‘If you’re sure, then I’ll do whatever’s right for you.’

  Enid fell for Roy further with every sentence. The relationship became harder to hide when her belly began to swell. A mere four months after they had started courting, Roy invited Enid to move into his home. It was a muted affair as Enid didn’t want the neighbours to talk. They would anyway; she knew that.

  ‘Let them talk,’ Roy had said. ‘Let them scream it, and let us scream it with them.’ Enid had never known anyone so genuinely happy as Roy appeared to be, and his happiness was infectious.

  Just three days after the move, Roy surprised Enid by cooking her dinner: coq-au-vin. Melon for starters and a treacle tart for dessert. Enid felt her spoon tap against something hard in the tart. It didn’t surprise her – the food had been terrible – but she didn’t say anything. Roy had made such an effort. She shuffled the object out of the topping secretly, hoping Roy wouldn’t notice. It wasn’t easy, he was taking an unnatural amount of interest in her eating.

  ‘Oh,’ Enid said when she saw the ring. She said it again when she saw that Roy was already down on one knee.

  ‘Enid, I would have taken you out,’ he said, ‘but I thought you’d prefer it if I did this here, in our home, in our family’s home.’

  Enid smiled, and cried, both uncontrollably. ‘Oh,’ she said again. ‘Hormones.’ They both laughed. ‘Yes. Of course, yes.’

  Roy stood up and they hugged.

  ‘I haven’t asked you anything yet,’ he whispered in her ear.

  ‘But,’ Enid said through her tears, ‘you were going to, weren’t you?’ Roy laughed.

  ‘You’re silly.’

  That Sunday, at Enid’s parents’ house, Roy and Enid shared the news.

  ‘A shotgun wedding,’ her mum had said, clearly distressed. ‘Oh Enid, what happened?’ Enid had been expecting this response, though Roy had told her not to worry.

  ‘No, Mum,’ she said. ‘It’s not a shotgun wedding. We’re getting married because we’re in love, and we’re having a baby for the same…’

  ‘Stop.’ Enid’s mum scrunched her face up tightly. She exploded in an open-mouthed smile. ‘I’m sorry Enid.’ She looked at Roy: ‘Roy.’ Her shoulders dropped and she exhaled. ‘I’m so proud,’ she said. ‘Really, I am.’

  25

  Olivia went through her plan one final time before pressing the buzzer on the large wooden door of the dementia home. She looked down and focused on her breathing. It shouldn’t be this scary. On the surface of it, all she was doing was visiting an elderly person in their home. In different circumstances, this would be considered charity work. She heard footsteps the other side, exhaled, looked up and smiled, prepared as though she were going to preach religion.

  ‘Olivia,’ Duncan said with a cheery Scottish lilt. ‘How lovely. Come in. Martin will be happy to see you.’ He turned and started walking back into the building, the implication being that Olivia should follow. ‘No David today?’

  ‘Actually,’ Olivia said, one foot in the door, ‘I’m here to visit Enid.’ Duncan turned, surprised.

  ‘Enid?’

  ‘Do you have more than one Enid here?’ she asked, trying to remain nonchalant, ‘I mean the lady I spoke to in ASDA the other day.’

  ‘No, no, we only have the one,’ Duncan confirmed. ‘She’s in her room right now.’ Olivia tried to hide her relief. Enid’s room was sure to offer privacy.

  ‘I said I’d visit when I spoke with her in the supermarket,’ Olivia lied and then she laughed and shook her head. ‘I don’t know why, but, I’m a lady of my word.’ There was a pause and Duncan looked unsure what to say. He studied her face, and she hoped that he wasn’t dissecting her heavy make-up, contemplating what could be underneath. She wore make-up so often these days, and she hoped it likely that he’d just think that was her style. It wasn’t. ‘I’d love to see Martin too, of course,’ she said to interrupt the silence, ‘if he’s around?’ What a stupid thing to say – of course he’d be around. It was early evening; they never had outings at that time.

  ‘He’s in his room as well,’ Duncan replied. ‘Who would you like to see first?’

