An Early Start
By akira100
- 169 reads
I
Brian knew it was going to be a long day and one he had been dreading for over six months. They had packed the car the night before, hoping that this would mean an early start with no last minute complications. His wife, Katherine, was by nature a methodical and cautious soul so this was second nature to her. She had prepared her lists weeks before the ‘big day’ and knew where the keys, money, hotel booking slips and maps were stowed. There was an old-fashioned streak in both of their natures, so a SatNav was an anathema. They had heard the horror stories of cars ending up in fields or rivers, stuck under bridges or even being taken to the wrong end of the country. Despite the detailed preparations, Brian was still worried that there wouldn’t be room in the boot for the wheelchair that was to come later, but, he supposed, it would be easy enough to rearrange the luggage when they got to his mother-in-law’s house.
And now the time had come and they were about to leave. He stood motionless, almost fearful, by the car as if it was a dangerous beast to be pacified before approaching. His wife, not noticing, went through her final check, ticking off each item on her pad as she read them out.
‘Doors locked, all lights out, curtains drawn, plugs out of sockets – except for the fridge and the set top box, obviously.’ There was no way she would be missing her soaps while they were away and they had all been meticulously programmed into the recorder. ‘Presents and suitcases in the boot, sweets and drinks in the glove compartment. Yes, that’s it.’
Brian didn’t move. He was still reluctant to get into the car and stood pensive, absentmindedly turning the car key prayer beads in his hand.
‘Well? Are we going or are we standing here all day?’
He noted the testiness in her voice. Was it eagerness to get going, to be on the way to see her mother for the first time since her father’s funeral, or was she too feeling his trepidation over the journey ahead? He hadn’t driven this far in over twenty years; in fact, not at all until fairly recently. Not since The Event. Was it too much too soon? He sighed and unlocked the car. After they had snapped on their seat belts he went unnaturally still again, gripping the steering wheel tightly as if imagining himself already driving at a terrifying seventy miles an hour.
It was her turn to sigh.
‘It’ll be alright. Really. You know you can do this.’ It was her comforting voice, one he rarely heard nowadays. I don’t do empathy, she had once told him early on in their relationship, so don’t expect much nursing if you get a nasty old cold. She put her hand on his arm, clearly trying to put him at his ease. She smiled warmly and for a moment Brian thought he saw the woman he had married thirty years earlier, before his stroke had put so much pressure on both of their lives. Despite her slight, thin frame and fast-greying hair she was still an attractive woman and when she smiled Brian saw again the woman he had courted. Courted. How old-fashioned that sounded. How old fashioned they were. He smiled at that thought and felt himself relax slightly. Foot on brake, switch on engine, into drive, check mirrors – and away. The car purred gently like a small contented cat rather than the angry tiger growl he had heard in his dreams.
‘It’ll be alright,’ she repeated, this time with more sincerity, clearly encouraged by his little private smile. ‘Just drive; don’t think about it.’
They had decided to leave at first light to avoid as much of the early rush hour as possible. By the time the traffic built up they hoped to be on the motorway. It was a hazy May morning with just a slight chill in the air but the forecast had promised a fine day, possibly the warmest of the year so far. Just right for a spring wedding!
‘Shall I put the radio on?’ Katherine asked, leaning forwards towards the consul. They had completed the first section of the journey, successfully negotiating a seemingly endless parade of mini-roundabouts and complicated junctions and had finally gained the relative freedom of the dual carriageway.
‘No,’ he answered, too sharply. He was alarmed to realise that his legs were aching slightly already and there was still over two hundred miles of driving to go. Almost twenty-two years ago to the day he had suffered the brain haemorrhage which had left him with permanent weaknesses in his right arm and leg, epilepsy and the occasional blinding headache. But after more operations than he cared to remember – embolisations, radio-therapy treatment and the dreaded craniotomy – the seizures had slowly but surely diminished until one day he realised that nearly two years had passed without even what he called a ‘trembley leg’, but what the neurologists called a focal attack. This meant it was time to get his driving licence back and apply for a Motability car. And eventually six months ago he had become the proud leaser of a smart black Vauxhall Astra Estate. And here he was, driving further and faster than he ever thought he would again, on his way to pick up his invalid mother-in-law to take them all to a niece’s wedding. If all went well.
‘We may have to stop at a services soon. I think I might need to stretch my legs.’ He wanted to say ‘rest my legs’ but this wasn’t the day to appear weak.
Katherine sighed again. Would this be her reaction to everything today? he thought irritably. She had a whole range of sighs, all guaranteed to annoy him. The ‘Why can’t you try harder?’ sigh. The ‘Here we go again.’ sigh. The ‘How long is this going to take?’ sigh. He could write a book on the subject. Best to meet her halfway though.
‘Maybe a bit of Radio Four might be a good idea. John Humphreys should be done by now.’ He checked the dashboard clock. It was after nine o’clock. The last thing he needed was that aggressive, sarcastic Welsh interviewer winding him up in his present fragile mood.
‘Wouldn’t music be better? Nice bit of Classic FM?’
