THE WOMAN WHO KEPT EVERYTHING
JANE GILLEY

Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2018

Copyright © Jane Gilley 2018

Cover design © Becky Glibbery 2018

Cover illustrations © Shutterstock

Jane Gilley asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © December 2018; ISBN: 9780008308629

Version: 2019-12-04

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Acknowledgments

Keep Reading...

About the Author

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

The boiling hot water splashed over Gloria’s fingers. ‘Waargh!’

She did a little agony dance whilst she waited for the pain to ease, blowing on her fingers. Damn. She’d need to get outside to dunk her hand in the cold water barrel.

Her oldest friend, Tilsbury, was always harping on about that darned pan; said that using it, without a lid, instead of a kettle, might prove disastrous one day. Gloria wouldn’t buy a kettle, though. Said she didn’t have the money for expensive items like that. Well, her son, Clegg, had given her a credit card for ‘essential items’ but she never went anywhere to use it. In fact, she rarely went out at all. She didn’t really need to.

Today she’d knocked the pan by accident, reaching over to check the potato soup she was cooking for their lunch. These days she was always eating potato soup, on account that she had a large sack of them, out back, that Tilsbury had got from someone in the know. She liked that it could be a cheap nourishing meal when she had onions, carrots and a good stock in it.

But, today, she only had potatoes. Add a bit of salt and it would have to do, she’d thought. Anyway, the hot water for their tea, boiling away in the pan next to the soup, had sploshed onto her left hand as she’d leaned over the grimy stove to stir their meal.

Gloria grunted as she hitched up her Crimplene dress and clambered over the piles of squashed cardboard boxes and magazines, nearly slipping on mouldy teabags, decomposing potato skins, marmalade-smeared crusts and other detritus around the kitchen sink unit. She no longer noticed the stink like rotting cabbage. Empty, dripping or congealed milk cartons, plastic bags and other household rubbish also littered the floor – more obstacles to tackle – in order to get to that cold water barrel, outside by the back door. The original Georgian taps in her kitchen sink had long since seized up. So the only water she could use was in that rainwater barrel, outdoors: for cooking, for occasional washing, for everything really.

But, at seventy-nine, she knew she was getting too old for all this.

Her fingers were blistered from similar events. A kettle would make things easier, of course. But it wasn’t just the money. She felt pretty much housebound now, more from lack of motivation and despondency than anything else. There wasn’t anything physically preventing her from doing things. She occasionally forgot things but she wasn’t an invalid and she didn’t need to use a walking stick yet, even though she was a bit wobbly on her feet sometimes. So she could go down to the shops if she wanted. She just didn’t want to, any more. Anyway, Tilsbury would pop by and get her the things she really needed, when she needed anything.

‘Go fetch us a tub of marge,’ she’d say to Tilsbury, when he came round to see what else she needed before he went to fetch her pension for her. ‘Bit of honey wouldn’t go amiss, either. And get me a bar of that Imperial Leather soap. I likes that, for a treat, I do.’

So Tilsbury, duly, got all the bits she needed from the corner shop and collected her pension as well. And her son, Clegg, got her teabags, carrots, eggs and bread, when he remembered to come see her. He hadn’t been to see her in a while, though. Three weeks four days, to be precise, Gloria noted, missing him. She crossed the white squares off on the calendar board attached to the back of the door – the calendar board Tilsbury had made and put up for her – in between her son’s sporadic visits. She counted the days until he reappeared at her door, hopefully with another bag of groceries or provisions in hand.

When her husband, Arthur, was alive it hadn’t been a problem. Clegg had even brought the rest of the family around to visit as well. Oh, it’d been lovely seeing little Jessie and Adam, her only grandchildren. But since Clegg had told her he’d got busier and busier at work he’d been coming to see her less and less. And she hadn’t seen the children or his wife, Val, in – what? Crikey, yes, at least ten years or more. Such a shame, such a real shame, Gloria thought sadly.

Once, though, Tilsbury had tried to cuff Clegg, after listening to Gloria moan for years about the way her son treated her. Tilsbury told Clegg he was a useless bastard for the way he allowed his mother to live in this dump of a place, rarely visiting. But Clegg was a bulky gruff of a man and had thumped Tilsbury instead. ‘Phaww. That stung a bit, it did, my love,’ he’d whimpered to Gloria, who’d merely shaken her head. So Tilsbury kept out of the way when Clegg visited now.

Gloria and Tilsbury went way back. From school, initially.

Oh, those were the days, Gloria often thought, even though there was such a lot of clearing up and rebuilding being done after the Second World War. But she remembered being quite shy as a youngster, probably because she was an only child and adopted. Her adoptive mum, Alice, was a kind but childless woman who made sure Gloria was loved and she doted on her as though she was her own blood. At primary school she’d only had two friends: Jocelyn and Mabel. And her favourite thing, she remembered, was playing in the school sandpit with them or seeing who could do the best handstand. They’d also gone to secondary school together and it was there they met Tilsbury, and his friends – a group of boys who were a year older than them.

Gloria clicked with him immediately because of his ease around girls and they started seeing each other. He’d walk her home from school or she’d drag Jocelyn along to watch him play footie at weekends. At one point, though, she nearly fell out with Jocelyn who also said she fancied him.

However, Tilsbury then went to India with his family for a good few years because his father was a rail track engineer. When they all came back he took up with Gloria again but couldn’t settle and didn’t seem to know what he wanted out of life. He decided to leave Norwich in his late teens to ‘find out what I want to do’, he said.

So Gloria had decided to forget about him and move on with her life. Mabel got married and had children, early on, to Gerard – a boy-next-door type – and Jocelyn and Gloria got jobs as secretaries and enjoyed themselves as single young women. Eventually Gloria got together with Arthur, a reliable and honourable young man who worked for a manufacturing company and was liked by everyone. She met him at a barn dance.

When Tilsbury returned to the area after his travels around the country he married Jocelyn, much to Gloria’s surprise. In those early days it did cause a bit of a rift between them all. Jocelyn hadn’t dared tell Gloria who she was going out with at first. ‘Well, you were with Arthur. And it just ’appened!’ she ruefully admitted to Gloria, later. But they’d been good friends and the rift healed, eventually, and they resumed a friendship of sorts. Besides Gloria had her life with Arthur and they had their young son, Clegg, and they were very happy.

And then many years later, Tilsbury started dropping by every few weeks, helping Gloria out with errands or a bit of DIY, when her husband Arthur died, in the Nineties. But it tickled Gloria to think that Tilsbury had always been sweet on her.

‘Just keeping an eye out for you, old girl,’ he’d say.

‘I’m middle-aged, you oaf, not ancient yet! Besides I don’t need you always fussing round me,’ she’d told him, huffily. ‘Go fuss round your own family.’

What family?

His estranged wife Jocelyn had shooed him out of their cramped council house, years earlier, after he’d tripped over another one of her flippin’ rescue cats. She swore he’d kicked it. He hadn’t! He’d said the house felt overcrowded – not because they’d ever had kids but because there’d been a constant flow of ruddy cats in the place, nineteen at last count. Some had bits missing from their ears; one had no ears. Some were flea-ridden; some pregnant or scrawny. And there was fur and faeces trays everywhere. Meow, meow, meow, all day long, and then howling at night. It annoyed the neighbours; it drove him crazy. It was a bloody madhouse. Anyway, Jocelyn – in no uncertain terms – told him to leave but he knew he was best off out of it.

‘I’m gone,’ were his last words as he left without a final nod to his wife.

So Tilsbury dossed in the park when it was warm enough and bagged a bed wherever he could the rest of the time – mainly at the shelter, occasionally at his sister’s or with friends. His life remained like that for quite a while. No responsibility for anyone or anything was how he decided he liked it best.

