Page 9 of Little Wing
‘If she has the plate too – well, you’re looking at forty, fifty quid.Trio, they called them. Clarice Cliff.’
‘Turquoise and gold,’ Nell said quietly. ‘So beautiful.’
‘You can have it for a fiver.’
‘I only need the plate – do you have one?’
‘Not at the moment. You could try eBay. But I can’t go lower than a fiver for the cup, love.’
Nell smiled politely and shook her head. She hadn’t seen her mother for almost a fortnight. She ought to visit, it wasn’t as if she had any other plans for the day. She could tell her about the cup. When Nell left the shop, she was struck by how warm it was, positively spring-like. As Dickens said, one of those March days when the sun shines hot but the wind blows cold; summer in the light, winter in the shade. Maybe she could take her mother into the gardens at the home. There was something about fresh air that made any conversation, no matter how confused, lighter.
Sylvie wasn’t on duty today. At weekends, it was mainly agency staff and Nell did worry about this. With her mother’s mind eddying, Nell sought consistency in everything around her.
‘Knock knock!’ Nell called through the door and went in. Telly on. Bed sheets crumpled. Chair empty and window ominously open, the curtains fanning a hostile chill. ‘Mum?’
Nell was about to the press the panic button when she heard the toilet flushing and her mother appeared.
‘Hello,’ she said.
‘Hello!’ Nell kissed her cheek and whispered,it’s Nell, Mum. ‘I thought I’d call in – see if you’d like some company. A walk. Do you want to go for a little wander?’
‘No.’
‘Oh.’ Pause. ‘It’s lovely out there.’
‘Out where?’
‘Out –side,’ Nell said. ‘Come on – a little stroll.’
And so, on a bench dedicated to someone called Hilda, they sat in companionable silence. Stealing glances at her mother, Nell saw that her eyes were soft and her hands were still and her mouth was not twitching. Birds were busy and the March sun, though now watery and low, threw glints of promise on the buds and on the grass. With their arms loosely linked, they sat awhile. The birds’ chatter seemed far more random than her mother’s today, and that was of strange comfort to Nell.
‘When I’m gone, I don’t want a bench. I don’t want people’s wrinkled arses on my memory. I’m getting cold.’
‘You’re not going anywhere for a long time, Mum.’
Her mother looked horrified.
‘I meant – stop thinking of benches. You’re in fine form. You are.’
But her mother remained turned from her. ‘I’m cold, that’s what I am.’
‘Cuppa?’
‘Oh, I’d love a cuppa, dear!’
‘Shall we have it in the day room?’
Nell led her back inside, disturbed by how cold her mother’s hands were. Nice and toasty, her mum used to say to her when Nell was a little girl, when she would feed mittens on elastic through the sleeves of her coat and help her wriggle her hands into them.Like a bunny in a burrow.
The day room was fairly quiet for a Saturday so Nell made tea while her mother crossed the room towards a table by the French windows. Nell noticed how she walked without stoop or scuff. You could call her many things but doddery was not one of them. Her mind, though, was cursed by a frailty beyond her years and that, Nell felt, was the greatest injustice. Her mother was the youngest here, by a decade surely, but she was far more scrambled than most of them.
They had their tea and they looked out over the garden where they’d just sat together. But there was no valid conversation, no point in suggesting the crossword and just then Nell felt a pang for teatimes with Frank.
‘You’ll never believe what I found today. A cup just like yours – the special one with the Queen on it.’
Her mother swivelled to regard her full on; there was an engaged intensity to her stare.
‘And did you know, it’s worth money! Well,’ said Nell, ‘if you had the plate.’
