A Life Less Lonely Read online

  “No, I, erm, didn’t mean anything negative. Not about her work.” Susie fingered the watch pinned to her uniform. “It’s just Moira’s not exactly over the moon about natural remedies. She’s very sceptical about people swallowing pills and potions from the health foods shop and anticipating miracles. That’s all I meant.”

  “Moira’s opinions are precisely the reason why I’m inviting her on to the team. Apart from her terrific CV. Something that applies to you and Jane too, of course.”

  “Stop buttering me up,” said Susie, eyes twinkling. “I’d very much like to accept. What you’ve told me sounds very exciting.”

  “Thank you and welcome aboard.” He rose and held out his hand to shake hers. “I’m sorry not to offer any refreshments, Susie, but my afternoon’s probably going to extend well into the evening. I promise the welcome wagon will be there with bells on when we have our introductory meeting.”

  “I hope you’re looking after yourself,” she said sternly, looking him up and down, “though I must say you seem to thrive on hard work. I’ve known you long enough to realise that.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” He escorted her to the door, “this is my life. I’ll be in touch soon.”

  Once she’d gone, he walked thoughtfully back to his desk. Moira Haynes was a sultry redhead with the kind of eyes in which sensible men should beware of drowning. She definitely wasn’t his type, if he had a type. But he wasn’t stupid enough to think he never figured as the object of nurses’ speculation. Single man. Consultant. Would he be inviting trouble if he asked Moira to join the team? Was that what Susie had really meant when she acted flustered? Should he have probed further? As Susie had pointed out, she and he were friends. But this was rubbish. He needed the cream of the department for this project. Once they came on board, they’d have to put their personal lives behind them and remain focused, as he was so accustomed to doing.

  Like a punch in the solar plexus, a guilty feeling knocked him. So how about his feelings regarding Andrea Palmer? But she came highly recommended by her boss and he’d invited her to meet him without any intention of asking to see her photograph beforehand. Her qualifications spoke for themselves, making her the obvious person to accompany him to the Canadian conference. None of the other team members could compete with her community medicine background. Nor could any of the others be spared from their hospital duties once the trial began. But if Andrea chose to turn down his invitation, how would he feel if he had to invite Richard to fill her place?

  Keir’s instant and disconcerting reaction contained a monster-sized helping of guilt.

  ***

  Next morning, despite work-related matters nudging her, Andrea dialled Rosemary’s number, hoping for a brief chat and maybe a tactful query about eating breakfast. The relentless ring tone told her it might be pointless to go on waiting. She selected a small banana and sprig of seedless grapes from the fruit bowl and placed them in Josh’s plastic lunch container before redialling. Maybe her previous call had caught her mother in the bathroom or even outside, topping up the birdseed containers.

  “Finish your cornflakes, sweetheart,” Andrea watched Josh push his treasured miniature tank round and round the rim of his bowl. With a pang, she realised Greg would probably have addressed their son as ‘mate.’

  “Vroom, vroom.” Josh completed another circuit.

  Andrea counted to ten. Was she invisible? Probably yes, when competing with a toy Challenger war machine. And still her mother didn’t reply. Rosemary never switched on the answer phone, despite Andrea’s coaxing. She sighed as she replaced the handset. Well, she’d planned on going round there that morning anyway, as soon as she dropped Josh off.

  The little boy recommencing sessions at the university crèche formed part of Andrea’s mother and son routine. So far, he’d happily latched on to one of the helpers, leaving Andrea relieved at becoming superfluous. Josh seemed to have climbed another rung on the independence ladder, and all in the course of a couple of weeks. He’d miss the loving rough and tumble relationship enjoyed with his dad but Andrea had no siblings and male role models for her son were in short supply. She’d always kept fit but any commando course she constructed would probably be viewed as a wobbly blancmange.

  “Josh, let’s see if you can clear your bowl before I finish putting my face on. Pretend you’re a big digger like the one we watched on the building site the other day.” She reached for her tube of tinted moisturiser. That and a coat of lip-gloss would be all she needed. Yesterday she applied full eye make-up before leaving the house. Subtle bronze eye shadow and lash-enhancing mascara weren’t necessary to boost her CV but they sure as heck helped boost her confidence. Fortunately Josh was demolishing his breakfast as if his favourite cereal was about to be banned.

  ***

  On the way back to her car after dropping off her little boy, Andrea saw the irony of her situation. As Josh grew from babyhood and developed into the strong young man she knew he would, so her own mother regressed. This thought pierced her like a needlepoint while she wove her way through back streets towards the quiet cul-de-sac where her mother lived. Rosemary had moved from her former home near Hartnett and into the bungalow two years before, at a decent interval after Andrea’s dad died.

  “It’s not fair,” she muttered, turning the corner. First her mother left alone and vulnerable and now here she was, widowed at age 37. She’d always been independent, enjoying her own company and preferring to have one special woman confidante to several. Andrea didn’t take after her mum. She was hopeless at girly stuff and would have been the same had she trained as an accountant or air traffic controller instead of an anthropologist. Boy, had those five syllables been a passion killer back in her dating days.

  Andrea parked her car in her mother’s driveway and cut the engine. She lingered a few moments, staring ahead, recalling Greg’s curiosity about her work the night they first met at a party that clashed with her favourite TV programme. Most of the men she’d dated viewed her as out of their league. Or else they made strange gestures at her as they performed squirm-inducing gorilla impressions. That evening, she gritted her teeth and put on a little black dress.

