The Illuminations (2 page)

He had never lived in Saltcoats. It seemed he had died in the 1970s, but the details were sketchy and Maureen felt it would test Anne’s patience to ask for more information. It didn’t matter.
It was just nice to know there were men like that in the world. ‘This one’s my favourite.’ Maureen picked up a black-and-white portrait from the 1950s. It showed a man in a short-sleeved shirt sitting at a bar with a bottle of beer in front of him and an empty camera case. A monkey was eating nuts out of his hand. ‘Exotic,’ Maureen said. The man was young in the picture and so was the Queen in a poster tacked to the wall behind him.

‘That’s my Harry at his best,’ Anne said. ‘He was serving with the army in Singapore.’

‘But that’s an English bottle of beer.’

‘It’s Singapore, Mrs Ward.’

Maureen knew when to let things go. A full bowl of soup sat between them and Anne stared at it as if she was remembering something important. ‘Don’t drive tonight,’ she said. And when Maureen told her she didn’t have a car Anne just looked blank and said, ‘That’s true.’

It was around New Year that Maureen had first noticed Anne getting mixed up about dates. At Lochranza Court they often saw the onset of dementia, but with Anne it was different because she appeared to be trying to climb out of herself before it was too late. Whatever vessel Anne had sailed in all her life, it began to drift and that was the start of it all. She rolled into a darkness where everything old was suddenly new, and when she returned to the surface her life’s materials were bobbing up around her. ‘We all have flotsam, Mum,’ said Esther on the phone. (Esther was a therapist.) ‘No matter how we weight it and sink it to the bottom, it comes loose. And that’s what’s happening to your nice lady next door.’

THE RABBIT

Maureen poured the soup away and her neighbour sauntered over to stare at the bright red splashes in the sink. Anne spoke about a book she and her grandson once read. He was doing it at university and she bought a copy. She couldn’t remember the book’s name but the man in the story was Sergeant Troy and he wore a nice red coat. Maureen washed the bowl and was quietly amazed.

Anne sat on the sofa. She looked at the window, her hands neatly clasped in her lap. ‘The rabbit was out there in the cold,’ she said. ‘He was by himself in the middle of the road.’

‘When?’

‘At Christmas. The snow was falling. Nice, if you like snow. But rabbits don’t.’

‘Don’t they?’

‘No. Not a bit. Or the dark. They don’t like the dark. They like to be out playing with the other boys.’ Anne said she’d been standing at the window not doing anything, just looking into the road, and she saw the rabbit come from the dark at the top of the shore. ‘It came from the bandstand where the Punch and Judy thing used to be.’

‘Just there, beside the beach?’

‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘And it just hopped up the road. I was watching it. And you know what, Maureen? It stopped and looked at me. Just looked. Then it kept going. Disappeared.’

‘Just like that?’

‘Just like that through the snow.’

Maureen had finished washing up and she leaned on the breakfast bar with both hands. ‘Don’t think about it,’ she said. ‘You had better get some sleep or you’ll be shattered tomorrow.’

‘But he’s all right now. He likes it here.’

Maureen got her friend into bed and closed the blinds. Anne wanted the rabbit on the wicker chair but Maureen said no and got an unhappy look. ‘You’re not in charge,’ Anne said, leaning back. She stared into the corner at a pair of old suitcases and recalled the day one of the cases was sitting on the station platform at Preston. It was a long time ago. It was raining. She stood that afternoon and looked back at the Park Hotel, where she’d just had tea with Harry and he’d told her about his other life. He drove back to Manchester and she waited for the train to Blackpool, her heart racing, the suitcase filled with negligees and film spools.

I’ve got the flat for good, Harry. And all the beakers are there and the safelights. All the solutions. Paper. Everything we need. It will do as a darkroom but a place to stay as well. It will just be ours. We can spend the night, in the summer.

‘Go to sleep, Anne,’ Maureen said.

‘You’re not the boss.’

