He moved into Golden Days shortly afterwards.
‘What’s it like up there?’ Frank asked.
‘It looks the same as down here. Same decor, same bloody menu even, but … bloody hell, Frank, is that what we’ve got to look forward to? People joke and say it’s better than the alternative, but I don’t think it is.’
‘How’s Leonard?’
‘Oh, he’s okay, I suppose. Happy if you take him some sweets; beams at you, he does. Hasn’t a clue who I am or where he is. But what chance has he got? You could go in completely compos mentis and you’d lose your marbles within a week. There was one old fella up there with no legs in a wheelchair. Almost knocked me over, whizzing across the floor, face like thunder. He goes haring across the room and I think he’s going to smash into the wall, but he brakes right at the last minute in front of some mirrored doors. Starts shouting: “Out my bloody way, you bugger!” and all this — turning the air blue. He doesn’t recognize his own reflection, Frank, thinks there’s some old codger in a wheelchair blocking his way. The nurses wheeled him away eventually, but he was still shouting.
‘Then some old dear next to us started crying. So I went over and said, “Come on now, love. It’s not that bad.” But she looked at me, and her face — you’ve never seen such pain, like she’d just lost everything and everyone. She was in a terrible state, really wailing. Then this nurse came over, a Philippine woman. I don’t know her name. She says: “What’s all this, Eva? Today’s not a crying day, it’s a smiling day!” She takes the old dear’s hand and shakes it gently like it’s a baby’s rattle. “Yes, a smiling day today. We’re all smiling all day. Not a crying day.” And do you know what?’
Frank shook his head.
‘She stopped crying.’ Walter’s eyes were wet now and he had to fight to control his voice. ‘Completely stopped crying. She started to smile — a big bright smile. Jesus Christ, Frank.’
Frank could think of nothing to say and they played in silence. After a while he noticed that Walter was smiling.
‘Your mother was saying the other day how much she loved the sea.’
‘Was she?’
‘Yes. It’s something we have in common. Funny really, both lived here, as far as you could get from the sea all our lives, and yet always had this hankering.’
Frank felt a little defensive. ‘I could take her to the sea if she wanted. She’s never said. I mean — I’m always asking her where she’d like to go.’ He wondered if he should add that Walter could come too, if he should acknowledge the friendship that seemed to be developing between the two of them. He decided against it. His mother wouldn’t acknowledge it — why should he?
It was a while before Walter spoke again. ‘You know, I feel just the same.’
Frank looked up. ‘Sorry?’
‘Inside. I’m seventy-seven now and I feel just the same today as I did when I was forty-seven or twenty-seven even. Nothing’s changed in here.’ He tapped his chest. ‘This fella’ — he indicated his heart — ‘is still the same stupid bugger he always was.’
Frank considered Walter for a few moments before answering. ‘I guess that’s a good thing, isn’t it?’
Walter smiled. ‘I think it is, Frank. I think it is.’
43
They stood on the landing with the ladder between them.
‘Are you sure you want to come up here with me?’
‘Yes. I’m going to help. Mom says you’re not very good at throwing things away.’
‘Well, Mom shouldn’t say that. I’m very good at throwing things away that are broken or unwanted. Your mother specializes in throwing away perfectly good things, things we still want and use. That’s not a virtue, Mo, that’s a mental illness. She throws away my clothes all the time — perfectly good clothes.’
Mo, who had helped her mother do the last sweep of Frank’s wardrobe, said nothing to this. She remembered how they had both laughed at a sweatshirt of Frank’s they’d found with a picture of a dog on it.
Frank looked up at the loft hatch. ‘Because you never used to like it up there.’
Mo rolled her eyes. ‘That’s when I was a baby, Dad.’
Frank nodded. ‘And you don’t get scared of things now, right?’
Mo shook her head emphatically.
‘It’s just, how can you know you won’t be scared when you haven’t been up there for years? You know, Mo, I remember the last time. You insisted that you wanted to come up and then when we got up there you didn’t like it. Do you remember? I don’t want to go through that again. We couldn’t calm you down. People in Birmingham could hear you scream.’
Mo tutted. ‘You’re an exaggerator, Dad.’
‘I’m not. I promise you I’m not. Do you remember what set you off?’
Mo shrugged.
‘Remember the coat on the hanger. You thought it was someone hanging.’
Mo smiled weakly, but Frank could see that she’d forgotten about the coat until now. He saw her bite her lip.
‘So, for the last time, are you sure you want to come up? You don’t have to. I can clear it out on my own.’
Mo nodded.
‘Sure?’
She nodded again, but her face still showed uncertainty.
Frank started up the ladder and turned back. ‘Would you like me to go up first and take the coat down?’
She shrugged, but when Frank raised his eyebrows she cracked and nodded rapidly.
Frank climbed the ladder and wondered if the clear-out was really necessary. The sale seemed to be going through, but after so long waiting he still couldn’t quite believe they might finally be leaving the house. The buyer was a solicitor and his family relocated to the area. News of their interest and subsequent offer had caught Frank and Andrea unawares and after so long thinking only theoretically about where they would ideally like to live they were now having to find somewhere quickly.
He removed the coat from the hanger and called Mo up. They stood at the top of the ladder near the hatch and looked at the scene around them. There was an overhead light, but Mo had insisted on bringing a torch and shone it now from one perfectly visible pile to another.
‘What is it all, Dad?’
‘Stuff.’
‘It looks like as much stuff as we have in the whole rest of the house.’
Frank nodded slowly. ‘Yeah. I think you’re right.’
‘Where did it all come from?’
‘My parents’ house mainly. When Gran moved out of her house she could only take a few things to Evergreen. So we put it all here. A lot of it should have been thrown away back then, but we didn’t. It’s easier to put things off, isn’t it, rather than do them straight away. It’s a terrible habit, Mo. I hope you haven’t inherited it.’
Mo shrugged and Frank stood looking around at the piles of paper and mounds of boxes — he pushed at the edge of a suitcase with his toe.
Mo waited and after a while said, ‘Are we going to do something, Dad?’
‘Yes. Right, exactly. Chop-chop. Now — Mom’s suggested a job for you. You see the rail of clothes at the end? They’re all old dresses of Gran’s. Special dresses for occasions and dinners and things. Mom thinks we should be able to sell them on the internet — they’re vintage, apparently, like wine. Do you want to go and put them in bags?’