However, Tilsbury was thoroughly annoyed when Jocelyn moved on – and with his brother, Marvin, to boot! Previously they’d all been good friends, in the same clique. Miffed, Tilsbury had, on occasion, slipped into their house, when he knew they were safely down the dogs and nicked a bit of their rent money or topped up his hip flask with their vodka. He justified it by thinking it was the very least they could do after the way they’d treated him. And it kept him going each month when funds and sympathy were tight.

Besides, he reasoned, why would they always leave their spare key in the same place? It was his old hiding spot and they knew he was still around.

And – oh, yes – they’d always gotten mad with him, if they caught him when they got back, especially if he was making a sandwich or having a cup of tea. But a ‘Piss off, bruv’ from Marvin usually sent him scampering.

But finally, after years of Tilsbury’s periodic comings and goings and helping her out at her own house, Gloria felt sorry for him and said he could stay at hers, on those occasions when he didn’t otherwise have anywhere else to go.

‘Right now, my dear. If you wants to kip here for the night, whenever you needs to, you can. But it won’t be first class at the Hilton, you understand, because you might just notice I’m not too fussy about me housekeepin’. Ha, ha. Now the downside is that the only bit of room I’ve got free is right here in the hall. If we shift these boxes a bit more towards the kitchen, you can squeeze in down there.’

So Tilsbury had rooted around upstairs and found a couple of blankets and plonked them on the floor over a wodge of newspapers. Reckoned it kept him warm enough, the nights he stayed – even in the winter – and so they got on like that.

Gloria often told Tilsbury she wished she’d got a house with ‘all mod cons’ like she’d seen on the telly – when she’d had a telly. Well, she still had a telly but she wasn’t quite sure where it was now. Least there wasn’t the darned licence to pay for any more.

Anyway, she knew her television was somewhere in the room that used to be a lounge. And it probably still was a lounge under all the masses of stuff in there. But there were masses of stuff everywhere, now. It rose up around her like huge towers, locking her in. It made her feel safe. But Gloria certainly knew – oh, she could see – that her house was a humongous mess. But she had neither the strength nor resolve to even begin the colossal task of sorting it all out now.

‘Too late for all that, dearie,’ she’d say when someone made a derogatory comment. ‘It has to stay in here, ducks! Where else can it all go?’

Chapter 2

Even though Gloria realised what a state her house was in, she’d felt very blessed and privileged that her real family had left her this house. What a bonus! Number 75 Briar Way handed to her on a plate, it was. And no siblings to share it with either; just Arthur, when he was alive. It had been fantastic being able to escape the constant struggle to find money, each month, for their council tenancy. Getting their own real, proper house was like a dream come true for them.

‘And one less chuffin’ worry,’ Arthur used to say.

She recalled how her real ma and pa had left her the house. Well, actually, her grandmother had left it to her. She’d gotten a letter from her grandmother’s solicitor, years ago, along with the deeds to her house. She and Arthur were living in a scantily furnished council house, with their young son, whilst they tried to save up for better things. The letter also explained why she’d been given up for adoption.

Hello my darling Gloria,

Let me introduce myself. I am your grandmother, Barbara, and the purpose of my letter today is to explain some things for you.

I’m leaving my house to you in my Will on my death. As well as my house – which would have fallen to your parents on my death, and then to yourself, anyway – I wish to explain why you were not brought up by myself, following the untimely deaths of your beloved parents. I have also enclosed a couple of photographs: one of myself at a party and one of your parents’ wedding, outside the church. That’s me to the right of your mother.

Anyway, when you were a baby, the bombs started dropping on Britain at the outbreak of World War II. Your father, Walter, was working in the mustard factory and your mother – my only daughter, Emily – was a domestic cleaner. They were living with me in my house, whilst they saved up for their own family home. But en route to a rare evening out with friends, they both died tragically, in a bombing raid in Norwich, in July of 1940.

A couple of earlier bombing sessions had struck buildings and there’d been no fatalities. But on that particular night there’d been no air raid warning, either, as there sometimes wasn’t, and a lot of other mustard factory workers lost their lives that night too.

However, it was very fortunate your mother and father had chosen to leave you at home with me, that evening. I managed the daily procedures quite well at first, despite the problems that regular bombing raids brought, as well as food shortages. I even managed to find you a wet nurse. But, unfortunately, I couldn’t cope with a tiny baby by myself on account of my arthritis, which has always been a problem for me. I also didn’t want to be evacuated, so I had to make the difficult decision to have you adopted by a sweet woman I knew, Alice McKensie, who lived outside the city. (As my arthritis has recently got much worse, this letter is being transcribed by someone else.)

However, I kept in touch with Alice, your adoptive mother, and told her you’d inherit my house, on my death, when you were ready to take possession of it and as long as it wasn’t bombed during the war. She often let me know how you were doing and sent me photos.

So I truly hope you can forgive my giving you up and I hope that my gift of the house will help ease any financial burdens you might possibly have in the future. I sincerely hope you live a long and very happy existence, my darling.

Your ever-loving grandmother

Barbara xxxxx

‘Of course, I forgive you, dear grandmother,’ Gloria had whispered to the letter, as tears had flowed, unheeded, down her face. ‘It was war. It wasn’t ordinary circumstances. And at least I know my family history now.’

Her adopted mum, Alice, had always been a loving, encouraging person, so Gloria knew she hadn’t missed out by not having the chance to be brought up by her own parents. And she’d been thrilled with the life-changing gift of a house, which’d come at a time when Arthur had lost his job through a back injury and they had been struggling with their finances.

* * *

Gloria couldn’t actually remember when she’d started collecting things.

She’d always loved going to car boots for bargains. But after her beloved adopted mum died, Arthur had cleared out her council house – putting most of Alice’s things in their large shed out back. Gloria hadn’t wanted to get rid of Alice’s stuff. It made her feel like she still had her mother with her but it seemed to kick-start her collecting with a vengeance and she’d started bringing more and more stuff back from everywhere. Mainly from car boot sales but sometimes she found paraphernalia on roads outside people’s houses. They were a scruffy lot, she said, leaving three-legged chairs, old duvets or broken toys and other stuff just lying around, littering the streets.

But Arthur had gone wild about it.

‘Here, Glor, what’re you doing with all that stuff and all them house magazines? You don’t even like Changing Rooms.’

When Gloria had ignored his questioning, he’d tried a more gentle approach.

‘Yes but how much of this stuff do you really need and what do you need it for, my love?’

And when that hadn’t worked, he’d found himself close to tipping point.

‘Gloria, this’s got to stop! It’s in every room and I don’t want anything else in the lounge. Can’t see the telly! This place isn’t big enough for all this ruddy clobber.’

However Gloria had the ‘bug’ now and it was a very hard habit to break.

‘Never know when we might need some of it, though, Arth!’

Yet when Arthur got ill and his heart gave out to obesity, the hoarding just went on and on, increasing in intensity; increasing in the never-ending storing of items Gloria knew she had no intention of using or mending. But insisted she needed.

Due to the resistance she’d encountered because of the way she’d lived these past twenty years, Gloria knew folk didn’t understand why she needed to have lots of things around her. They didn’t know of her heartache when her adoptive mum died, nor how distraught she’d been when Arthur died. Distraught, especially when Arthur died because Clegg seemed to pull away from her after that. Perhaps it was the male influence he missed now Arthur was no longer here.

But it was as though, suddenly, there was no one around her who loved her and no one around her who she could love. No one was there with a friendly word or even those delicious little hugs from the grandchildren, when they’d been allowed to visit. And Arthur wasn’t there with that cup of tea he brought her, at the end of the day, and his: ‘Sleep tight, love, don’t let the bed bugs bite.’

So Gloria realised that having things around her made her feel safe when there was no one else around her to make her feel that way. It was almost as though she’d created walls to protect herself, she thought. Yet these walls were made from magazines or old boxes. Yes, that’s how she’d describe it. But even though Tilsbury had tried to make her see how alienated everyone else felt about what she was doing, she simply couldn’t bring herself to stop doing it.

