Always You. Erin Kaye

to be his wife, but that day simply confirmed it. When she’d said yes, he was thrilled, though if truth be told, he’d not expected her to accept.

      He cleared his throat and looked about the room. ‘Raquel said she sent you some flowers a few days ago.’

      His mother broke eye contact and, picking up the tissue on the bedspread, squeezed it between her fingers. For one awful moment, he thought Raquel might have lied to him.

      ‘Oh, yes,’ said Evelyn, making eye contact again. ‘Though you’d have thought someone was getting married. There were enough flowers to fill a church.’

      Ian laughed nervously. She was not pleased. Why on earth not?

      She dropped the tissue, captured it again and Ian said, ‘So where are they?’

      His mother looked at him blankly.

      ‘The flowers, Mum. Where are they?’

      She looked away again and said, with studied airiness, ‘Oh, I told the girls to put them in vases in the day room. Let everyone enjoy them.’

      ‘But those flowers were meant for you, Mum. They cost Raquel a fortune.’

      His mother brought her gaze to bear on him and her features hardened. ‘They were lilies, Ian. There must’ve been two dozen of them.’

      Ian blushed and looked at his feet. ‘She must’ve forgotten,’ he mumbled. How could Raquel be so thoughtless? She’d been at his father’s funeral five years ago when the church was festooned with the pure white flowers, their musky scent as overpowering as the grief. How many times had Mum said in conversation since then that she’d come to hate lilies? How she could not look upon them, nor catch the faintest whiff of their perfume, without thinking of that day.

      ‘I’m sure she meant well,’ said Sarah.

      ‘Hmm.’ Evelyn pressed the hankie to the tip of her nose. ‘Flowers are all very well, but why doesn’t she come to see me?’

      ‘She’s er … busy,’ said Ian. He glanced at Sarah who lowered her eyes to her lap. The last time Raquel had visited was four weeks ago. She’d been sitting beside an old man in the day room, waiting for the staff to finish attending to Evelyn, when the man soiled himself. She’d been horrified, though not as much as the poor old bugger who, though he’d lost control of his bodily functions, was still compos mentis. Raquel hadn’t been back since.

      Sarah stood up and said, ‘Well, I’d better be getting along. I don’t want to be late picking up the children.’

      ‘Be sure to give them a kiss from me,’ said Evelyn. ‘Tell them I love them very much.’

      ‘I will,’ said Sarah, her eyes bright and glassy. ‘And we’ll bring them to see you very soon, won’t we, Ian?’ He nodded and swallowed, unable to shift the hard lump in the centre of his chest. She bent over, gave Evelyn a hug and ran the flat of her hand down the side of his mother’s wrinkled face.

      ‘See you,’ she said. She reached over, touched him lightly on the arm and then was gone, leaving him feeling oddly bereft.

      ‘If you’ll excuse me, Ian, I must go to the loo.’ Evelyn peeled back the bedcovers and slowly swung her legs over the other side of the bed. Her bare feet made contact with the floor.

      ‘Do you need some help, Mum?’ he said, standing up.

      ‘No, I’m fine.’

      But she wasn’t fine. As soon as she stood up, her legs buckled beneath her and she crumpled onto the floor.

      Ian cursed, slammed the emergency call button on the wall with the flat of his hand and rushed to her aid. She was lying on her side, her knees bent up. ‘Here, let me help you. Are you hurt?’

      She wheezed and shook her head, a hand pressed to her chest.

      Jolanta came running in and, as soon as she saw what had happened, helped Ian lift his mother back into bed, though he hardly needed her assistance, his mother was so slight.

      ‘Are you hurt, Mum?’ he said, blinking back tears.

      ‘No. I don’t know what happened, Ian,’ she said in bewilderment. ‘My legs just gave way.’

      ‘It’s okay, Mum. Everything’s okay.’

      ‘She was trying to go to the toilet, Jolanta,’ he said. ‘She’s never fallen like that before, has she?’

      Jolanta shook her head and touched his arm. ‘It’s okay, Mr Aitken. You leave this to me. You go outside and wait.’

      It was dark by the time he left the nursing home. He stood in the car park, ill at ease and worried. Light drizzle settled on his head and shoulders in glistening, translucent pearls. He needed to talk to someone about his mother, someone he could trust, someone who would understand the fear in his heart and the feeling of impotence that consumed him. He glanced at his watch, pulled out his mobile and called home. There was no answer. He remembered then that Raquel had gone late night shopping followed by a drink with her girlfriends. He left a message saying he would be home late. Then he got in the car and drove to someone who would understand his pain.

      Her car was parked outside the house on the leafy street. He turned the engine off and glanced at the clock in the car. They would be in the kitchen at the back of the house having tea around the pine kitchen table, the windows steamed up and the scent of good home cooking in the air. The closest Raquel came to home cooking was opening a packet from Marks and Spencer.

      Sarah, Molly and Lewis. The three people he loved most in the entire world. Why had he not been able to hold on to them? He leaned his head on the headrest and closed his eyes. He should not have come. But he could not go home alone to that empty house with its pale carpets and ridiculous white ostrich feathers in a vase on the hall table.

      Waiting nervously on the doorstep, Ian stared at his reflection in the glass panelled door. His reddish-blond hair was receding, making him look more like his father every day. He had not expected to keep his hair, of course – his father had been bald by the time he was fifty – but now that the time had come for him, he found it hard to accept. It made the gulf between him and Raquel, ten years his junior and devoted to physical perfection, seem even greater. He’d even toyed with the idea of a hair transplant – until common sense kicked in.

      Inside a light came on, his reflection disappeared and the door opened.

      Sarah was wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, her hair tied up in a spiky ponytail, her feet bare. ‘Ian,’ she said, looking past him into the darkness as if looking for an accomplice. ‘What’re you doing here?’

      He shuffled awkwardly on the doorstep, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, regretting the decision to come.

      ‘Is everything all right?’ she said and her eyes widened in alarm. ‘Is it Evelyn?’

      He rubbed the end of his nose. ‘No. Yes … she had a fall on the way to the toilet but she’s okay.’

      ‘Is she hurt?’ gasped Sarah.

      ‘No, she’s fine, really. Jolanta says they’ll make sure she’s accompanied on trips to the loo in future. I … I was just wondering if you could spare some time for a quick chat. About her care.’

      Immediately she stood aside and ushered him in. ‘Of course.’

      ‘I haven’t come at a bad time?’ he said, nearly falling over the pile of schoolbags, shoes and coats in the hall. Bisto, the brown-and-white cat Sarah had rescued from the cat home, came and circled his legs warily. He bent down to stroke his back, but he immediately scarpered up the stairs.

      ‘No, not at all,’ said Sarah, brushing crumbs off the front of her hoodie. ‘We’ve just finished eating. The kids will be thrilled to see you.’

      Molly and Lewis, drawn by the sound of voices, appeared at the end of the hall. As soon as Molly saw him, her face lit up in a smile and she bounded along the hall