriorate, Mandy thought. She looked at her father and saw her own pain reflected.

‘The nurse has just left,’ Gran said, her voice slight. ‘He’ll sleep for a while now. It tires him out being messed around with.’

‘The nurse was washing him, Mum,’ Evelyn qualified. ‘Not messing him around.’

‘It’s all the same to him,’ Gran returned smartly, ever protective of her husband of fifty-nine years.

They fell silent and all that could be heard for some moments was Grandpa’s heavy and laboured breathing. Mandy looked at her father, who was standing beside Gran, one hand resting reassuringly on her shoulder. She saw his creased brow and the pain in his eyes, and knew he was as shocked as she was by Grandpa’s physical decline. And perhaps, Mandy thought, he saw his own end reflected in his father, for they had been very much alike in stature and temperament, until now. Mandy looked at the outline of Grandpa’s wasted body beneath the sheets and could see none of her father’s strong and muscular frame, nor his pride and dignity. As she watched saliva ran from the corner of Grandpa’s mouth and dribbled on to the pillow. Evelyn took a tissue from the box on the desk and wiped the corner of his mouth. ‘There, there, that’s better,’ she soothed, as though tending a baby. Mandy cringed inwardly.

She looked at her father. ‘Why don’t you sit down, Dad?’ she asked softly.

He nodded. Evelyn took the chair from the desk and set it next to Gran beside the bed. ‘I’ll leave you to chat with Mum,’ she said, ‘while I go to the kitchen to see Mrs Saunders about lunch. I take it you will be staying for lunch?’

The mention of lunch in the sick room where Grandpa lay so ill seemed grotesquely out of place, but again Mandy supposed Evelyn had had time to adjust in the five days since she’d brought Grandpa home from hospital, and of course they had to eat.

Mandy looked at her father, who gave a vague shrug.

‘Yes, please,’ she said.

Evelyn nodded and, straightening the sheets on the bed, went out of the study, closing the door behind her.

Mandy hovered for a moment at the end of the bed, unsure of what to do or say, and then sat in one of the two brown leather armchairs at the other end of the room. It was a large study, big enough to retain the armchairs, desk, coffee table, filing cabinet, and a free-standing bookshelf even with the addition of the two single beds. Grandpa was in the bed in front of her while Gran’s nightdress lay neatly folded on the pillow of the other bed, which was against the opposite wall. Her grandparents had lived in a bungalow for as long as she could remember and Mandy knew that although Gran could still manage stairs with her arthritis it was a struggle. Mandy had no idea what the study had looked like before the furniture had been arranged to accommodate the beds, nor did she have any recollection of ever having been in it. But that was hardly surprising, she told herself, for Sarah and she wouldn’t have been encouraged to play in the study, and in all likelihood had probably been banned from it.

Mandy looked at her father and Gran sitting beside the bed watching Grandpa. All that could be heard was the sound of Grandpa’s laboured breathing, the breaths deeper than normal breaths, with more time in between; exaggerated, she thought, as though each breath was a statement of living that shouldn’t be ignored or taken for granted.

‘How’s Jean?’ Gran asked her father quietly after a moment. ‘She didn’t come with you?’

‘No. She sends her love, and apologies. She’ll visit next time.’

‘Don’t worry, Ray,’ Gran said. ‘I understand. I’m glad you felt you could come. When Evelyn first suggested Dad and I came here to stay I was worried you wouldn’t visit. Evelyn said she would phone you and make it all right. It would have been dreadful if you hadn’t visited and been able to say goodbye to your father –’ She stopped as her voice broke.

Her father took her hand between his and patted it reassuringly. ‘It’s OK between Evelyn and me now, Mum. Honestly.’

Mandy looked at them. What Gran had just said – her worry that the past would stop her father from visiting – was the most she’d ever said in front of her about ‘the situation’. First her father had referred to it earlier, and now Gran. She wondered when someone was eventually going to tell her what had happened all those years before. At twenty-three she was able to deal with a skeleton or two in the family closet. She was beginning to resent her exclusion. She doubted that whatever had happened could be that horrendous, not in their family. They were squeaky clean. And Mandy now wondered, as she had before, if it had anything to do with her mother and Uncle John – Sarah’s father. As children Sarah and she had giggled that they seemed to like each very much and always kissed each other hello and goodbye on the mouth rather than the cheek.

Her thoughts were broken by a change in Grandpa’s breathing. His breaths had suddenly become shorter, and then the next didn’t come. She sat upright, senses alert. There was a short rasp followed by a dry cough. ‘He’s waking,’ Gran said.

Mandy rose and crossed to the bed where she stood next to her father. They looked at Grandpa and his eyes slowly opened. Turning his head towards them, he smiled. His eyes were moist from sleep and his skin was so pale and thin it was almost translucent. Mandy could see the effort it took for him to speak. ‘Hello,’ he said, his voice catching. ‘Good to see you. Can you get me some water, please?’

‘Of course, Dad,’ her father said, patting his shoulder.

‘It’s on the desk,’ Gran said to Mandy.

Mandy crossed to the desk where a silver tray with a water jug was at one end, away from the laptop, printer and phone. On the tray, beside the covered jug, were a glass and a plastic feeding beaker.

‘Use the beaker, love,’ Gran said. ‘He can’t manage a glass any more. It spills down his front.’

Mandy glanced over and saw the shock on her father’s face – that Grandpa could no longer drink from a glass but was reliant on what looked like an adult version of a toddler’s training cup. She took the lid off the beaker and poured the water, then snapped the lid on and carried it to the bed.

‘Evelyn usually gives it to him,’ Gran said anxiously. ‘I can’t lift his head.’

Mandy glanced at her father, wondering if he wanted to help Grandpa with the drink, but he shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what was required.

‘Grandpa, shall I hold the beaker?’ Mandy asked, leaning forward so she was in his line of vision.

He gave a small nod. Her father eased back his chair so she could get closer to the bed. Leaning over, she wriggled her left hand under the top pillow and slowly eased Grandpa forward and upright. His dry, lined lips closed around the funnel of the feeding beaker. Mandy gradually tilted it as he sucked and then swallowed. He took three sips and collapsed back, exhausted. Mandy lowered the pillow and moved to one side.

It took a moment for him to gather his strength again to speak. ‘I’m pleased you came,’ he said slowly, forming each word separately and with effort. ‘I’m not very good at present. Have you spoken to Evelyn and John?’

‘Yes, Dad,’ her father said. ‘I’ve seen Evelyn and everything is fine.’

Grandpa smiled, reassured, and allowed his eyes to slowly close. Mandy watched as his hand came from under the sheet, searching for his son’s hand. Her father took it in his and his mouth quivered as he fought back emotion. Men in her family rarely showed their feelings; it wasn’t considered the ‘manly’ thing to do. It was more than Mandy could bear to watch her father and Grandpa exposed and their emotion raw. Thank goodness we came, she thought. Thank goodness Dad was able to surrender his pride and take the opportunity to see his father at his sister’s house.

‘Is Jean with you?’ Grandpa asked as Gran had done, his eyes still closed.

‘No, Dad. She sends her love. She’ll come next time.’

‘If there is a next time. I’m very tired, Ray, and the pain is getting worse.’ It was said without self-pity, but Mandy saw her father flinch.

‘Are you in pain now?’ he asked, sitting forward and still holding his father’s hand.

Grandpa shook his head.

‘The nurse gave him something,’ Gran said. ‘But it wears off too quickly.’

‘You shouldn’t have to suffer in this day and age,’ her father said. ‘I’ll speak to Evelyn and we’ll have a word with the doctor.’

Grandpa nodded, but his eyes stayed closed. Then his breathing slowed and deepened as he drifted once more into sleep. Her father eased the bedclothes up round his neck with a tenderness Mandy found exceptionally touching. He stood. ‘I’m going to the bathroom,’ he said and Mandy knew it was to hide his emotion.

‘Will you tell Evelyn that Dad has taken some water?’ Gran called after him. ‘She’ll be pleased. It’s a good sign, isn’t it?’

He nodded without saying anything, unable to give Gran the false hope she desperately sought. Glancing pointedly at Mandy, he left the room. Mandy moved into the chair her father had vacated, next to Gran and beside the bed. She looked at Grandpa, his chest rising and falling beneath the sheet as his laboured breathing once more filled the air. Until now he’d always appeared much younger than his eighty-five years, but now his illness had aged him enormously. Mandy found it almost impossible to equate the upright, agile person that had been her grandpa a few weeks ago with the shell of a man before her now, who hadn’t even the strength to raise his head for a drink.

‘It is a good sign, isn’t it?’ Gran said again. ‘Water is good for you. You can do without food, but not water.’

Mandy gave the same non-committal nod her father had done, feeling the same reluctance to fuel what was obviously an unrealistic hope. She wondered if the seriousness of Grandpa’s condition had been explained to Gran. Had the doctors, Evelyn or John said that her husband wouldn’t be getting better; if so, had she accepted it?

‘So tell me about your painting,’ Gran suddenly said, her voice lightening as she changed the subject. ‘Have you finished that masterpiece yet? I want to be the first to see it.’

Mandy gave a small, dismissive laugh. ‘No, not yet, but I promise you’ll be the first to see it, if and when it happens.’

‘You mean when, not if,’ Gran said.

