The Girl in the Mirror

Three

It was like déjà vu – that flash of familiarity, sensed rather than consciously thought. A dizziness; a feeling of not being there. It was as though she’d been given a glimpse of another life. It had been fleeting, and without detail, but as Mandy looked at her aunt’s house, panic rose. She’d been here lots of times as a child but couldn’t remember any detail. It was like looking at a holiday photo in someone else’s album of a place she too had once visited.

She read the old wooden signboard – Breakspeare Manor – and then looked at the house again. It was a large sprawling manor house with two small stone turrets and lattice period windows. The front of the house was covered with the bare winding stems of wistaria. Instinctively Mandy knew that in a couple of weeks the entire front of the house would be festooned with its lilac blooms, like the venue for a wedding reception at a far-off and exotic location. She knew it without remembering – a gut feeling – and also that the house was 150 years old.

‘Ready?’ her father asked after a moment, gathering himself. She nodded and, taking a deep breath, picked up her bag from beside her feet and got out. The air smelt fresh and clean after London but it had a cooler, sharper edge. Drawing her cardigan closer, she waited for her father to get out. He reached inside the car for his jacket, straightened and, pointing the remote at the car, pressed to lock it. Mandy looked around. There were no other cars on the sweeping carriage driveway, and the double garage – a separate building to the left of the house – had its doors closed. None of the rooms at the front of the house had their windows open and the whole house looked shut up and empty.

‘There must be someone in,’ her father said, echoing her thoughts. ‘Grandpa’s here and we’re expected.’

She walked beside her father as they crossed the drive to the stone arched porch. Mounted on the wall to the right of the porch was a black-on-white sign announcing ‘Tradesmen’, with an arrow pointing to the side of the house. Mandy didn’t remember the sign but knew her aunt had insisted the butcher, housekeeper, gardener, newspaper boy, plumber and electrician used the side entrance, while friends and those arriving in big cars used the front door. She also remembered this had seemed strange to her as a child. At her house everyone used the front door, including those delivering goods and reading the gas and electric meters; the side gate was only used to take out the garbage.

‘Shall we let ourselves in the tradesmen’s entrance?’ her father asked, taking a step out of the porch and looking up at the front. ‘I don’t want to press the bell and disturb Grandpa if he’s sleeping.’

‘The gate is kept locked and the bell is even louder than this one. So they can hear it from the kitchen and laundry room.’ Her father looked at her, mildly surprised she’d remembered this detail. She shrugged and hid her discomfort.

Mandy didn’t know how she knew about the bell; her reaction had been instinctive, as though she’d absorbed the information from being part of her aunt’s family during all the times she’d stayed as a child. And while she still couldn’t remember visiting the house as such, nor had the least idea what the rooms would look like once they were inside, she found she knew that breakfast and lunch were taken in the morning room and supper in the dining room, and that Wednesday was the housekeeper’s day off. Perhaps she’d remembered this because it was all so very different from her own family’s modest home and routine, she thought.

Her father pressed the bell and almost immediately the door opened. For a moment Mandy thought the dark-haired woman standing before them was her aunt, until she saw the apron.

‘Good morning. Please come in,’ the housekeeper said, clearly expecting them. ‘Mrs Osborne is busy with her father.’ She smiled warmly and stood aside to let them in.

Although Mandy couldn’t have described the housekeeper from when she’d visited as a child, she felt sure this wasn’t the same woman, but they clearly used the same polish. The faint but distinctive smell of beeswax drifted into the hall from the dining room, and Mandy instinctively knew that the dining table needed a lot of polishing.

‘Please come through to the sitting room,’ the housekeeper said, leading the way along the wooden panelled hall, which seemed vaguely familiar.

Mandy felt the same vague familiarity as she entered the sitting room, while not actually recalling ever being in the room. She looked at the off-white sofa and matching armchairs, the light beige carpet, curtains and soft furnishings, and wondered if she and Sarah hadn’t been allowed in this room as children, which could explain her lack of recall.

‘Sit down and make yourselves comfortable,’ the housekeeper said, waving towards the armchairs and sofa. ‘I’m Mrs Saunders. Mrs Osborne will be with you shortly. Can I get you coffee?’

‘Yes please,’ Mandy said, and her father nodded.

‘That’s not the same housekeeper who was here when I used to stay, is it?’ Mandy asked her father as soon as the door closed behind her.

‘No. That was Mrs Pryce. She left –’ He stopped as though he had been about to say something but had thought better of it. ‘This one is new.’

