Go Not Gently - [6]

The phone interrupted my musing.

‘Hello, is that Miss Kilkenny?’

‘Yes. Miss Donlan?’

‘That’s right. I was wondering how you were getting along.’ She spoke tentatively, she didn’t want to bother me but she was worrying herself sick.

‘Fine. I’ve been doing a bit of background reading and talking to people. I didn’t want to visit Mrs Palmer until I’d a little more information. But we could fix that up now.’

‘Yes.’

‘How about Friday?’

‘Oh.’ A note of disappointment.

Did she want to go tomorrow? I was meeting Rachel for lunch but that left gaps either end of the day. And I couldn’t see it mattered which order I did things in. ‘Unless you want to go tomorrow.’

‘I’d like that.’

‘Does it matter when? Are there visiting times?’

‘Oh no. We can visit whenever we like. I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong impression. It’s quite a nice place really, comfortable.’

‘How about half-past ten? I could come and pick you up.’

‘I’ll get the bus.’

‘I think it’ll look better if we arrive together. If it’s no trouble.’

‘Of course, yes.’

I checked her address and arranged to pick her up a little before ten thirty the following morning.

No sooner had I put the phone down than it rang again.

‘Hello. This is Michelle from Wondawindow Systems. We have some very attractive special offers on at the moment. I’d like to arrange a convenient time for our rep to call on you, at your own convenience, without any obligation, to discuss options with you.’ Her voice was brisk, cheery and full of laboured reassurance.

‘No thanks.’ I got it in quickly, but she hardly drew breath.

‘The Wondawindows System not only improves security and reduces maintenance but can dramatically cut heating costs and increase the value of your property.’

‘No.’

‘Have you thought about window improvements?’

‘No. I-’

‘There’d be no obligation.’

‘I’m not interested.’ I put the phone down before she had a chance to carry on. The things some people do for a living.

Ray was working on a conversion job (old houses to new sheltered flats). He was doing all the woodwork: floors, window and door frames, built-in cupboards. Several weeks’ work. It would supplement the money he made on the furniture he created in our cellar. One consequence was he’d be better off for a while, another was that I had to take on more of the domestic jobs. He’d do the same if I got very busy. To date we’d never both been inundated at the same time.

I got Maddie and Tom from school and walked them back. I bunged potatoes in to bake, whizzed up coleslaw in the processor and grated cheese.

While the spuds cooked I sorted the clean clothes and put them in the kids’ drawers, left Ray’s pile on his bed, put mine away. I joined the children, who were watching a bizarre cartoon. I was completely baffled, unable to follow the plot or even tell what type of creatures the characters were meant to be.

‘Why’s she doing that?’ I asked.

‘Shush,’ Maddie complained.

‘She’s saving him,’ Tom explained.

‘Shush.’ Maddie rounded on Tom.

‘Who’s the blue one?’ I said.

‘Mummy,’ Maddie said sharply, ‘go away. You’re ruining it.’

I went.

Agnes lived in a small redbrick terrace in Ladybarn. The house had colourful stained-glass panels at the sides of the front door. The woodwork was painted a deep jade green, an old-fashioned flavour. It was the sort of place that the estate agents describe as full of original features.

The creamy lace curtain moved when I drew up. Agnes looked out and waved. She was ready and waiting. Her white hair was carefully styled and she wore the same navy coat. I got out and opened the passenger door for her. She was nervous. She got the seat belt tangled up with her handbag and the more she struggled the worse it got.

‘Here, let me sort that out.’ I leant across and unwound everything, buckled the seat belt. Set off.

‘Have you told Mrs Palmer we’re coming?’

‘Yes. I popped in on Tuesday after I’d been to see you. I don’t know whether she took it in really. I said I’d be back later in the week, that I’d be bringing a friend. She didn’t ask who.’

‘We’d better agree on who I am, in case anyone asks. Perhaps we should pass me off as your niece or something like that.’

‘No.’ She was shocked. ‘No, I’d rather a friend of the family.’ Her hand worked away at the jet brooch on her coat. I’d obviously touched a nerve. A niece she preferred to forget? I couldn’t ask about it. The colour had drained from her face and I needed to put her at ease before we reached Homelea.

‘Fine,’ I said. ‘A friend of the family. Call me Sal – it sounds better than Miss Kilkenny. I prefer it anyway.’

‘Yes, and you had better call me Agnes.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. I know a lot of my generation like to keep to the formalities but it really doesn’t matter any more. There’s hardly anyone left to call me Agnes now, you know.’

‘OK. How was Mrs Palmer on Tuesday?’

‘Very restless. Other times she just dozes off.’

‘That could be the side effects of the medicine. Anyway, I just want to meet her today and get a look at the place. I’ve had a word with a GP I know and she’s suggested we find out from Mrs Palmer’s doctor exactly how the trouble started and what drugs she’s on. It’s possible that there’s been a wrong diagnosis and that she hasn’t got Alzheimer’s at all. I was reading this book…’