Page 22 of The Lie
Both her sons looked embarrassed.
‘Poor Dad,’ Rex said.
‘Yeah,’ Leo agreed. ‘But the carers can do all that, Mum. And he’ll get physio …’
Romy didn’t reply. They had absolutely no idea. She’d seen her friend Angie’s husband, Barry, after his stroke. Angie had done every single thing for the man for months. Although she’d probably done too much, and made Barry even lazier than he already was.Michael isn’t lazy, she thought.He’ll be really motivated to get better.
Now it was Leo’s turn to reach across the table and take her hand, his eyes filling with tears. ‘Please, Mum. I know it’s not fair to ask you, but will you help?’ He took his hand from hers to brush away his tears. ‘I’ll do it all, I promise. I just need some moral support.’
Romy knew she didn’t have a choice. ‘I’m going home this evening,’ she said, her tone painfully reluctant. ‘I need to get clothes and stuff.’ She took a slow breath, trying to quell the roiling in her gut. ‘But I’ll be back Sunday night … And, yes, of course I’ll help you, Leo.’
As she said goodbye to her grateful sons and walked away from the café, she thought of the email she’d received earlier in the week, the request from the Wildlife Trust to come in and meet them. She thought of Finch. The prospect of going backwards – even for a short period – to tend a post-stroke Michael made her feel like throwing plates at the wall.
16
‘I know it’s late, but can I come over?’ Romy’s voice had sounded strained when she’d called earlier.
Finch was delighted. In the days since he’d dropped her off at the hospital, he’d become increasingly anxious. He’d begun to feel that the night they’d spent together would prove a grand finale to their relationship, not the opening ceremony, as he’d hoped.
She had started to cry as soon as she was through the door. He’d taken her in his arms and just held her, listening to her muffled, disjointed fears about helping out with Michael’s rehabilitation.
‘Glass of wine?’ he asked later, when she was calmer and had flopped down tiredly on the sofa.
She nodded. ‘Make it a large one.’
He came back with two glasses of red and a big bowl of crisps. Romy’s eyes lit up and she helped herself to a handful.
‘You won’t be needed for too long, I imagine,’ Finch said, settling beside her.
She met his eyes, her expression blank and exhausted. ‘You must think I’m awful, being so reluctant. It’s not that I don’t want to make sure Michael’s OK. And of course I’ll be there for Leo. It’s just … recently I’ve felt so excited about things …’ She looked away. ‘And this feels like …’ She didn’t finish, but her expression said it all.
‘You don’t think Leo could cope?’
Romy shrugged. ‘I’m sure he could. He’s nearly thirty, not a kid – although I still think of him as one. I’m sure people his age have to deal with much worse than this, all the time. But if I can help …’
Finch, who’d had to do just that when he was not even twenty and his mother had fallen seriously ill with congestive heart failure, did not comment. He didn’t want Romy to think he was criticizing her sons because he wasn’t. He wouldn’t wish what he’d had to go through on anyone.
Romy went on, ‘But both the boys are at the beginning of their careers. They can’t easily take six months out to look after their father.’ She gave an apologetic smile. ‘I don’t think I’m being too soft on them.’
Finch nodded. He understood.
‘The thing that really worries me is that Leo’s estimate of two weeks is way off. It could take much longer to settle things.’
‘You don’t know that. See how it goes,’ Finch said, trying to be encouraging. But he felt he was swimming against the tide. Romy was too wound up to take in what he was saying.
‘Michael doesn’t trust people like normal people do,’ Romy was saying. ‘He’s never been dependent on anyone.’ She took a large gulp of wine. ‘I’ve got to find a carer tough enough to withstand his will, but kind enough to look after him properly.’
Finch nodded, and decided that, much as he would love to save Romy from her fate, he knew, as clearly as heknew his own name, that she would end up managing her ex’s rehab.
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she said, her face a picture of despair. ‘I know what you’re thinking.’
‘Maybe you shouldn’t fight it, Romy. From what you’ve said, you can’t walk away – neither Michael nor Leo could manage if you did.’ He paused. ‘If we’re being practical, perhaps you could set a time limit for yourself. Say, a month. So you move back into the flat and hire trustworthy help, settle Michael with all the aids he needs to walk and feed and shower, get him started with physio, sort out his medication …’
Romy was staring at him, a small smile playing around her mouth. ‘Impressive. Would you like to take over?’
Finch pulled a face, remembering the hassle of persuading his fierce mother to give him power-of-attorney, having fights with her grouchy GP, getting his head round her daily medication, dealing with her clucking – albeit well-meaning – friends, who kept offering conflicting advice. He hadn’t had a clue what he was doing but it had worked out all right in the end. And he’d managed to make the last months of his mother’s life as comfortable as was possible, and worry-free.
He sipped some wine. ‘Better to organize it like a campaign than fight it and end up feeling guilty.’ He wondered, as he spoke, what on earth he was doing persuading the woman he thought he was falling for to spend such extended time with her ex. The newness of their relationship made it feel very fragile.
