Page 87 of The Secret House of Honey and Hope

He turns confused eyes on me. “What?”

“When did you fall?”

He has soiled himself so he must have been on his way to the bathroom. I often hear him get up in the night. Guilt rips through me, how long has he lain on the floor while I was with Hal?

I’ve let myself get complacent, the last few nights, sleeping over there, enjoying that daze of a new relationship, and assuming Grandad would be okay on his own.

I can’t lift him up by myself, and not with his neck still unhealed. I rush out but it’s too late; Hal is already on his way to the village for fresh pastries. Why, oh why, didn’t we exchange phone numbers?

Back inside I dial Doctor Mortimer and explain.

“You’re right not to move him,” he says with that groggy voice of someone still in bed. “I’m on my way, just keep him covered.”

I find a blanket in Grandad’s bedroom and spread it over him and tuck a pillow under his head. Then I sit on the floor and hold his hand.Please God don’t let it be a serious fall. Please God don’t let him…don’t let him… The words refuse to form, even silently in my head.

He will be fine, of course he will. Doctor Mortimer sounded very calm and reassuring. For the first time, I curse the fact La Canette has no cars.

The doctor, on his bike, arrives soon after. Actually, sooner than an ambulance would have made it through the streets of Manchester, blue light or no blue light. After a quick check for new fractures, he carries Grandad to his bed. There is a sticky moment when I try to change him out of his wet pyjamas; he suddenly becomes extremely alert and refuses, absolutely refuses, to let me anywhere near him.

Doctor Mortimer watches us argue for a couple of minutes before stepping in gently and asking me to fetch him a bowl of warm soapy water and clean clothes. Five minutes later, when I bring him the basin, Grandad seems calmer. As doctors come, I’ve never met anyone with a better bedside manner than Adam Mortimer.

I leave them and go stick a note on the shop door saying we’ll open two hours late, then go to the kitchen and make tea.

Of course.

Because a pot of PG Tips is really going to make up for my neglect.

By the time I return with two steaming mugs, Grandad is dressed and cleaned and sitting up in bed. Doctor Mortimer carries out a thorough examination.

“He’s fine if a little chilled,” he says half an hour later. “Just keep him very warm and don’t be surprised if he feels weak for a day or two. It’s been a bit of a shock to his system so keep him in bed and give him an easy-to-digest diet.”

“I’ll make him a vegetable stew—”

“No, don’t do that.” He holds a hand up. “Keep to low-residue foods.”

Low residue?

“No fibre. Nothing hard to process, like whole grains or pulses. I’d say milk, white bread, pasta, potatoes, and hot drinks with plenty of sugar or…” He glances at the boxes against the kitchen wall. “Honey is perfect.”

It isn’t what I think of as healthy. But he explains that fibre is rough on the digestive system, and older people often can’t handle it.

We leave Grandad in bed with the covers up to his chin despite the spring day outside and go out through to the kitchen.

“I’m concerned about my grandfather,” I say, refilling the kettle. “Let me make you a fresh cup, Dr Mortimer, this one must be cold by now.”

“Thank you, and please call me Adam.” He leans a hip on the kitchen counter and watches me make the tea. “Concerned about what, exactly?”

My thoughts take a minute to line up into something less emotional. “Because he doesn’t remember what happened when he fell. His memory seems to be getting worse every day.”

“He’s doing well for a man his age,” Adam says levelly.

“Hewasdoing a lot better before. He used to run a business, maybe not very successfully, but he was in charge. He even remembered to call me on my birthday. But now he sometimes forgets if he had a bath in the morning.”

I don’t want to go on and on, but even Doris has noticed. “Could it be the fracture?” I ask.

Adam studies me for a moment. “Tell me, is it his short-term or long-term memory that seems to be the problem?”

“Oh no, short term, definitely. A couple of weeks ago someone asked him about the war, I mean that’s, what? Nearly eighty years ago, and he remembered the tiniest of details. But ask him what he had for lunch yesterday and he sometimes can’t. The hardest part is when he repeats himself. For example, whenever I mention the shop, whatever I say, his answer will always lead him to talking about his hives, the same stories, the same advice every time.”

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