Catherine Jinks TheRoad (61 page)

‘Oh, Moira –’

‘I’m taking care of the present, don’t worry.’

‘It’s just that I can’t,’ Col explained. ‘I’m visiting Elspeth.’

‘Oh.’ Moira clicked her tongue. ‘How silly, I completely forgot. Silly me.’

‘I wish I could come, I’d love to, but –’

‘I know. You poor old thing. I’m sorry.’

‘She notices, sometimes. Or so they say. It’s been six weeks already, I shouldn’t put it off again –’

‘No, of
course
not. Of course not. I’ll tell Jill, and you take it easy. Don’t push yourself. Stay over, if you have to. You should, anyway.’

‘We’ll see.’ Moira had a bee in her bonnet about his driving to Broken Hill and back in one day. She said it was too much for him. Col preferred it though; he didn’t have money to spend on a motel, and his only other option was Elspeth’s daughter, Marion, who was nice enough but who had four young children and a dog to look after. Whenever Marion put him up for the night, Col had to sleep in a bunk bed, on a rather smelly foam-rubber mattress, and it always put his back out.

He preferred to drive for six hours. After all, there was a two-hour break in the middle.

‘Anyway, I’ll catch you tomorrow,’ he said. ‘You can tell me all about it.’

‘I will.’

‘Enjoy yourself. I hear the prawns are good.’

‘Oh, stop it,’ said Moira, with a high-pitched giggle. Ever since she’d accidentally dropped a braised prawn down the front of her dress at the club, there had been a long-running joke about her reaction to seafood. ‘Behave yourself.’

‘You too.’

‘I’ll save you some lamb’s fry in a doggie bag.’

Another joke – Col hated lamb’s fry. He laughed and signed off. It took him a moment or so before he remembered what he was supposed to be doing next: the dishes, he thought. That’s right. And he reassured himself with a mental reminder that Moira always did this to him, driving everything else out of his head.

It wasn’t as if he was getting Alzheimer’s. It was just Moira, Moira and her teasing. Though Elspeth had succumbed to Alzheimer’s, it didn’t mean that Col would get it. When Ted had died – of cancer – his mind had been as clear as a bell, at least when he wasn’t under the influence of morphine. He was the oldest of the three Wallace kids, then Col, then Elspeth.

It was the luck of the draw. Poor old Elspeth. She was only sixty-eight, and she couldn’t even wipe herself.

Poor little Elspeth.

Sometimes she knew Col, and that was why he had to keep visiting her, though it always broke his heart. She looked like nothing on earth. She even smelled bad. It was such a strain, witnessing her disintegration, that Col preferred to sneak into town without alerting his niece. He hated having to make small talk after each visit, when all he wanted to do was sit on a park bench with a cold light beer and recover, like a lizard in the sun. As the years went by, it took him longer and longer to pull himself together after seeing Elspeth. The reality was just too painful.