  ‘Enid,’ Olivia said, confidently and with a nod. She followed Duncan through the next coded door and along the main corridor. The visiting rooms were empty either side, and most of the resident’s bedroom doors were closed. A few staff were walking about purposefully, caught up in a daily routine that Olivia – and family members – would never usually have seen. All the carers still made the effort to greet her as she walked through with Duncan, and Olivia did her best to return the gesture.

  Beyond visiting Enid, Olivia didn’t have much of a plan. She didn’t have a grand scheme to confide the depravity of her marriage with David. She didn’t want to replay David coming home the other night – the same day Olivia had spoken to Enid in ASDA. She didn’t want to wipe the blusher from her cheek and show the yellowing underneath, or for Enid to see the faint black eye shadow she’d been wearing below her right eye involuntarily since. She just wanted some company, away from David. She knew he would never allow her to get back in touch with her friends. On the surface he would – sure – but there would be repercussions; ones that would seem unrelated, but that Olivia would know weren’t.

  An elderly woman in a care home wasn’t obvious company, but Enid would have time on her hands. Olivia didn’t intend to pour her heart out, but if she did, Enid would be there to listen, and better still, she would be unlikely to remember. Even if she did remember, Olivia knew that Enid would find it hard to tell anyone.

  Duncan knocked on a door and waited. Olivia looked at the picture of Enid hanging on the handle. Her hair was dyed ash blonde and she looked a little younger, though it was hard to tell as the picture had clearly come from a printer with a low ink supply.

  ‘I’m coming in, Enid,’ Duncan called, his face close to the door. ‘You have a visitor.’ Then he stepped back, before slowly entering. ‘Are we alright to come in?’

  Olivia heard Enid stammering some vowels before saying yes.

  ‘Hi, Enid,’ Olivia said on entering, and then, ‘Do you remember, I said I’d visit?’ Enid didn’t reply, but that was as good as she could hope for. She felt bad for lying to Enid and worried that she would further confuse the woman’s already muddled memory, but she promised herself that this would be the only time.

  Enid looked disappointed, and Olivia couldn’t blame her. She must have been expecting family.

  ‘I’ll leave you two to it,’ Duncan said, leaving the door open behind him.

  Olivia sat down on the chair opposite the bed where Enid was sitting, more to put Enid at ease than anything else.

  ‘Do you remember me?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Enid said. ‘Uh, I, um.’ Olivia waited, giving her the time to form her words. ‘I, uh…Roy.’ Enid smiled apologetically.

  ‘It’s alright, Enid, take your time.’

  ‘Roy is coming,’ she said, ‘moving in – you know – here.’ Her face lit up, eyes smiling and cheeks raised, her body started bopping up and down, like a child.

  ‘Tonight?’ Olivia asked, and Enid nodded. “Roy, your husband?’ She tried to take this in. If it was true, she shouldn’t be here ruining such an event for Enid, and it could be true, she supposed. ‘I’m so happy for you,’ she said. ‘That’s why I came, to say how happy I am for you.’ Olivia found that she was happy for Enid. She felt deflated for herself, but genuinely happy that Enid and her husband would be reunited. ‘I best be going then,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to get in the way.’ As she stood to leave, she noticed Enid’s expression changing. She stopped bopping up and down, and her smile became pained. All the tension in her muscles seemed to have moved from her cheeks to her brow as she studied Olivia. For the second time, Olivia felt conscious of what lay underneath her make-up.

  Enid opened her mouth and then closed it again.

  ‘Worried,’ she said, the same as she had said in the supermarket.

  ‘Honestly, Enid, you don’t need to worry ab…’

  ‘Wed…married…ing,’ Enid interrupted. It didn’t make any sense, and it was Olivia’s turn to frown. ‘Used to be,’ Enid continued. ‘Not, oh…not now. Before.’ A long pause. ‘Before Roy – I was married before Roy.’

  Olivia sat down again. She had a vague memory of Enid’s daughter telling Enid that she’d been married before.

  ‘I…uh, love. You know. Not love.’ Enid touched her chest with her hand. ‘I thought, you know…I loved him.’ There was a long pause while Olivia allowed Enid to gather her thoughts. Then Enid stuttered for a while, frustrated, but determined. ‘Not love. He loved himself, I think, you know….more than… you know.’ Enid used her hand to gesture at herself. ‘You can’t…you have to look after, you know,’ and she nodded towards Olivia.

