Following a severe weather warning, Oxfam had closed early, and Jess Beaumont had returned home just before sunset.
She found her father awake, upstairs, and in better spirits than he’d been in a while.
Nothing gave her greater pleasure these days than in those few moments when he still recognised her.
The broad smile on his pale and withered face suggested that this was one such moment.
To see him like this, after so many days, filled her heart. When he proffered his hand, she took it, gratefully. And, as the skies darkened outside, and the snows thickened, she hunkered down with the man that had brought her so much joy in her younger years. Here was one father who’d given more time to her than his work, and she was happy to tell anyone who asked.
‘Merry Christmas Little Miss Jess,’ he said. His nickname from a bygone era. A time when they’d hunker down and read together. ‘I hope you’re taking good care of yourself in this weather.’
Her father had been an architect in his earlier years and was partly responsible for the multitude of modern buildings that adorned the city centres of England. She often marvelled at the contrast between his contributions to the contemporary landscape and his current state. As an elderly man, he now belonged to an older generation, ready to pass the baton to the younger ones who would shape the future, just as he had helped shape the present with his architectural designs. ‘Will you read to me?’ he asked.
Seeing him reconnecting with their past together warmed her heart.
‘After all, you owe me Little Miss Jess,’ he said.
‘Two hundred and fifty-three books between the age of seven and eleven,’ she said. ‘I remember every single one.’
From the age of seven, she’d consigned every book her father read to her, beginning with The Hobbit, to one side of her bookshelf. The last book, number 253, had completed the circle nicely. Book three had been The Return of the King, the conclusion of the Lord of the Rings trilogy.
Her father smiled again. ‘Two hundred and fifty-three wonderful books.’ He seemed so lucid. So clear. There was no anger or frustration. ‘Two hundred and fifty-three wonderful memories.’ He squeezed her hand, gently, with the little strength he had left.
And then she realised something that she’d forgotten in these past few turbulent days.
She really loved this fading old gentleman. And this was how she’d like him to go.
The way she’d always expected him to go.
But then, she guessed, most people would hope for the same thing.
The horrors of Alzheimer’s and other traumatic illnesses were for others, until they finally caught up with you, or someone you loved.
She sat, reading from one of his favourite Charles Dickens’ books, Great Expectations, while he nodded and sighed, smiling regularly.
Her plans to put him into a home again fell to doubts.
Maybe the spells wouldn’t return? Maybe he could remain this calm, fragile being, until his final breath?
‘You know, Little Miss Jess, we were blessed – me and your mother,’ he said. ‘Because of you.’
Jess always struggled with eye contact with most people, apart from her parents. With them, it was like a key slipping into a lock. They understood her atypical way of thinking and she felt safe in their presence. However, her eyes dropped in this moment, because of guilt over the plans that she’d been making with Laura. ‘Dad, I—’
‘You almost didn’t happen, you know. Almost. We were told we couldn’t have children.’
‘Really? Then how did—’
‘Circumstances aligned for us rather spectacularly. And you were everything we could have hoped for, Little Miss Jess. Everything. And you were so different. But all the better for it.’
He’d spoken before of circumstances aligning and she’d always considered it a rather funny expression. She’d always thought he was referring to conception. The moment the sperm met the egg. For obvious reasons, she’d not quizzed him over it. Of course, she regularly spoke matter-of-factly – it was her way, after all – but sex talk with your father? A bridge too far.
But now he was saying they’d been unable to conceive.
She read until his eyes closed, feeling a mixture of warmth over her father’s rare moment of contentment, and the cold from the guilt bubbling away inside, when the door to her father’s room opened, and she almost burst out of her skin.
Laura stood there, wearing her winter coat, with a handbag over one shoulder.
‘Sorry, dear, did I make you jump? I knocked gently downstairs, for fear of waking your father. When no one answered, I wasn’t sure if you were in, so I tried the door. It was unlocked.’
Jess was certain that she’d locked it, simply because she always locked it. It was like those bloody car keys all over again. These mistakes were out of character and didn’t fit well with the way she operated so pedantically.
She wondered briefly about early-onset Alzheimer’s, but then shook off the negative thought and smiled up at her friend, forcing herself to make eye contact. ‘Would you like a hot drink?’
‘That would be lovely. I’ve so much to share with you. I’ve been hard at work today, and I feel that we’ve quite the option available for Nigel here.’
The guilt within Jess bubbled more fiercely. She stood, staring down. ‘He’s been lucid. Clear. I’ve been reading to him. He’s not ready. I think he can spend more time here, with me—’
‘But we’ve spoken about this, Jess.’
Jess nodded, and joined her hands, circling her fingers, suddenly filled with anxiety. ‘Yes, but you should have heard him talk. Remembering my childhood and everything.’