Before closing the door, Maureen looked at a picture of a handsome young man in uniform that hung above the light-switch. ‘That’s Luke,’ Anne said, her eyes shining.

‘He’s a fine boy.’

‘He’s a captain in the British army.’

SALTCOATS

Maureen went out every day to buy milk. On her way to the Spar she passed the empty boating pond and looked over to Arran; it was nice to be out in the fresh air; the island was clear and
romantic, like one of those pictures you could buy for over the sofa. The mountains were covered in snow and the top of Goat-fell looked dangerous, as if the man in the Milk Tray advert was about to come down on his skis. She used to like that man in the black polo-neck who raced down mountains and dived off cliffs to bring the lady a box of chocolates. In the summer, Arran was a totally different place because the hills were brown and cheery and if the sky was blue it seemed the whole island was close enough to touch.

Maureen considered herself the warden’s deputy. It wasn’t a real job or anything like that but she could help the older ones with their laundry. She watered the plants and went for the milk, tasks that gave her a feeling of usefulness she had missed. When Ian, Esther and Alex were children she seldom had a minute to herself. If she wasn’t ironing shirts she was filling in school forms or making beds, or cooking. But people looked after their kids in those days. You put in the work and enjoyed their young years. Not like nowadays when everybody’s harassed and the mothers line up at the school gates in their giant jeeps. Her three walked to school. But by the time Esther was fifteen it was all over with the parenting. Finished. And one by one they left the house with their LPs and their T-shirts. That’s what happens, Maureen thought. That’s how it is. You kill yourself looking after them and then they get up and leave you.

She never imagined she’d end up in a place like Lochranza Court, but it had been six years and she was used to it. Her house in Stobbs Crescent had got too big and then a couple of druggies smashed the patio doors one night and stole her television. She was terrified. In the morning there was broken glass all over the carpet and her ornaments were scattered around the garden and
the gate was nearly off its hinges. Maureen remembered looking at all this and seeing that her old life was spoiled. After a few weeks, Esther drove over from Edinburgh to try bringing a bit of calm to the situation. She could see the point of a new house but not an old people’s home.

‘It’s not a home,’ Alex said. There was booze on his breath. ‘Get a grip, Esther, it’s not a home. It’s retirement housing.’

‘That’s right,’ Ian said. Esther knew the matter was settled when Ian backed the plan. (Ian worked with computers, as Maureen often liked to remind them. By this she meant he was always likely to be right. ‘And he keeps up his annual membership at the gym.’)

‘It’s sheltered housing accommodation,’ Ian said. ‘She’ll have a door onto the street, like a normal person. But the other door goes into the complex, where all the people can have breakfast together. There’s a warden. It’s safe. And there’s a tropical plants area.’

‘People die in there,’ Esther said. ‘Every day. And she’s only sixty-two.’

‘What’s dying?’ Alex said. ‘People die every day all the time.’

Ian made a face like he couldn’t understand what was wrong with people. ‘What?’

‘Everybody dies.’

‘Not if they look after themselves, they don’t.’

‘It’s a home,’ Esther said. ‘I’ve got patients, Ian, and I’ve seen what happens when they give up. They dwindle. And Mum’s prone to depression. She’s been closing down her life since we were teenagers. She’s gone from marital crisis to infirmity without a break in between, and that makes me sad, Ian, because I’d always hoped for a bit of optimism. A bit of hope. Just once to see our mother happy.’

‘You know everything,’ Ian said. ‘Keep that shit for your patients, Esther. She’s not asking for gold. She wants to be safe at night and this place is the answer.’

Maureen never heard the details of this argument, but Alex later gave her a few clues and it upset her to think of them not getting on. She didn’t want the boys being too hard on Esther just because she was different. Esther had a lot on her mind and she sometimes blamed people, that was her problem, and you have to remember, Maureen noted, that Esther wasn’t too happy in her own life, not nearly as happy as she liked to think, and she sometimes took it out on other people. It was only natural. When you had a big job like Esther’s, people could expect too much. That’s right. Esther was her own worst enemy.