The only room relatively free from junk was the bathroom now. It was always quite an arduous trip to get into the bathroom and even when she was there, the bath was stacked high with newspapers so she couldn’t use that any more. But at least she could wash in the sink, if she wanted, and use the loo. Or at least she could use them, after she’d stumbled over knick-knacks cluttering the stairs. And climbing over unruly piles of old clothing, including all Clegg’s baby clothes, which she’d kept in case she’d had more babies (unfortunately, it hadn’t happened) and heaps of towels and surplus carpet rolls, which she’d kept in case the carpet wore out.

Tilsbury said he didn’t mind the state of the place, though. Said it made the place warmer, cosier somehow.

‘Saves on washing and cleaning and all that crazy shite.’

But the following day there was a loud bang when Gloria turned one of the hob rings on and tried to heat the remaining potato soup from yesterday. The small kitchen was quickly filled with the nasty smell of something burning.

Tilsbury was hopping around in mild terror.

‘Ooo, my love! You gotta get the electricity people out now. Could be a fire! You insured?’

‘Wouldn’t know, Tils. Never really pay for anything any more, do I, ducks. S’all set up out of me bank account or summat. Cleggy sorted it all out for me after Arthur went, as you know. But I can smell summat singeing! Get hold of me son for me, will ya, ducks? Cleggy’ll sort it all out. Bit worried about being burned alive in my bed. You hear of it happening.’

Chapter 3

A few days after the people from the electricity board came to check on the situation, three people from social services turned up; one with a clipboard. They looked official, to Gloria, with their curt smiles and long dark coats. She would’ve said they were calm and sympathetic, if someone’d asked. But they didn’t look that way after their first encounter with 75 Briar Way.

They came into her house, sniffing the air and gagging for some reason. One of them, a man, ran out muttering something. Gloria found it amusing. Tilsbury went round shrugging.

‘Must’ve eaten summat off before they came here.’

The plump, friendlier woman who finally arrived later that first day, Diane, was the most understanding, but even she had a strongly scented handkerchief she kept wafting across her face. Gloria screwed her nose up at the smell and stood a little distance away from her. She wasn’t keen on heavy perfumes.

Oh, but there was nowhere to sit per se. That was the tricky thing about having more than one person over at any one time. And in order to be courteous, Tilsbury had to clamber over a lot of stuff, upstairs, to get the stool off the top of Gloria’s bedside dressing table, so Diane could sit down in the tiny bit of space between the hall and kitchen door. Gloria leant against the architrave and rested her burnt hand on a stack of crumpled magazines.

Now that Diane had finished looking around – her mouth gaping in awe, her handkerchief not far from her nose – she said that her mother had been just like Gloria when Diane’s grandparents died. Couldn’t quite accept it; still didn’t; in a nursing home now.

‘Much better for her. All her woes dealt with and she’s properly cared for.’

Gloria didn’t really know what the woman was talking about. She wasn’t interested to know something about someone she didn’t know and would never know and, anyway, her hand ached. She grimaced as she tried to reposition it.

‘Oh my, that hand looks sore, love. Should’ve wrapped it in cling film or something clean if you had it. But, anyway, don’t you worry about all that, now. We’ve got to get you away from here and do some sorting out,’ Diane informed her, with a bright smile.

Gloria shook her head solemnly. ‘Don’t want to go anywhere else. Been here so many years, ducks, and I certainly don’t want to go anywhere now.’

‘I know that, Gloria! But we’ve, um, we’ve got to sift through all this – er – this stuff to try and find where the electrics blew. Your house’s become a bit of a fire hazard now, so we’re taking you somewhere safe while we sort things out. And that hand of yours needs looking at.’

Clegg appeared at that precise moment, his large frame filling the already clogged front doorway. He was sweating and also trying not to gag. He squeezed past them to try and look at the kitchen, pushing boxes and piles of magazines aside in his attempt to get through, but then he stopped, deciding against it.

‘Oh stuff this! Right, Mum. Bleeerr. God! What a stench! And what on earth is all that crap and rubbish doing over there by the kitchen sink? Wasn’t there last time I came. Good grief, there’s bits of food in it as well, Mother! What on earth’ve you been doing?’

‘I think some hooligans nicked me wheelie-bin, Cleggy. So I leave me household rubbish near the back door. Can’t put it outside. Foxes might get it!’

Clegg gagged and put his hand over his mouth, shaking his head.

‘Un-fucking-believable! Right, well, I got rid of that bloody scoundrel, Tilsbury. Seems to me he’s using your ruddy good nature to wheedle his way into favour, rent-free, and how’s that helpin’ matters? It ain’t, Mother. So you’re coming with me. And I don’t want any more ruddy arguments. Plus it’s not safe for you in here with all this crap everywhere and dodgy electrics.’

He turned his back on his mother and nodded to Diane.

‘Just get rid of the bloody LOT! Don’t care how you do it but just DO it. Give me any paperwork you find in drawers and the like but otherwise there’s nowt of any value. I’ll pay for what needs payin’ for but just get rid of it. And, er, thanks for getting her a place at Green’s Nursin’ Home for a couple of weeks. They’ll clean her up and sort her out a treat, I’m told,’ he said through clenched teeth.

‘They certainly will, Mr Frensham. They’re one of the best homes in the district. And you say you’re happy to take her afterwards? Is that for full-time care or will you need some additional help?’ mumbled Diane, behind her handkerchief.

Clegg shook his head vehemently. ‘No. We’ll be okay with that, thanks. My Val’s sorting all that side out. She’s a nurse as you know. We’ve got a small en suite extension for my mother. So we’ll all be fine at home together. God! That smell is unbearable! Dunno how she’s put up with it all these years. Nowt so queer as folk, as they say.’

Chapter 4

From the moment Gloria stepped foot inside Green’s Nursing Home she decided she didn’t like it.

Well, it wasn’t 75 Briar Way, for one thing! And where were her belongings? Where was her winceyette nightie? Where was her splayed blue toothbrush for cleaning her dentures with? And where was her little alarm clock with no battery that Arthur bought her, back in the day, which she kept under her pillow when she slept? She liked those things around her. They brought her comfort.

Clegg had driven her to the nursing home. His wife Val was not with him and nor were the children. Gloria felt as though she was being shuttled away somewhere, out of everyone’s hair.

‘Right, Mother. I’ve got to go. Already had more time off work than is good for me. You go in through those doors, there, to reception and ask for Mrs Lal. She’ll be looking after you,’ he’d said, revving his engine. Once Gloria had clambered out, he’d driven off without so much as a wave. Gloria shook her head. Clegg’s behaviour was not what it used to be.

The lady who’d met Gloria in reception, Mrs Lal, was the chief carer. She’d asked if Gloria would like a brief tour first but all Gloria wanted to do was squirrel herself away and have a jolly good think about things. Plus she wasn’t good at speaking to new people because she hadn’t had to do that for a long time.

So Mrs Lal had taken Gloria upstairs via a lift and showed her into a very small room with a single bed, one chair and a wardrobe and nothing else at all. No ‘things’ or ‘stuff’. The décor was insipid. Pale peach walls, pale peach bedspread. Pale this, pale that. Not the mish-mash of colours, textures and chaos she was used to. Gloria felt downhearted. Clegg had told her she’d be here for two weeks while he sorted things out with the house. So she knew she had no choice but to stay and accept this place and the people she found within its walls.

Clothes, not new ones, had been left on the bed for her to change into. They weren’t her own. Mrs Lal had shown her where the shower and toilet were and asked her to have a good shower and hair wash with the gels provided.

‘You okay with that, Mrs Frensham, or do you need someone to help you get cleaned up?’ Mrs Lal had said with a kindly smile.

The very thought had appalled Gloria, that someone might have to clean her one day. It would not be today, however. She had shaken her head so hard that she thought it might fall off.

‘No, ducks. I don’t want touchin’ by no one, ta very much.’