Somehow, in the strange intimacy of the sick room, with Grandpa’s laboured breathing as a backdrop, Mandy now found herself able to share her thoughts and frustrations with Gran in a way she couldn’t with her parents or even Adam. ‘You see, Gran,’ she began, ‘I think I’ve got the equivalent of writer’s block. It’s nearly eight months since I stopped work to paint and I haven’t painted anything. I might just as well give up the idea and return to work. When I had little time and I was under pressure, the ideas seemed to pour out. I painted at weekends and some evenings after work. Now I have all the time in the world I can’t do anything. I’ve lost confidence. I haven’t a single thought in my head.’

‘Like me then.’ Gran smiled, lightly touching her arm. ‘But, Mandy, the main thing is you tried, love. That’s so important. Even if nothing comes of it you had a go. And you know Grandpa’s favourite saying?’

Mandy frowned questioningly. ‘I don’t. He’s got lots of sayings. Which one?’

Gran paused, looked at Grandpa as though bringing him into the conversation, and then quoted: ‘“It is better to have tried and failed, than never to have tried at all.”’ She looked again at Mandy, and there were tears forming in her eyes. ‘Don’t give up on your dreams, love. Stay with them or you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. I’m sure you’re talented, and I know when you find the right subject you’ll be able to paint. Then it will be from your heart and the painting will be perfect.’

Five

As her father returned from the cloakroom Mandy said she would go. ‘It’s down the hall to the right,’ he said, pointing to the front of the house. ‘And your aunt said lunch is about to be served in the dining room. Apparently they always have lunch at this time,’ he added, ‘while Dad sleeps.’

‘OK, I’ll join you there,’ she said and left the study.

Mandy knew exactly where the cloakroom was without her father giving directions. It was reassuring that she remembered, but hardly surprising, given the number of times she must have used the downstairs toilet when she’d stayed as a child. Down to the end of the hall, turn right, and she knew the door marked ‘Cloakroom’ would be set in a recess on her left. It was a large room, she remembered, far larger that their toilet downstairs at home. In addition to the loo and washbasin, there had been a dressing table and matching chair, and another recess like a walk-in wardrobe where the coats and outdoor shoes were stored.

Eyes down, deep in thought, and concentrating on the pattern of the inlaid wooden floor, Mandy turned the corner. She stopped with a small cry of alarm. ‘I’m sorry,’ she exclaimed, flustered. ‘Sorry, I didn’t see you.’ She took a step back and looked at the man she’d just walked into. He was smiling at her, finding it amusing.

‘Hello, Mandy,’ he said, in a voice that she’d not heard for a long time. ‘Good to see you again. How are you?’

She looked at him, heard his voice and then her silence, and knew he had heard her silence too – the hesitation before she recognized him. ‘Uncle John. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were in the house. Evelyn didn’t say.’

He laughed indulgently. ‘Didn’t she? I was having a lie-down upstairs. I was up all night with Grandpa. How are you?’

‘I’m fine,’ she said, embarrassed she’d not immediately remembered him. He’d been like a second father to her when she’d stayed as a child but he’d changed dramatically since she’d last seen him and was nothing like the man in the one photo she had of him – playing with her and Sarah on the swings. He was obviously ten years older, but he’d put on weight and his face seemed wider, more jowly. What was left of his previous black hair was now grey. Only his voice had remained more or less the same.

‘You’re looking good, Mandy,’ he said, flashing the smile she remembered from her childhood. ‘I’d have recognized you anywhere.’

‘Thanks,’ she said, still embarrassed. ‘And you.’

He laughed. ‘I don’t think so but it’s nice of you to say so.’ His eyes held her until, uncomfortable, she looked away. ‘Anyway, it’s good to see you again,’ he said. ‘I understand lunch is ready.’

‘Yes, I’ll be there shortly.’ She stepped past him and into the cloakroom.

Closing the door behind her, Mandy slid the bolt. She leant with her back against the door, her heart pounding and thoughts racing. It had been a shock bumping into Uncle John like that – not only the suddenness of coming round the corner and walking straight into him, but actually seeing him again. Why hadn’t Evelyn said he was in the house – warned her? Perhaps it had slipped her mind, but then again there was no reason for Evelyn to warn her – she didn’t know there was anything to warn her about. Only Sarah had known, and she wouldn’t have told her mother. It was their secret, just theirs; they had sworn on their lives. For in the instant Mandy had recognized John she’d also remembered the crush she’d had on him. Going on thirteen and at the onset of puberty, she’d confided her crush in Sarah, who then admitted to having a crush on her uncle – Mandy’s father. They’d been convinced they were the only ones to have these feelings for older men and that if anyone had discovered they found their uncles attractive they would have been locked up and ostracized for good.

Mandy leant with her back against the cloakroom door. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. John, middle-aged, overweight and balding, once the object of her desire! How could she? How could she and Sarah? It seemed ludicrous now. But there was something else – something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, that was making her legs tremble and heart pound. Something that lurked in the shadows of her mind, another, separate reason for her panic. Something that challenged her explanation that it was the shock of bumping into John and remembering her crush that had made her so uncomfortable and embarrassed. Half remembered and then forgotten, a feeling rather than a thought, similar to when she’d first seen the house: as though she had something to be frightened of but couldn’t remember what.

Heaving herself away from the door Mandy crossed to the washbasin and turned on the tap. She splashed cold water over her burning cheeks and then patted her face dry on the hand-towel. The cloakroom looked different from how she’d remembered it – possibly the colour scheme had changed, for the dressing table and chair seemed the same, as did the door to the walk-in wardrobe. Perhaps it was the passage of time and the fact she was now taller that made the room look different? With a small sigh, she reined in her thoughts, used the toilet and then rinsed her hands. She checked her face in the mirror and left the cloakroom.

In the hall the chink of cutlery and china could be heard coming from the dining room at the end of the hall, but there was no conversation.

‘It’s a buffet, help yourself,’ Evelyn said cheerily as Mandy entered the dining room. Evelyn was seated at the far side of the long oak dining table which was covered with platters and serving bowls of food. ‘Mrs Saunders will get you something to drink.’

‘Just water, please,’ Mandy said to the housekeeper, who was waiting by the sideboard, and sat in the chair left vacant next to her father.

She was on the opposite side of the table to Evelyn and Gran, with John to her right at the head of the table. She kept her gaze away from John. So too did her father, she thought. He was concentrating on the table just in front of his plate, looking most uncomfortable. It seemed ridiculously formal for lunch, and the atmosphere was strained with them all together. Mandy looked at the array of cold meats, new potatoes, quiches and salads, and regretted agreeing to lunch; a sandwich on their laps would have been far more appropriate.

‘Quite a spread, isn’t it?’ Gran said dryly, glancing at her from across the table. ‘I told Evelyn not to go to so much trouble.’

‘We have to eat, Mum,’ Evelyn chided. ‘And it’s no trouble. Help yourself, Mandy.’

Mandy smiled and accepted the platter of quiche Evelyn passed to her. Using one of the silver servers she carefully cut a slice and placed it in the centre of her large gleaming white plate, hoping it would fill up space. Mrs Saunders brought her a glass of water and then moved a salad bowl to within reach. ‘Thank you,’ Mandy said, and without much enthusiasm took a helping of green salad. She rarely ate much so early in the day; it was only 12.15, and despite not having had breakfast she wasn’t hungry. The formality of the setting – upright on their high-back dining chairs and Mrs Saunders hovering ready to assist – certainly didn’t help. Indeed it seemed somewhat bizarre, almost grotesque, she thought, that as Grandpa lay desperately ill and barely able to sip water two rooms away they were in here facing a feast. Mandy took a couple of mouthfuls of quiche, drank some water, and then began toying with the salad.

‘Leave it if you don’t want it,’ John suddenly said, making her start. ‘You don’t have to eat it here.’

She looked up and felt her cheeks burn, then glanced at Evelyn. ‘Sorry, I’m really not very hungry.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Evelyn said with a tight smile. ‘I’ll have Mrs Saunders pack you sandwiches for your return journey.’

But John’s words had taken Mandy back to her childhood, and one of the first times she’d stayed with Sarah. She remembered she’d sat self-consciously at this very table and toyed with some food she hadn’t liked, overwhelmed by the formality of their dining. ‘Leave it, Mandy,’ John had said. ‘You don’t have to eat it here.’ And she remembered the absolute relief she’d felt, for at home her mother had always insisted on a clean plate.

‘Sorry,’ she said again to Evelyn, setting her knife and fork on her plate. Then she sat with her hands in her lap as they continued eating, not liking to make her excuses but wondering when she could reasonably leave.

Evelyn seemed happy to be at the table, making conversation, perhaps as a diversion from the sick room, Mandy thought, although her talk was mainly about Grandpa: the appalling state of the hospital she’d rescued him from; the doctor who’d been in charge of his case and whom they’d only seen once; and nursing him at home. ‘John and I have been operating a rota,’ Evelyn said, glancing at her husband. ‘John sat with Dad last night so it’ll be my turn tonight. Unfortunately I still have to wake John as I can’t lift Dad by myself.’

‘Why do you have to lift Dad?’ her father asked naively, speaking for the first time.

‘To get him on to the commode,’ Evelyn said.

“Oh.’

