Sent off to a Care Home
Dont you dare, Emily! Dont even say it! Grace Thompson angrily pushed away the bowl of porridge. You want to stick me in a council care home, is that it?
So they can jab me with whatever they fancy and smother me with a pillow if I shout? Over my dead body!
I took a deep breath, trying not to notice the way Grans hands trembled.
Its not a council home, Gran. Its a private care home. Theres woodland nearby, nurses round the clock.
Youll have company, a huge telly to watch.
Here, youre on your own all day while Dads at work.
We know what company means, Gran croaked, settling herself among the pillows. Theyll fleece me for every penny, take my flat from me, dump me in a ditch.
Tell Patrick this from me: his mother will leave this house feet first. He can look after me himself. He is my son, after all, isnt he?
I raised him, went sleepless when he had the measles. Now its his turn.
Dads working two jobs just to buy your medicine! Hes fifty-three, his blood pressures shot up. He hasnt been to the pictures in three years, let alone on holiday!
Hes young yet, hell manage, Grace snapped, lips pressed tight. And you mind your tongue, young lady. Eggs shouldnt teach hens. Go on, mop up that porridge. Making a right mess in here!
I left the room and let out a long, noisy sigh in the hallway. How on earth are you supposed to talk to her?
Dad came home at seven in the evening. He didnt take his shoes off straight away, just sat down on the stool in the hallway and stared at the carpet for a few minutes.
Dad, are you alright? I asked, taking the heavy carrier bag from his hand.
Im fine, Em. Whole place is chaos at the warehouse, year-end audit coming up. Hows Gran?
As ever. Another row about the care home. Says were trying to do her in.
Dad, we cant go on like this. I checked the bills for this month weve got only three hundred left for food.
And Ive got to pay the rent on my digs and get new textbooks.
Well manage, Patrick said heavily, tugging off his shoes. Ive got some extra shifts night security, every other day.
Are you mad? When are you planning to sleep? Youll have a collapse!
Dad didnt say a word, just went into the kitchen, filled the kettle, set it on to boil.
Has she eaten?
She spilled half of it on the bed. I changed the sheets.
Ill sort her out. You go and revise your exams are coming up. Ill feed her and help her wash.
I watched as Dad, limping slightly, went into his mothers room.
My heart went out to him. I saw how the strong, cheerful man hed once been was fading into a shadow of himself.
His jokes had dried up, hed lost all interest in life.
***
A week later, things got even worse Dad came home later than usual, unsteady on his feet. I was instantly worried.
Dad? Are you alright?
All fine, Em. Got a bit faint on the tube, too stuffy.
Sit down. Lets check your blood pressure.
The monitor flashed up 180 over 110. Silently, I handed him his tablets.
Youre not going anywhere tomorrow. Im calling the GP.
Cant do that, Dad grimaced. Inspection at work. If Im not there, Ill lose my bonus. And theyve just upped the council tax on your grans old flat.
Sell it, Dad! I whispered, not wanting Gran to overhear. Sell her one-bed up in Essex. Six hundred thousand thats a fortune for us. We can settle our debts, hire a proper carer.
Dad sighed. She wont agree to it
She hasnt set foot in that flat in five years! What does she need it for, when shes bedridden here?
He didnt have time to answer from her room, Gran started banging her mug on the bedside table.
Patrick! Patrick, get in here! Who are you whispering with? Start gossiping about me, are you? her shaky voice came through the wall.
Dad sighed, swallowed the pill and headed in.
***
Six years ago, Dad had a woman in his life. Sarah, kind and patient, used to come over with homemade scones. She and Dad talked about spending weekends at a country lodge.
But the good times ended when Gran fell ill. Sarah tried to help, but Gran made it hell so much so, Sarah couldnt take it any longer.
She comes swanning in, after all Ive done! Only after my sons money! Gran would yell throughout the house, faking heart attacks every time Patrick dared plan an evening out. Show her the door! Out, the lot of them!
In the end, Sarah left, and Dad made no effort to win her back.
The landline rang one evening while I was revising for exams. Dad wasnt home yet.
Hello?
Is that Mr Patrick Thompson? asked a male voice.
No, Im his daughter. Whats the matter?
Its HR here. Your father fainted at the staff meeting today. Paramedics came, hes been taken to the London General. Write down the address.
I scribbled the hospital address in the margin of my notes. No sooner had I hung up than Gran was shouting for attention.
Emily! Who keeps ringing? Wheres Patrick? Tell him to bring me a cuppa, Im parched!