‘No. It might make me tired. Can’t take the chance.’
II
Pat sat on the side of her bed. The nurse had just left and she had some time alone before her daughter and son-in-law were expected to arrive. She had had a small breakfast, just some toast and marmalade and a cup of tea - she didn’t want her bladder to be a problem today of all days – before being helped on with her new dark blue dress and shoes. This was the first time she had worn anything new since Vince’s funeral, she reflected. Her husband had died four years earlier and soon afterwards it had been thought best for her to move into a residential care home. Even she was resigned to the fact that there was very little she could actually manage for herself and it was impossible to expect a team of carers to be at her constant beck and call. She sat staring out of the window. The spring flowers made a glorious display in the garden below and the lawn had received one of its first cuts of the year the day before. The sunlight was rippling through the ash trees which bordered the property, the young leaves breaking up the light as an easy breeze blew through the branches. She was so lucky to have this view. Her old home had been in a street of ancient back-to-backs in central London and all she ever saw, since being virtually bed-ridden ten years earlier, was a smoke-stained red-brick wall; the side of the house across the way.
Her gaze wandered from the window to the room she sat in. Despite the improvement in her living conditions, she still really only lived in one room. The acute arthritis in all her joints, ulcers on her legs and continually worsening osteoporosis meant that nearly all movement caused her pain and it was a relief to be able to stay in one place with all her needs brought to her. And to think, she almost chuckled to herself, I rode a bike all my life, right up to the end of the old century. And now look at me. Glancing in the large ornate mirror on the opposite wall, a remnant of her old life, along with her books and television, she saw a tiny, hunched-over little lady whose head seemed to be permanently resting on her right shoulder. Her hair was thinning, grey wisps making a halo around her head. As usual she was surprised to see her. Is that really me? she thought. In her head she was still a young woman, married at eighteen to a dashing sergeant home from the war, and by thirty the mother to three lovely sons and one beautiful little daughter. The daughter who was now on her way to take this poor old woman with her shattered body to possibly the last family occasion she would live to see.
And she didn’t want to go. Her whole world had been one room for so long that the thought of any journey, however carefully short it might be, terrified her. She recalled a trip to Vision Express the previous month. She had felt really sick the whole way. Ridiculous as it might seem, the possibility of travelling at more that walking speed – shuffling speed – filled her with incipient vertigo.
I’m not going, she thought petulantly, and so firmly that for a moment she believed she had spoken out loud. I can’t go. I’m not well. It’s not fair to expect me to go all that way. I’ll be stuck in that damn wheelchair all day, everyone ignoring me, talking over my head. Either that, or trying to make embarrassed conversation with the ‘old dear’.
This is what had happened to her on the trip to the opticians. No one had spoken to her. All remarks and questions had been addressed to her carer. Somehow sitting in a wheelchair seemed to make her invisible. She became a non-person. She didn’t think she could put up with that for a whole day.
No. She had decided. She wouldn’t, she couldn’t, go.
But on the other hand so many people were going out of their way to help her today. Brian and Cathy were coming all the way from Bristol just to give her a lift. And look at Brian. You think you’ve got problems, Pat admonished herself. The poor man was climbing a mountain for her today, driving all this way. Cathy had phoned her the night before to go over yet again the plans for the day.
‘Remember, Mum, Brian hasn’t made a journey like this for donkey’s years. He’s really going out on a limb for you. You know he’s only doing this because he loves you,’ she added with a note of reproach. ‘You couldn’t wish for a better son-in-law.’
Pat knew this was true, of course. Ten years ago everyone was marvelling at the fact that he was able to walk again, albeit with two sticks, but now! Driving his own car! She knew how much that meant to both of them. Brian was proud of his achievement and eager to show everyone – not just Cathy and Pat - that he could be a useful member of the family again.
‘He feels like he’s a complete person again, Mum,’ her daughter had told her. ‘He’s so pleased to be able to ferry other people about after all those years of having to beg lifts off other people.’
Oh, yes. Pat well knew what it was to be a burden on others. Why can’t they just leave me alone in my room? Why do they want to make me join in? I’ll only be in the way.
And so the voices in her head kept up a continual seesaw of argument. Yes, of course she would go. No, it’s ridiculous. Of course I can’t go. She closed her eyes and heaved a sobbing sigh. Oh Vince. What should I do?
III
Brian turned the car off the motorway and started to make his ‘final approach’. Now the worst of the journey was over and had been successfully completed, he was in a lighter mood, making jokes about feeling like a jumbo jet pilot finishing a long-haul flight. The journey hadn’t been anywhere near as bad as he had expected. Of course it hadn’t. Relief filled him and he knew that he could take a break now as they picked up his mother-in-law before making the mere fifty mile journey to the church.
Katherine’s mood had darkened as his had lightened. She thought back to last night’s phone conversation. Her mother still wasn’t sure that she could handle the journey. What if she had given in to her worst fears and would refuse to come?
They turned into the entrance to the care home and, as they approached they saw Pat sitting on a bench by the front door, her bags by her side.
She was smiling as they drove up.
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