separately-fired gas central heating.
Frank had yet to meet most purchasers. Which reminded him: heâd need a list of all their names from Beattie before Charlie, his electrics man, completed the phone-entry and doorbell system. He waved a hand at the ladies leaving.
Pulling away, Sheila Winter had clipped on her seat-belt, checked the rear-view mirror, switched on and put the car into gear. It would have to be the van next time. Thereâd be stuff to bring back: plants for the balcony and something easy-care for Motherâs room.
Mother, she thought, and a shadow stirred in her mind. How long must it last, her zigzag, but inevitable, slide into premature senility? She was only just over menopause.
Her mood changes were painful to endure. Sheila was aware, in theory, of the clinical symptoms of dementia, but unsure each time whether she recognised the stages in real life. One moment it seemed certain, but Vanessa was such an
actress. The gushes of enthusiasm and the plunging despair might not actually be her, but some leftover memory of roles sheâd once played. At times her mind drifted off entirely. Then, next moment, she came out with some shrewdness that made you wonder just how disturbed her sense of reality was. Of course her drinking didnât help. If only there were some reliable way of controlling her intake.
Sheila resented being forced into spying and recording, but for safetyâs sake someone must remain wary. It fell to her because there was nobody else: a frightful responsibility here at home when at work the new project was just taking off and needed her full-time attention.
Hang on a little longer, she told herself (or telepathically commanded her mother). At some later stage â but when exactly? â she would have to advertise for a full-time carer. A clinical gaoler.
At least out here Mother would be less a prey to danger. Sheâd never cared for the country, so was more likely to stay indoors and play at housekeeping with the new apartment. Thank God theyâd managed to off-load that great house in Putney. Its removal had cut down the chaos and, she hoped, brought Mother closer under control.
Chaos: her mind nudged her with the word. Yes, there was that at work too, but only of the manageable, practical sort. She switched into business mode and settled more firmly in her seat, preparing to deal with the CCTV people about the garden centreâs security system.
In a rear seat Vanessa (or April, as she sometimes liked to call herself) complained, âThatâs a very common old woman weâve bought the place from. I hope youâve checked that thereâs nothing dubious about the purchase.â
âI had our solicitor look into her, Mother. She bought the house with money inherited from family.â She watched in the rear-view mirror how Vanessa appeared either not to hear, or chose to ignore, her words.
She sighed. It was as well Mother had made that remark
because for a moment sheâd almost forgotten she had her there in the back seat. Sheâd heard that sometimes when you live with one you can get to be the same. If she didnât pull herself together people might wonder which of them it was whose mind was adrift.
Chapter Three
With the entry-phone requirements in mind, Frank Perrin gulped the last of his coffee, stowed thermos and mug under the pick-upâs passenger seat, wiped his mouth with the back of a horny hand and set off for the âold houseâ where he knew Beattie would be busily making preparations to move out.
Rosemary Zyczynski was in the kitchen shelling peas on her free day and looked up as Frank was ushered in. So this was Beattieâs wonder-worker, kept under wraps until now. On a tall, gangling frame his rounded head with its weather-beaten features sparsely topped with coarse, wispy hair of much the same ruddy brown, gave the impression of a large and shaggy coconut.
She rose to leave them together.
Bethany J. Barnes Mina Carter