Going across to the dresser in the large bay window to place her father’s photograph albums in the top drawer, where he could easily find them, Claire glimpsed down at the leafy gardens beyond. The grounds really were beautiful. She did hope he would take up the offer from one of the other residents to explore them with him later. He’d refused point blank to take a stroll outside with her. Straightening the photograph of her mum that she’d placed on top of the dresser – one of several photos she’d brought, along with his bedspread and anything else that might make the place feel homely – she went back to where he was perched on the edge of his bed. She wished he would sit in his armchair. He looked so lost.
‘There, I think that’s everything,’ she said, her voice overly bright as she adjusted the position of his alarm clock on the bedside locker; as if the passing of time would mean anything to him any more, other than to remind him of mealtimes. ‘I’ve put your sweaters on the top shelf of the wardrobe in case it’s cold when you go for a walk. And your DVDs are in the cupboard under the TV.’
Bernard looked up at her, his eyes still flecked with the confusion she’d seen there since they’d arrived. ‘Are we going home now?’ he asked.
Claire gulped back the heavy guilt expanding in her chest. ‘No, Dad,’ she said gently, sitting down alongside him and taking hold of his hand. ‘This is where you live now. This is your new home. We’ve brought all your things here, see?’
Bernard glanced vaguely around and then back to her. ‘So will you be living here too?’ he asked, his face so hopeful Claire didn’t think she could bear it. He looked more like a child than Ella did.
Struggling to know what to say, she took a breath. ‘No, Dad, I won’t,’ she answered honestly, ‘but I’ll be coming to see you regularly. And Ella will come with me sometimes. She’s already planning to paint you some pictures. That will brighten the place up, won’t it?’
Gazing up at the dusky pink and cream walls, Bernard nodded and managed a small smile. Seeing his expression relax a little, Claire debated with herself; then, desperate to find out what she could before she left, tentatively broached the subject.
‘Would you like me to pass on your address to Sophie?’ she asked him, keeping her tone light whilst mentally crossing her fingers. She was sure she’d seen a flicker of something in his eyes when she’d first asked him about her, and he himself had mentioned her name – though might that have been because he’d retained it for a short while after she’d brought it up?
He eyed her narrowly. ‘Who?’ he said again.
Noting his now wary expression, Claire immediately regretted her impulsiveness. She shouldn’t be bringing this up now, when he was so emotionally muddled. But if not now, when? His memories were slipping away like sand through a timer. If he had even a sliver of recollection, she needed to know. ‘I thought you might like her to come and visit,’ she continued, pushing it a little.
Bernard’s expression was uncomprehending for a second. Then his face darkened. ‘I’d like to go home now,’ he said abrasively, hauling himself to his feet to stride past her, leaving Claire staring after him bewildered.
‘Dad?’ Panic tightening her chest, she jumped up. ‘Dad, wait.’ She caught up with him at the door and placed a hand on his arm. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m sorry, do I know you?’ Snatching his arm away, he glared mutinously at her, and then reached to yank the door open and march briskly out into the corridor.
Shocked, Claire waited a second to take stock. Was that hurtful absent-mindedness a deliberate deflection? Uneasy goose bumps prickled her skin as she followed him. ‘Dad, please wait.’ She struggled to keep up with him as he descended the stairs with remarkable agility and headed across the open hallway into the lounge.
‘Afternoon, Mr Harvey.’ The resident who’d offered to show him around the grounds greeted him with a cheery smile. ‘It’s a lovely one, isn’t it? Here, take my chair,’ he said, levering himself from an armchair by the window. ‘I’m just off to telephone my son. Need to stock up on the old supplies.’ He tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially. Bernard stared at him as if he were quite mad.
‘Some people find that spot quite peaceful,’ a carer called across from where she was chatting to another elderly gentleman. ‘It has gorgeous views of the grounds.’
Bernard paused to look at her, his expression a combination of irritation and indignation. ‘Do I look as if I’m ready to be put out to grass?’ he boomed, causing alarmed faces to turn in his direction. ‘Idiots,’ he muttered, about-facing to walk in the opposite direction. ‘Godforsaken fucking mausoleum.’
Wincing at his language, Claire trailed after him. ‘Dad, where are you going?’ she asked him again, feeling now more than desperate. There was no way she could leave him here in such an agitated state.
Her father glanced back at her, his expression confused once more, then, ‘My taxi’s here,’ he announced, marching on.
Claire caught up and moved around in front of him. ‘Dad, it’s not. You haven’t called one.’
Bernard stopped and blinked uncomprehendingly at her. ‘Haven’t I?’ He shook his head in bafflement. ‘Well, I should have done. Ruth will be wondering where I am. She gets in a state if I’m not home when I say I will be. You couldn’t call one for me, could you, dear?’
‘Dad…’ Claire’s heart sank. Why did he keep mentioning her mother? As if he’d lived his whole life loving her when in fact he’d bloody well cheated on her? Inhaling deeply, she tried to quash her sudden anger. She didn’t know yet, after all, not for certain.
‘I can’t seem to locate my phone.’ Bernard frowned and patted his pockets anxiously. Must have left it in my glove compartment. I really should call her. She—’
‘Dad, Mum’s not at home,’ Claire snapped, despite her best efforts not to. ‘She’s not wondering where you are. You’re not going in a taxi. You’re staying here. This is your new home. Please try to remember.’
‘Ah.’ Oddly, he seemed to brighten at that. ‘She’s here then, is she?’ he asked, gazing around expectantly.
Claire’s heart plummeted to the pit of her stomach. ‘No, Dad, she’s not. She…’ She trailed off, her voice catching.
His expression now dazed, like that of a child who’d rushed gleefully downstairs at Christmas to find no presents under the tree, Bernard studied her for a long moment, then, ‘I think I’d like to go home now,’ he said shakily. There was no anger in his voice this time, no cantankerousness; nothing but fear and soul-crushing defeat.
Fighting back her tears, her chest aching with a mixture of frustration and grief, Claire watched helplessly as he peeled his bewildered gaze from her and then walked away. She had no clue what to say to him. Absolutely none.
She felt an arm slide around her shoulders as she stood there wondering what to do next. ‘Why don’t you slip off?’ the carer suggested kindly.
‘How?’ Claire whispered, her throat hoarse. ‘How can I leave him like this?’
‘He’ll be fine.’ The carer gave her a reassuring squeeze. ‘This is always the hardest part. I’m on duty for a while, so I’ll keep an eye on him, don’t worry.’
Claire nodded, a sense of hopelessness washing through her. What about when the woman’s shift finished? What then? Would he even try to make friends? Relate to anyone?
‘Bernard’s going to show me some of his photograph albums, aren’t you, Bernard?’ the carer called cheerfully across to him.
Bernard said nothing; simply stared out of the window he’d now wandered over to. Gulping back the huge knot in her throat, Claire went across to him. She should leave. She was doing no good here. If anything, she was making things worse. ‘I’ll come and see you tomorrow, Dad,’ she promised.
Bernard glanced from the window down to the hand she’d placed on his arm. ‘No need, dear.’ His gaze coming back to her face, he scrutinised her intently. ‘My daughter will be here soon to take me home. She’s a good girl. I expect she’ll be here any minute now.’
Checking his watch, he turned back to the window, his expression closed, and Claire felt something break inside her. Which daughter, Dad? Studying his profile, wondering if she knew him any better than he seemed to know her, she stepped shakily back, and then turned to walk quietly away.