  ‘I know,’ Olivia whispered, willing Enid to go on. Instead, Enid reached up and touched the scar on the right side of her forehead, above her eyebrow.

  ‘Can I ask?’ Olivia probed.

  ‘Fall,’ Enid replied poignantly. ‘Fall.’

  ‘Enid, why are you telling me this?’ Olivia asked, dreading the answer. If Enid had noticed the flaws in her and David’s relationship, she couldn’t be the only one. ‘You’ve got Roy coming soon, I should get out of your hair.’ Enid’s face visibly lit up at Roy’s name, but then she shook her head.

  ‘You mistake,’ she said, ‘not the, um, not make the same.’

  Olivia didn’t reply, because she didn’t know what to say, but she wanted to leave, and she wanted to cry. Enid continued.

  ‘Oh…uh… He was…bad,’ she fumbled.

  ‘Bad?’ Olivia asked shakily, and Enid shook her head.

  ‘Oh…um…no. Not bad,’ she corrected herself. ‘Stupid, you know. I never saw him. He never, you know, never…came home.’ Olivia felt she understood Enid, even without the details. Enid’s first husband didn’t sound as bad as David had become, and she was glad of that.

  ‘Men,’ she said, and Enid laughed.

  ‘We,’ Enid paused again and then put her hands together before pulling them apart.

  ‘You broke up,’ Olivia guessed. ‘Divorced?’ Enid smiled confirmation that she’d guessed right.

  ‘And…you know…long time.’

  ‘Of course,’ Olivia caught on. ‘Divorce wouldn’t have been so common then.’ They sat quietly for a bit, Enid rubbing the scar on her forehead again.

  ‘Not fall,’ she said eventually, and Olivia felt Enid’s eyes lock with hers. ‘Him, you know. Throwing…things…him…lots, you know.’ Olivia did know.

  ‘Oh, Enid.’

  ‘Now…Roy,’ Enid interrupted, the joy springing back to her face.

  26

  Barb watched the two remaining chicks in the nest with their mum. They were waiting for the male to return. His scurries for food were taking longer than they used to, and Barb had made the fair assumption that he was going further afield. The chicks were growing and presumably they needed more to sustain them. When the male did return from his various excursions, he always brought worms with him, and Barb had noticed that they’d become fatter and livelier.

  He now took the same route out of the garden each time, along the patio, up onto the garage roof and over the fence. Where he went after that Barb did not know.

  The nest was still surrounded by the same weeds as before, but now the weeds were disturbed, and some were bent. Since her dad had moved the nest back, it hadn’t been level. Barb hadn’t noticed it at first, but after another half a day of watching, she saw that if the chicks didn’t continuously shuffle up the twigs, they would end up squashed together at the bottom. She’d mentioned it to her parents but been told that they’d meddled in the birds lives enough. Perhaps, they’d told her, the chick’s wings would gain strength faster than nature had intended due to the constant shuffling. Perhaps they would fledge the nest sooner. Wouldn’t Barb like to see that? She surely would, she’d agreed.

  The biggest chick padded its feet down on the floor of the nest, regaining balance as its smaller sibling struggled up the miniature straw hill. Barb watched as its neck lifted to the sky and it stretched muscular and, thus far, unused wings, knocking the other chick as it did. It shuffled its newly formed tail feathers left, and then right, and then both ways again. Slowly and clumsily, its small round body raised itself up onto the edge of the nest. The smaller chick fell back down into the lower corner of the nest behind.

  Barb clung to the edges of her patio chair, eyes wide in awe, as the biggest chick reached out to almost the entire width of the nest with its wings. It flapped once, as if experiencing an unexpected twitch, and then again, loosening its bones ready. It was happening. Barb wiggled her bum further forward in her seat, almost tipping the chair forward. The chick flapped repeatedly, as it prepared to take off. Its body was propelled forward in a gallant attempt at flight, and then it hit the patio – neck first, body and head after.

  For a second the chick didn’t move. The female bird hopped onto the nest wall and peered down at her baby. Barb stood up, but then remembered what her dad had told her about interfering with nature, so sat back down again.

  She noticed a twitch in the chick’s wing, and then another, but it looked like it was struggling. The littlest chick chirped loudly from the safety of the nest, but was drowned out by a ringing sound from inside the house.

