One Whole and Perfect Day Read Free Page B

– mobile, all faculties intact, perfectly able to spend a few days alone. ‘Doesn’t she like being in the house by herself?’ she asked.
    ‘She loves it!’
    ‘So?’
    ‘She’d burn it down, Dr Samson! Leave something boiling on the stove! Or flood it! Leave the bath taps running!’
    Marigold frowned. ‘Do you think so? She seems so capable to me.’
    Sarah’s eyes grew even larger. ‘Oh Dr Samson, you don’t know .’
    ‘Don’t know what?’
    Sarah twitched her tiny nose. ‘She gets so immersed. ’
    ‘Immersed?’
    ‘In her card games. Or in those books of hers! She can read all day, Dr Samson. Isn’t that strange?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘On and on and on she goes. I honestly don’t think she knows she’s in this world.’
    Marigold thought of Lonnie as a little boy, curled up on the sofa, reading and reading and reading. Anything he could get his hands on, except school readers, which he left strictly alone. Marigold had once found three of them – three! – in the garbage bin.
    ‘Ticket to Outer Space,’ whispered Sarah.
    ‘What?’ Marigold was still thinking of Lonnie.
    ‘Those books of Mum’s, the way she reads. Outer Space, you know? La La Land?’ Sarah twirled a finger at her forehead.
    Marigold was beginning to dislike Mrs Nightingale’s daughter-in-law, even if disliking clients’ children was unprofessional. ‘I think it’s perfectly normal to read a lot,’ she said coolly.
    ‘Do you?’ Sarah rolled her eyes. ‘But Dr Samson, if you call her when she’s reading, if you say, “Mum, it’s dinner time, now put that book away!” she doesn’t answer! Even if you shout!’
    And good luck to her, thought Marigold, though all she said was ‘Mmm,’ before changing the subject smoothly. ‘So – this holiday?’ she asked, nodding towards the shiny brochures in Sarah’s lap.
    ‘My sister said she might be able to take her,’ whispered Sarah. ‘It’s only a “might”, mind you, because Janet’s a bit scared of her –’ Sarah’s eyes flicked nervously towards her mother-in-law, and then back to Marigold. ‘Mum can be quite sharp-tongued, you know. Comes from all those years of being a teacher, I think.’
    ‘Does it?’ said Marigold.
    ‘So – so we’re not sure yet if we’ll be going,’ said Sarah, and she looked down at the glossy brochures and sighed, the tiniest, saddest sigh that Marigold had ever heard, and which, ordinarily, would have been the signal for her to say, ‘Oh, look, if you can’t find anyone, and it’s only for a few days, your mother-in-law can stay with me . . .’
    Now she remained guiltily silent: only last week she’d promised Lily she wouldn’t bring any more lame ducks home. ‘It’s not professional , Mum!’ Lily was always pointing out. ‘And I’ll tell you something else.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘You’re going to get stuck one day.’ There’d been an edge of triumph in Lily’s voice.
    ‘Stuck?’
    ‘Yes! One of those carer-kids will go away and not come back and you’ll be left holding the oldie.’
    Marigold had laughed, a little uneasily. ‘Of course they won’t.’
    ‘Of course they would. You’re such a softie, Mum. Don’t you read the papers?’
    ‘I haven’t got the time.’
    ‘Well, old people get abandoned every single day! Left on park benches! On railway stations! Without even a label round their neck to tell people who they are!’
    There’d been a silence then. Marigold might not have time to read the paper every day, but she knew from her work that this was true.
    ‘Promise me!’ Lily had demanded.
    ‘Promise what?’ Marigold had asked, though indeed she’d known.
    ‘That you won’t bring home any more lame ducks –’ Lily had paused to calculate, ‘for at least a year.’ A year and she would have got out of the habit, that’s what Lily had been thinking.
    ‘But –’
    ‘Mum, it’s unprofessional !’
    ‘Oh, all right.’ Marigold had given in.
    A promise was a promise, so now she said