first, to get it over with. She pulls up outside and sits there for a minute, apparently looking at her phone but actually steeling herself to unlock the door and go in to face the sadness alone. From the outside there is little to indicate the state of the interior and it looks as charming as ever. A white-painted cottage with no front garden but quite a lot of land at the back, which her parents had used to extend the property twice during her childhood. It has low beams in places, but is generally bright and quite modern, as her father had been a practical man who liked nothing better than to take a few days’ leave and transform a room.
Once inside, she carries on the apparently endless task of sorting the carrier bags in her mother’s bedroom. Her strategy now is to empty the contents onto the bed and sort into three piles: rubbish, recycle and keep. This is better, as the first two categories are fairly simple and involve little decision making and the last comprises everything else. In that way, anything she isn’t sure about can be put to one side for Kelly or Robin to examine, and she does not have to agonise over some piece of worthless glassware that may have been a present from someone important without her knowing. Maybe Mum will be well enough to return home and it will be important to have familiar things all around her, even if they do end up in different places.
Laura fills three black bin bags in an hour and a half and puts the ‘keep’ pile into a cardboard box. She is hungry and grubby. She longs to return home for a shower and something to eat in the calm order of her own kitchen, but she knows that she will miss seeing Mum if she does that. By the time she has driven home, eaten and showered it will be nearly time to picks up the kids, so she washes her face and hands in the bathroom and leaves. For some reason she always feels guilty when leaving the house, and hopes the neighbours will not see her as she loads the bin bags into the car. They might think she is taking away all her mother’s precious things, or they might want to talk to her about what is going to happen next. Lydia next door has called on a number of occasions with unsolicited advice about the need to keep her mother in residential care, and she certainly doesn’t want that conversation again.
It is only a short drive to The Willows. They were lucky to find somewhere that would take her mother at such short notice, when everything fell apart and Lydia was threatening all sorts. It also means the assessment can continue without Mum being admitted to hospital, which is the only logical alternative. Kelly has no space, Robin is too far away and Mum has developed a strong and irrational dislike of Patrick in recent months. That means he has to avoid speaking to her or sitting anywhere near her to prevent her becoming agitated. Clearly she could not live with them under those circumstances.
There is a parking space at the front so Laura takes it and rings the front doorbell, but is not buzzed through as usual. Instead, the door is opened by Mrs Benjamin the home manager, a statuesque woman with bright red winged spectacles and bleached blonde hair swept up and piled on top of her head. The combined effect of these fashion choices is to give her the appearance of a fierce secretary from a 1960s sitcom. They had all joked about it after they first met her, but something in her expression tells Laura there will be no laughter today.
“Ah, Mrs Rowan, please come in. I was about to call you. Would you mind coming into my office?”
For a fleeting moment, Laura wonders if she could actually refuse this invitation. If she says “No, I’m sorry, I’ve just remembered I’ve got to be somewhere else,” will it all go away? Will whatever it is that has pulled Mrs Benjamin’s mouth down at the sides, deepened the lines that run from there to points either side of her chin, be forgotten by the next time she comes? But no, the question
Once inside, she carries on the apparently endless task of sorting the carrier bags in her mother’s bedroom. Her strategy now is to empty the contents onto the bed and sort into three piles: rubbish, recycle and keep. This is better, as the first two categories are fairly simple and involve little decision making and the last comprises everything else. In that way, anything she isn’t sure about can be put to one side for Kelly or Robin to examine, and she does not have to agonise over some piece of worthless glassware that may have been a present from someone important without her knowing. Maybe Mum will be well enough to return home and it will be important to have familiar things all around her, even if they do end up in different places.
Laura fills three black bin bags in an hour and a half and puts the ‘keep’ pile into a cardboard box. She is hungry and grubby. She longs to return home for a shower and something to eat in the calm order of her own kitchen, but she knows that she will miss seeing Mum if she does that. By the time she has driven home, eaten and showered it will be nearly time to picks up the kids, so she washes her face and hands in the bathroom and leaves. For some reason she always feels guilty when leaving the house, and hopes the neighbours will not see her as she loads the bin bags into the car. They might think she is taking away all her mother’s precious things, or they might want to talk to her about what is going to happen next. Lydia next door has called on a number of occasions with unsolicited advice about the need to keep her mother in residential care, and she certainly doesn’t want that conversation again.
It is only a short drive to The Willows. They were lucky to find somewhere that would take her mother at such short notice, when everything fell apart and Lydia was threatening all sorts. It also means the assessment can continue without Mum being admitted to hospital, which is the only logical alternative. Kelly has no space, Robin is too far away and Mum has developed a strong and irrational dislike of Patrick in recent months. That means he has to avoid speaking to her or sitting anywhere near her to prevent her becoming agitated. Clearly she could not live with them under those circumstances.
There is a parking space at the front so Laura takes it and rings the front doorbell, but is not buzzed through as usual. Instead, the door is opened by Mrs Benjamin the home manager, a statuesque woman with bright red winged spectacles and bleached blonde hair swept up and piled on top of her head. The combined effect of these fashion choices is to give her the appearance of a fierce secretary from a 1960s sitcom. They had all joked about it after they first met her, but something in her expression tells Laura there will be no laughter today.
“Ah, Mrs Rowan, please come in. I was about to call you. Would you mind coming into my office?”
For a fleeting moment, Laura wonders if she could actually refuse this invitation. If she says “No, I’m sorry, I’ve just remembered I’ve got to be somewhere else,” will it all go away? Will whatever it is that has pulled Mrs Benjamin’s mouth down at the sides, deepened the lines that run from there to points either side of her chin, be forgotten by the next time she comes? But no, the question
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