  Barb stood up, excited, and jumped inside through the glass patio doors. She had been told that she could answer the phone now. She was six, and six was old enough.

  ‘Hello, um…Oaktree Avenue. Barbara, um…Barbara. Speaking,’ Barb said into the handset in the hall. She could see her mum smiling at her from the kitchen door but made a point of looking at the phone ring-dial as she had seen her parents do on the phone.

  ‘Barbara?’ a voice said through the receiver, and then nothing.

  ‘Mummy and Daddy call me Barb,’ Barb replied, aware of her telephone voice, putting on a posh accent. She placed her finger in one of the coils on the cord and twiddled it. She was a grown-up.

  ‘Oh,’ the voice came back, eventually. ‘Oh wow. Barb.’ No one said anything for a while, and then Barb heard the person on the other end of the phone exhale. ‘Barb,’ the voice said, ‘I’m your dad.’

  Barb giggled.

  ‘Who is it?’ her mum asked from the doorway.

  ‘Daddy,’ Barb replied, laughing, almost in fits now. Her dad was so funny.

  ‘Good,’ her mum said, walking towards her daughter, ‘I need to speak to him about tea tonight.’ Barb held out the receiver to her mum, who was now also laughing, seemingly at Barb, though Barb didn’t know why.

  ‘Hiya, love,’ she heard her mum saying into the receiver as she ran back outside to the nest, still giggling to herself. She fell into the chair, now at an angle where she’d left it, and looked across to the nest. The fallen chick wasn’t on the floor any more. It was back in the low end of the nest with its sibling, and both parents now. The littlest chick shuffled up the nest. The female bird helped it using the bulk of her body. The male picked up a red berry from a small pile of three in the nest and placed it forcefully into the largest chick’s beak.

  ‘He didn’t say anything,’ her mum said, holding onto the door frame and leaning out. ‘He must have hung up.’ She shook her head. ‘Your father, Barb, I swear. Sometimes I just don’t understand him,’ and then she left, heading in the direction of the kitchen.

  Barb’s bedroom glowed pink from a horse-shaped nightlight plugged into the corner of the room. Her shelves were lined with the soft toys she’d collected over her six years. The pink bear she was given at birth sat next to the blue bear she was given at birth. Lots of cats, all in a row, together; they were friends. There were three horses: two little and one big, all pink, and there was one small multi-coloured toucan that her dad had bought her recently. She wanted an emu and a blackbird to join her cuddly bird family.

  The oldest soft toy lay next to Barb in her bed. A classic teddy, with one lopsided eye and several bare patches up its arms. It used to be her mum’s when she had been a little girl. Barb had first seen it sitting in the wicker chair on the landing, and then taken a fancy to it when she was three. She remembered sitting on her knees in front of the chair, leaning forward and talking to the old bear about an imaginary walk that they were going to take to the beach. Since then, the bear had been Barb’s.

  The room was quiet, but Barb could hear her mum in the next one across, putting away some newly ironed clothes, shaking the bedding, fluffing the pillows. Barb had bathed and enjoyed a story about a baby swan who thought he was a duck. Her mum had kissed her goodnight, and now she was waiting for her dad to come up and tuck her in.

  ‘Night love,’ Roy said, pushing the door from ajar to open, flooding the room with the light from the landing. ‘Did you enjoy your story?’ he asked, sitting on the side of Barb’s bed, and resting his hand on the other side, close to the wall. A comfortable and safe tunnel of hairy arms and fatherly breath. Barb smiled at her dad and nodded.

  ‘Yes,’ she said with a tired voice, and then, mustering energy and fighting sleep, she grinned, lifted her head up and opened her eyes wide. ‘Do the funny voice again,’ she said.

  Her dad frowned and smiled at the same time, a question in his expression. He held his thumb against his forefinger to form an imaginary mouth and stuck his other fingers up for the ears. He scrunched his nose.

  ‘I’m Mr Rabbit,’ he said, tightening his voice to make it smaller and higher-pitched than usual, ‘and I think it might be time to go to sleep.’

  Barb laughed. ‘Not that voice,’ she said, ‘the one you did on the phone,’ but her dad just shook his head, and kissed her on the forehead.

 

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