In Her Mothers' Shoes (35 page)

The dog trotted over to the pantry and looked expectantly at the door. She wanted her dinner.

With a deep sigh, she stood and fetched the dog biscuits out of the cupboard, doled out a handful into the dog bowl and sat down again while Tess began to crunch through her dinner.

Not even the dog was on her side.

She sat there, staring unseeing out the window. The Beatles were telling her not to carry the world on her shoulders. What choice have I got? she felt like shouting.
Hey, Jude
ground on to the end then silence. Soon afterwards, Kate’s door opened and moments later she appeared in the kitchen, bearing an overnight bag.

‘Where do you think you’re going with that?’ Rose couldn’t help herself. After battling for so long, she wasn’t giving up now.

‘I’m going to Sumner and I’m staying the night at Barbara’s.’

Rose jumped up, hurried over to her daughter and stood beside her, holding herself steady on the fridge. ‘You can’t do that. Her parents are never home and her older brother is always having parties. You told me that yourself.’

‘You can’t stop me. I’m going.’ Kate brushed past, her backpack knocking against Rose’s shoulder.

‘I
can
stop you, and I will. You can’t go.’

‘You’re not the boss of me. I’m old enough to live my own life. I’m not a child any more.’

‘You are, actually. You’re not sixteen yet. And that means I’m your legal guardian. You’re not going out tonight.’

‘I’ll leave home then. If that’s what it takes, I’ll pack my things and go live with Barbara. Her parents won’t mind.’

Rose felt herself losing control. She started screaming at her daughter, words just coming out of her mouth unbidden. She was so upset, she had no memory of what she’d said but it had the effect of impelling Kate back to her room, the door slamming behind her again.

Kate didn’t go to Sumner. Some time later, she came out of her room for dinner. They ate in silence, the news blaring to make up for the absence of conversation. When he finished eating, George lined up his knife and fork in a neat line on his plate and pushed it to the back of his knee tray.

‘Come here, please. Both of you.’

Kate looked up at him quizzically. Rose knew Kate would take her mother on anytime, but she rarely argued with her father. She went to stand beside George.

‘Rose?’

Reluctantly, she put her plate down on the side table and joined them, standing on the other side of his armchair, keeping her distance as much as she could. She was in no mood for silly games.

‘I want to congratulate you both.’ He took hold of Kate’s hand with his right hand – his good one – and raised it high in the air.

‘Rose?’

Rose suspected she knew what was coming and wasn’t happy. She refused to hold his hand.

He ignored her avoidance. ‘You’re the champions.’ He was smiling with that puckish gleam in his eyes Rose knew so well. ‘You’ve broken your own record.’

‘Why, what do you mean?’ Kate looked grim.

‘Two hours and forty-eight minutes,’ he said, grinning.

‘What?’

‘You two were arguing for precisely two hours and forty-eight minutes. That’s an all-time record.’

‘How do you know?’ Kate had stopped scowling.

George let go of his daughter’s hand and pulled out his writing pad. ‘It’s all here.’ He showed them his spidery scrawl – even harder to read than Rose’s own writing since his multiple sclerosis had become so advanced – and there it was, a list of times: stops and starts, with the end of the final round underlined several times. ‘Total, two hours and forty-eight minutes.’

Kate folded her arms tightly, scowled again and stomped off down the hall to her room but this time didn’t slam the door. Rose silently gathered up the dishes and retired to the kitchen, still angry with both of them.

She’d never forgotten that awful evening and she’d never said anything like that to Kate again, no matter how much she provoked her.

‘You okay, Mum?’

Rose smiled at her daughter, so different now.

‘Of course. I’d better get George settled for the night.’

‘You never stop, do you?’

‘I often wonder how you fit it all in too, you know.’

‘Everybody does that nowadays, Mum. Every woman, anyway. I must be a chip off the old block. Now, I really must go.’

‘So you are.’ Rose laughed and kissed her daughter good-bye. ‘Thank you.’

As she closed the door she looked across the brightly lit courtyard to the old family home beyond, the family home she and George had brought Kate up in until they’d had to build a wheelchair-accessible house in the footprint of the old asparagus patch.

A chip off the old block? That was one of the best things Kate could have said. She nursed that thought as she prepared George’s hot-water bottle, gave him his pills and climbed into bed with a book. Was Kate really taking after her? Even though she wasn’t flesh and blood, did it mean the time spent nurturing and supporting her daughter through all those difficult teenage years, through births, deaths and marriages, did it mean Kate was really hers? Perhaps she was.

Chapter 5.