‘Although Dad’s lost a lot of weight, he’s still very heavy. I have to be careful of my back.’

Mandy saw her father shift uncomfortably, but he couldn’t have known what Evelyn had meant.

‘It works all right,’ John said amicably. ‘I nap when I can during the day. I would rather Evelyn left all the nights to me, so she gets some sleep.’

‘Your business is managing without you?’ her father asked, changing the conversation.

‘Yes, I have a good team. I’ve briefed them on the situation here, and they phone if there’s a problem. I work on my laptop – emails, etc., while Dad sleeps.’

Her father nodded, and Mandy felt a stab of guilt. While John had rearranged his work, house and routine so that he and Evelyn could nurse Grandpa, she and her father had done nothing other than visit, and her mother was conspicuous by her absence. In their defence, Mandy thought, her parents hadn’t appreciated the seriousness of Grandpa’s condition or the practical implications of nursing him.

‘Dad and I could look after Grandpa this afternoon,’ Mandy offered, ‘while you and Evelyn go out or get some rest.’

‘Yes,’ her father readily agreed. ‘We can hold the fort.’

‘Thanks,’ John said. ‘We might take you up on that if you don’t have to rush off.’

‘No, not at all,’ her father said convivially. ‘I’ll call Jean and tell her to expect me later.’

Mandy looked at Evelyn and hesitated. ‘Is Sarah around?’

‘She visited yesterday, with her partner – they live in the town. Sarah finds it too upsetting seeing Grandpa like this. She can’t really offer much help. She’s worried she’ll remember Grandpa as he is now, rather than as he was when he was well. I’m sure she’ll visit again later in the week.’

Mandy nodded. ‘I understand.’ For she was already finding that the image of Grandpa today as he was now, sick and emaciated, was starting to impose itself upon the memory from when she’d last seen him, fit and healthy.

‘I’ve finished,’ Gran said, dabbing her lips with the linen napkin. ‘I’ll go to Will. He shouldn’t be left alone for too long.’ She turned in her seat, ready to stand, and was drawing her walking frame towards her when a crash came from the study followed by a piercing scream of pain. ‘I knew it!’ she said, panic-stricken. ‘I just knew he wanted something.’

Six

Immediately they were all on their feet, rushing out of the dining room. John went first; Mandy followed with her father while Evelyn held back to help Gran. Arriving in the study they found Grandpa on the floor beside the bed, having fallen trying to get out. He was on his side with one leg splayed behind the other. His eyes were half open and he was struggling to sit up, confused. John and her father went to him as Mandy hovered anxiously behind them. ‘Does anything hurt, Dad?’ John asked.

Grandpa shook his head and tried to sit up again.

‘Let’s get you back to bed,’ John said. He turned to her father. ‘I don’t think anything is broken.’

Mandy stood by the bed as her father and uncle, one either side of Grandpa, eased him into a sitting position. He let out a small moan and tried to say something.

‘Sorry, Dad?’ John said, lowering his ear. ‘You’ve fallen. Ray’s here. We’ll get you back into bed.’

Grandpa shook his head and whispered something.

‘OK, Dad. Hold on a minute.’ Then to Mandy: ‘Can you take the top off the commode?’

Mandy looked round for the commode.

‘It’s that chair,’ Evelyn said, pointing, having just come in with Gran. ‘The top comes off.’

Mandy went to the chair and began grappling with the vinyl-covered seat, not knowing if it lifted or rose on a hinge.

‘Give it a good pull,’ John said, an edge of impatience creeping into his voice. ‘The whole seat lifts off.’ To Grandpa he added: ‘Hold on, Dad, nearly there.’

She yanked the seat and it came off in her hand, revealing a white plastic toilet seat with a bowl suspended below.

‘Bring it closer, will you?’ John demanded.

She dragged the commode to just in front of Grandpa. He was still in a sitting position on the floor, supported either side by John and her father.

‘On the count of three,’ John said to her father. ‘We need to lift him and then swing him sideways and down, on to the seat.’

Mandy saw anxiety flash across her father’s face. John knew what he was doing but neither her father nor she did.

‘One…two…three,’ John said, and they began to lift.

Mandy watched with dismay as they lifted Grandpa on to his feet and then manoeuvred him round and down on to the commode like a large rag doll. The second before his bottom touched the seat, John pulled down his pyjama trousers. Mandy looked away. It was pathetic and demeaning: her tall, strong, proud Grandpa who, until a couple of weeks ago, had kept fit by swimming every week, now slumped on the commode, with his eyes half open and pyjama trousers round his knees. He looked like a giant toddler on a potty.

There was quiet as her father and John waited either side of Grandpa. She waited with Evelyn and Gran at the foot of the bed, all of them averting their eyes. Then the silence was broken by the trickle of water as Grandpa began to relieve himself. Her father fled the room. Gran turned her walking frame and followed him out, while Evelyn, focusing on the practical, went to Grandpa’s empty bed and began stripping the sheets. ‘He needs clean ones,’ she said matter-of-factly.

‘And pyjama trousers,’ John added. ‘But his top is dry.’

Mandy watched in awe as John steadied Grandpa with one hand and, kneeling down, began trying to ease off the wet pyjama trousers with the other. Realizing she could finally do something to help, she went to where her father had stood, just behind Grandpa, and placed her hands on his shoulders to support him.

‘Thanks, Mandy,’ John said. With both hands free he was able to slide off the wet trousers, which he passed to Evelyn. Grandpa relaxed back on the commode.

‘I’ll check your dad is all right when I’ve put this in the wash,’ Evelyn said to Mandy. ‘It’s a lot for him to cope with – seeing his father like this.’

‘It’s a lot for you to cope with too,’ Mandy said.

Evelyn met her gaze and in that look Mandy saw not a grown woman in control, but a small girl who was struggling to cope as best she could with her dying father, and wasn’t really coping at all.

‘Yes,’ Evelyn said quietly. ‘It is.’ Her face crumpled, and as she hurried from the room Mandy saw she was silently weeping.

Mandy stayed by Grandpa, a reassuring hand resting on each of his shoulders, and waited. By standing behind him, at least she was preserving some of his modesty she thought, but it was a pathetically small amount given what he’d lost. John finished straightening the mattress protector on the bed ready for the clean sheet and then came over and lowered his mouth to Grandpa’s ear. ‘Dad, have you finished?’ he asked gently.

Grandpa moaned.

‘Dad, have you finished on the commode?’ he tried again patiently.

‘Yes,’ her grandpa said.

‘OK, hang on there. Evelyn is fetching some clean pyjamas, then we’ll get you back into bed.’

When Evelyn returned with the clean sheets and pyjama trousers she and John fell into what Mandy guessed was a well-practised routine. Evelyn passed the trousers to John and he began easing Grandpa’s feet into them while she made up the bed. Mandy remained where she was. She could feel the warmth of his body through the material of his pyjama jacket; could smell the soap that had been used to wash him – different from the one he usually used. He was so quiet and still as they worked she couldn’t tell if he was awake or dozing. She kept her gaze directed into the centre of the room and tried to picture Grandpa as he used to be.

‘OK, Dad,’ John said. ‘On the count of three we’ll get you to stand. Can you help, Mandy?’

Moving her hands from Grandpa’s shoulders, she placed them under his left arm and helped raise him off the commode and into a standing position. As they did, Evelyn quickly pulled up his pyjamas and the three of them then eased Grandpa into bed and on to the pillows. How John and Evelyn had coped alone for nearly a week Mandy had no idea.

‘All right, Dad?’ Evelyn asked as Grandpa lay back on the pillow. She tenderly stroked his forehead.

He groaned slightly and then gave a small nod.

‘Good man,’ John said. ‘I bet you’re exhausted after that. Try and get some sleep.’

Mandy was touched by the dignity John and Evelyn gave Grandpa as well as their ability to actually nurse him. Neither of them had had any nursing experience as far as she knew, but both seemed to know how to manoeuvre him in a way that caused minimum discomfort. Their efficiency seemed to highlight her father’s inefficiency and his inability to cope. Since arriving he’d hardly been in the same room as his father, and although she appreciated why, it didn’t help. ‘I’ll go and find Dad,’ she said.

Evelyn nodded. ‘He’s in the morning room with Gran.’

Outside the study, Mandy turned left, instinctively aware she would find the morning room at the end of the hall. It was strange: she seemed to know the layout of the downstairs of the house without any conscious recollection of being in the rooms. Mrs Saunders came towards her, on her way to the kitchen, carrying a tray of plates from lunch. ‘Miss,’ she said, acknowledging her and smiling as they passed. Mandy thought how odd it must be, having someone other than family in the house, but then again Mrs Saunders appeared so well integrated she was like a family member.

The door to the morning room was slightly ajar. As Mandy approached she could hear her father and Gran talking quietly, in the middle of a conversation.

‘I’m not saying anything to her,’ her father said. ‘Not now.’

Mandy heard Gran tut, then: ‘It’s your decision, obviously, Ray, but now seems a very good time to me.’ And although the ‘her’ could have applied to her aunt or even her mother Jean, Mandy had the distinct impression they were talking about her, an impression confirmed when they both fell silent and looked at her as she entered.

‘Dad,’ Mandy said, hovering just inside the door. ‘Grandpa will be asleep again soon; I really think you should see him.’

