Finishing Touches (49 page)

It had caused orgasmic delight among the glitterati, most of whom couldn’t stick either Barbara or Kristi, and had been the talk of the town for ages. When Kristi returned home and found
out what Barbara had written about her, she had practically lost her tan with fury! The knives were out between them, much to the delight of their respective editors, who both foresaw a gratifying
increase in circulation.

If Kristi ever found out about Nora . . . Barbara went into a cold sweat thinking about it! She gave Britt the bottle and to her great relief the child fell asleep. How lovely it would be to
have a live-in nanny! That was one of her dreams and that was why Barbara Jordan Murray was about to embark on the writing of a novel! That’s where the money was to be made! It was going to
be an Irish
Gone With the Wind
but more literary! After all, she was looking towards the Booker Prize!

Barbara got back into bed, burrowed her head under the pillow and tried to get to sleep. But sleep would not come. No doubt Cassie would be annoyed that she had left John alone in the hospital
with Nora and gone to Lorna’s gala. Cassie wouldn’t understand that Barbara had gone to
work
, not to
enjoy
herself. Cassie was always so bloody holier than thou, doing
the right thing. Well, this would be her chance really to do the right thing by looking after Nora. After all, she hadn’t the responsibilities Barbara had: a husband and child, a demanding
career. Barbara couldn’t possibly take care of her mother, and besides, it was only a two-bedroomed apartment. She just hadn’t the space! When she met her sister tomorrow she would say
that if she had an extra bedroom, Nora would have been very welcome to come and stay with them. Cassie couldn’t argue with that!

Irene sipped her Dom Perignon as she listened attentively to the grey-haired man at her side. He was a US Senator and Dorothy had told her that he was a millionaire. Dorothy
was throwing a party and Irene was quite enjoying the interest being shown in her as Dorothy’s ‘Irish cousin.’ Senator Dean Madigan was a fascinating man who had suffered a great
tragedy. His wife had been horse-riding on their sprawling Texas ranch when the horse had taken fright and bolted and she had been thrown. She had suffered a head injury which had left her in a
coma for the past year and it looked as though she was never going to recover from it.

Irene thought it was the saddest thing she had ever heard. Life could be so cruel. Didn’t she know it? If she hadn’t got out of her job in the County Council and away from that
bastard Timmy O’Dwyer she knew she would have ended up having a nervous breakdown. The stress of her last few months of work was something she would never forget. Irene had really thought she
was going to crack up, especially when the personnel officer had told her she was on her last chance.

Well, that was all behind her now, thanks to Aunt Elsie’s bequest and the five thousand pounds her mother had given her and told her to say nothing to the others about. She missed Nora.
Her mother understood her better than anyone. God, she’d got an awful shock that day she had gone home to find her mother having a heart attack. She’d been more afraid than ever before
in her life and had really panicked.

In a way she was glad she wasn’t at home now. Her nerves would be gone, wondering if and when it might happen to her mother again. Here in Dorothy’s she had nothing to worry about;
she was waited on hand and foot and all she had to do was mind the baby for a while in the mornings and afternoons. Dorothy was delighted to have her stay, she had assured Irene. She loved having
someone from home, and besides, it was great to have someone to go shopping with. And boy, did Dorothy love to shop!

Dorothy had told her that she would introduce her to some nice eligible men, but so far the nicest man she had met was Senator Madigan. What a pity he was married! Still, she would write to Nora
and tell her all about the party. Her mother would be delighted to know that she was enjoying herself.

Martin hung up the phone with a frown. He couldn’t figure it out; he had been trying all day to get in touch with his mother to tell her his news and no-one was answering
the phone. He had tried John and Karen’s as well and there was no reply from them. Maybe there was just something wrong with the lines. He often had trouble ringing from Iraq.

He hoped Nora would be pleased for him. It was a bit of a surprise, he supposed. In fact, he had surprised himself by asking Jean to marry him, but now that he had done it he was starting to get
excited about it.

They had gone on holidays together three weeks ago. Jean had flown out to Rome and he met her there and they went to the Italian Riviera for a week before heading over to Capri. It was a great
holiday; they had really enjoyed themselves and Jean had let him sleep with her for the first time. She had told him tremulously that she was a virgin and he had been very gentle and patient with
her. It had touched him deeply that she had given herself to him and he had felt very protective of the petite blonde, who obviously cared for him a great deal.

