By the time I stagger back down the stairs, after a brief sobbing pit-stop on the first floor, the music has changed again. ‘Always A Woman’ by Billy Joel. I stand in the doorway to the ballroom, and see that Zelda and Mateo have arrived – which means that everyone is now dancing, for fear of getting hit by a big stick.
Auburn is actually in Mateo’s arms, high heels kicked off, swirling around in her stockinged feet. She gives me a wink over his shoulder, and I wonder if she’ll be giving him marks out of ten by the end of the evening. I laugh, and give her a thumbs up – why the hell not?
Van is dancing with Mum, in the corner of the room, obviously persuading her to stay far from the madding crowd because of her very stylish boot, and everyone else seems to be coupled up and getting jiggy with it – in a very old-fashioned way.
Everyone except Edie, that is, who sees me in the doorway, and beckons me over to her throne. She’s perched on all her cushions, and has her feet on her stool, and is surrounded by gifts of all shapes and sizes.
‘Have you seen my swag?’ she asks, eyes sparkling, pointing at the table full of goodies. ‘I don’t know how I’ll fit it in the house! I might have to get one of those rental units, like you see on that Storage Wars show in the afternoon.’
I smile, nod, and make admiring noises about her pot pourri selection and cuddly rabbit hot water bottle and fluffy slippers. I don’t feel in much of a party mood any more, but this is Edie, so I do my best to look happy. Obviously, being Edie, she sees right through me. I don’t suppose you get to spend over nine decades on the planet without learning a few things.
Peering at me over her glasses, she holds out one tiny hand, and says: ‘Would you do me the honour of this dance? I need to show these whippersnappers how it’s done!’
‘But of course, birthday girl,’ I reply, helping her up and walking to the dance floor.
‘I’ll lead,’ she whispers as we start to move. ‘You don’t look like you’re capable of counting to three right now.’
I nod – she is correct – and try not to tread on her feet as we waltz. She usually wears quite sensible and sturdy shoes, but tonight has on little blue ballet pumps decorated with pom-poms. My Docs would squash them flat, along with her toes, which wouldn’t be very celebratory.
‘Nice posture,’ she says, as we pass Frank and Cherie. ‘You can tell he learned as a child, can’t you? Now … come on, tell me all about it. I can see you’ve been crying, and you look miserable as sin. I might be being a nosy old biddie, but it’s my party, and I’ll pry if I want to!’
She seems delighted with her pun, and I have to admit it’s a good one. I sniffle a bit, and am glad that the room is lit by chandelier and glitter ball rather than anything more revealing.
‘Is it about your nice young man?’ she asks.
I nod, and sniffle some more, and finally say: ‘It is, yes. It’s all very complicated, Edie.’
‘I see,’ she replies, dancing me back towards the window seat, obviously fearing for the safety of her metatarsals. We both sit down, and she passes me a glass of champagne – she has about six lined up in front of her, the old lush.
‘Complicated, is it?’ she repeats, taking a sip. ‘But not impossible, eh?’
‘It feels impossible right now,’ I answer. ‘And anyway, it’s your birthday party – I don’t want to spoil it.’
She reaches out, pats my hand, and smiles kindly at me.
‘Oh no, dear – you brought me my very own Anton du Beke. Nothing could possibly spoil that! I suppose, perhaps, that you think you can’t find time for him, young Tom? Because of your mum, and work, and being so very busy all the time? And perhaps you blame yourself for your mum’s accident, because, I heard tell – scandalous gossip I’m sure! – that you were with him here when it happened?’
I can’t help it – I actually blush. The only thing worse than a ninety-two-year-old talking about my sex life would be a ninety-two-year-old talking about her own sex life. This delights her, and she cackles into her hands at the look on my face.
‘Goodness – you youngsters! You didn’t invent sex. None of you would be here if the older generation hadn’t discovered it first, would you? Now, look at your mum, Willow. Does she look unhappy?’
I glance over, and see her and Van, still dancing. She doesn’t look unhappy. She looks thrilled to be out, to be dancing, to be here. Even with everything that’s happened to her, she’s never quite lost her joy at being alive and out in the world. Sometimes she misplaces it – but it always seems to come back, like a river that’s been dammed and diverted but eventually bubbles back to the surface, irrepressible and full of energy.
‘No, she doesn’t,’ I agree. ‘But it’s not that simple, is it? And we have no idea what will happen next with her.’
‘None of us do, my love. And believe me, I’ve seen people with Alzheimer’s over the years – my sister, God bless her, suffered terribly. So did my own mother, though back in those days, it didn’t really have a fancy name. I do understand what it’s like, and how hard it can be. You don’t know what pain feels like until your own mother forgets who you are, even though you spend every living moment looking after them.
‘But I also know this – your mother would be the last person on earth who would want to feel like she was stopping you from living your life. It would absolutely break her heart.’
I remember now, from things that Frank has said, that Edie cared for her own parents until their deaths. I give myself a brief telling off for forgetting how much experience she has, and for falling into the trap of assuming I am totally unique in my suffering.
‘I know, Edie – you’re right. So I try not to think like that, or to see my life as not being lived. I’m just … adjusting it, that’s all. The day centre might close – it’s already down to one day a week. Auburn is staying, but she’ll probably be busy working in the pharmacy soon. And Van, well, he hasn’t said anything, but I don’t think he’ll be staying too much longer. There are only so many hours in the day, and it’s not fair to Tom to expect him to hang around, waiting for more than I can give.’