‘Yes,’ Gran agreed, pulling the walking frame towards her, ready to stand. ‘I like to be with him as much as I can, while I have the chance. John put a bed in the study for me, but I can’t sleep, he’s so restless at night. I think they’re moving me upstairs. I hope Will understands.’

‘I’m sure he does,’ Mandy’s father reassured her, falling into step at her side.

It was nearly 2 p.m. as they settled themselves in the study-cum-sick room, Mandy in one of the pair of leather armchairs at the end of the room and her father and Gran by Grandpa’s bed. John and Evelyn had taken up the offer of a break and were in the sitting room trying to have a nap. It seemed most of the day was spent sitting and watching Grandpa sleep; Gran said she sat with him all day and Evelyn and John joined her as and when they could. But although Grandpa’s eyes were closed and he appeared to be asleep, he was very restless, and became more so as the afternoon wore on. He called out and sometimes groaned as though in pain, which was not only disturbing for him but upsetting to witness.

Mandy saw her father grow more and more anxious as he watched his mother trying without success to soothe his father. ‘It’s the medication wearing off,’ Gran said at last. ‘It seems to be lasting less and less time, and the nurse isn’t due until three.’

‘Can’t Dad have more tablets before the nurse comes?’ her father asked.

‘He can’t swallow tablets any more,’ Gran said, ‘even when they’re crushed. We’ve tried the liquid the doctor prescribed but that didn’t do any good. The nurse gives him injections now, every four hours. It’s morphine, I think. That helps for a while, but he needs more. John said he’d speak to the nurse this afternoon.’

The next hour was the worst Mandy had ever experienced in her entire life, she thought, as the morphine gradually wore off and Grandpa became in increasing pain. To begin with they left Evelyn and John having a rest, but as Grandpa’s discomfort grew and their efforts to soothe him became less and less effective, her father fetched them from the sitting room. ‘I’ll call the nurse,’ John said when he saw Grandpa, and went to the phone on the desk.

Mandy stood anxiously with her father and Evelyn by the bed and tried to soothe Grandpa. But he tossed and turned, and cried out, shouting words that made no sense at all. Evelyn spoke to him in a calming voice, stroked his forehead and tried to reassure him, but her efforts were pathetic and futile in the face of his pain. Then he began clawing at his arms as though his skin was on fire. Mandy’s father tried to stop him by holding his hands, which made him even more agitated, and he swore.

‘He doesn’t know what he’s saying,’ Gran excused. ‘He’s delirious, he doesn’t mean it.’

‘The nurse won’t be long,’ John said, hovering by the phone.

But 3 p.m. came and went and the nurse failed to arrive.

‘It’s not like him,’ Evelyn said. ‘Normally he’s very punctual.’

‘Should be, the amount they’re paying.’

At 3.15 there was still no sign of the nurse and Grandpa had broken out in a cold sweat from the agony. John said he would phone the nurse again and find out what the hell was going on. He left the study to make the call and when he returned he said the nurse had been called to an emergency and would come as soon as he could.

‘That’s unacceptable!’ her father said, turning on John. ‘Let me speak to him! No one should have to suffer like this!’

‘If you think it will help, go ahead!’ John retorted, almost shouting. ‘I don’t like to see Dad suffer any more than you do. He’s been like a father to me and now I can’t help him! We’ve had almost a week of this – a week of watching him suffer. And I’m not sure I can take much more.’ John’s face crumpled and he turned away.

‘Oh, Will,’ Gran said, trying to catch hold of Grandpa’s hand. She began to cry.

‘This isn’t helping,’ Evelyn said. ‘Ray, why don’t you take Mum into the sitting room until the nurse has been and Dad is more comfortable?’

Her father hesitated. Mandy saw his resentment at being told what to do by his sister. ‘I think it’s a good idea,’ Mandy said, touching his arm. ‘Gran shouldn’t see Grandpa like this.’ Although it was more about removing her father from the room than Gran, who seemed to be coping far better.

Her father glanced at her and then without speaking helped Gran to her feet. The two of them left the room. Mandy went over and, kneeling by the bed, began gently stroking Grandpa’s forehead and talking to him quietly. ‘It’s Mandy,’ she said. ‘The nurse won’t be long. Dad and Gran are in the sitting room. Try to relax, take deep breaths, it’ll help soothe away the pain.’

John and Evelyn hovered close by. ‘Thanks, Mandy,’ John said, sounding relieved to have some of the responsibility taken from him.

‘I’m sure he knows it’s you,’ Evelyn said. ‘He’s growing calmer.’

Mandy felt her eyes mist as she continued to stroke Grandpa’s brow and whisper words of comfort. She thought he was responding; his legs were still and he was no longer trying to claw at his arms. His eyes had closed and his face seemed more relaxed; perhaps he did know it was her and had taken comfort in her presence. Feeling she might be able to help, and aware this could be her last opportunity to spend time with him, she decided to offer to stay and help, for however long she was needed.

Seven

‘I’m sure,’ she said. ‘I want to. And it’s not as if I’ve got a proper job and need to take time off work. I’d like to help, really.’

‘It’s much appreciated,’ John said. ‘Thanks, Mandy.’

‘Yes, thanks,’ Evelyn echoed.

‘I don’t know,’ her father said again, as he had when Mandy had first told him of her intention to stay.

‘Why ever not?’ Gran asked, turning from the bed to look at him. ‘It’s nice that Mandy wants to, and Evelyn and John could do with the help. It will be fine, Ray. I promise. Don’t worry.’

They were all in the study grouped once more around Grandpa’s bed. He was asleep and pain-free. The nurse had arrived, full of apologies, shortly after 4 p.m., and had given Grandpa the morphine injection which would allow some relief for a few hours at least. It was now 6 p.m. and, having had an early dinner (Evelyn had insisted he ate before setting off), Mandy’s father was now preparing to leave. But his reluctance to leave Mandy, combined with Gran’s reassuring him: ‘It will be fine, Ray, I promise,’ and their exchange of meaningful glances, seemed to Mandy there was something she wasn’t being told.

‘All right.’ Her father shrugged, still reluctant. ‘But I don’t know what her mother will say.’

‘Nothing,’ Gran said. ‘And I think Jean should come and visit, tomorrow, when you bring Mandy’s things.’

‘I’m sure she will,’ her father said defensively. ‘Jean didn’t realize how ill Dad was or she would have come today.’

‘All right,’ Gran agreed, and returned her attention to Grandpa. She was sitting in her usual chair by the head of his bed. There was more room in the study now. Before dinner her father had helped John manoeuvre the other single bed upstairs back to the guest room it had come from, so Gran could have a better night’s sleep.

Her father looked at his watch and slowly stood. ‘I’d best be off,’ he said awkwardly.

‘We’ll leave you to say goodbye to Dad then,’ Evelyn said. She and John slipped from the study.

He stood uncomfortably by the bed and Mandy saw how difficult he was finding it to leave. Normally father and son shook hands on meeting and parting, but clearly that was impossible now. Grandpa was so heavily sedated it was doubtful he could even hear, let alone raise his arm.

Her father took a step closer. ‘Goodbye, Dad. I’m going now. I’ll see you again tomorrow. I’ll bring Jean with me.’ He paused and looked embarrassed, unsure of what to say or do next. Grandpa gave no acknowledgement, no sign he knew his son was there. ‘Mandy is staying to help look after you,’ he added. ‘Goodbye, Dad.’ He leant over the bed and kissed his father’s forehead. Grandpa’s breathing faltered and then resumed. It was impossible to know if he was aware of his son or not.

Her father turned to Gran and kissed her cheek, easily, as he always did. ‘Goodbye, Mum. Don’t get up. Take care. Look after each other and I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Drive carefully, Ray,’ she said, taking hold of his hand. ‘And give my love to Jean.’

‘I will.’ He kissed her again and then crossed to Mandy who was waiting by the study door ready to see him out. With a final glance at his father, he nodded to his mother and quickly left the study.

Mandy walked with him along the hall towards the front of the house.

‘Are you sure you’ll be all right, Amanda?’ he said again as they arrived in the reception hall. ‘You know you can change your mind. You don’t have to stay. I can take you home now.’

She looked at him carefully. ‘Dad, why shouldn’t I be all right? I’m with family. I’m staying to help look after my grandpa.’

He looked away and left the question unanswered. ‘Well, if you’re sure.’

‘Dad, please don’t worry.’ She touched his arm. ‘I’ll be fine, and Evelyn and John desperately need some help. They’re exhausted. If you could get my clothes from the flat that would be great. You’ve got my list and key?’

He nodded. ‘We’ll stop by on the way tomorrow. You mother will have a better idea of where to find things. I must go to the office in the morning so we should be here late afternoon.’

‘OK.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘Text me to say you got home safely.’

He gave a small laugh. ‘I’ll try.’ She had recently taught him to text but his fingers seemed too big for the tiny buttons and he rarely did so, saying it was easier to phone.

‘I’m going now,’ he called to John and Evelyn, and they appeared from the sitting room.

‘Safe journey,’ John said.

Her father shook John’s hand and then kissed his sister’s cheek – his previous awkwardness slightly eased by the time spent with her. Saying goodbye, John and Evelyn made their way back down the hall, leaving Mandy to see her father off. He opened the front door and Mandy folded her arms against the cool evening air. She watched him cross the drive towards the car. The sky was only just beginning to darken as the days were lengthening towards spring. He pointed the remote at the car; the locks flew up and the interior light went on. He paused before getting in and looked back to give a little wave. ‘Take care, love,’ he called. ‘See you tomorrow.’