They sat for a while, both gazing out of the French windows and on to the upper terraces. Although it was only March the gardener had clearly been busy. Brightly coloured spring blooms dotted the terracotta pots on the patio and the neatly tended flower beds beyond. Instinctively Mandy knew that further down the gardens, out of sight on the lower lawns, there used to be swings, which Sarah and she had played on as children.

The room was quiet, save for the ticking of the brass pendulum clock mounted in the alcove by the fireplace. Indeed, the whole house seemed quiet; unnaturally so, Mandy thought. It was a sharp contrast to her studio flat where the comings and goings of the other occupants meant there was always noise of some sort.

‘I don’t know why we have to wait here,’ her father grumbled after a moment. ‘I’ve come to see my father, not drink coffee.’

‘The housekeeper said Evelyn was busy with Grandpa,’ Mandy soothed. ‘I’m sure she won’t be long.’

He harrumphed. Mandy could feel his tension and knew that unless he changed his attitude he was going to start off on the wrong foot when he met his sister again after all these years.

‘Has this room changed much?’ she asked shortly, still unable to place it and trying to cut the silence with conversation.

‘I don’t know,’ he said quickly. He looked away, deflecting further questions.

They sat in silence again, gazing out of the window, until a knock sounded on the door and the housekeeper returned carrying a large silver tray with coffee, and biscuits arranged on a white porcelain plate.

‘Help yourselves,’ she said, placing the tray on the coffee table between them.

‘Thank you,’ Mandy said, grateful for the biscuits, having not had breakfast. Her father nodded.

‘You’re welcome. Mrs Osborne is on her way.’ She smiled and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Mandy put sugar in one cup and passed it to her father and then picked up the other cup and took a sip. It felt very odd sitting here drinking coffee with the sense that it was all familiar while not actually recalling it – like watching someone’s home movie. You saw the intimacy of their lives but weren’t part of it. The sitting-room door opened again and Evelyn came in. Mandy knew immediately it was her aunt: a smaller, female, and slightly younger version of her father. Her father stood as she entered and put down his cup. There was a moment’s hesitation before Evelyn came over and they air-kissed. ‘Hello, Ray,’ she said, and then, turning to Mandy: ‘Good to see you again, love, though it’s a pity it’s in such sad circumstances.’

Mandy felt another stab of familiarity as she stood to kiss her aunt. Evelyn had always called her Mandy, as her friends and work colleagues did, while her parents still used her full name: Amanda.

‘How’s Dad?’ her father asked.

Evelyn took a step back and Mandy saw the anxiety in her face. ‘Very poorly. Sit down while I explain what has happened. You need to know before you see him.’

Mandy thought he was going to protest at being kept longer from his father, but he clearly thought better of it. He returned to the armchair while Evelyn sat on the sofa beside her. Drawing her hand anxiously across her forehead, she looked from Mandy to her brother, her face sad and serious.

‘Dad is very old,’ she began slowly, ‘and his heart is weak. He was lucky to recover from the stroke last year, but it has taken its toll. His body is slowly closing down. As you know he was admitted to hospital two weeks ago with a chest infection. They put him on intravenous antibiotics. Although the chest infection cleared, his general condition deteriorated.’ She paused and Mandy thought she was choosing her words very carefully, as though trying to let them down slowly.

‘Dad had never been in hospital before,’ she continued, ‘apart from when he had pneumonia as a child. He was very upset by the whole experience. He felt no one cared and he insisted he wanted to go home. Clearly it was out of the question for him to go to his house – Mum couldn’t have coped, so I made the offer for them both to come here, which they accepted. Ray,’ Evelyn said, looking directly at him and her eyes misting, ‘Dad won’t be returning to hospital, nor to his home. He has come here so he can have peace and quiet among his loved ones at the end.’

‘But I don’t understand,’ her father said abruptly. ‘You said Dad responded to the antibiotics, so why shouldn’t he make a full recovery?’

Evelyn paused and glanced at Mandy, almost for support. ‘His body is slowly shutting down. He’s tired, Ray. He’s had a long life and a good one, and now it’s coming to its natural end. I don’t know how else to put it, Ray, but Dad is dying.’

There was silence. Mandy looked from Evelyn to her father, who was clearly as shocked as she was. He had gone very pale and was absently wringing his hands in his lap. Presumably Evelyn had had time to come to terms with the seriousness of Grandpa’s condition while they had not. ‘Has the doctor said this?’ he asked at length.