Mrs Lal had said she understood and then told Gloria she was to come downstairs after her shower and she’d be shown where she would have dinner and eat all her meals.

Gloria was a little damp when she finally found her way back to the reception area. In fact, she’d been in the shower so long, just enjoying the sensation of hot water cascading over her, for the first time in twenty years, that dinner had finished and the only food the cook could prepare was a cold chicken salad with two slices of white buttered bread.

But Gloria tucked in hungrily, thinking it was probably the best meal she’d ever tasted. It certainly beat potato soup! And then, feeling completely shattered, she asked if she could go to bed.

Mrs Lal took her back upstairs to her room afterwards and Gloria lay on top of the soft bed, fully clothed, staring at the ceiling. There was a light switch by the bed so she could switch the light off whenever she wanted. But Gloria spent a good couple of hours just staring at the Artexed ceiling, wondering where they were going to put all her things whilst they searched for the electricity fault. And how would they know where to put her things back afterwards? And would the house she’d lived in for thirty-some-odd years ever be the same again, when everyone had finished poking around in it? She felt a tear prickling the corner of her eye and wiped it away. Clegg would sort it all out for her, she was sure. But his behaviour, she’d noted of late, was becoming alarmingly discourteous.

The next day Mrs Lal came to fetch her and took her to breakfast. She was put on a table with two other white-haired ladies: Yvonne and Annie. They didn’t say much. In fact, Gloria wondered if there was something wrong with them. They just seemed to stare ahead without any knowledge of what was going on around them. A carer had to place toast in front of them and encourage them to eat. One man on another table suddenly shrieked, which made Gloria jump.

Gloria got up and went to find Mrs Lal and told her what had been going on.

‘Summat’s not right with Dotty and Lotty, love. And there’s a poor man in anguish over t’other side. Think summat needs to be done about them.’

Gloria could see Mrs Lal was trying to stifle a chuckle.

‘Oh, Gloria. I’d forgot you’re not used to the daily comings and goings in a nursing home, are you. Well there are some people here who need a lot of care, you see. And there’s others like yourself who are just, um, visiting for a short while. Yvonne and Annie are sisters and they’ve both had strokes so they need a certain amount of help and care. We sat you next to them because they’re very quiet. They’re not like Henry who does have a tendency to shout a bit. And some of the others can’t get used to new people straight away. So that’s why we put you there. If you’d prefer to be on your own, of course, we can set a separate table up for you for the duration of your stay.’

Gloria shook her head. ‘No, that’s all right. They don’t make no fuss. And you’ve explained things to me now. So I understands, I do.’

After breakfast Mrs Lal led Gloria into a beautiful light and airy pale green room with trailing plants, an aquarium and bamboo seating and introduced her to Kate, a social worker, who said she was going to have some regular general chats with Gloria, whilst she was here, to find out what she’d been doing since her husband’s demise.

By the second day Gloria was looking forward to her next conversational session with Kate. It had been a long time since she’d had meaningful chats with anyone. In fact she usually only saw the postman, Tilsbury, Clegg occasionally, and a persistent window cleaner who reckoned her windows needed more than a simple hose-down – cheeky git. Plus she was starting to get used to her tiny characterless bedroom, now, and she’d even gotten a chuckle or two out of Yvonne and Annie.

Chapter 5

‘Cup of tea, Gloria! I’ll put it on the table. No, don’t worry about your hand. That shaking comes and goes, I know. Least your sores have been treated. And I like your hair now they’ve cut it. It’s much better shaped like that, instead of long and straggly, don’t you think?’ said Val. ‘You must be feeling much better in yourself now everything’s been sorted out? That nursing home did wonders for you!’

Gloria didn’t look at Val. Her mouth was full of Victoria sponge, anyway. But she had nothing to say to the daughter-in-law she hadn’t seen in ten years.

‘I’ll leave you to look out the window then. The garden’s nice this time of year isn’t it? Nice to look at.’

Val left the conservatory, closing the door behind her quietly, shaking her head slowly. She looked tired. There were grey bags under her eyes, belying her forty-eight years, flecks of grey, also, in her short dark hair; her fringe was clipped back with a hairgrip. Clegg beckoned her into the kitchen.

‘She never acknowledges anything I say to her, Cleggy. Just stares ahead. I get the feeling she either wants to hit me or spit.’

Clegg pulled Val into a tight hug and kissed her cheek. ‘It’s just her way, love. Look – hey! Are you regrettin’ this now? We spoke about this at length, din’t we? She’d’ve never left that place unless summat serious happened and thank God it did, in a way.’

Val pulled away from him, leant back against the sink and crossed her arms.

‘But I don’t think I can stand any more of this silent treatment. It’s only been a couple of weeks. And we can’t keep the kids away forever. Adam says he can’t concentrate on his studying whilst he’s over at Zac’s. He says they’re partying all the time, instead of studying – don’t laugh, Cleggy! He’s just not into partying like his mates, is he? At least he’ll get a decent job at the end of the day. Plus, I’ve heard Zac’s probably taking stuff. So I want them back home. And your mum should be in a home or summat – she really should!’

Val shook her head when Clegg wouldn’t meet her gaze. She loaded the dishwasher with their lunch things, then poured their tea and sat down at the table, contemplating her husband as he sipped his hot drink.

‘Look, Clegg, I know we talked about all this but are we doin’ the right thing here?’

‘Yes I think we are, Val. Look. I know she’s annoyin’. And – hell – she’s agile for seventy-nine! So, yes, she could possibly go on livin’ for another twenty years or so – there’s longevity in the family. But, like I keep tellin’ you, we simply can’t afford to put her into a nursin’ home, just yet. We haven’t got that sort of money, as you well know. Somewhere down the line, of course, we’ll find somewhere for her to go because there’s no way she’s livin’ with us full-time. But you just have to be patient a little while longer.’

When Val didn’t respond, he took hold of his wife’s hand. ‘Can’t we just give it a go?’

Val pulled her hand away and cut him a slice of her Victoria sponge. He took it and wolfed it down in two bites.

She looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Not even with the sale of her house?’

‘What? Well no, Val! Not even with the sale of her house! There’d be virtually nothing left out of the proceeds if we used that to pay her nursing home bills! It’s more than £24,000 a year just to keep her alive in those places, as you well know. And we don’t have that sort of money to pay for it. So no, Val. The proceeds from the sale of her house are going to benefit all of us! Like I keep telling you. We want to retire early, don’t we, as well as put the kids through uni? All those things cost a lot of money that we simply don’t have on either of our wages. And I, for one, can’t wait to get out of the security business. You know I’m fed up with being a security guard. It’s boring and the hours are crap. That’s why we’re doin’ all this, isn’t it? If her house is worth what we think it is then there should be something in it for all of us – even Mum when the time comes to put her in an old peoples’ home. Hopefully, she’ll see sense, about all of this, and then happily sign on the dotted line and that’ll be that.’

Val slapped the table, which made her husband jump.

‘Look, do you really think she’s just going to say, “Well, here’s the money from the house, Cleggy?” You’re mad if you do. I’ve seen how stubborn she gets, remember? Your poor dad, having to put up with all that junk brought into the house over the years. There was no room to breathe let alone live in. And remember the time we tried to help her? Took us days, remember? We cleared everything out and cleaned the house and put it all outside for the bin-men to take away and then she just dragged it all back in because she said it looked scruffy outside on the kerb! And that time Jessie fell. Well, the house is a ruddy danger zone too. The whole thing’s bloody crazy, if you ask me. And I’m an easy-going sort of person. Bottom line, though, Cleggy, she’s not going to simply roll over and die, whatever you might hope for.’

Clegg growled.

