The Disappearance. Annabel Kantaria

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СКАЧАТЬ ageing trajectory, it’s going to get worse and we’re going to need a plan.’ John paused, met my eye. ‘You know she locked herself out the other week?’ I nodded – I did know. It turned out she’d already done it once; had used the spare key from under the plant pot out the back and forgotten to put it back. Too embarrassed to call either of us, she’d sat on the garden wall, waiting, in the hope that someone could help. A neighbour had called John and he’d driven over, had a chat with the neighbour, handed over another spare key. ‘I don’t want her to be a burden on her neighbours,’ John said. ‘I don’t want them thinking badly of us, like we can’t be bothered to help her.’

      ‘But we do help her!’

      ‘She didn’t call us – remember? And don’t get me started on what happens if she falls. What if she falls at home and breaks her hip – lies there for how many days? This is our future.’

      I put my head in my hands. John was the worrier of the two of us. He saw danger in everything, always envisaged the worst possible outcome, and the fact that Valya had fallen down the stairs clearly hadn’t helped. I knew all this about John, but it didn’t make dealing with him any easier.

      ‘I don’t know what to say,’ I said. ‘I think you’re over-thinking things.’

      ‘I’m not. You know, the night after the car accident, she called me Mack.’

      ‘Mack? Do we even know a Mack?’

      ‘Exactly. She looked right at me – almost through me – when she was lying in that hospital bed, and she called me Mack. She looked like she was about to cry.’

      ‘Strange. Did you correct her?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘And?’

      ‘She shook her head and said “Of course. Silly me.”’ John did quite a good impression.

      I traced the wood grain on the table. ‘I don’t think you can read anything into that. Really. Not given she’d just had the accident.’

      ‘Anyway, look, let’s not get sidetracked,’ said John. ‘We’re here to think of solutions, not drag over the past.’

      ‘So, what solutions do you have in mind?’

      John picked at the skin around one of his nails. ‘Well. As I said the other day: perhaps some sort of sheltered housing would be the way to go.’ I recoiled as an image of frail old ladies on Zimmer frames filled my mind: Mum would shrivel up and die. But, equally, I didn’t have space for her at home. ‘You know,’ John continued, ‘something safer, where she’s got people to keep an eye on her twenty-four seven.’

      I turned away, shaking my head.

      ‘Come on, Lexi. Admit it. You don’t want to be constantly running after her any more than I do. We both have busy lives. Work. Family. I know you’ve moved down here to be closer but seeing her once a month is about all either of us can manage – right?’ He looked at me and I pursed my lips. ‘You don’t want to be worrying about her all the time, jumping each time the phone rings, spending nights dashing down to the hospital, do you?’

      I said nothing.

      ‘Let’s be honest: neither of us has time to babysit her every day.’

      ‘We’re not at that stage yet.’

      ‘But when it happens,’ John spoke through clenched teeth.

      ‘But it’s not happened yet.’ I echoed his tone.

      ‘I want to be prepared.’

      ‘I hear you. I do,’ I said, trying to be reasonable. ‘But sheltered housing? She’ll never go for it.’

      ‘There are some nice places out there. I looked.’

      ‘But she’s still entirely self-sufficient. And happy. She loves that garden.’

      John laughed: a snort that sprayed cider onto the table. ‘Happy’s not a problem, Lex. She’s happy as bloody Larry. She’s go no idea. Floats about in a dream world.’ John shook his head and laughed.

      ‘Come, now. That’s a bit harsh.’

      ‘Really? Look at what almost happened with the painting.’

      I tutted. Mum had a painting – a small piece that had always hung in the loo in Barnes. ‘If anything happens to your father and me, and you need money,’ she’d told John and I while we were growing up, ‘that painting’s worth as much as the house.’ I’d found it hard to believe: although the scene of country flowers was pretty, I saw nothing special in it: the lines were blurry and the colours muted – it wasn’t to my taste at all.

      Still, a few months ago, John had arrived for lunch to find Mum had almost handed over the painting to a conman. John knew at once it was a scam that’d been going on in the area: the gang targeted the elderly. Under the pretence of cleaning artwork, jewellery, and antiques, they would take the originals and swap them for copies. Most of the victims never noticed the difference. Although Mum had denied she’d ever been going to get the painting cleaned, John had thought differently.

      ‘You don’t know she was going to hand it over,’ I said now.

      ‘Why else would she have had it out?’ he asked. ‘She was so evasive about the whole thing. Thank God I turned up when I did. She wouldn’t tell me why that man had been there, nor why the painting was out. When I told her about the scam, she had to sit down with a sherry.’ John shook his head as he recalled the day. ‘We nearly lost our inheritance that day, Lexi.’

      ‘You’ve no idea if that’s our inheritance or not.’

      ‘Oh, come on, Lexi! What else is she going to do with it?’

      ‘Pa didn’t leave anything to us. Remember he wanted us to “make our own way in the world”? Maybe she’ll do the same?’

      ‘I know, I know. “I’m a self-made man and proud of it.”’ John’s impression of our father was also eerily good; for a moment he was right back in the pub with us. ‘Anyway, this is Mum. Of course she’ll leave us something, and the painting’s worth a fortune.’

      I shook my head. ‘That’s all by the by. The point is, we can’t push her out of her home just because she might – or might not – have believed a con artist.’ I paused. ‘She’d hate it. She’d curl up and die.’ I snorted. ‘Maybe Valya dived headfirst down the stairs rather than go into a home.’

      ‘Valya didn’t know what her name was, let alone what was about to happen to her. She had the memory of a goldfish by the time she died.’

      I tutted. ‘Anyway,’ I leaned forward over my coffee cup, cupping it with my hands. ‘Back to Mum. So you want a plan “moving forward” and you’re thinking sheltered housing?’

      John leaned back. ‘Yes. Exactly. Somewhere where there are people – professionals – there to keep an unobtrusive eye on her. Where she’s got a built-in support network to act in an emergency. Maybe she’ll even make some friends.’

      ‘Hmph.’ СКАЧАТЬ