‘Fragments, dear, fragments. And while those fragments give us hope. Eventually, they too will go. Look… why don’t you get us both a cup of tea? I won’t lie. I’m frozen solid.’
Jess nodded, stood, and Laura followed her to the top of the stairs.
‘Actually, do you mind if I just use the little girl’s room?’ Laura asked.
‘Of course not,’ Jess said. ‘It’s at the end of the corridor. Can I take your coat and bag?’
‘It’s unnecessary, dear.’
‘Please,’ Jess said, her eyes darting from side to side. ‘They need to go by the door. I’ll put them there.’
‘Of course,’ Laura said, peeling off her jacket and bag. She handed them over. ‘Whatever makes you comfortable.’
Downstairs, Jess laid the coat on the back of the sofa, and the bag on the sofa itself, while she went to put the kettle on. Afterwards, she carried the coat through and hung it up. She also checked the front door. It was indeed unlocked. How strange. She locked it and went to make tea.
As she waited for it to brew, she stared out the kitchen window at the heavy snow and recalled building a snowman as a child with her father.
Whenever she stumbled on happier memories, she enjoyed spending time with them, so she did just that. She relived the moment they rolled its torso together, laughing as it grew. She recalled the moment they decorated its face with stones, and a spatula stolen from the kitchen—
‘Jess?’
Jess drew back from her memory and turned to see Laura in the kitchen doorway.
‘Sorry, I was just away with the fairies…’
‘I was just about to apologise for taking so long,’ Laura said. ‘But it was clear you hadn’t noticed, dear.’
‘No… I… that’s okay.’
Laura looked embarrassed. ‘I have to confess, Jess. Your father woke.’
‘Oh God, really?’ Jess said, she moved for the door. ‘Is he all right?’
Laura put a hand on Jess’s arm. ‘He’s fine. He’s asleep again. I merely stopped in to introduce myself. You know, he thought he recognised me at first.’
‘Strange… I guess. He gets confused. So confused.’
‘Anyway, I introduced myself, told him about how wonderful you are, Jess, and how he should be so proud of you, and off he went again. All calm now. Completely dead to the world. Didn’t look like he’d be waking again. Please, sit. I’ll carry the tea through.’
‘Thanks.’
Jess sat on the two-seater. She looked down at Laura’s bag sitting beside her and was just about to reach for it. The tea appeared over the back of the sofa.
‘Well,’ Laura said. ‘We really took our time. You with your daydream. Me with your father. The tea has gone rather lukewarm. Should I warm it?’
‘It’s okay for me,’ Jess said, taking the tea. She took a mouthful.
‘Then it’s okay for me, too.’
As Laura came around the side of the sofa, Jess finished the tea in several large mouthfuls and leaned to deposit it on the floor.
When she sat back up, she saw Laura was about to sit on the bag.
Jess reached for the strap and tugged; unfortunately, the bag itself slipped from the sofa, and the contents spilled out.
‘Sorry… sorry…’ Jess said, pushing herself from the sofa and falling to her knees. ‘Such an idiot… such an idiot.’ She stopped herself short of hitting her head, so she could reach for the contents of the bag—
Her breath caught in her throat.
Her car keys.
Then her mind flitted back to several days earlier, when Laura had offered to help carry some boxes into the storage room. Jess had been in the process of hanging shirts onto a rack. She’d told Laura that the key to the storage room was behind the counter.
Laura must have taken her car keys from her bag when she’d put the boxes into the storage room… but… but…
‘It makes no sense… no sense.’
‘Leave them… come and sit down, dear.’
Jess looked up at Laura. ‘Did you take my car keys?’
‘I did, yes. And a house key, too. Please come and sit.’ She patted the sofa. ‘I don’t want to lie to you any more. Sit and I’ll tell you everything.’
Jess stood. ‘Go away. Please go away. Now. Or I’m phoning the police. I’m an idiot… what have I done? What have I done? Who’ve I let into my house? Wait… my father… is he okay? What have you done to my father?’
‘Nigel Beaumont isn’t your father.’
‘I don’t understand… I don’t understand… I don’t understand…’ She repeated herself three times, something she did when under extreme stress.
‘But there’s no need to worry about him any longer… in fact, Jess… there’s no need to worry about much for too much longer. Things are just about finished.’
Now, she turned in a circle. Again, she couldn’t help herself. It was another reaction to stress. The need to turn. Spin as quickly as she could. Tear the poison from her mind with dizziness.
The world around her blurred.
When she got into this state, there was only one person who could pull her from it. Clutch her. Hold her tight and squeeze the poison, the stress, from her mind.
Her mother. ‘I need my mother. I need my mother. I need my mother.’
She fell back onto the sofa, her eyes squeezed shut.
‘I’m here, dear,’ Laura said. ‘I’m here.’