‘Yes.’ She smiled and waved too.

She watched him climb into the car and the door close. The interior light faded and went out. The engine started and the tyres crunched over the gravel as the car slowly moved forward, round the curve of the carriage drive and towards her. As the car drew level her father ducked his head and peered through the side window to give another little wave. She waved back. He continued past and her gaze fell on the rear of the car as it slowly pulled away. Then in the half-light of dusk something strange happened which froze her to the spot. As she watched the receding car, the shadowy outline of a girl appeared in the rear window. The child turned to look at her and their eyes met. She was about twelve and her long fair hair was tied in a ponytail. Tears stained her cheeks and her face was creased in sorrow. Mandy knew instinctively the girl was frightened and needed help but she also knew there was nothing she could do to save her. She stared after the car with an overwhelming sense of despair as it continued down the drive, and away from her. The image of the girl faded and then vanished.

Eight

Mandy stayed where she was, staring at the now empty drive. The air was still and the door to the house stood open behind her. Her heart was racing and her mouth was dry. It must have been a trick of the eye, she said, trying to calm herself, an illusion in the twilight. Of course there wasn’t a girl in the back of your father’s car. Don’t be ridiculous. You’re worried about Grandpa, and tired – it was nothing more than your imagination.

So, as a child accepts its mother’s reassurance that there is nothing lurking under the bed while not wholly convinced, Mandy turned from the drive and went into the welcoming warmth and light of her aunt’s house.

‘How would you feel about staying up with me tonight?’ John asked as she entered the study. He was in one of the pair of leather armchairs with his laptop open on his knees; Gran was in her usual chair by the bed. ‘Evelyn could do with a night’s sleep,’ he added.

‘Yes,’ Mandy said, and sat in the chair next to Gran at the side of the bed.

‘Only if you want to,’ John said. ‘You don’t have to. There’s a bed ready upstairs otherwise.’

‘No, it’s fine, really,’ she reassured him, and looked at Grandpa. Now the medicine had taken effect and he was sleeping comfortably, she could enjoy her time with him; they all could. One of his hands jutted from beneath the bedclothes and Gran was stroking it tenderly. ‘Was your dad all right?’ she asked after a moment.

Mandy nodded. ‘He’s going to text when he gets home. Oh,’ she said, suddenly realizing, ‘I’ve forgotten to tell Adam where I am.’

‘Best phone him now,’ Gran smiled. She’d met Adam many times and liked him.

Mandy stood, retrieved her handbag from where she’d dumped it in the corner of the study and took out her mobile. There were five texts: two from Adam as well as a missed call from him. ‘I won’t be long,’ she said, and left the study.

Going a little way along the hall, she pressed Adam’s number and he answered immediately. ‘Are you OK, Mandy?’ he asked, concerned. ‘Wherever have you been?’

‘Sorry. I’ve had my phone on silent all day. I’m at my aunt’s in Cambridgeshire. Grandpa’s very ill.’ She then explained what had happened since her father had come to her flat early that morning. Adam sympathized; his pique of the night before had gone.

‘If there is anything I can do, promise me you’ll phone,’ he said kindly. ‘I know what you’re going through.’ His own grandfather had died the year before.

‘Thanks,’ she said, touched by his sensitivity and reminded of what she stood to lose. ‘And sorry again about last night.’

‘No problem. Take care.’

When they’d finished the call she texted him: Luv u, which she knew she needed to start showing more as well as saying.

Returning to the study, Mandy sat next to Gran and replied to the other texts, from friends. She sent the same message to all three: Stayin at my aunts. grandpa ill. will fone on return. Leaving her mobile on silent, she dropped it into her bag and took out her iPod. Gran was dozing now and John was still working on his laptop. She plugged in her earpieces and gazed at Grandpa. He was still relatively peaceful. Occasionally his arm jerked, or a muscle twitched in his face, giving the impression he was frowning, but there was no sign of the shocking pain that had engulfed him during the afternoon. Perhaps the nurse had changed the medication, or given him a stronger dose of morphine? She hoped so, for as her father had said no one should have to suffer in this day and age. Her iPod was playing a Michael Jackson ballad, ‘Will You Be There’, and in the now calm atmosphere of the study with Grandpa sleeping peacefully, there was something almost perfect, almost ethereal in the love she felt for him, and she was so very pleased she’d stayed to help.

At 8.15 p.m. Gran was still dozing when Evelyn poked her head round the study door. ‘Mandy, I usually make Gran an Ovaltine drink at this time, before I help her get ready for bed. Would you like an Ovaltine?’

‘No thanks. Is it all right if I make myself a tea later?’

‘Of course. I’ll show you where everything is in the kitchen, just as soon as I’ve seen to Gran.’

Evelyn left the study and as the door closed Gran opened her eyes. ‘She thinks Ovaltine helps me sleep at night,’ she whispered conspiratorially, ’but I haven’t noticed any difference.’

‘You’ll be better tonight, upstairs,’ John said from the end of the study. Gran started, having forgotten he was there.

‘It’s very kind of Evelyn, though,’ Gran added quickly, looking guilty. Mandy smiled.

Evelyn reappeared ten minutes later with the hot drink. Gran sat by the bed with the cup cradled in the palms of her hands and slowly sipped it. At nine o’clock Evelyn returned, took away the cup and saucer, and then reappeared almost immediately.

‘Bedtime now,’ Gran said stoically to Mandy. ‘It takes me a while to get ready and I need some help.’

Mandy stood aside as Evelyn helped Gran to her feet and on to the walking frame.

‘If only I had your youth,’ Gran said to Mandy. ‘Goodnight, love. See you in the morning. And thanks for staying.’

Mandy gave her a hug and kissed her cheek. ‘Night, Gran.’ She watched as Gran slowly crossed the study with Evelyn following, ready to assist if necessary.

John closed his laptop and set it on the coffee table. ‘I’ll give them a hand getting upstairs. Are you all right here alone, Mandy? I won’t be long.’

‘Yes, of course.’

The three of them left the study in a small slow procession as Mandy sat again by the bed and looked at Grandpa. On his back, with his jaw gaping in sleep, the only sound was that of his laboured breathing. Longevity didn’t really have much to recommend it, she thought, if it reduced you to this. Yet she had to admit that her grandparents had gained something special from growing old together; they had a lifetime of shared experiences and mutual support to look back on and draw strength from. Growing old with a loved one, Mandy thought, was far better than growing old alone – old age didn’t seem quite so threatening if you had someone to share it with.

Twenty minutes later John returned to the study and said Gran was in bed. ‘Evelyn’s in the kitchen, so if you’d like to go through she’ll show you where everything is now.’ He said it with a cocked eyebrow in a slightly disparaging tone as though he thought Evelyn was fussing unnecessarily, but should be indulged. It was a collusion Mandy had noticed him attempt with her before and, as before, she ignored it.

‘Thanks,’ she said lightly, and left the study.

The kitchen was huge, nearly as big as her entire bedsitting room, and was clearly brand new. ‘We’ve had it refurbished,’ Evelyn said proudly, standing in front of the disarming array of oak cupboards and granite work surfaces, which shone in the concealed lighting and seemed to go on for ever.

‘It’s lovely,’ Mandy said admiringly.

Evelyn smiled, pleased, and began opening and closing the cupboard doors, showing her where things were kept. ‘Tea, coffee, drinking chocolate and sugar, etc.,’ she said, ‘are here. Mugs, glasses, cups, here. The fridge and freezer are in here, and the dishwasher is here.’ Everything was behind an oak door – even the oven. ‘Help yourself to whatever you want,’ she said. ‘If you fancy a sandwich, the bread is here, or cake and biscuits here.’

‘Thank you,’ Mandy said again.

‘And upstairs,’ Evelyn continued, ‘I’ve sorted out some overnight things to see you through until your dad returns tomorrow with your own. I’ve put them in one of the guest rooms, which will be your room. If you come up now, I’ll show you, then I’ll go to bed. Are you sure you’re all right to stay up tonight?’

‘Positive. I don’t need much sleep.’

Evelyn smiled. ‘No, I didn’t at your age either.’ She led the way out of the kitchen up the stairs.

Mandy found she remembered going up the stairs from when she’d stayed as a child. It was a huge winding staircase with a small landing halfway up, and so unlike her staircase at her parents’. There was a window on the landing with a windowsill that had always contained a vase of fresh flowers. The vase was still there but without the flowers. Mandy remembered the polished brass handrail which she and Sarah had been told off for using as a slide. At the top of the stairs she followed Evelyn into a bedroom at the rear of the house, overlooking the gardens. Neatly folded on the bed was a set of towels, face flannel, soap, toothbrush, toothpaste, nightdress and two pairs of new pants.

‘Thank you very much,’ Mandy said, impressed that Evelyn had produced this at such short notice.

‘Thank you, for staying. It’s much appreciated. I’ll sleep better knowing John has your help. But for goodness’ sake wake me if I’m needed.’

‘I will,’ Mandy said, and then hesitated. She glanced around at the magnolia-emulsioned walls and flowered duvet. ‘Evelyn, is this the room I used to sleep in when I stayed as a child?’