When he proposed marriage on the spur of the moment, Jean squealed with delight, fluttered her huge eyelashes and flung her arms around him. Before he knew it, they had bought the ring and she
wore it proudly, admiring the flashing diamond every five minutes. She was so excited going home that he had almost wished he were going with her.

Now that he had finally committed himself, Martin knew that he would have to come home for good. Jean would never cope with conditions in Baghdad. Well, he had made his money there, enough to
set himself up in business in Port Mahon. To tell the truth he was sort of looking forward to going home to proper food and a decent pint of Guinness. He’d had enough home-brew to last him a
lifetime! His mother would be delighted to hear his news and to know that he was coming home . . . if only he could get in touch with her. Well, never mind, he’d try again tomorrow. Whistling
to himself, he poured himself a glass of the dreaded home-brew and sat down to write a letter home to Jean.

‘Hello, Barbara,’ Cassie greeted her sister and held out her arms to take hold of her baby niece. Britt beamed at her auntie and Cassie smiled as she held the baby
close and gave her a cuddle. Between them, Barbara and Ian had produced a gorgeous child with big blue eyes and soft curly blond hair that was so fine and downy it looked like spun gold. Barbara
smiled proudly as Britt made a grab for Cassie’s earring. They had all arranged to meet at the hospital to have a chat with the consultant in charge of their mother’s case, and to try
and come to a decision about Nora.

‘Were you up with Mam?’

Cassie nodded. ‘She’s very dopey and she seems to think the nurses are trying to poison her. But I managed to calm her down and she told me she wanted to go home.’

‘Well, at least she recognized you,’ Barbara said with relief. ‘She hadn’t a clue who I was yesterday. Or John. It was really scary. She kept saying, “Tell Jack I
want him,” as if Poppa were still alive; it was awful.’ In spite of herself, Barbara’s lower lip trembled.

‘Barbara, if you start crying, I’ll start crying,’ Cassie said, her voice going a bit wobbly. It had been terrible to see her mother so agitated; it made Cassie feel utterly
helpless.

Barbara managed to compose herself. ‘Sorry! It’s just I can’t believe this is happening. Have you got in touch with Martin and Irene yet?’

‘No. Have you?’ Cassie shot back. Barbara looked surprised at the idea.

‘I was waiting for you to come home,’ she said defensively.

But of course! thought Cassie. Let good old Cassie look after things. Remembering Laura’s stern lecture to her last night, she faced her sister squarely.

‘What are we going to do about Mam?’

Barbara looked at her in amazement. Why was Cassie asking
her
? Barbara had been full sure that Cassie would take command and make some decision. Now she was asking
her
what
they were going to do as if she expected
Barbara
to have some plan.

‘I . . . I . . . don’t know,’ she stuttered.

‘Well, surely you must have some idea?’ Cassie pressed. Barbara was not going to get off so lightly and neither for that matter were Martin and Irene. She was going to get in touch
with them immediately and put the facts straight in front of them. It was a decision they all had to make and Cassie had decided that she wasn’t going to make it easy for any of them. She
knew in her heart and soul she would see that her mother was taken care of, but, as Laura had pointed out, she too had a life to lead!

‘What do
you
think we should do?’ Barbara asked, trying to hide her dismay at Cassie’s uncharacteristic indecisiveness.

‘I haven’t a clue,’ Cassie told her sister calmly. Barbara’s heart sank.

‘Well,
I
can’t take her.
I
don’t have the room,’ Barbara said in desperation, and then could have bitten her tongue. That wasn’t the way she had
meant to say it at all. She had meant to imply that if she had another bedroom, of course she’d take her mother. It was just that Cassie always put her on the defensive, and always had, ever
since they were children. It was infuriating. ‘We’d better see what the others have to say about it,’ she babbled.

‘We’d better,’ agreed Cassie, taking a perverse pleasure in Barbara’s discomfiture. It was quite obvious from her sister’s reaction that Barbara had expected Cassie
to provide the solution.