On her way back from the Spar, hugging the milk, Maureen saw the street lights switching off. In winter it was often dark when she went out and getting light as she returned. She liked the sudden change of atmosphere and the sense of a new day beginning. Only when she went to cross the road to Lochranza House did Maureen spot the fire-engine and notice that smoke was escaping from an open window. Jackie the warden was standing out in the car park with a clipboard, the elderly residents gathered around in their dressing-gowns.

‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what’s the matter?’ Maureen said, putting the milk down on a bench.

‘It’s Mr MacDonald in 29,’ Jackie said. ‘Burnt the toast again.’

‘Oh dear,’ Maureen said.

‘Evacuation.’

‘Heaven help us,’ said Mrs Souter from flat 24. ‘Is this what they call an evacuation?’

‘It has different meanings,’ Jackie said.

Anne was sitting on the bench. There was a suitcase at her feet and a smile on her face. ‘It’s not that bad,’ she said, looking at the sea. ‘Beautiful lines over there, don’t you think?’ Maureen had wandered back to pick up the milk she’d left on the bench. ‘It’s all nice when you stop and frame it,’ Anne went on, ‘the people and the horizon and everything. If we wait long enough we’ll see the
Waverley
sailing past.’

NATURAL LIGHT

One day Anne asked for an outing and Maureen took it upon herself to see that the trip went well. It was a constant battle in Maureen’s head, the wonder of central heating versus the benefit of fresh air, but she was happy to do all the zipping and buttoning required for a walk into town. Ian dropped in on his way to work to change a light bulb in his mother’s airing cupboard. ‘What are you up to today?’ he asked. ‘Going down Shenanigans for a few pints with the biddies?’

‘That’ll be right,’ Maureen said. ‘It’s too cold to go out. Plus there’s nowhere to go.’

‘Really? You could go to the pictures. If I wasn’t working I’d go to the pictures every day.’

‘It’s too dear,’ she said. ‘Plus you have to go to Kilmarnock and all the films are about sex or blowing people up.’

‘Awesome,’ he said.

‘Plus, I am working. That living room won’t vacuum itself and the plants out there are begging for water. Somebody’s got to do it and it might as well be me.’

She needed him to think her enjoyments were few and far
between. But after Ian left she went in to help Anne choose a dress and a coat and sensible shoes that would grip. Anne talked about the clothes that once belonged to her aunts who had lived in Glasgow: ‘Atholl Gardens. Number 73. I’m talking about a place with fourteen rooms,’ Anne said. ‘You don’t get houses like that nowadays.’

‘Was it nice?’ asked Maureen.

‘I’m talking rheumatism. Varicose veins. And chests of drawers full to overflowing with corsets and what have you.’

‘You should wear a cardigan under your coat.’

‘There were six floors. The moths had a great time and God knows how many coats they ate.’

‘Put your scarf on.’

‘A scarf’s like a friend, isn’t it?’

Maureen smoothed Anne’s hair. ‘I was always telling them to get rid of stuff,’ Anne added. ‘But they wouldn’t, Maureen. They couldn’t bear to get rid of so much as a pair of stockings.’

‘Is that right?’

‘My father was never out of the church. That was before Glasgow, mind you. In Canada. He was looking for God, up there in the church. My mother didn’t keep well. She had the disease that makes you shake. She stayed in her bed and I think she died in that bed.’

‘In Canada?’

‘That’s right. I was young then.’

The rabbit sat on the sofa with a tea towel tied around him and Anne stopped to look over.

‘I think we’ll leave him behind today,’ Maureen said. Anne offered no argument but said again that she had been a child in Canada, something about ice on the road to Dundas.

Anne sometimes looked at things and you felt she was developing a picture in her mind’s eye. ‘That was the old bathing pond,’ she said, measuring the light as they walked into town. ‘And I think rock ’n’ roll groups used to play there in their suits – the Marine Theatre.’