Page 49 of Waiting for a Bright New Future

As he put out his hand to release the handbrake, Jayne took hold of it and squeezed. “We will work out a way round all of this. We can still have romance. It might just need a bit of patience and pre-planning.”

Stuart smiled at her. This wasn’t Jayne’s fault. It was circumstances. And, where there was a will, there was a way around or through circumstances. Together they’d find that way. “Let’s not leave Lillian in a tizzy any longer.”

“Mum’s right. You are a good man, Stuart.”

* * *

The next morning Lillian knocked on the door. She was apologising and handing him a plastic container of homemade ginger biscuits before she was even over the threshold.

“It’s like there’s two of me,” she said. “One’s an inconsiderate spoilt brat and the other’s the normal me who has to put sticking plaster on the wounds caused by the brat. Hence the biscuits — a peace offering.”

“Don’t worry about it. There was no problem, honestly.”

“There was.” Her voice was tight and she busied herself with his kettle and teapot so he couldn’t see her expression. Eventually she had no option but to turn round and bring two mugs to the table. Her face was desolate. “I ruined Jayne’s birthday. And you’d gone to so much trouble.”

“It doesn’t matter. I misjudged it anyway. I don’t think cycling’s her thing.”

“That’s not the point. This morning, when she told me all that you’d done, her face and voice were bubbling. She was pleased that you cared so much. I wish I hadn’t made you cut it short. I am so selfish.”

“It really doesn’t matter.”

“It wouldn’t matter if it was a one-off. But it’s going to get worse. I can only talk about this when I’m feeling really in control. Like now. The minute the grey mist starts wrapping itself around my thoughts, I feel like a child demanding maternal affection, or in my case, Jayne’s attention.”

“Lillian, you don’t have to tell me anything unless it’s making you feel better.”

The old lady took a biscuit, dunked it in her tea and ate it in silence before she spoke again. “Jayne wants to look after me at home as I deteriorate. Something to do with the fact that I looked after her gran and therefore she owes it to me. When that grey mist is anywhere around, I want her to do that too. I feel vulnerable and I want to stay with everything that I know, in my own house with my own things, with my daughter and the people I’ve known a long time . . .” she paused “. . . like you.”

It was painful to hear the old lady try to make sense of what was happening to her. It must be even worse to be the person giving life to these words.

“When that grey mist lifts,” she continued. “It feels like the dawn of a sunny day on holiday but with clouds on the horizon. I feel like me but I know that if I stay in my own home with Jayne caring for me, it will ruin her life and that of anyone she chooses to share it with.” She stopped talking again and looked at him meaningfully. “In my slightly misty days, I appear normal, but inside I’m fighting to find the right thoughts. At those times I’ve probably asked you to help Jayne look after me. Now, with my head clear, I want to clarify exactly what I mean. I want you to help Jayne find a way to have mecared foreither at home with carers or in a home. I want her to be free to live her life. Understand?”

Lillian’s last word came out as a stern command. Stuart nodded. Understanding was one thing but persuading Jayne, without it looking as though he was doing so for selfish reasons, was another. “I understand but Jaynewantsto care for you. She loves you. If I try to persuade her otherwise, it will look like my own selfishness talking, like I don’t want to be involved in caring for you.”

Lillian leaned across the table. “Who knew growing old was so difficult?”

Chapter Twenty-Six

The date of the next speakers’ club meeting had crept up without Stuart noticing. Or maybe, subconsciously, he’d tried to wipe it from his mind. He drank his morning mule-kick coffee, looked at his pile of notes on the history of cycling and realised, with less than twelve hours until the meeting, he was about to see the truth of his Fail to Prepare, Prepare to Fail motto. Sick with apprehension, he typed up his script between visits to William. Phoning John at this late stage really would sound like he was making excuses and wouldn’t help his ex-pupil demonstrate the success of the club on his CV.

He pulled into the Red Lion car park and took deep breaths. After this meeting he would tell John he couldn’t come again. He took a seat on the back row. His fists were clenched, his armpits damp and his heartbeat had doubled in speed. No one else seemed to be going through the same anguish. His name was called. The walk to the gallows was painful. He positioned his notes on the sturdy wooden lectern, put on his glasses and started to read. He tried to pretend it was a school assembly but an audience of judgemental adults was far worse than disinterested teenagers.

His hands gripped the frame of wood surrounding his notes as though someone might snatch the whole contraption away from him and leave him exposed to the rows of staring faces. Stuart was aware that he was reading too quickly and not making eye contact.

He got halfway through before he ran out of breath and had to gasp like a surfacing diver. The fresh intake of air tickled his throat and suddenly he was coughing. He coughed and coughed until he almost retched. Someone pushed a glass of water at him and led him to a chair. His coughing was the only sound in the room and the meeting didn’t resume until he’d got himself under control. Stuart wanted to die of shame.

“Well done, Stuart.”

He looked round in surprise. It was the end of the meeting and he was trying to leave without speaking to anyone when John ambushed him.

“I loved your choice of language and the way you took us on a logical journey through time. That was a good speech structure. I’m really looking forward to hearing you speak again.”

It was praise that Stuart didn’t deserve or want, and he knew it was only to ensure he came back again to swell the club’s numbers. A little seed of defiance started to glow in his chest. He’d tried to help John out. Twice. It was negatively affecting his own self-esteem and therefore he wouldn’t do it again.

“Just a couple of points for improvement. Try to speak more slowly and practise talking around bullet points rather than reading from a script,” John continued. “The additional benefit to that is you don’t need as much material and you’re less likely to trigger a coughing fit. I’ll stick you on the programme again for the next meeting.”

You did well, bro! He thinks you can do better. He wants to hear you speak again. Are we coming next month?

Stuart ignored Sandra, that seed of defiance had grown and he felt suddenly buoyed. His heart calmed and his hands stopped shaking. He wasn’t going to be pushed into things that he had tried and discovered weren’t for him.

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