‘All right! I know she’s bloody stubborn, Val. But look at it this way – I’m her only son, so it’s all comin’ to me one way or another. Oh, don’t look at me like that, Val! Me and Mum have never really got on over the years, have we? We’ve tolerated each other, at best. So you don’t ever have to worry about her being a permanent fixture in our household. Plus you know I’ve only ever thought about us and the kids the whole way through this. I’ve had to put my own family first, especially since there was nothing more we could do to stop her hoarding. You can only do so much for someone. But that electrical fault – halleluiah – that was the icin’ on the cake, as far as I’m concerned! So I really do think that now she’ll see sense when I mention the uni bills for Adam and Jessie. She’ll want them to finish their education properly. She’ll want to help us out, Val. I’m sure of it.’

‘But it’s me who’ll be looking after her, Cleggy.’

‘Yes but not for long, sweetheart! Mebbe a year or so. Then we can put her away somewhere. She’s in the annexe, out of our hair, anyway. She’s got her own TV and things in there. She won’t be under our feet all the time. So it really shouldn’t be a problem. You’ll cope, Val. You’re a ruddy nurse for God’s sake; it shouldn’t be so difficult for you. Isn’t that why we planned this?’

Val shook her head again. ‘Yeah but at least with my patients I get to come home and have a rest. This is going to be full on, day in, day out. And what if she decides not to speak to me at all?’

‘Oh, look, you worry too much! Darlin’, I’ve got every intention of gettin’ her into a home one day soon. Don’t worry about that. But for the moment let’s just give it a go. Let’s get the place sold; see what we get for it. We’ll take her out for a drive later and see if we can get her to be more social. It’ll be fine, love. Trust me.’

Chapter 6

In the conservatory, Gloria sat sipping her tea, staring at their wonderful garden, abloom with blue agapanthus, white lace-cap hydrangeas and Nelly Moser clematis, which Val had carefully sown and nurtured over the years, wistfully draping itself along the bottom wall. To give Val her due, she was a very caring sort of person and perfectly suited to being a nurse. But Clegg, even though he was her son and she loved him dearly, Clegg was a bully. She’d always known it. Forgiven it but known it.

Oh, Arthur had always called Clegg a ‘wild card’. He’d sailed too close to the wind in all manner of ways as a teenager and even managed to secure a few nights ‘in clink’ after one particular bloody episode of fighting, when he’d yelled at the arresting officer that he wished him dead in a very gruesome sort of way …

It had piqued Gloria, back then, that her son always dealt with all his problems via his fists. They certainly hadn’t brought him up to be like that. Arthur, usually affably patient, had finally snapped and told him to go get signed up and do his bit. Well, he’d got no other prospects when he left school and fighting with other kids on the estate seemed to be the common order of the day – every time he went out. In fact, he seemed to be a very angry young man, most of the time, and nobody knew why. Least of all Cleggy. So Arthur hoped the army might channel his energies in a more positive way.

‘You know, half me troubles are because of me name, Dad! Who in their right mind would give me the name of some stupid old fogey on Last of the Summer Wine? Ain’t gonna put me right in me mates’ eyes, is it, Dad?’

But Arthur wasn’t to blame. He’d loved all the old comedies, as had Gloria. They’d roared at the exploits of characters in the likes of The Good Life, Steptoe and Son, Only Fools and Horses and the rest. Those were the days of endless good telly and irascible characters. In fact, Arthur had taken pride in the fact he’d given his son the name of a lovable household character, who’d caused millions of people to roll about laughing at the foibles of life.

‘But you’ve got a mate called Baron. What the ’eck is that about, son? Least Clegg is unique.’

‘It’s unique, Dad, ’cos no one else friggin’ wants a stupid name like that!’

Gloria had thought that, perhaps, Clegg’s name hadn’t helped matters. But, finally, after all her son’s troubles and a succession of failed relationships, he met a much older yet volatile woman called Babs who’d entered his life with three kids and a shed-load of her own problems; including a jealous ex-husband who’d sent Clegg flying through the doors of A&E and yet – fortunately – straight into the caring arms of nurse Valerie Robson.

Luckily Val had been his perfect foil and straightened him out, as far as Gloria could tell. He’d met her late in the day, as it were, but they’d still gone on to have the football-mad Adam and little sister Jessie, her perfect grandchildren.

Gloria often found herself thinking about the fun they’d had when Clegg and Val visited with the children when Arthur was alive. Those days were a mixed bag of memories but mainly sweet ones, Gloria chose to believe.

Well, she’d had nothing else to think about whilst being cooped up in her son’s house for these past two weeks with only the TV for company. They wouldn’t let her do anything or help out around the house, not even laying or clearing the table for breakfast or dinner. They just kept telling her to sit down and relax or watch TV. Yet since being deposited here with Clegg and Val, Gloria noted that her grandchildren were nowhere to be seen. She’d adored little Jessie and Adam but they hadn’t been brought to visit her in ages. She was trying to remember their last visit – gosh, probably a good ten or eleven years ago. The last time was when Jessie tripped and fell over some of the clutter in the lounge. My goodness, how she howled! So she’d’ve been around seven. They’d both be teenagers now.

Clegg explained that they weren’t currently at home because it was the school holidays so they were off camping in Wales with a load of their school chums and should be back home next week. Gloria couldn’t understand his emphasis on the word ‘should’. Were they coming back or weren’t they? What was that all about? Or had they turned into uncontrollable tearaways, since she’d last seen them? If they were in their teens now it could be a troubling time for them, Gloria thought, recalling her own problems with Clegg at that age. His problems had brought other boys’ mothers to their door, complaining about her son’s aggression. Or the school always phoning and wanting to see her. Once they’d even had a brick thrown through their window. Very unsettling times, they were.

However, the children’s holiday week had come and gone but there was still no sighting of Jessie and Adam. Gloria crept upstairs into their bedrooms, when Clegg and Val were at work, and looked at their things. There were lots of photos on their walls but Gloria didn’t recognise anyone in them.

Yet, as Gloria sipped her tea in the conservatory, something felt amiss. She didn’t know what it was but there was a lot of whispering going on and she didn’t like that. It made her feel awkward, as though she shouldn’t really be there. Perhaps Clegg and Val weren’t getting on any more. She hadn’t seen them together in a long time. Who knows what goes on in families, she thought. Or perhaps it was something else entirely.

In the past, when Clegg visited, he’d always come by himself, apart from once, when Val accompanied him. On that particular day she’d walked round moaning about every aspect of Gloria’s home, especially her collections of things, and she’d wanted to start chucking it all out onto the streets, for heaven’s sake! Gloria soon put a stop to that, with some choice words. Perhaps that’s why she’d never been round since.

‘Oh, Val’s workin’, Mum. She’s always workin’. It’s a callin’ being a nurse, folk say,’ he’d usually explain, by way of an apology.

That aside, it also upset Gloria that Clegg had never even thought to take her back to their house for a cuppa or a meal, which would’ve been just wonderful for a change. Plus she’d’ve got to see the children more.

So even though she was staying with them, whilst she knew her house was being sorted out and even though everything was very nice, in an odd contrived sort of way – well, the central heating and hot water, especially, were very nice – she just didn’t feel comfortable with this arrangement. She felt out of place. It was as though she was somewhere she wasn’t meant to be. Plus she didn’t know how to respond or talk to Val yet. She wasn’t even sure they had anything in common any more.

She couldn’t wait to get back to her own home, once it was sorted out. That was a comforting thought at least.

Val’s beautiful garden seemed to stare at Gloria as she sat lost in thought but Gloria Frensham wasn’t really looking at any of it.

Chapter 7

‘Jocelyn, it’s Gloria!’

Jocelyn was taken aback. Well, she’d never expected a call from her arch-rival. In fact, she’d never had the time of day for the woman who’d been a thorn in her side, one way or another, over all these years because of Tilsbury. Not that he was a real catch by any means. Ha, their rows had been famous over the years. But there had been a time when they’d gotten on a treat.

‘What the effin’ hell do you want?’