She wags her finger at me, just to warn me that I’m about to get a telling off.
‘Well, maybe you ought to talk to your brother and sister about all of that before you think you know what’s going on. And as for Tom, he didn’t strike me as an idiot. He seemed very bright.’
‘Yes, he is. Very bright. What do you mean?’
‘I mean, Willow, that he’s old enough to make his own decisions about what is and isn’t right for him – it’s not up to you to make them for him. He’s a grown man with a fine mind, he’s capable of weighing up the pros and cons. And as for Van and Auburn, it doesn’t even sound like you know what they’re up to – which leads me to conclude, in Miss Marple style, that you’re basing your whole future and Tom’s on the basis of absolutely bloody nothing. Excuse my French.
‘Now, while you give that some thought, be a dear, and fetch me a slice of cake, will you? Not the birthday cake – that’s for later, hurrah! – but some of that lemon meringue that Laura does so well? Maybe a smidgeon of cream? No, actually – make that a lot of cream! You know what they say – you’re only ninety-two once!’
I stare at her, shell-shocked by that whole speech. Miss Marple indeed. I can’t argue with her logic, and know that it’s only stubbornness and self-pity that’s even making me want to. I wasn’t happy with the course I was taking, but I was set on it – now Edie’s come along and blown me way out to sea again.
It’s a lot to process, this different perspective, and it effectively smacks me out of my assumptions of what is right and what is wrong. I need time to think – but as ever, I don’t have that. Maybe I should stop thinking so much, and start feeling. Maybe thinking is over-rated. And the way I’m feeling is desolate. I can’t fix some parts of my life – but perhaps I can work on others.
I reach over the pile of bath sets and paperbacks and photo frames, and give Edie a quick hug, before getting to my feet and saying goodbye.
I climb past Anton, and collar Lizzie, who’s passing with a tray of canapés, and tell her to go and fetch Edie the biggest slice of lemon meringue she can cut, along with a whole boat-load of cream.
‘Okay …’ she says, frowning, crinkling up her eyeliner as she does. ‘But what kind of boat? A kayak full of cream? A catamaran? An ocean liner?’
‘Think Titanic,’ I reply, grinning at her. ‘Without the icebergs and Jack and Rose.’
I pat her arm, and dash off to the corner, where Mum and Van are finishing their dance as the song draws to a close. Auburn heads back in our direction, looking flushed and wafting her face with her hands to cool down. She slips her high heels back on, and flashes us a smile.
‘Wow. That Mateo has some moves – he even makes a waltz feel like foreplay,’ she says, sounding impressed. ‘I might need to sign up for some private lessons!’
I ignore her blatant invitation to talk smut, and instead look at her and Van, my face set and serious.
‘What are you two planning?’ I ask, simply. They both look at me blankly, then look at each other, and I realise I need to be more specific.
‘Auburn – you’re staying, aren’t you? How will it work, with the pharmacy? Will you be doing long hours?’
She lifts her hair up from the back of her neck to let the air in, and gives me a crooked smile.
‘That’s not the plan, no,’ she replies. ‘I mean, what would be the point? I didn’t come back here just to work, and leave you to look after Mum. I’m planning to work part-time, and I’ve been talking to Katie about her taking on some hours. She’s a nurse by training, and she’s been doing a top-up course at the college. Saul’s starting pre-school soon, so she’s looking for flexible work.
‘I’ll have to have set hours that people know in advance, when there’s an actual pharmacist available – you know, so I can tell them what creams to put on their warts and such like. But the rest of the time, it’ll open as a shop and for over the counter stuff. I’ll be here, sis. I’ll be able to help – if you want me to.’
Her voice fades a little as she says this, and I know she’s still suffering from the guilt even more than I am. I clasp hold of her hand, and reply: ‘Of course I do. Thank you.’
I turn to Van, who is downing a lager and still fiddling with his phone. I raise my eyebrows at him. ‘What about you? No bullshit, Van. If you need to go back to Tanzania, I understand. I appreciate you coming back, and I won’t hold it against you at all if you leave – I know you have a life there, and I don’t expect you to give it up. But I do need to know, so spill.’
He gives me a mock salute, and replies: ‘Aye aye, captain! Well, I’m in. I’m staying. I’ve had to cancel flights, and make a lot of arrangements, and that’s why I’ve been a bit cagey. I needed to sort it all out first. But if you want me, I’m here – I’ll pick up some farming work or some labouring. It’s a busy time of year. I’ll try and work it so it fits in with your schedule. I mean, why would I want to leave? Isn’t it every man’s dream to be sleeping back in his childhood bed, in the same room as his little sister? I really think, if I’m staying, that you and Auburn should—’
‘No way!’ I say, interrupting him. ‘I’m not giving up my room for any of you. I’ve earned that room. But … that’s great. And yes, of course I want you to stay. Thank you. Right, I have to skedaddle.’
As I leave, I hear Mum – who has politely watched our conversation like it was a tennis match, turning her head from this way to that – finally speak.
‘Tanzania?’ she says, sounding impressed. ‘When did you go to Tanzania, Van? What an adventure!’