Evelyn looked at her, clearly shocked. ‘No. You had the Pink Room, at the front of the house. Don’t you remember?’

‘No, not really.’

‘But, Mandy, you stayed with us regularly. How can you not remember? You were always here – weekends and school holidays. You and Sarah were inseparable between the ages of four and twelve. You’d turned thirteen the last time you came.’ She stopped as though suddenly realizing something and looked at her oddly.

Mandy gave a small shrug. ‘I know,’ she said carefully. ‘But my memory is very bitty. I have vague recollections of being in the house but no detail. I guess ten years is a long time.’

Evelyn held her gaze and Mandy could see that not only did her aunt not know what to say, but that she wasn’t sure whether to believe her.

‘I suppose it is,’ Evelyn conceded after a moment. ‘Anyway the guest bathroom is next door.’ With a brief air-kiss she said goodnight and quickly left.

Mandy crossed to the curtains and, parting them, looked out. This room was at the rear of the house; Evelyn had said the Pink Room was at the front. Although it was pitch dark outside she could see the upper terraces subtly lit by small round sunken lights. This view was unfamiliar whereas the view from the Pink Room would presumably be familiar from when she’d stayed as a child. The Pink Room, Evelyn had said, expecting her to remember it, and the name almost rang a bell. Almost. Somewhere in the crevices of her mind Mandy thought she had stayed in that room. Possibly. But at thirteen of course she should have remembered, and in detail. No wonder Evelyn had looked at her oddly. But apart from a vague feeling that she’d heard the name before, she could recall nothing else about it. And in the backwater of her mind an unsettling premonition told her it was better it stayed that way.

Nine

Mandy washed her face and brushed her teeth in the guest bathroom, and then went downstairs. Most of the main lights in the house were off now, and she guessed that while she’d been in the bathroom Evelyn or John had locked up for an early night. A single wall-light lit the landing at the top of the stairs, and a lamp on an onyx table lit the front hall. A light glowed in the porch and through the leaded light window of the front door Mandy could see the silhouette of a tree stirring eerily in the wind outside. Towards the back of the house, the rear hall was lit by a nightlight, and the doors to the morning room and dining room were closed. The kitchen door had been left open but the light was off, Mrs Saunders presumably having gone home. Mandy had never liked the dark, particularly in a strange house; as a child she’d imagined all sorts of ghoulies and ghosties lurking in the shadows. She’d slept with a lamp on in her room at university, and even for the first three months of living in her flat, despite the room never being dark because of the street lamp right outside her window.

The door to the study was closed. Giving a small knock, she turned the handle and gently eased open the door. Here, too, the main light was off, and she was surprised to find a red glow illuminating most of the room. It came from a lava lamp on a table in one corner. Mandy went in and silently closed the door behind her. Grandpa was asleep on his back, mouth open and breathing heavily. John was dozing in one of the armchairs. She quietly crossed the room, sat in the other armchair and looked across the room at the lamp. She hadn’t noticed the lava lamp during the day, presumably because it hadn’t been switched on. Its red glow now gave the room a strange, almost surreal hue. As she looked, a red bubble of oil in the lamp slowly elongated upwards and a smaller bubble appeared to the right. She was surprised her aunt and uncle had such a modern and popular (to the point of tacky) artefact amidst their antiques and hand-crafted reproduction furniture. It seemed incongruous.

Reaching down beside the chair into her bag, Mandy quietly slid out her mobile and checked for messages. There were three texts: one from a friend replying to her earlier text, one from her father staying he’d arrived home safely and would ‘c’ her tomorrow, and the third from Adam: ‘Luv n miss u 2. hugs n kisses. adam’. Mandy smiled to herself as she returned the phone to her bag. She’d been forgiven. Resting her head back she gazed at the lava lamp. The larger of the red bubbles of oil was still contorting upwards, becoming thinner and longer, while the smaller one was growing rounder and fatter. The trouble with lava lamps, she thought, was that your eyes were drawn to them, and you had to watch, whether you wanted to or not. Like a television left on with the sound off, it was difficult to look away or concentrate on anything else.

It was only 9.50 p.m. but with the early start and the emotional rollercoaster she’d been on all day it seemed much later and she felt pretty exhausted. Grandpa’s heavy and laboured breathing continued in the background; she saw his legs occasionally twitch beneath the sheets. She wondered if the medication was wearing off already. The nurse had come again at 8 p.m. and given him another injection, which also contained a sleeping draught and was supposed to see him through the night.

Tired, reasonably comfortable in the upholstered chair, and mesmerized by the swirling glow of the lamp and Grandpa’s almost hypnotic breathing, Mandy’s eyes slowly began to close. His breathing seemed louder now her eyes were shut, and with nothing else to concentrate on she found herself silently counting the seconds in the rhythm of his breathing. In – one, two, three, four, and then a pause of five seconds before he breathed out for three seconds. It was far, far slower than her own breathing – she’d taken nearly three breaths to his one. She assumed it was his medication slowing his body rhythm at the same time as it suppressed the pain. Counting the seconds of his breathing was as soporific as counting sheep and, combined with the warmth of the room, soon made her doze.

She was a child again, in this house, and looking out of a window at the front, looking down on the driveway below. She was in the Pink Room, so named because it was decorated pink. Mandy could see herself standing at the window and looking down on to the drive. It was late at night and very dark outside. A car was pulling away, leaving the house, its headlights illuminating the gravel ahead. It was her father’s car and there was someone in the back. As she watched, the girl with the ponytail turned to look at her, just as she had earlier that evening when she’d waved goodbye to her father. Tears streamed down the girl’s cheeks and Mandy could feel her terror and distress. ‘Help! Someone help me. Daddy, no!’

‘Help, Mandy, quick.’ Mandy’s eyes shot open. ‘Wake up. I need your help!’ John’s voice.

The dark of the night outside had gone, and so too had the red glow of the lamp, replaced by the main light of the study. Mandy was immediately on her feet, going to the bed; her heart raced from the shock of suddenly waking. ‘He needs the toilet,’ John said, struggling to get Grandpa out of bed and over to the commode. Grandpa groaned but his eyes stayed closed; he was a dead weight and powerless to help.

Mandy pulled the commode to the bed and then yanked off the lid, but it was too late. As John lifted Grandpa on to the commode, he groaned again, and they heard the rush of water as a wet patch appeared on his pyjama bottoms. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled in a small voice, and Mandy could have wept.

‘It’s not your fault, Dad,’ John reassured him. ‘I should have woken sooner.’

So should I, Mandy thought, if I’m going to be of any help.

Grandpa’s eyes stayed closed as John steadied him, a hand on each shoulder. Mandy knelt at his feet and carefully slid off the wet pyjama trousers, one leg at a time. ‘Thanks, love,’ he said, his eyes still closed.

‘I’ll get you clean ones,’ she said quietly, humbled by his humility.

He gave a little groan of acknowledgement but didn’t open his eyes.

‘You’ll find the clean stuff either in the dryer or the airing cupboard – in the laundry room, behind the kitchen,’ John said.

Mandy rolled up the wet pyjamas and left the study. She knew she’d let Grandpa down by not hearing his calls for help. The rear hall was lit only by the nightlight and now seemed even darker after the main light of the study. She passed the kitchen, which was still in darkness, and then stopped outside the next door which John had said would be the laundry room. Turning the knob, she felt inside for the light switch and clicked it on before entering. The room was bare and cold compared to the rest of the house, and smelt of pine disinfectant.

She saw the washing machine straight in front of her and next to that the dryer. Crossing the red slate-tiled floor, Mandy pushed the wet pyjama trousers into the washing machine ready for the next wash the following day, then opened the dryer door. There was a single sheet from Grandpa’s bed and two pairs of his pyjama bottoms, still warm from drying – Evelyn must have put them in before going to bed. She gave them a shake and loosely folded them over her arm. She guessed this room was mainly the domain of the housekeeper, Mrs Saunders; her apron hung on the back of the door and the shoes she wore in the house were paired just inside the door. Switching off the light, Mandy came out and returned to the study. If she’d ever been in the laundry room as a child she certainly didn’t remember it.

Grandpa was as she’d left him: on the commode, eyes closed, with John standing behind, holding him. ‘Well done, you found them,’ John said, glancing at the clean laundry draped over her arm. Grandpa didn’t stir and could have been asleep.

Leaving the sheet and spare pair of pyjama trousers on the foot of the bed in case they were needed later, Mandy knelt and concentrated on easing Grandpa’s red and swollen feet into the pyjamas, first one leg then the other. His legs were like dead weights, and there were notches of blue veins clustered on both ankles where the blood had flowed down from sitting. She drew the trousers up to his knees; his pyjama jacket hung over his lap.

‘Ready,’ she said to John, and straightened.

‘On the count of three, Dad,’ John said. ‘One. Two. Three.’ As John lifted, Mandy quickly pulled up the pyjama trousers as she’d seen John previously do, which gave Grandpa as much privacy as possible. ‘Now into bed,’ John said.

Taking most of the weight, John swung Grandpa towards the bed and Mandy guided in his legs. Grandpa moaned but his eyes stayed closed. She pulled up the sheet and tucked it around his neck, as John straightened the pillows. The commode was empty and Mandy moved it to one side, but left the lid off ready for next time. They waited by the bed for Grandpa’s breathing to slowly regulate, signalling he was asleep.