John and Karen arrived and Cassie gave her heavily pregnant sister-in-law as much of a hug as her rotundity would permit. Karen looked tired, but when Cassie asked her how she was feeling, she
assured her she was fine.

‘We’d better not keep the doctor waiting,’ John reminded them, leading the way to the consultant’s office.

They listened to the tall, slightly stooped man tell them that of course they could get a second opinion if they wished but that in his opinion, from his observations and from what John had told
him, Nora was displaying the characteristic signs of Alzheimer’s disease, although the disease could be confirmed only by post-mortem. He told them kindly but bluntly that the cause of the
disease was not known, there was no known cure or even satisfactory treatment, that it could strike anybody, man or woman. Alzheimer’s was no respecter of class or creed. Cassie knew he was
trying to prepare them for the worst. Anger, fear, grief, pity, fought for supremacy within her. Barbara was white-faced and John and Karen sat holding hands tightly.

Cassie took a deep breath. She knew what had to be done and who had to do it. ‘I think the best thing, then, is for Mam to come and live with me in Liverpool and for us to pay someone to
be with her while I’m working during the day.’

Barbara looked relieved that Cassie had recognized that she was the only one who could possibly look after their mother. After all, she was single and free, not like her married siblings. And if
Nora were in Liverpool, that bitch Kristi Killeen would never get to hear about their mother’s frightful disease.

‘Cassie, I think that’s a terrific idea. Mam’s always been very close to you and of course you do have the space for her. Naturally we’ll help out financially,
won’t we, John?’ Barbara appealed to her brother.

‘It’s very generous of Cassie to offer, but I don’t think it’s fair on her to have to carry the responsibility.’

‘We will be helping financially, John!’ Barbara interjected sharply. Why couldn’t he just shut up and accept Cassie’s offer gracefully like she had.

The consultant watched this exchange. He had seen this scene played out so many times before as families squabbled over taking responsibility for their poor demented parent. The trouble was that
there were no adequate back-up services to assist and support carers. And usually the unfortunate carer who ended up looking after the sufferer lived through hell on earth, sometimes for many
years, as they watched their loved one become a total stranger to them, regressing almost to a childlike state. He had seen love turn to hate; he had seen anger and resentment build up until the
carers themselves were close to breakdown. The frustrating thing for him as a physician was that he could do nothing except prescribe tranquillizers to both the carer and the cared-for.

He pitied the lovely girl seated in front of him, who faced the truth unflinchingly and who took the responsibility on her shoulders. People like her were the unsung heroines and heroes of this
life. The other one, the one with the baby and the hard face, couldn’t wash her hands of her mother quickly enough. It was something he understood very well. If he were in the same position,
knowing what he knew, he would be very tempted to do the same.

He turned to Cassie. ‘I’m afraid, Miss Jordan, that moving your mother to Liverpool would be one of the worst things you could do for her.’

Cassie’s mouth opened in surprise and the consultant felt a brief, totally unprofessional flicker of satisfaction, as he saw the other woman’s jaw drop with shock. Life isn’t
that kind and easy, ma’am!

‘Why?’ Cassie asked in dismay.

‘The thing to do with a patient like your mother, Miss Jordan, is to keep her in her own familiar surroundings, where she has a life-pattern that she has carved out for herself over many
years. Her home is unthinkingly familiar to her, yours is not. You must not add to her confusion by bringing her to a strange place where she has to learn a whole new routine, new kitchen layout,
new bathroom and so on. Your mother is losing her ability to remember and learn. Do you understand, Miss Jordan? The longer she is in her own surroundings the better for her. After this particular
acute episode wears off it is quite possible that your mother will cope for the time being with just someone to do her shopping and help her cook a meal. The thing is to give the patient as much
independence as is possible and reasonable, and also,’ he added quietly, glancing at Barbara, ‘to treat her as a human being who is entitled to her dignity at all times.’ He
smiled at Cassie. ‘Don’t make any dramatic change in your life yet. See how things progress. We’ll keep your mother in for a few days to get a better picture of her condition and
to allow her physical injuries to heal. Needless to say, she will not be driving again, so I suggest you keep the car keys in a safe place. I will be writing to your GP and he’ll take over
from here.’