Her children. Fagus. What had she been doing? What had she been thinking? Where were they? Why weren’t they with her? She must have gone mad, she’d forgotten; she’d let this place get to her, she’d let everything get to her. Her children – they beat their way through her blood into her heart, her heart that had almost stopped beating, that had slowed to such silence that she’d almost forgotten everything. It ran now, it ran as she had from the scullery and the potatoes when her hands were damp and her sleeve soaked in dirty water.

She would be everything her own mother had failed to be. She’d chatter with Ian and choose dresses with Finetta, go for little walks with Fagus. She’d just needed rest.

She sealed the letter in an envelope, put it aside and closed her eyes. Her fingers played over the emerald and diamonds, the gold band as she twisted it, turning it this way and that until she fell asleep, her hands falling still, one over the other, and dreamt she held Fagus in her arms.

Enid, 1964

20

Enid, 1964

She came to over a plate of beef and gravy, boiled carrots and cabbage. There was no one in her arms. Her arms were empty. Her hand shot up like a schoolgirl. “I say.” She waved at the nurses, anyone of them could see her. They were milling about with cloths and plastic jugs of squash. “I say.” She got out of her chair.

The girl with the poor complexion came trotting over. “More squash, Enid? You haven’t touched your plate.”

“I’ve made a mistake.”

The girl glanced under Enid’s chair, as if she’d peed herself. Stupid child. Enid said it again. “I’ve made a mistake. I need to telephone.”

“Telephone? Who is it this time?”

“My daughter.”

The girl with the poor complexion held Enid’s arm and looked helplessly at Mandy, who was down on her knees wiping carrots off the floor. “Mandy?”

Mandy came over, the cloth and carrots bunched in her fist. “What is it, Enid? Do you need the lav?”

“I’ve changed my mind,” said Enid.

“You don’t the need the lav?” Mandy was about to walk away.

Enid grabbed her stick. “I have to see him.”

Mandy and the girl with spots exchanged a look. Mandy said, “Perhaps we should take her back to her room.”

Enid pulled her arm free, wobbled, held the table and sat down with a thump into her chair. “If I don’t see him, I won’t know.”

“Oh, Enid,” Mandy sighed. “You are having a day of it.”

“I am not having a day of it.” Her hand hit the table, and her fork went flying. “You have to call my daughter and tell her I’ve changed my mind.”

“We did say,” said Mandy.

“No,” said Enid. “No, you don’t understand.”