‘Shall I make us a cup of tea?’ Mandy asked, now wide awake.

‘Please. Mine’s skimmed milk with no sugar. And thanks for your help, Mandy. It’s so much easier with two. We make a good team – you and me.’ His gaze lingered appreciatively.

Mandy looked away. A good team. She would have given her right arm to have heard him say that when she’d had her schoolgirl crush. Perhaps it was the embarrassing reminder of that time, or the intimacy of the sick room, but she suddenly felt uncomfortable. ‘I’ll make that tea then,’ she said with a small nod, and left the study.

As she moved around the unfamiliar kitchen, trying to remember where Evelyn had said things were, her thoughts went to her parents. She was pleased her father hadn’t stayed; he would never have coped with seeing Grandpa so vulnerable and compromised, not even able to make it to the commode without wetting himself. Now she was worried her mother wouldn’t be able to cope either when she visited tomorrow. For although her parents hadn’t spoken to John and Evelyn in ten years, they’d always been in close contact with Gran and Grandpa. Indeed her mother saw more of her in-laws than she did her own parents, who lived a long way away. Her mother would be devastated when she saw how ill Grandpa really was and Mandy hoped her father would warn her, although in truth, she thought, nothing could prepare you for the reality of his decline.

She made tea and placed the two mugs on a tray, together with a plate of digestive biscuits, and returned to the study. Grandpa was asleep and John was in his usual armchair with his laptop open before him. He had switched off the main light and the red glow of the lava lamp once more fell across the room, supplemented by the brightness coming from the computer screen. Mandy placed the tray on the coffee table between them, closed the study door and sat in the other armchair, next to John.

‘Thanks, Mandy,’ he said without looking up. ‘You don’t mind if I catch up on a few things?’

‘No, of course not.’

Taking one of the mugs and a couple of biscuits, she sipped the tea and dunked the biscuits as John tapped on the keypad, occasionally extending his arm to reach for his mug. She resisted the temptation to look at the screen, although her eyes were drawn to it. The lava lamp didn’t give off enough light to read a book by and she wanted to stay awake to help if Grandpa woke. Finishing her tea, she checked her phone again. The time showed 11.43. There were no new messages; most of her friends and certainly her father would be in bed now. Returning the mobile to her bag she took out her iPod. Suddenly Grandpa’s legs jerked and he cried out in pain. It was a cry like no other and seemed to rip straight from his body into hers. She was immediately on her feet; so too was John.

‘It’s all right.’ With a hand on each shoulder he began gently massaging, trying to ease away the pain.

Grandpa’s eyes were screwed tightly shut and, despite John’s comforting hands, his face contorted in pain. Then his clenched fists began pummelling the bed either side of him and his legs drummed beneath the sheet. ‘Make it stop. I’m begging you. Please, John!’ he pleaded. ‘I can’t take any more.’

His agony was even worse than it had been that afternoon. Tears sprang to Mandy’s eyes. She felt utterly helpless in the face of his pain. She saw the anguish in John’s face too as he continued rubbing Grandpa’s shoulders, trying to give some relief.

‘Is there nothing we can do?’ she asked in desperation.

‘If it doesn’t pass soon I’ll call the nurse to give him another shot.’

‘Shouldn’t we call him now?’

‘If he gives him a shot now he’ll have to delay the next one. It’s morphine. Too much could kill him.’

Mandy stared in horror as Grandpa’s body arched in pain and John tried impotently to soothe him. It seemed there was nothing they could do to help him and it made her afraid. Guiltily, she thought an overdose of morphine was preferable to this suffering; she would have given it to him herself if it had been possible. Grandpa cried out again. John continued massaging and talking to him in a low, reassuring voice: ‘The pain will pass, Dad. I promise. It will go just as it did last night. Mandy is here with you. Ray has been, and Jean will come tomorrow. We all love you, Dad.’

Tears stung her eyes. Clearly a deep bond had developed between the two men in their nights together, when John had had to deal with Grandpa’s suffering alone and as best he could. Putting aside her own fear she moved closer and, taking one of Grandpa’s hands between hers, began rubbing it. Suddenly his back arched again and, just as Mandy was sure he couldn’t take any more, the pain seemed to peak and subside. His body went limp, collapsing flat on the bed. He was so still and quiet that for a moment she thought he was dead.

‘Thank God,’ John said quietly, taking his hands from Grandpa’s shoulders. ‘He should sleep now.’ Only then did she hear Grandpa take one long deep breath and saw his chest rise and fall.

Mandy remained where she was at the side of the bed, frozen in the horror of what she’d seen. Her heart raced and she felt icy cold. Never before had she witnessed someone in such torment. Grandpa shouldn’t have to suffer; he was a good, kind man, proud and caring, who’d always done the best for his family. He shouldn’t have to end his life begging for release; he should leave it as he lived it – with dignity and self-respect.

She felt the tears escape and run down her cheeks. She turned away from the bed so John couldn’t see. Her gaze fell on the lamp as a red bubble of oil stretched to its limit and the top broke away. She heard John’s voice behind her, tender and close. ‘Are you all right, Mandy?’

Then she felt his hands lightly on her shoulders. Then he was turning her around to face him. Without meeting his eyes and grateful for his support she rested her head against his chest and cried openly. His arms closed around her, safe and secure; he held her tight and comforted her just as he had when she’d been a child.

Ten

It was as though John had to reaffirm his loyalty to Evelyn, Mandy thought later, when he told her yet again how very supportive Evelyn had been. Supportive when the recession had bitten and his business had suffered, and when he’d made an error of judgement in his private life some years before – although exactly what he didn’t state. Evelyn had always been there for him, John said, his rock, and now he was pleased to have the chance to help her by shouldering some of the responsibility for looking after Grandpa.

It was just before dawn. Through the parting in the curtains of the study Mandy could see the distant edge of skyline beginning to lighten. John and she had been talking and dozing intermittently all night in the peculiar intimacy of the sick room with its red bubbles of moving light. Grandpa had woken every couple of hours in discomfort and in need of reassurance, but the pain hadn’t been as bad as that first time, when Mandy had cried and John had comforted her. When she’d stopped crying and had thanked John, he’d seemed embarrassed and had apologized. Since then he’d been extolling Evelyn’s virtues at every opportunity as though he felt guilty. Why he should feel guilty for comforting her, Mandy didn’t know.

At 6.30 a.m. she thought she’d take a shower while all was quiet. John was again dozing in the chair and Grandpa, more peaceful than he’d been all night, seemed in a deep sleep. Mandy stole quietly from the study and upstairs to the bedroom Evelyn had previously shown her. Taking the fresh underwear her aunt had placed on the bed, she went into the guest bathroom and locked the door. Selecting body-wash and shampoo from the array of small bottles on the glass shelf, she showered and washed her hair. Half an hour later, dressed and feeling more refreshed, she returned to the study. As she entered she was surprised to see Evelyn sitting where John had been, also dressed, lipstick on and apparently ready to face the new day.

‘Morning.’ Evelyn smiled brightly.

‘Morning,’ Mandy said, going over and kissing her aunt’s cheek.

The curtains were now fully open and the early-morning sun filtered through the lattice window of the study. The room seemed more optimistic now the natural light had replaced the red glow of the lamp.

‘Shall I fetch you a hairdryer?’ Evelyn asked.

‘No, thanks. I let it dry naturally. Where’s John?’

‘Taking a nap upstairs. He might have to go to the office later. I understand you had a pretty rough night.’

Mandy nodded. ‘But John is so good with Grandpa.’

‘Yes, I don’t know what I’d do without him.’ Evelyn stood up. ‘I usually make coffee now, before Mrs Saunders arrives at eight to make breakfast. Would you like one?’

‘Love one. Thanks.’

A routine then fell into place which Mandy guessed had developed during the past week since Grandpa had come to stay, and would probably continue for as long as it was needed. Evelyn returned to the study a quarter of an hour later with Mandy’s coffee but didn’t stay. ‘I drink mine on the hoof,’ she said, ’while I see to a few things in the kitchen.’ At just gone 8 a.m. Mrs Saunders knocked on the door and came in carrying a fresh jug of water. She said good morning, swapped the fresh jug of water for the one on the tray and, collecting Mandy’s empty coffee cup, asked if she needed anything, which she didn’t. At 8.45 Gran came slowly into the study on her walking frame, having being helped downstairs by Evelyn, who then disappeared. Mandy kissed Gran good morning and they sat by the bed until 9 a.m. when Mrs Saunders reappeared and announced that breakfast was ready.

‘We have breakfast in the morning room while Evelyn sits with Will,’ Gran explained to Mandy. On cue Evelyn came in and said she would sit with Grandpa while they ate breakfast. Gran flashed Mandy a knowing smile.

Mandy helped Gran to her feet and walked by her side along the rear hall to the morning room. As she entered the room she felt she was on a film set for Brideshead Revisited or a similar period piece. Mrs Saunders was standing by the oak sideboard where five silver tureens had been arranged with matching silver serving spoons. The circular oak table was now formally laid for two, with silver cutlery, Aynsley rose-patterned china cups and saucers, and a ringed linen napkin beside each place setting. ‘If you’d like to help yourself…’ Mrs Saunders said to Mandy, removing the lids from the tureens. ‘There’s scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, mushrooms, grilled tomatoes, and toast in the rack.’

