Secrets at Meadowbrook Manor. Faith Bleasdale

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СКАЧАТЬ talked to Gemma about growing up without a mum, Gemma wanted to relate to her. But she held herself back, because she also spoke about her wonderful father, with a love and respect that sparkled in her eyes, and Gemma couldn’t understand that at all.

      She’d been away less than a week, but the bungalow felt cold and unlived-in as she walked through the front door. She flicked on all the hall lights and made her way to the kitchen. She sighed as she looked at it through fresh eyes. There was such a stark contrast with Meadowbrook. She was angry with herself for thinking that; she might not have grown up with the luxury of Meadowbrook, but she was always comfortable and fed, and she never thought of the bungalow as lacking until now. She was a grown-up; she had always been grateful for what she had, and she needed to remember that. This was her home, and she had been lucky to grow up here with love and warmth.

      However, this would be someone else’s home soon and she wouldn’t belong anywhere. Trying to stave off self-pity, she went through the mail, putting the bills in one pile to deal with and junk mail straight in the recycling. There was nothing personal, except an envelope from her last employer with her final payslip – it was higher than she’d expected as she hadn’t taken all her holiday, but it still wasn’t anything near what she was earning at Meadowbrook.

      She made herself a cup of tea, glad she had stopped at the petrol station to get some milk, and studied the kitchen, making mental notes as she waited for the kettle to boil. She decided she would keep the appliances for now, because she wasn’t yet sure how often she would be coming back, but she could pack any personal items she wanted to keep and then the rest would go to charity, or be thrown away. She set to work and for a while, lost in the task at hand, she forgot to think about anything. She blanked all feelings of sadness, of worry, of loneliness out of her mind as she put things in boxes and tried to think about nothing.

      After making progress in the kitchen and living room, she headed upstairs. She stopped briefly by her nan’s bedroom. The door was ajar and the emptiness of it winded her. The bed stripped, the bedside table devoid of its usual glass of water, reading glasses and book. Even the wardrobe and the chest of drawers were empty. Gemma had packed her nan off with as much as was familiar that she could fit into her new room at the home. The rest she had taken to the local charity shop – there was no point in having it hanging around. But it made her feel empty; there was no sign of her nan in her room anymore.

      She hurried to the bathroom, where all that remained was an old bar of soap. Sighing, she made her way to the spare room, which had been her mum’s room when her father left and her mum came back here to live with Gemma. But there were no traces of her now. The walls were an old cream, the curtains red, and the small queen-size bed was devoid of bedding. It had been a dumping ground for ages, and there were piles of boxes and bags that Gemma would have to go through at some point; but she couldn’t face it yet.

      Her room was the last room. The smallest room in the house. At one point, when she was about eleven or twelve and it was clear her mum wasn’t coming back, her nan tentatively suggested she move into the bigger room and Gemma could decorate it as she liked as her birthday present. But Gemma couldn’t bring herself to do so. It was as if she still believed her mum would come home one day, so she had stayed in her small boxroom with the single bed. It was a nice room though – it faced the back garden and was light. She had painted it a pale blue colour, duck egg it was called, and she had a white wardrobe and bedside table that she’d got from IKEA. Before Meadowbrook, Gemma thought it was all she needed, but now, well, now she wasn’t quite so sure.

      She had never been ambitious – she was too afraid to be so. She knew that she needed hours of counselling to unravel her feelings, but she was too scared to take chances. She just wanted to be safe. Her nan made her feel safe, or as safe as she could feel having been abandoned by her parents. This bungalow made her feel safe. Doing her hotel course was the biggest move she had made, but then she’d had to give it up to look after her nan, so she almost felt she was being punished for having tried to change things. And even working in a job she hated was what she thought she needed, deserved. But now her nan was gone, she didn’t have the safety net anymore, which is why she had taken the huge risk of the job at Meadowbrook. And yes, it was wonderful, but it was also more terrifying than she ever imagined.

      She lay on the bed, trying to contain her fears, trying to hear her nan’s voice tell her that she could do this, and the tears that came were welcome, because she needed to feel something, even if it was sadness.

      Gemma slept fitfully in her small bed, mainly because she had got used, in such a short time, to Harriet’s king-size bed, and she woke herself up a number of times by almost falling out. She put the hot water on, made a cup of tea and then when she was confident the water would be hot enough, took a wash in the over-the-bath shower. She felt as if she were betraying her nan somehow by comparing everything to Meadowbrook, but she couldn’t help it.

      The thought hit her: what if this didn’t work out? What if after the month they asked her to leave? Then she would have to get another job, and she knew any job she got wouldn’t pay anything near what the Singers were paying her. She might be able to rent a small bedsit and all luxury of Meadowbrook would be forgotten. Even the comfort and space of the bungalow would be out of reach. The idea was absolutely horrifying.

      She needed to make a success of this – her future, and her nan’s immediate future, depended on it. And that was why she had never taken risks before. They were bloody, bloody terrifying.

      Pushing her fears firmly away, she got dressed and left the house. She drove the twenty minutes to Kenworth House, for her weekly visit, basking for once in a warm car rather than the usual bus and the walk.

      As she made her way up the tree-lined drive to the Victorian building, she marvelled, again, at how you would never know on appearance that this was full of old people. The grounds were well kept, the house itself impressive. A little smaller than Meadowbrook and filled with lost lives, which is how she thought of it. Most of its residents had problems remembering who they were, or who their loved ones were. It was so incredibly sad for everyone concerned. Gemma had researched as much about dementia as she could, and her only conclusion was that it was cruel. Horrible and cruel.

      Gemma waited for the door to be opened, then she chatted with staff who were now familiar, checking that all was OK, or as all right as it ever would be. As she made her way to her nan’s room, she was comforted in the fact that she knew she was well looked after. Although it was expensive, the fact that her nan’s bungalow was in a good location and had bags of potential meant that they’d been offered the asking price, and she would be able to stay here at Kenworth for years if necessary.

      Gemma didn’t want to think about her nan dying, because when she did, she would be all alone.

      She held her bony hand as her nan sat on the high-backed chair, which had been positioned so she could look out of the window. Gemma sat next to her, gazing at the trees and the grounds through the rain-splattered windows. The wild flowers had been arranged on the table in front of them, and they looked far more beautiful than Gemma’s normal offerings, sparking a smile in her nan, which was priceless.

      ‘The job’s interesting,’ Gemma said.

      Filling her nan in on the Meadowbrook saga was cathartic. Speaking aloud, voicing her fears and hopes, seemed to be helping her more than getting tangled in her own thoughts. And although her nan was largely unresponsive – almost completely today – she felt as if she were being listened to. And, at least they were together.

      ‘The family are so kind to me, Nan, but I wished I felt that I deserved it. I know you always told me I did, but well, you are the only person who ever knew me properly, and I always struggled to believe in myself, didn’t I?’ Tears glistened in her eyes and she wanted to keep them in check.

      Suddenly, СКАЧАТЬ