Christchurch, 1987

Rose wiped away tears from slicing onions, resisting the temptation to give in and shed real tears. She’d promised when George was first diagnosed with multiple sclerosis that she would never feel sorry for herself and she wasn’t going to start now just because she was under a bit of pressure. Over the years, she’d watched the degenerative disease eat away at his nerves and slowly remove the mobility in his limbs. It had been as hard for her – the carer, whose job it was to provide unflagging support even when she felt like giving up – as it had been for him. In some ways, his comparatively placid and peaceful nature had made his acceptance a little easier. Rose often wished she could be as patient and uncomplaining.

Hastily, she julienned carrots and celery, set three eggs to hard-boil, and made a roux for Kate’s favourite comfort food: fish pie. She was way behind already: George had to be shifted from his study into the living room, the study needed tidying, the table to be set, her tramping pack and lunch things were still scattered around the kitchen, and the dog was dancing beside the bench waiting to be fed. At this rate, the pie wouldn’t be ready until well after seven and her granddaughter Amelia would be fractious with hunger.

You
will
try to do everything at once, she told herself sternly. You should take note of Kate and slow down a bit.

Easier said than done, though, if she was to have her own life occasionally. It was the tramping trip that had made her late. The walk on the hills with the Over Forties Tramping Club had taken longer than expected because Nellie had hurt her knee coming down off a stile and their usual fast pace had slowed considerably after that. Tramping in the fresh clean air up there, where Rose could look out over the plains to the snowy Southern Alps and across to the Pacific Ocean – it tended to clear the mind and sweep away the distress of dealing daily with George’s disability. 

It was another half-hour before the pie was in the oven and she could turn her attention to George.

He was asleep in his chair, unaware that they were running late, oblivious to the scattered newspapers and journals around his side-table.

‘Time to go into the other room,’ she said loudly to wake him.

He gave her one of his glorious smiles. ‘There you are Rose. You’ve caught the sun today. You look radiant.’

‘Thank you George. It was a lovely day,’

Tess jumped onto his knee and licked his nose.

George laughed with pleasure. ‘You’re worth a thousand GPs, Tess.’ The dog nuzzled into him then turned round twice and settled in his lap. He absentmindedly stroked the dog’s brown and white fur.

'Time for you to move, George. The family will be here very soon.’

George never complained, never protested at being hoisted in and out of his wheelchair, never let his gradual deterioration get him down. Or at least, not that she knew of. He’d always kept his darkest thoughts to himself.

Rose adjusted the canvas cradle under George, hitched the four corners onto the hoist and turned the handle to raise him high enough to clear the arms of the chair and settle him back down in the wheelchair. Success. Since the hoist had arrived, she’d not once had to call up Kate or the police to scoop George off the floor.

Once he was settled on the sofa with the dog and his crossword, Rose gave the study a quick tidy, scooted into the bathroom to clean herself up then the bedroom to get changed out of her tramping clothes. But she’d only just tossed the thick rugby socks and mud-caked trousers into the wash-basket when she heard the familiar clang of the cowbells on the front door.

‘Hi Mum, we’re here.’ It was Kate calling from the hall.

‘I’ll be there in a minute. You go on in.’

‘Grandma? Where’s Grandma?’ Amelia called out. A second later, the four-year-old was in her bedroom flinging herself round her knees.

She picked her up and hugged her then set her down again. ‘Grandma’s changing. She’ll be ready in a minute. You go and see Grandpa and Tess.’

‘Why have you got those funny green tights on Grandma?’

‘They’re for tramping. I wear them so my legs don’t get cold’

‘They’re funny.’ Amelia giggled. ‘You look like Kermit the frog.’

Rose laughed. ‘So I do. My tramping buddies would like to hear that.’

Her granddaughter took off again and Rose soon heard the sound of George’s laughter in the living room.

Quickly, she peeled off her Kermit tights and slipped on her navy trousers and tartan blouse; then a hasty dab of powder, a scrape of lipstick and squirt of White Linen perfume before hurrying into the living room to greet Kate and her husband.

‘David’s got our contribution for tonight,’ Kate said, giving her mother a kiss.

‘I’ll take it through to the kitchen, if you like, Rose.’ David held out the Country Road bag weighed down by its contents.

‘Goodness, I wasn’t expecting anything.’ She led the way into the kitchen.

David picked up a dish and put it on the bench. ‘That’s from Kate. She says apple crumble is your favourite.’ Next he fished out a bottle of champagne. ‘Kate has some good news.’

‘Really?’

‘You get the glasses and I’ll pop the cork.’