‘Not in so many words,’ Evelyn said gently, ‘but it will be obvious when you see him.’

‘I’d like to see him now, please,’ he said, standing. ‘And I think we should leave the prognosis to the doctor.’

Mandy felt embarrassed by her father’s curtness and hoped Evelyn appreciated it was a result of the shock of hearing how poorly his father was, and didn’t take it personally.

‘I’ll take you to him now,’ Evelyn said evenly, also standing. ‘We’ve converted the study into a sick room. Mum sits with him for most of the day.’ She hesitated and looked again to Mandy for support. ‘Be prepared to see a big change in him. He’s lost a lot of weight.’

‘Why? Isn’t he eating?’ her father asked as they crossed the sitting room. Mandy knew he hadn’t really grasped the implications of what Evelyn had told them.

‘He takes a little water sometimes,’ Evelyn said. ‘But even that is getting less. He’s sleeping more and more. My hope is that in the end he’ll just fall into a deep sleep from which he won’t wake.’

Four

Mandy felt her pulse quicken as she followed her aunt and father along the hallway at the rear of the house. When her father had said Grandpa had taken a turn for the worse she hadn’t for a moment thought he could be dying, only that he was ill. She was struggling to take in what Evelyn had told them; she could see her father was too. They walked in silence down the wood-panelled hall, which, like the reception hall and the other rooms they passed, seemed vaguely familiar. Evelyn stopped outside a closed door on their right and, giving a brief knock, eased it open. ‘All right, Mum?’ she said, poking her head round. ‘Ray and Mandy are here.’

They followed her in. Gran was sitting beside a single bed, a little away from the wall, where Grandpa lay on his back asleep. ‘Don’t get up,’ her father said as Gran began struggling on to her walking frame to greet them. He went over and, kissing her cheek, helped her back down. Mandy saw his face crumple as he looked at the bed.

‘He’s asleep,’ Gran said protectively, her voice small and uneven. ‘He’s very poorly. I’m so pleased you’ve both come.’

Her father nodded but couldn’t say anything.

Mandy kissed Gran, hugging her thin shoulders, and then looked at Grandpa. She could have wept. It was only three weeks since she’d last seen him and although he was in his eighties he’d been fit and well. He’d taken her on a tour of his garden and had proudly shown her the spring bulbs and the forsythia which was about to flower. Now he lay on his back propped on a mountain of pillows, his previous ruddy complexion waxen and his cheeks hollow. His jaw had relaxed in sleep and his mouth hung open as his head lolled to one side. His right arm, thin and wasted, jutted from the sheet and Gran held his hand. It was pitiful how quickly someone of his age could deteriorate, Mandy thought. She looked at her father and saw her own pain reflected.

‘The nurse has just left,’ Gran said, her voice slight. ‘He’ll sleep for a while now. It tires him out being messed around with.’

‘The nurse was washing him, Mum,’ Evelyn qualified. ‘Not messing him around.’

‘It’s all the same to him,’ Gran returned smartly, ever protective of her husband of fifty-nine years.

They fell silent and all that could be heard for some moments was Grandpa’s heavy and laboured breathing. Mandy looked at her father, who was standing beside Gran, one hand resting reassuringly on her shoulder. She saw his creased brow and the pain in his eyes, and knew he was as shocked as she was by Grandpa’s physical decline. And perhaps, Mandy thought, he saw his own end reflected in his father, for they had been very much alike in stature and temperament, until now. Mandy looked at the outline of Grandpa’s wasted body beneath the sheets and could see none of her father’s strong and muscular frame, nor his pride and dignity. As she watched saliva ran from the corner of Grandpa’s mouth and dribbled on to the pillow. Evelyn took a tissue from the box on the desk and wiped the corner of his mouth. ‘There, there, that’s better,’ she soothed, as though tending a baby. Mandy cringed inwardly.

She looked at her father. ‘Why don’t you sit down, Dad?’ she asked softly.

He nodded. Evelyn took the chair from the desk and set it next to Gran beside the bed. ‘I’ll leave you to chat with Mum,’ she said, ‘while I go to the kitchen to see Mrs Saunders about lunch. I take it you will be staying for lunch?’

The mention of lunch in the sick room where Grandpa lay so ill seemed grotesquely out of place, but again Mandy supposed Evelyn had had time to adjust in the five days since she’d brought Grandpa home from hospital, and of course they had to eat.

Mandy looked at her father, who gave a vague shrug.

‘Yes, please,’ she said.

