that they annoyed her so much
with their over-the-top gratefulness to her for marrying their son. There was no harm in either of them, quite the opposite – they would help anyone with anything within their capabilities.
They were wonderfully agile for a couple in their mid-seventies. The ill-health fairy had stayed away from their door, except for a heart scare for Norman last year, and the odd cold. Mental
illness was something they couldn’t understand – and wouldn’t ever be able to – so they overcompensated and padded around Glyn on eggshells, not wanting to risk upset and
send him back to the dark places he had visited during his breakdown.
Norman rushed Glyn inside to show him the new TV they’d just bought for their caravan. Joy followed behind with Violet, taking slow pin steps and hoping for her usual ‘quiet
word’.
‘How’s he been?’ she asked, her smile sad but hopeful of good news.
‘Fine,’ nodded Violet. ‘In good spirits.’ She didn’t add that his paranoia seemed to be getting worse. That if she was out of the house for longer than an hour
without reporting in, he would get in a flap. Some things were best left unsaid. The Leachs were Olympic champions at worrying.
‘You are making sure he takes his anti-depressants regularly, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, Joy,’ said Violet, psyching herself to ask what had been on her mind to say for weeks now. ‘It might . . . it might help if you encouraged him to go out and get some
fresh air and stretch his legs. Occasionally.’
Glyn’s diet wasn’t the healthiest and the fact that he got absolutely no exercise bothered Violet. Especially because her concern seemed to gratify Glyn and made him doubly reluctant
to do anything about his increasing waist measurement. ‘It’s not good for him to be so inactive, Joy. I wish you’d say something to him about it. He won’t listen to
me.’
Joy’s eyes nearly sprang out of their sockets in horror. ‘He needs to rest, surely. At least for the time being. It’s early days, Violet. A breakdown can take years to get
over. I got a book from the library about mental health. He goes out in the garden, doesn’t he? He tells us he’s planted all sorts of flowers. Daddy’s given him all manner of
seeds.’
‘He has, yes,’ conceded Violet. The flats all had individual patches of garden at the back. Patch being the operative word.
‘And he’s growing some violets for you, I hear.’ Joy grinned at the romance of it all.
‘Yes, he’s growing some violets,’ echoed Violet, knowing now that she was on the highway to nowhere by asking Joy to help her gee up her son.
‘Violet, dear, I know Glyn feels bad about not being strong enough yet to get another job, because he’s always had such a professional work ethic. But, for the moment, he’s
enjoying being at home and looking after you. And that can only be a good thing – if he’s happy.’
‘Yes, yes, I know,’ said Violet. ‘I wasn’t implying he was lazy, it’s just that . . .’
‘These modern marriages have a lot to be said for them when the wife is happy working out and the husband is happy working in.’
Violet didn’t say it but she felt that wouldn’t have been the natural way round of things for Joy. She couldn’t imagine either Joy mowing the lawn or Norman ironing. But Joy
had obviously tried hard to rationalize the situation so that it made sense to her tradition-loving brain.
Glyn wasn’t idle, but he was doing himself no favours ‘institutionalizing’ himself in his flat. His therapist had said the same, until he stopped going to see her. Violet was
now totally on her own trying to get him back to being part of the bigger world again.
She followed Joy into the chintzy roast-pork-scented kitchen, where a warmed teapot was waiting under a crocheted cosy. Pans of vegetables were bubbling away on her old electric hob.
‘Can I do anything?’ asked Violet as Joy slipped her apron back on. She always
with their over-the-top gratefulness to her for marrying their son. There was no harm in either of them, quite the opposite – they would help anyone with anything within their capabilities.
They were wonderfully agile for a couple in their mid-seventies. The ill-health fairy had stayed away from their door, except for a heart scare for Norman last year, and the odd cold. Mental
illness was something they couldn’t understand – and wouldn’t ever be able to – so they overcompensated and padded around Glyn on eggshells, not wanting to risk upset and
send him back to the dark places he had visited during his breakdown.
Norman rushed Glyn inside to show him the new TV they’d just bought for their caravan. Joy followed behind with Violet, taking slow pin steps and hoping for her usual ‘quiet
word’.
‘How’s he been?’ she asked, her smile sad but hopeful of good news.
‘Fine,’ nodded Violet. ‘In good spirits.’ She didn’t add that his paranoia seemed to be getting worse. That if she was out of the house for longer than an hour
without reporting in, he would get in a flap. Some things were best left unsaid. The Leachs were Olympic champions at worrying.
‘You are making sure he takes his anti-depressants regularly, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, Joy,’ said Violet, psyching herself to ask what had been on her mind to say for weeks now. ‘It might . . . it might help if you encouraged him to go out and get some
fresh air and stretch his legs. Occasionally.’
Glyn’s diet wasn’t the healthiest and the fact that he got absolutely no exercise bothered Violet. Especially because her concern seemed to gratify Glyn and made him doubly reluctant
to do anything about his increasing waist measurement. ‘It’s not good for him to be so inactive, Joy. I wish you’d say something to him about it. He won’t listen to
me.’
Joy’s eyes nearly sprang out of their sockets in horror. ‘He needs to rest, surely. At least for the time being. It’s early days, Violet. A breakdown can take years to get
over. I got a book from the library about mental health. He goes out in the garden, doesn’t he? He tells us he’s planted all sorts of flowers. Daddy’s given him all manner of
seeds.’
‘He has, yes,’ conceded Violet. The flats all had individual patches of garden at the back. Patch being the operative word.
‘And he’s growing some violets for you, I hear.’ Joy grinned at the romance of it all.
‘Yes, he’s growing some violets,’ echoed Violet, knowing now that she was on the highway to nowhere by asking Joy to help her gee up her son.
‘Violet, dear, I know Glyn feels bad about not being strong enough yet to get another job, because he’s always had such a professional work ethic. But, for the moment, he’s
enjoying being at home and looking after you. And that can only be a good thing – if he’s happy.’
‘Yes, yes, I know,’ said Violet. ‘I wasn’t implying he was lazy, it’s just that . . .’
‘These modern marriages have a lot to be said for them when the wife is happy working out and the husband is happy working in.’
Violet didn’t say it but she felt that wouldn’t have been the natural way round of things for Joy. She couldn’t imagine either Joy mowing the lawn or Norman ironing. But Joy
had obviously tried hard to rationalize the situation so that it made sense to her tradition-loving brain.
Glyn wasn’t idle, but he was doing himself no favours ‘institutionalizing’ himself in his flat. His therapist had said the same, until he stopped going to see her. Violet was
now totally on her own trying to get him back to being part of the bigger world again.
She followed Joy into the chintzy roast-pork-scented kitchen, where a warmed teapot was waiting under a crocheted cosy. Pans of vegetables were bubbling away on her old electric hob.
‘Can I do anything?’ asked Violet as Joy slipped her apron back on. She always
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