good to see you. Are you here with your mother?’
‘Yes. She’s with the speech therapist. It’s slow going.’
‘Patience, Mr Merryman, she’ll get there in the end. Remember what I told you, there’s life after a stroke so long as everyone involved pitches in. You just have to keep the faith.’
‘I know. Some days she’s quite clear, but others I can’t make head nor tail of what she’s saying. So what brings you here?’
‘An errand of mercy. And here he comes right now.’
A tall, spectacularly grizzled man came towards them. A white dressing covered one of his eyes but not the scowl that darkened the rest of his face. ‘Bloody hours I’ve been stuck here, and it’s all your fault, you interfering little man!’
Not missing a step, Dr Singh was the epitome of politeness: ‘Do you know Mr Liberty, Mr Merryman?’
‘Er … no.’ Archie held out his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Liberty,’ he said affably. But when the other man made no attempt to shake it, he said, ‘Well, then, I ought to be getting back. Bessie will be wondering where I am.’ He turned to go.
Behind him, he heard, ‘A bloody waste of time. Nothing that eye drops wouldn’t have sorted. Just as I told you!’
‘So aren’t you the lucky one, Mr Liberty!’
After calling in at the shop and checking that Samson had everything under control, Archie took Bessie for a cream tea at the Mermaid cafe. A treat to round off the day for her.
‘We should do this more often,’ he said, when Shirley had served them with her customary good humour. She was a good sort, was Shirley; nothing seemed to bring her down, not even the break up of her marriage several years ago. He passed his mother a cup of tea then set to work on the scones. He cut one in half, spread a dollop of strawberry jam on it then topped it off with a layer of cream, but when he gave it to her, his heart fell. From her pained expression he could see that he had assumed too much. He had treated her as an incapable invalid and robbed her of her dignity. ‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured, appalled at his lack of thought. ‘Would you rather do it yourself?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m well,’ she said softly. ‘Not ill, Archie.’
‘Of course you are,’ he agreed. ‘You’re absolutely fine. Now, tell me what the speech therapist said to you. Did she give you any gossip about that cobbly cow with too much lipstick?’
She brought her eyebrows together as she always had when she rebuked him as a child. ‘Serious,’ she said, pointing a finger at him.
‘No fish pies. Tell me the truth about Stella.’
‘What about?’
‘Why?’
He knew what she was asking, but he didn’t want to go down that route. Not yet.
When he had read the letter Stella had left him, he had shoved it into his pocket and gone out to the kitchen to make a start on their supper. Minutes later Bessie had appeared in the doorway and gone along with his need to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Helping her into bed that night he had made up a story that seemed to satisfy her.
But now, four days on, she wanted to know what was going on.
‘Why?’ she repeated.
‘Stella’s left me, love,’ he said. ‘She’s not coming back. I lied when I said she’d gone to her sister in Nottingham for a few days.’
For once Archie was glad that his mother’s speech was so limited.
They sat in a long, awkward silence, their eyes cast down as they concentrated on their scones. Then he heard her say, ‘Is it me? Left you because of me?
He looked up and saw that his mother’s eyes had filled with tears.
One of her hands had started to tremble and crumbs were scattered around her plate. His heart went out to her. ‘No, love. She didn’t leave because of you. It was me. I should have been a better husband.’, , u
He had to turn away. He knew exactly what she was thinking: that she had become a burden to him, and that she had wrecked his marriage. She was
‘Yes. She’s with the speech therapist. It’s slow going.’
‘Patience, Mr Merryman, she’ll get there in the end. Remember what I told you, there’s life after a stroke so long as everyone involved pitches in. You just have to keep the faith.’
‘I know. Some days she’s quite clear, but others I can’t make head nor tail of what she’s saying. So what brings you here?’
‘An errand of mercy. And here he comes right now.’
A tall, spectacularly grizzled man came towards them. A white dressing covered one of his eyes but not the scowl that darkened the rest of his face. ‘Bloody hours I’ve been stuck here, and it’s all your fault, you interfering little man!’
Not missing a step, Dr Singh was the epitome of politeness: ‘Do you know Mr Liberty, Mr Merryman?’
‘Er … no.’ Archie held out his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Liberty,’ he said affably. But when the other man made no attempt to shake it, he said, ‘Well, then, I ought to be getting back. Bessie will be wondering where I am.’ He turned to go.
Behind him, he heard, ‘A bloody waste of time. Nothing that eye drops wouldn’t have sorted. Just as I told you!’
‘So aren’t you the lucky one, Mr Liberty!’
After calling in at the shop and checking that Samson had everything under control, Archie took Bessie for a cream tea at the Mermaid cafe. A treat to round off the day for her.
‘We should do this more often,’ he said, when Shirley had served them with her customary good humour. She was a good sort, was Shirley; nothing seemed to bring her down, not even the break up of her marriage several years ago. He passed his mother a cup of tea then set to work on the scones. He cut one in half, spread a dollop of strawberry jam on it then topped it off with a layer of cream, but when he gave it to her, his heart fell. From her pained expression he could see that he had assumed too much. He had treated her as an incapable invalid and robbed her of her dignity. ‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured, appalled at his lack of thought. ‘Would you rather do it yourself?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m well,’ she said softly. ‘Not ill, Archie.’
‘Of course you are,’ he agreed. ‘You’re absolutely fine. Now, tell me what the speech therapist said to you. Did she give you any gossip about that cobbly cow with too much lipstick?’
She brought her eyebrows together as she always had when she rebuked him as a child. ‘Serious,’ she said, pointing a finger at him.
‘No fish pies. Tell me the truth about Stella.’
‘What about?’
‘Why?’
He knew what she was asking, but he didn’t want to go down that route. Not yet.
When he had read the letter Stella had left him, he had shoved it into his pocket and gone out to the kitchen to make a start on their supper. Minutes later Bessie had appeared in the doorway and gone along with his need to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Helping her into bed that night he had made up a story that seemed to satisfy her.
But now, four days on, she wanted to know what was going on.
‘Why?’ she repeated.
‘Stella’s left me, love,’ he said. ‘She’s not coming back. I lied when I said she’d gone to her sister in Nottingham for a few days.’
For once Archie was glad that his mother’s speech was so limited.
They sat in a long, awkward silence, their eyes cast down as they concentrated on their scones. Then he heard her say, ‘Is it me? Left you because of me?
He looked up and saw that his mother’s eyes had filled with tears.
One of her hands had started to tremble and crumbs were scattered around her plate. His heart went out to her. ‘No, love. She didn’t leave because of you. It was me. I should have been a better husband.’, , u
He had to turn away. He knew exactly what she was thinking: that she had become a burden to him, and that she had wrecked his marriage. She was
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