I went in. Gran was half-sat, propped on pillows, looking disgruntled.
Dads in hospital, I said, keeping it brisk.
Hospital? Gran froze for a second, then sniffed, There you go. Didnt spare a thought for me! See, this is what comes from screaming at your mother divine retribution. Nobody here cares for me! Whos going to feed me now? Put the kettle on!
I walked out without a word.
***
Three days I ran between the hospital and the house.
Theyd diagnosed Dad with a hypertensive crisis brought on by nervous exhaustion.
Doctors forbid him from even getting out of bed.
Hows Mum? was the first thing he asked as I walked into the ward.
Shes fine, Dad. The neighbour comes round, helps out. You need to think of yourself. Two weeks bed rest at least.
Two weeks? Ill lose my job…the money
Shh, sleep, I said, tucking in his blanket. Ill sort everything out. Promise.
On my fourth day home, Gran greeted me with a barrage of complaints.
Where have you been skulking off to? Im left here in filth, Patrick lolling about in hospital, while I rot in this room!
I clenched my fists and spoke as calmly as I could.
Look here, Gran. Listen closely. Dads in a bad way; if he has another scare like that, he could have a stroke.
Dont be ridiculous! Gran huffed. Hes tough, takes after his father. Turn me over, my sides gone numb.
Im not turning you over, Gran, I said, sitting on the edge of the chair. Nor am I giving you food.
Grans eyes bulged in outrage.
Whats all this then? Lost your mind, girl?
No, were skint, Gran. Not a penny left. Dad cant work, hell lose his bonus. Your pension doesnt cover more than your incontinence pads and blood pressure pills.
Lies! Patrick must have some savings stashed away!
Theres nothing left, it all went on your tests last month. So youve a choice: we sign the paperwork to sell your Essex flat, or tomorrow I ring social services and theyll take you to a council care home. Free of charge.
You wouldnt dare! Gran shrieked. Im his mother! My house!
Your house? Youre killing your own son. You couldnt care less if he comes out of hospital. You just want your toast buttered thick and a warm blanket.
I called the care home the one we talked about. Theres a room available, and the money from your flat pays the fees. The care is outstanding.
I wont go! Gran coughed furiously.
Then go hungry. Ive no money for your food. Im out at work all day tomorrow, back late. Theres a bottle of water on your bedside. Think it over.
Trembling, I left, shutting the door behind me. Id never been cruel in my life, but I knew if I didnt put my foot down, Id lose my Dad.
And Gran well, shed outlive us all if we carried on letting her drain the life from us.
The night passed quietly. I didnt go in her room, though I could hear her call out, then sob, then curse. I went in only the next morning.
Water she croaked hoarsely.
I brought the mug to her lips.
So? I asked. Will you sign? The solicitors coming at noon.
Vultures Gran whispered but without her old venom. You want to take it all. Fine. Write up your papers.
Just tell Patrick tell him to visit.
He will. When hes back on his feet. Ill come too. Promise.
***
My father sat on a bench outside the care home, looking fit and well, a colour in his cheeks and a bit of weight gained.
Next to him in her wheelchair sat Gran clean, in a new warm scarf, carefully chewing an apple.
Pat? Patrick! she called.
Yes, Mum?
Did you call Sarah? Are you two speaking again?
Dad looked surprised. I did. She said shell stop by on Saturday.
Good, Gran turned her gaze to the flower bed. Let her come. Theres a nurse here, young Jenny, always telling me off. So rude.
Let Sarah see how they treat me. Dont you dare upset Sarah, Patrick! Its wrong for a man to make a woman cry.
Unlike your father
Dad smiled, squeezing his mothers hand. Down the path ran Emily, waving, beaming.
Dad! Gran! she yelled from afar. I got a grant! And my hourly rate just went up at work!
Dad stood up, arms wide. Grace squinted at us from her wheelchair.
She still thought wed unfairly kicked her out of her own home, but made no further complaint.
When her carer approached and kindly suggested a massage, Gran just nodded with dignity.
Alright, dear. But tell him to go easy this time. That lad last week squeezed my leg like a bear!
The nurse took her away, and I hugged Dad as we stood and looked out at the tall pines.
For the first time in ages, the three of us were truly happy.
***
Grace Thompson lived to meet her great-grandson Emily finished her studies, married a good man, and had a son.
Patrick married Sarah; Gran accepted her second daughter-in-law, and they finally made peace Sarah forgave all the cruelties shed suffered from her mother-in-law.
Gran passed quietly in her sleep, harbouring no grudges against her granddaughter or son.