Mandy wondered if they always breakfasted like this, and what Grandpa, with his simple tastes and dislike of pretension, would have made of it. Not a lot, she thought. But she was hungry.

‘Thank you,’ she said, accepting the breakfast plate Mrs Saunders handed to her. She then went along the sideboard and took a spoonful from each of the tureens while the housekeeper served Gran. Coming to the end she took a glass of orange juice from the tray and then sat at the table opposite Gran. But unlike the day before, when she’d found the formal meals served in the dining room quite bizarre and somewhat distasteful given what was happening to Grandpa, she now found the ritual almost reassuring. Despite the turmoil and anxiety of the family crisis, here was something that could be relied upon: dependable, consistent, and a complete distraction. It was presumably why Evelyn continued with the routine of formal meals.

Shortly before 9.30 the doorbell rang. ‘That’ll be the nurse,’ Gran said. ‘Evelyn or John will see to him.’

‘I think John’s asleep,’ Mandy said.

‘Then Evelyn will see to him. Evelyn likes me to stay here until the nurse has finished. I usually do as I’m told.’

Mandy returned Gran’s smile and they continued eating. They heard Mrs Saunders answer the front door and then Evelyn’s voice greet the nurse in the hall. When they’d finished eating Mrs Saunders cleared away the plates and they remained at the table until Evelyn had seen the nurse out and came into the morning room and said Grandpa had had his wash and injection.

Evelyn helped Gran onto her walking frame and Mandy followed them to the study. As she entered she saw the commode had gone and a capped polythene bottle was now beside the bed. Gran noticed it too.

‘He won’t use that,’ Gran said indignantly.

‘We’ll give it a try, Mum. It should stop the accidents and make it easier for Dad.’

‘And his pain relief?’ Gran asked. ‘You were going to see if it could be increased.’

‘It’s all taken care of. Don’t you worry, Mum.’ Mandy thought Evelyn sounded patronizing but Gran either didn’t hear it or chose to ignore it. She nodded and returned to her chair by the bed.

‘Why don’t you have a lie-down?’ Evelyn suggested to Mandy. ‘Grandpa should sleep for most of the morning now, and I’ll be popping in and out.’

‘If I’m not needed I might go for a short walk,’ Mandy said. ‘Get a breath of fresh air.’

‘Of course, love. Do whatever you please.’ Evelyn smiled. ‘We’re all very grateful you stayed.’

‘I’m pleased I stayed, really I am,’ Mandy said. ‘I think I might walk into the village. Do you want anything from the shop if I get that far?’

Mandy saw the smile on Evelyn’s face vanish. There was a short pause before she replied, tightly: ‘No, no thank you. I don’t use that store any more.’ Throwing Gran a pointed glance she said something about having to see Mrs Saunders and left the room.

Mandy looked at Gran for explanation but Gran had returned her attention to Grandpa. ‘See you later then,’ Mandy said. ‘Do you want anything from the store?’

‘No thanks, love, but you can give my regards to Mrs Pryce. She works there.’

‘Will do.’ Picking up her bag from beside the chair Mandy threw it over her shoulder and, kissing Gran and Grandpa goodbye, left the study.

Pryce? Mrs Pryce? The name sounded familiar, Mandy thought as she went to the cloakroom before setting off. Why it should sound familiar she didn’t know, nor why Evelyn had behaved oddly when she’d mentioned the village store. But one thing she did know was that there were no toilets on the walk into the village, and if you got caught short you had to go behind a hedge. She remembered that Sarah and she had had to take turns to squat out of sight of the road, while the other looked out for passing cars or, worse, someone walking their dog along the path.

Tucking her mobile into her jacket pocket – Adam had texted earlier saying he would phone mid-morning – and with her bag slung over her shoulder, Mandy let herself out of the front door. It was a lovely fresh spring morning, like yesterday – which had been Tuesday, she had to remind herself. Too much food, too little sleep and being closeted in the hot study were making her brain sluggish, but her body restless. A brisk walk was exactly what she needed, she thought, to ‘blow away the cobwebs’ as Gran would say.

Mandy followed the path around the edge of the drive and turned right on to the narrow tarmac footpath which ran beside the single-track lane. It was the road her father had driven along yesterday, the only road leading to and from the house and which led to the main road and then into the village. Mandy walked quickly, invigorated from being outside in the fresh air, and also from the luxury of being alone. She wasn’t used to having company and making conversation for large parts of the day. Since she’d given up work she’d had solitude each day during the working week to concentrate on her painting. She’d only seen Adam in the evenings. In this at least I’ve been disciplined, she thought cynically, although she had to admit her time alone had produced very little: a few half-baked ideas, the odd sketch, but no painting. If I could just finish one painting, she thought, I’m sure it would restore my confidence and make a difference – to everything.

She passed the driveway which led to her aunt’s closest neighbour, although the bungalow, standing in its own substantial grounds, was so far away from Evelyn’s house it hardly constituted a ‘neighbour’. Indeed, all the properties she passed had their own land and were very secluded; ‘exclusive’ was the word an estate agent would have used, she thought. And although the houses were slightly familiar from when she’d passed them in the car the day before, she had no other memory of the road despite Sarah and her often walking into the village.

Mandy felt her phone vibrate in her pocket and quickly took it out.

‘Miss you,’ Adam said, as soon as she answered. ‘When are you coming home?’

‘Miss you too,’ she said, appreciating the sound of his voice. ‘Adam, I’ve said I’d stay and help. My aunt and uncle are exhausted.’ And grateful for the chance to off-load she told him of the dreadful pain Grandpa had been in between the shots of morphine, and the night she’d spent in the study-cum-sick room. She felt herself choking up as she described how John and she had tried to soothe away the pain. ‘He’s very poorly,’ she finished, not wanting to cry on the phone. She was about to tell him of the strange thoughts and flashbacks she’d been having since arriving at her aunt’s, but she realized how ridiculous it would sound and instead told him of the breakfast laid on the sideboard in silver tureens. Her phone began to bleep, signalling the battery was about to run out. ‘Sod it!’ she said, annoyed. ’I’ll have to phone you back later from the house.’ Quickly winding up and swapping ‘Miss you’s, she said goodbye. Before the battery went completely she texted her father, asking him to bring her phone charger, which she’d left plugged in beside her bed. Unaware she wouldn’t be returning home that evening, she hadn’t brought it with her. She now wondered how many other things she’d forgotten to ask her father to collect from her bedsit and which she would find she needed. Epilator, she thought. Never mind, I’ll buy a razor from the village shop.

The narrow tarmac path Mandy now trod looked like many other country paths and was no more familiar. But the brilliant green of the early spring shoots, the brown earth, blue sky and picture-postcard rural tranquillity suddenly caught her artistic eye. She knew she should try and remember it, as she used to, to paint later. Whenever she’d been out, if she came across a scene that appealed she used to be able to capture it in her mind’s eye – freeze-frame it – and then transfer it to canvas when she got home. But in the last seven months, since she’d been unable to paint, the magic of the scene always faded and lost its intensity, so that all she managed were some drawings in her sketch pad. Perhaps this will be different, she thought. Try to be positive. She looked around at the beauty of the countryside and willed herself to remember what she saw.

A house appeared through the trees to her left and then the path broke for a concealed and overgrown driveway. Mandy was about to cross the drive and then jumped back as a car suddenly appeared. As it drew level the driver nodded and she felt a sudden surge of familiarity. Hadn’t a car pulled out of one of these driveways when Sarah and she had been about to cross on one of their walks into the village? She thought it had. A Land-Rover with two large cream dogs in the back? She was sure now, for she remembered they’d been so busy chatting they hadn’t seen the Land-Rover until the last second, and had had to jump back on to the path to avoid being knocked down. Perhaps it was the shock of it nearly happening again that had triggered this memory, like the shock of suddenly bumping into John when she’d first arrived had reminded her of her schoolgirl crush. She wondered if the man in the muddy Land-Rover who’d told them off for not looking where they were going still lived in the house along here. But which one? She had no idea. She also wondered why her recollections were so piecemeal and random, and why she had no control over them. It was not only strange but disturbing. Better not to dwell on it. She concentrated on the path ahead and checked the driveways for cars.

Coming to a halt at the end of the lane Mandy waited to cross the road. Whereas she’d only seen a couple of cars on the lane, now the cars sped by at regular intervals in intermittent rushes of air that fanned her face and blew back her hair. She spotted a gap in the traffic and crossed the road, then began towards the village. She passed a speed camera box and further up a banner announcing ‘Bypass Now’. To her right stood the early-nineteenth-century stone church with half a dozen headstones in a small, neatly tended graveyard at the front. A massive oak tree rose on the other side of the church, its branches overhanging the pavement. Beside the church was a duck pond and next to that the village pub with its original signboard of a painting of a red lion suspended from the post outside. The road gently curved away and then rose up and out of the village, finally meeting the blue horizon in the distance. Mandy focused on the village scene ahead, so unlike London, but which did seem vaguely familiar. She made her way along the narrow pavement, keeping close to the cottage walls and well away from the traffic that flashed by.

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