‘And it’s great to talk to you too, ducks! Look, can’t we put all that stuff behind us, now? It’s been going on for years! We were lovely friends once –’

‘Yeah but nicking someone else’s husband ain’t playin’ fair, Glor!’

‘Oh rubbish, Joss! You kicked him out! And he hadn’t done nothing wrong. He likes animals! You got it all wrong and he used that as a reason to leave, is all. How many times do we have to go over old ground? Plus he came to me. Not the other way round. I was happy with my Arthur.’

Gloria paused, wondering if Jocelyn was still listening.

‘Besides you’re tied up with Marvin now. And he treats you right, by all accounts. Can’t have ’em both, lovey. Anyway, I’m ringing to ask a favour. I expect you know what’s gone on, ducks. And we both know Clegg’s a bit of a twat when it comes to Tilsbury. But he looks after me, he does. They both do, in their way. But, that aside, I need to talk to Tils. Want to apologise to him about all this. Don’t mind if you want to pass the message on. Or else I can speak to him, if you give him this number and get him to ring. But it’ll have to be before six p.m., this week, cause Cleggy and Val are both workin’ ’til then and I don’t want no trouble from them.’

Silence continued at the end of the line. Gloria didn’t push it.

‘I suppose!’ Jocelyn said with a sigh.

‘What do you suppose, ducks?’

‘I’ll tell him. But here, Glor. I’ll tell you summat …’

‘What Jocelyn?’

‘Well, Tils was like, full of it, when your Cleggy chucked him out. I mean he says Cleggy literally got hold of him by the scruff of his collar and marched him down the stairs and out the door. Like, over all them things you have, and Cleggy was kicking stuff outta the way and stuff was breaking. Tinklies. You know? And then straight outta your house. Anyway, the next week there was a right racket, I can tell you –’

‘Racket?’

‘Oh yeah,’ Jocelyn continued, excitedly. ‘I went to see what was going on, like, with Big Doreen from next door. And it was right astoundin’ it was. Big lorries arrived and people with weird-looking gear on and masks over their faces. And they kept going in and out, and gettin’ stuff and dumpin’ it in the lorries. Just chuckin’ it in, like. Stuff was crackin’ and breakin’. And people were gawping at what was goin’ on. You’d’ve be in the nursin’ home by then. And after that the electricity people went in, to fix up your Big Bang. Then there were decorators and floorin’ people. Gawd! It looked like a ruddy crime scene, it did, with all the vans and people swarmin’ all around!’

‘Crikey, Joss. That sounds like a whole load of crumblies!’

‘Yeah, it was, Glor. But, you know, if you saw your place now you wouldn’t recognise it. All your stuff’s gone. To the dump, Tils says. He says it’s all painted up, now: white walls and you’ve got a new kitchen and new bathroom. He snuck in and saw it after it was all done up. Plus there’s three For Sale boards outside. They’re sellin’ it, Glor. Looks like Cleggy’s sellin’ your house from under ya, love.’

‘He’s what? No, he can’t be! Don’t be silly. He’s meant to be sorting it all out for me. Not sellin’ it, love! He didn’t tell me he was sellin’ it, Joss,’ Gloria said, suddenly feeling sick. That couldn’t be what was happening, surely. ‘Crikey, ducks, are you sure?’

‘So why else would there be sale boards outside it, then?’

‘Definitely outside my place?’ Gloria gasped. ‘Not next door?’

‘I seen ’em with my own eyes, Glor!’

She’d been told they were looking for the electrical fault. She’d never been told that Clegg wanted to do anything else. He told her he was going to put things right and she’d thought that meant that, once things had been sorted out, she’d just move back in and things would continue as normal. But, if what Jocelyn was saying was true then there’d be nothing left to go home for because ALL her stuff had apparently gone. To the DUMP. And new stuff was replacing her old things.

So maybe that’s what was going on. Her son, Clegg, was trying to sell her house, on the quiet! Gloria felt weak with worry. Oh my God!

No, it couldn’t be. Jocelyn must’ve got it wrong! Why would Clegg do something like that, without telling her? Why would he think it was okay to do something like that without telling her? Or did he just want her to live with them? They hadn’t discussed anything like that. And no! Gloria didn’t want to live with them – even though they were the only family she had now. She’d dreamt about it in the early days after Arthur died, of course, but it wasn’t something she’d contemplated for a long time now. She’d grown to like living by herself. Plus there’d be rules at Clegg’s and Tilsbury wouldn’t be allowed to visit, for one thing.

Or else – no! Surely not!

A chill ran through Gloria. Surely he didn’t want to put her back into Green’s Nursing Home, did he? Or did he want to put her somewhere else, out of the way, so she’d be no trouble to anyone? Away from the people she loved and cared about …?

What if that was his plan? They’d never really got on, mother and son, had they? Not really. It’d been much better and easier when Arthur was alive. Clegg had respected Arthur. But since then …

Or maybe that was his plan? To put her in an old people’s home – sitting there, alongside moaning old folk, just like in that Waiting for God programme, and visited even less by her family. They had busy lives; Clegg was always telling her that. And then, eventually, she’d be forgotten …

No, Clegg! Surely not that!

How she used to laugh at that show! But it didn’t seem quite so funny now she might end up in that same situation.

Realisation suddenly dawned that she was nearly eighty. She would eventually become a bind to her son and his family, so it would definitely be something they’d be discussing with her in the not-too-distant future, of that she was sure. It also hit her that they might be contemplating where to put her at this very moment in time, especially with this new problem of her house. Gloria knew she didn’t feel ready for that kind of conversation. She was still able-bodied and, as far as she knew, she wasn’t starting to lose her marbles just yet. And even though she could see she was seventy-nine on the outside, she certainly didn’t feel like an old woman on the inside.

‘You okay, Glor?’ asked Jocelyn in a small, worried voice.

No, Gloria Frensham was not okay. A tear dripped slowly down her cheek. She thanked Jocelyn, with a watery, ‘Yeah but I, I gotta go now. So ta-ra, love. We’ll speak soon.’ And she put the phone down.

She simply couldn’t believe what Jocelyn was suggesting, but Jocelyn wasn’t prone to lying. Yet it really didn’t seem feasible that Clegg would go behind her back and sell her property or get rid of all her belongings, without her knowledge. Would he? Did he really care so little for her feelings? Her mind was buzzing with all the questions, flying around inside her brain.

She desperately hoped that Jocelyn had got it completely wrong.

Chapter 8

Gloria slumped onto the stool by the phone in Clegg’s hall, dumbfounded, trying to make sense of Jocelyn’s news. She wiped her tears away, on the back of her sleeve.

She had to think this through.

She didn’t want to jump to the wrong conclusion about her son. Relations between them were strained at best and, anyway, she had to live with him and his wife for the moment. But the more she thought about it she realised that no one had actually mentioned anything to her about her either returning to her own home, after the electrics had been fixed, or staying with them on a more permanent basis. They hadn’t had any meaningful conversations with her about anything relating to her future. Or were things still being decided between them. Maybe that’s what all the pussyfooting around was about?

Right, well, she had to get to grips with this. She had to get things clear in her own mind. She had to look at the facts. Fact One, she thought, taking a deep breath.

Her ruddy, difficult and annoying yet occasionally affable son; the son Arthur and she had tried to guide and love, despite his failings, had now, supposedly, in some wild turn of events decided to get rid of everything she’d ever owned. What? Even her jewellery? And what about all her precious photo albums? Some of her most valuable possessions were what she could see in those albums.

And there was lots of other stuff she really wanted to hold on to. There was Cleggy’s little red three-wheeler tricycle that she’d kept, for starters, and the old Singer sewing machine for stitching Arthur’s work shirts. Oh yes and then there was Cleggy’s little finger paintings he did when he was at school and all those Plasticine models he made. And there was Arthur’s collection of World War I planes and oh, there were lots of things she wanted to keep. Memories were attached to all of them. And memories were all she had left now. No! He couldn’t have! He wouldn’t have done all that, surely?