Evelyn nodded and, straightening the sheets on the bed, went out of the study, closing the door behind her.

Mandy hovered for a moment at the end of the bed, unsure of what to do or say, and then sat in one of the two brown leather armchairs at the other end of the room. It was a large study, big enough to retain the armchairs, desk, coffee table, filing cabinet, and a free-standing bookshelf even with the addition of the two single beds. Grandpa was in the bed in front of her while Gran’s nightdress lay neatly folded on the pillow of the other bed, which was against the opposite wall. Her grandparents had lived in a bungalow for as long as she could remember and Mandy knew that although Gran could still manage stairs with her arthritis it was a struggle. Mandy had no idea what the study had looked like before the furniture had been arranged to accommodate the beds, nor did she have any recollection of ever having been in it. But that was hardly surprising, she told herself, for Sarah and she wouldn’t have been encouraged to play in the study, and in all likelihood had probably been banned from it.

Mandy looked at her father and Gran sitting beside the bed watching Grandpa. All that could be heard was the sound of Grandpa’s laboured breathing, the breaths deeper than normal breaths, with more time in between; exaggerated, she thought, as though each breath was a statement of living that shouldn’t be ignored or taken for granted.

‘How’s Jean?’ Gran asked her father quietly after a moment. ‘She didn’t come with you?’

‘No. She sends her love, and apologies. She’ll visit next time.’

‘Don’t worry, Ray,’ Gran said. ‘I understand. I’m glad you felt you could come. When Evelyn first suggested Dad and I came here to stay I was worried you wouldn’t visit. Evelyn said she would phone you and make it all right. It would have been dreadful if you hadn’t visited and been able to say goodbye to your father –’ She stopped as her voice broke.

Her father took her hand between his and patted it reassuringly. ‘It’s OK between Evelyn and me now, Mum. Honestly.’

Mandy looked at them. What Gran had just said – her worry that the past would stop her father from visiting – was the most she’d ever said in front of her about ‘the situation’. First her father had referred to it earlier, and now Gran. She wondered when someone was eventually going to tell her what had happened all those years before. At twenty-three she was able to deal with a skeleton or two in the family closet. She was beginning to resent her exclusion. She doubted that whatever had happened could be that horrendous, not in their family. They were squeaky clean. And Mandy now wondered, as she had before, if it had anything to do with her mother and Uncle John – Sarah’s father. As children Sarah and she had giggled that they seemed to like each very much and always kissed each other hello and goodbye on the mouth rather than the cheek.

Her thoughts were broken by a change in Grandpa’s breathing. His breaths had suddenly become shorter, and then the next didn’t come. She sat upright, senses alert. There was a short rasp followed by a dry cough. ‘He’s waking,’ Gran said.

Mandy rose and crossed to the bed where she stood next to her father. They looked at Grandpa and his eyes slowly opened. Turning his head towards them, he smiled. His eyes were moist from sleep and his skin was so pale and thin it was almost translucent. Mandy could see the effort it took for him to speak. ‘Hello,’ he said, his voice catching. ‘Good to see you. Can you get me some water, please?’

‘Of course, Dad,’ her father said, patting his shoulder.

‘It’s on the desk,’ Gran said to Mandy.

Mandy crossed to the desk where a silver tray with a water jug was at one end, away from the laptop, printer and phone. On the tray, beside the covered jug, were a glass and a plastic feeding beaker.

‘Use the beaker, love,’ Gran said. ‘He can’t manage a glass any more. It spills down his front.’

Mandy glanced over and saw the shock on her father’s face – that Grandpa could no longer drink from a glass but was reliant on what looked like an adult version of a toddler’s training cup. She took the lid off the beaker and poured the water, then snapped the lid on and carried it to the bed.

‘Evelyn usually gives it to him,’ Gran said anxiously. ‘I can’t lift his head.’

Mandy glanced at her father, wondering if he wanted to help Grandpa with the drink, but he shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what was required.

‘Grandpa, shall I hold the beaker?’ Mandy asked, leaning forward so she was in his line of vision.

He gave a small nod. Her father eased back his chair so she could get closer to the bed. Leaning over, she wriggled her left hand under the top pillow and slowly eased Grandpa forward and upright. His dry, lined lips closed around the funnel of the feeding beaker. Mandy gradually tilted it as he sucked and then swallowed. He took three sips and collapsed back, exhausted. Mandy lowered the pillow and moved to one side.