Would he?

Fact Two …

Jocelyn had said that Clegg had cleared everything else away too. Everything clogging up the rooms. All the crap, as Clegg always called it. Taken away in lorries! Well yes. If Gloria was honest she’d known that, one day, at some point, everything would have to be sorted out and most of it dumped; there’d been a vast amount of rubbish. Even Green’s Nursing Home had given her some new clothes. They’d realised the blouses and skirts they’d found in her wardrobes, once they’d cleared everything out, were damp and would be too small for her now. The dresses Green’s had given her, however, didn’t fit her very well so she wanted to get some new ones when Val could take her.

Probably donated by families of people who died, Gloria thought, jokingly, and then stopped, realising that – oh my God – that could actually have been the truth.

Nonetheless, even though Gloria knew Clegg could be bloody-minded, she didn’t really believe he’d get rid of all her personal belongings and knick-knacks, without telling her about it first. Or perhaps he didn’t realise how important all that stuff was to her? It had been part and parcel of her and Arthur’s life together. So surely he wouldn’t be that inconsiderate, would he?

Fact Three …

By all accounts, Clegg had even got rid of dear Tilsbury, and told him never to come back! Well, how ridiculous! As if Tilsbury would do what her bully of a son told him. But to top it all off she’d also been told that Clegg was getting rid of her house as well now!

Gloria let out a deep sigh. The facts were alarmingly clear. It didn’t look good, whatever Clegg was doing. Plus he’d discussed none of it with her beforehand.

So Jocelyn’s news had been totally shattering – to the extent that Gloria didn’t want to believe it was true. But Gloria had lived with her son long enough to realise that Cleggy was a force to be reckoned with. She knew that much, as his mother. And so, consequently, the facts seemed to stack up against him. Therefore, it was highly probable that Jocelyn’s take on the situation was correct.

Nonetheless, she could see, on the other hand, that she’d never really know what was going on unless she confronted Clegg and Val about her suspicions. And that was something she certainly didn’t want to face or do, right now.

Oh dear.

Why were things starting to go horribly wrong for her? How had her life suddenly turned out like this?

Chapter 9

The next day a despondent Gloria paced her bedroom until Clegg and Val went to work. Then she picked up their hall telephone to speak to Tilsbury. Jocelyn had kept her promise and Tilsbury had briefly rung Gloria back yesterday afternoon.

‘Here, Glor, ring me back tomorrow at Jocelyn’s, when the coast’s clear and we can have a proper talk,’ he’d said.

But, today, the last thing she wanted was for either Clegg or Val to come home, unexpectedly, and catch her on the phone to Clegg’s dreaded nemesis, Tilsbury. All hell would break loose if they did. Of that she was sure.

Gloria hesitated before dialling Jocelyn’s number and took a deep breath.

It was such a shame it all had to be like this, tiptoeing around everybody’s personalities, for fear of reprisals, she thought. Why was family life so darned complicated sometimes?

If Adam and Jessie had been home instead of on their extended holiday with their respective friends, everything would’ve been so much better. In fact, staying with her son would’ve been far more bearable if her grandchildren had been home, despite the recent bad news from Jocelyn. Gloria also despised the fact that Clegg and Val seemed to be walking on eggshells around her and always whispering. Too much whispering was going on.

She rang her friend’s number and Tilsbury answered immediately. ‘All right, my love?’

‘Not really, Tils. I’d like to see ya, if you’re free today. Just need an ear to bend really. Someone to talk to about all this. Can’t take it all in, ducks. It’s such a shock. But if you’re coming round you’ll need to be quick. What? Why yes, my love. Why, that would be absolutely lovely, Tilsbury! Yes, okay. I’d love to do that. But we’d have to be back before they get home. They’ve been getting back around six this week. Yes, six. Right, so I’ll expect you in about half an hour then and do NOT be late!’

Oh, but what a wonderful idea! Tilsbury said he wanted to take her out for afternoon tea. Yes! It might be just the thing she needed right now: a little treat, in amongst all their problems. They hadn’t done anything like that in years – in fact, since Arthur was alive. Tilsbury said he knew she was upset by everything that’d happened and by what Jocelyn’d told her yesterday and he simply wanted to cheer her up.

Gloria had tossed and turned, restlessly, the night before, worrying about what Clegg was planning to do next, regarding her living arrangements. She was still mystified as to why he’d never mentioned selling her house to her. Or maybe she hadn’t been listening when he’d come to fetch her that day; there’d been a lot going on. But why did he suddenly want to sell her house now?

Maybe he’d found other problems with the building. Maybe something was wrong with the drains or there was structural damage? Or maybe they’d discovered it was in one of those sink hole areas? She’d heard about that sort of thing once.

As she stood in the hall, anxiously waiting for Tilsbury to come and pick her up she was relieved that, at least, the nursing home people had been lovely and understanding about her problems. During their heart-to-hearts the social worker, Kate, had helped her ‘come to terms’ with the deaths of Arthur and her parents – her real parents and Alice.

‘That’s what we think your hoarding was about, my lovely. Just a reaction to your grief. And keeping things of sentimental value is understandable, Gloria. But we think it overwhelmed you. Can you see that trying to find an electrical fault amongst all that stuff could have been the death of you? Or what if you’d fallen and couldn’t get back up? So we do hope you’re not going to try to bring lots of unnecessary things back into your life, again. We’re going to try and help you with that, over the coming weeks, and your family have said they’ll be there for you, helping you with that, too.’

It had all sounded so nice and comforting. She’d chatted to the people at Green’s Nursing Home about lots of things she couldn’t talk about with anyone else. It was reassuring. And it now seemed she wasn’t as mad as some people – ahem, Clegg – had made out. She’d been starting to feel more positive about life, until yesterday, when Jocelyn crumpled her world.

Anyway, she knew she had to try and focus and forget about her woes for one day, if she was to have a lovely afternoon out with Tilsbury, unbeknown to Clegg. She would definitely need to talk to her son about these things, at some point, but she didn’t feel strong enough to cope with it all now.

She’d struggled to get into the coat Green’s Nursing Home had supplied her, along with a pair of fuddy shoes, and another ill-fitting Crimplene dress.

And that was another thing! Her daughter-in-law had promised they’d go shopping for new clothes when they got back from the nursing home. Unfortunately, all Val’s good intentions hadn’t materialised yet. And the only conversations she’d had with her was when Val insisted that Gloria should relax in the conservatory or watch the television, when they were out.

‘You’ll need to be patient with us, for a while, Gloria, because we’re a very busy family at the moment,’ Val explained, when Gloria first arrived.

Well, Gloria had sat obediently waiting for some attention from them, for weeks. But the days had crept by, which was okay at first because she could watch all the TV programmes she liked and there was food aplenty. But – apart from one afternoon’s drive to a lovely public garden somewhere – Gloria hadn’t left the house at all. Nor had she had a proper conversation with them about anything. The whole ‘process’ of being with them had simply felt awkward and contrived.

Anyway, not wanting to give her son any further reason for alarm or arguments, she wrote a short note, telling them she was going out for tea ‘with a friend’ so they wouldn’t worry.

Ratta-tat went a knock on the door. Gloria pulled it open.

‘Oh my God, Tilsbury! We’re not going on that are we?’

Gloria, in her tight-fitting coat, slightly oversized shoes and pale pink polka dot dress that, ordinarily, she wouldn’t be caught dead in, stared in astonishment at the scabby, clapped-out scooter she knew belonged to Jocelyn.

‘It’s okay, Glor. It goes at least. It’ll get us into town, anyways. I got her helmet for you. The cops won’t pull us over with helmets on!’

‘But I’m wearing a ruddy DRESS, Tils, and I’m seventy-nine!’

Tilsbury tried to not laugh at the vision forming in his mind.

‘Aw, c’mon, Glor! It don’t matter what you got on. Live a little. You’ve been stuck in that ruddy overcrowded house since forever! C’mon, my love. This’ll just be a one-off trip down memory lane. Like old times? Anyways, Jocelyn gave us a fiver to get tea in the park gardens.’

Gloria laughed heartily. ‘Bloody nicked it you mean! Christ, Tils, you’re the man! Okay, okay. Well, how to do this then? Least it’s not far I suppose, is it?’

‘No, Glor, and I’ll go the back lanes. And I’ll getcha back in time for your bloody rotten son!’

Gloria shook her head. It seemed like a crazy idea.

Ordinarily she wouldn’t entertain such madness. A thought popped into her head – why didn’t Jocelyn ever call the police over Tilsbury’s nicking sprees? He had clearly nicked that fiver! She wondered if Jocelyn still had a soft spot for the irascible man, like everyone did. Apart from Clegg. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps that’s why she lent him the scooter. Or did he steal that too?

Gloria sighed. What to do?

However, whilst studying her dress and handbag and knowing none of it was ideal to be riding a scooter in, she came to a snap decision. At least it was a warm sunny summer’s day, with a slight mischievous breeze, ripe for fun.

Oh what the hell!

‘Okay, Tilsbury. Shift forward and let me on. And hold it steady – and I mean steady. And if you start larkin’ about on it, I’m gettin’ off. Plus you’ll have to help me get me leg over.’

Tilsbury couldn’t stop himself chuckling at that.

‘Oi! I meant over the seat, you bad man! Here! You got enough fuel in it? I don’t want us breakin’ down en route.’

Chapter 10

It had been a bumpy, ungainly ride to the tea rooms, that afternoon.

Tilsbury chuckled to himself every time Gloria let out a yelp when they went over a pothole or swerved to avoid something unsavoury in the road. She was sure he was driving scarily on purpose but clung on tight when he went round bends. She hoped they wouldn’t see anyone they knew and was just starting to relax into his particular way of riding when they arrived.

Tilsbury stopped the engine and held the scooter steady whilst Gloria slipped forward and struggled to get off, straightening her dress and hooking her bag back over her arm. She muttered a little but otherwise acknowledged she had actually arrived safely.

The young girl at the counter in the Park Gardens Tea Room frowned when Tilsbury told her he didn’t have enough to pay for two cream teas consisting of scrummy-looking fruit scones, jam, cream and tea for two.

The bill came to £5.90 but Tilsbury didn’t have any more than the fiver Jocelyn had given him. And there was NO way he’d ask Gloria for the extra. This was supposed to be his treat to her. He hadn’t taken her out in ages and it felt good doing something for her after all this time.

‘Couldn’t we do a deal here, love? Me an’ the missus – well, we’re quite poor, you see. Don’t have much at our age apart from our meagre pensions. Don’t even go out much, either, you know?’

The youngster was on her own whilst the other waitress was outside taking orders and clearing tables. Tilsbury had clocked that there didn’t seem to be anyone else in charge, on the premises.

‘Um well, okay. But what I could do is cut the scone in half, with the two teas and then – I’m not supposed to – but I could give you two biscuits as well. And then I can charge you for one tea and one cream tea for £4.05. Let’s say £4.00. And you’ll get the biscuits for free. Would that be all right?’

Tilsbury chuckled to himself. Clever girl. He’d still got a deal and some change to boot.

He nodded with a big grin. ‘That’d be just fine, my love!’

He carried the laden tray over to Gloria sitting by the window. She’d deemed it a little too blowy to be sitting outside. But her eyes lit up as Tilsbury set the table with their cream tea.

‘Cor, Tils. I haven’t had a ruddy cream tea in absolutely years!’

‘I know, my love. So get stuck into that one then. Bet you’re glad you came out with me now, aren’t you!’

Gloria nodded vigorously, chomping down on her half of the scone, caked with cream and strawberry jam.

‘S’lovely!’ Gloria murmured, as a few crumbs spilled onto her lap.

* * *

A cream tea amongst the colourful herbaceous perennials of the Park Garden Tea Rooms was completely delightful and both Gloria and Tilsbury sat patting their tums, afterwards, in appreciation.

Gloria reached out and got hold of Tilsbury’s hand.

‘That was crackin’, Tils. And I do thank you from the bottom of me heart. You’ve always been a good ’un to me, ducks!’

‘I’ve always had a soft spot for you, you know.’

Gloria wrinkled her nose. ‘Oh, I know that, ducks, and I love ya to bits, too!’

‘Right, well, Glor, we’ve still got some time before I takes ya back to yer miserable son. So, I’m thinking … How about – now wait for it! I remember you saying this to me, last year. How about a trip to the seaside? You said you hadn’t been to the seaside since you were a girl!’

‘What? We can’t go there! We’re miles away from the sea and I don’t think that contraption outside will get me any further than back home, Tils.’

‘Course it will, Glor. It got us here didn’t it?’

‘Yeah but that was only a couple of miles.’

‘Now look, my love. When will we ever get to do summat like this again? This is a gas! I’m lovin’ it and I don’t want today to end. Do you? Besides the sea ain’t that far away. An hour tops!’

Gloria looked out the window. Young families walked with children. A dog chased a frisbee. It was a pretty nice park as parks went.

Tilsbury sighed, despondently.

‘But look, Gloria, what if Cleggy decides to put you in a nursing home, miles away from anywhere? We’d never get to see each other again. We’d never get to go to the sea or anywhere else. We’d never get to have any kind of fun ever again, Glor, would we? Remember those tea dances we all used to go to? That’s all finished, now, my love. We – we’re kinda near the end of those times now, aren’t we, Glor?’

He reached out and stroked Gloria’s scarred hands.

‘Can’t we – look! Can’t we just have this one last wonderful day to remember for the rest of our lives? We’re not gonna get another chance like this to create a new mem’ry now we’re nearly in our eighties, are we, Glor?’

Gloria shrugged, thinking he was probably right. Life was over when you hit a certain age, she knew that much.

‘And, you’re right, me scooter probably won’t last much longer but I truly believe it will get us to the beach … Just for that one last time, eh, Glor?’

Tilsbury noticed that tears were starting to form in Gloria’s eyes.

‘Oh Tils!’ Gloria said, dabbing at her eyes with a serviette. ‘You’ve got me thinkin’ about things again, ducks. And, yes, we did have some crackin’ times, didn’t we? All of us together: you, me, Arthur and Jocelyn once upon. They were good times. You’re right. But we’re a couple of old fogies now. I ain’t got the energy to be tearin’ around all over the place. Look we’d best be off, now, Tils. I’ve truly had a lovely time, today, though. And it’ll still be a wonderful mem’ry to look back on.’

Gloria slowly rose from her seat and struggled into her coat again with Tilsbury’s help.

He looked so downbeat Gloria couldn’t meet his gaze. But she was reliving the past, now he’d mentioned it. She was thinking about how their lives were, indeed, fluttering towards the bottom of the hill they’d once climbed so eagerly in their youth. She let out a sigh as they ambled down the steps of the café, arm in arm to steady themselves and across the freshly cut lawn to where Tilsbury had parked the scooter.

Gloria studied the etched, weather-beaten lines across Tilsbury’s sunburnt face. She knew her seventy-nine-year-old face had its own share of lines both from worry, when Clegg was a boy getting into scrapes, and those joyous times when Clegg and Val had angelic babies of their own. She’d known some very happy as well as some very sad times.

But Tilsbury was right.

There really wasn’t much else to look forward to, now, at their time of life. Gloria also realised that Clegg wouldn’t want her to live with them for the rest of her life, either, whatever her hopes might once have been for that. And from what she’d learned recently, she was certain he’d make darned sure that an old people’s home, somewhere, would soon start calling her name …

So she came to her second big decision of the day.

‘Oh stuff it! Crumblies be gone! C’mon then, Tils. Start the motor. Let’s see where this old heap’ll take us one last time …’

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