It took a moment for him to gather his strength again to speak. ‘I’m pleased you came,’ he said slowly, forming each word separately and with effort. ‘I’m not very good at present. Have you spoken to Evelyn and John?’

‘Yes, Dad,’ her father said. ‘I’ve seen Evelyn and everything is fine.’

Grandpa smiled, reassured, and allowed his eyes to slowly close. Mandy watched as his hand came from under the sheet, searching for his son’s hand. Her father took it in his and his mouth quivered as he fought back emotion. Men in her family rarely showed their feelings; it wasn’t considered the ‘manly’ thing to do. It was more than Mandy could bear to watch her father and Grandpa exposed and their emotion raw. Thank goodness we came, she thought. Thank goodness Dad was able to surrender his pride and take the opportunity to see his father at his sister’s house.

‘Is Jean with you?’ Grandpa asked as Gran had done, his eyes still closed.

‘No, Dad. She sends her love. She’ll come next time.’

‘If there is a next time. I’m very tired, Ray, and the pain is getting worse.’ It was said without self-pity, but Mandy saw her father flinch.

‘Are you in pain now?’ he asked, sitting forward and still holding his father’s hand.

Grandpa shook his head.

‘The nurse gave him something,’ Gran said. ‘But it wears off too quickly.’

‘You shouldn’t have to suffer in this day and age,’ her father said. ‘I’ll speak to Evelyn and we’ll have a word with the doctor.’

Grandpa nodded, but his eyes stayed closed. Then his breathing slowed and deepened as he drifted once more into sleep. Her father eased the bedclothes up round his neck with a tenderness Mandy found exceptionally touching. He stood. ‘I’m going to the bathroom,’ he said and Mandy knew it was to hide his emotion.

‘Will you tell Evelyn that Dad has taken some water?’ Gran called after him. ‘She’ll be pleased. It’s a good sign, isn’t it?’

He nodded without saying anything, unable to give Gran the false hope she desperately sought. Glancing pointedly at Mandy, he left the room. Mandy moved into the chair her father had vacated, next to Gran and beside the bed. She looked at Grandpa, his chest rising and falling beneath the sheet as his laboured breathing once more filled the air. Until now he’d always appeared much younger than his eighty-five years, but now his illness had aged him enormously. Mandy found it almost impossible to equate the upright, agile person that had been her grandpa a few weeks ago with the shell of a man before her now, who hadn’t even the strength to raise his head for a drink.

‘It is a good sign, isn’t it?’ Gran said again. ‘Water is good for you. You can do without food, but not water.’

Mandy gave the same non-committal nod her father had done, feeling the same reluctance to fuel what was obviously an unrealistic hope. She wondered if the seriousness of Grandpa’s condition had been explained to Gran. Had the doctors, Evelyn or John said that her husband wouldn’t be getting better; if so, had she accepted it?

‘So tell me about your painting,’ Gran suddenly said, her voice lightening as she changed the subject. ‘Have you finished that masterpiece yet? I want to be the first to see it.’

Mandy gave a small, dismissive laugh. ‘No, not yet, but I promise you’ll be the first to see it, if and when it happens.’

‘You mean when, not if,’ Gran said.

Somehow, in the strange intimacy of the sick room, with Grandpa’s laboured breathing as a backdrop, Mandy now found herself able to share her thoughts and frustrations with Gran in a way she couldn’t with her parents or even Adam. ‘You see, Gran,’ she began, ‘I think I’ve got the equivalent of writer’s block. It’s nearly eight months since I stopped work to paint and I haven’t painted anything. I might just as well give up the idea and return to work. When I had little time and I was under pressure, the ideas seemed to pour out. I painted at weekends and some evenings after work. Now I have all the time in the world I can’t do anything. I’ve lost confidence. I haven’t a single thought in my head.’

‘Like me then.’ Gran smiled, lightly touching her arm. ‘But, Mandy, the main thing is you tried, love. That’s so important. Even if nothing comes of it you had a go. And you know Grandpa’s favourite saying?’

Mandy frowned questioningly. ‘I don’t. He’s got lots of sayings. Which one?’

Gran paused, looked at Grandpa as though bringing him into the conversation, and then quoted: ‘“It is better to have tried and failed, than never to have tried at all.”’ She looked again at Mandy, and there were tears forming in her eyes. ‘Don’t give up on your dreams, love. Stay with them or you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. I’m sure you’re talented, and I know when you find the right subject you’ll be able to paint. Then it will be from your heart and the painting will be perfect.’