  “You don’t have to pretend to be interested,” she’d said, looking up at the powerfully built man with the kind eyes that she later went on to fall in love with. “I’m a doctor. But I don’t use a stethoscope these days. I’m hung up on anthropology. There, if I say it quickly, you’ll hardly notice. So, tell me what your job is.”

  He’d shuffled his feet, mumbling something about being an overgrown squaddie. They both laughed.

  “I’ve never met a major before,” she told him. “Should I salute?’

  ‘I’d prefer it if we could find somewhere quiet to sit.”

  She’d caught her breath as the buzz of conversation and gentle jazz music faded, becoming inconsequential. The major was easy to talk to and their meeting heralded the start of something very, very special. Something she missed more and more as each day passed and the memory of which she still clung to, desperately.

  The unthinkable happened and her major had turned into a fallen hero. Andrea was still staring at the bungalow’s front door when she blinked hard, realising she could see right inside her mum’s hallway. The beige and brown carpet tiles and the telephone table with her son’s face smiling from a narrow silver frame stared back at her as if daring her to do something. She wrenched open the car door and hurtled across her mother’s front lawn to leap over the neat border of coloured primroses and raucous yellow daffodils.

  “Mum?”

  No response. Andrea closed the door behind her and hurried to the kitchen. She noticed toast crusts on a plate and an open marmalade jar on the hob. Her mum had changed to the lemon and lime sort. Focus, Andrea! The cooker wasn’t on but when, cautiously, she held her hand near the kettle, she could feel warmth.

  Fear pushed away grief. She called again from the hallway and, hearing nothing, checked dining area and sitting room. The door t
o the cloakroom stood wide open, leaving only her mother’s room. Maybe she’d gone back to bed.

  Andrea called out. “Mum? Are you in there?”

  Still nothing. She went inside. The familiar lily-of-the-valley scent hung in the air and the bed was immaculate, the window opened a half-inch. A pair of pink furry slippers perched on the quilted dressing table stool. She hadn’t noticed before but a photograph of Clint Eastwood looking laconic in Stetson and poncho stood propped before the oval mirror. Ironically, her mum was still girly at 79 years of age. In the ensuite bathroom the cold tap dribbled but fortunately the plug wasn’t in place. Andrea turned off the water, biting her lip. Wasn’t everyone absent-minded sometimes?

  A quick glance showed bland tidiness in the spare bedroom so she retraced her steps to the kitchen again and unlocked the back door. Even though the bolt had been secured, her mother might have gone out the front way and down the side pathway to feed her feathered friends. But Rosemary was nowhere to be seen.

  Now what? Andrea locked the back door and hurried round to the neighbour’s house.

  Lizzie Dean responded almost at once. “Hello,” she said. “I thought maybe it was your mother come to see me.” She touched Andrea’s arm. “What’s happened?”

  “Mum isn’t there, Lizzie. I … I’m just beginning to realise how much she’s been deteriorating.”

  “Come in a minute. Please, please don’t beat yourself up. You’ve had more important matters on your mind. And it’s only recently I’ve begun suspecting things.”

  Andrea stepped into the hallway and sniffed the spicy sandalwood headiness. Lizzie must be burning an aromatherapy candle. Calm was definitely not where Andrea was at that moment. “Suspecting things?” Biting her lip, she waited for the other woman to respond.

  Lizzie sighed. “I think Rosemary’s become rather crafty. I’ve been calling in several times a week to make sure she’s OK. She always puts on a good front. But I’m not sure she’s eating properly.”

  “She seems to have made breakfast today.” Andrea didn’t mention where she’d found the marmalade pot.

  “OK, that’s good. But the other day I asked if she needed anything from the supermarket and she blocked me. Insisted she had more than enough food in the house.” Lizzie looked anxiously at Andrea. “We were in the kitchen. When the phone rang and she went into the hall to answer it, I sneaked a look inside the fridge. Made my excuses and came back with a few basics.”

  Andrea nodded. “I know what’s coming. She probably accepted them and asked how much she owed you without even knowing she hadn’t asked for them.” She gulped. “Thank you very much. I’ve let her down, haven’t I?”

  “Hey, of course you haven’t.” Lizzie grabbed a handful of tissues and passed them to Andrea. “She can’t be far away. I saw her in the back garden half an hour ago, refilling her bird feeders. She waved to me. I was about to call round when you arrived.”

  “That’s so typical of Mum!” Andrea blew her nose. “Hardly a thing in the fridge but Joe Robin and Co feasting on five star banquets. Look, Lizzie, do you think she’d go to the park? My mother’s not into calling anywhere else but your place these days, is she?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. Sometimes that nice couple opposite invite her in for morning coffee but they’re cruising round the Greek islands just now. Could she not be taking a little walk? She likes to do that, you know.”

  “Her front door was wide open when I pulled up. Don’t you think that’s strange?”

  Lizzie sucked in her breath. “I see. Sorry, Andrea, maybe you should drive towards the park? I’ll go knocking on doors. A sunny day like this brings people into their gardens so someone may have seen Rosemary and asked where she was off to.”

  “Thanks, Lizzie. I know you’re a friendly lot round here. You do have my mobile number?”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll ring if there’s any news, and” she clasped her hands, “let’s hope we find her soon so she can tick us off for fussing.”

  But as Andrea hurried back to lock the front door, she knew her mum would be horrified at the thought of it being left wide open. Doing such a thing was totally out of character. Andrea had no idea whether her mother carried her key on her but she made the bungalow secure anyway. Her own key would see them back inside once she’d located one missing elderly lady. Somehow she couldn’t bear the thought of contacting the police yet. Engine ticking over, Andrea selected what she thought was first gear but trying to pull away was like wading through thick treacle.

  “You muppet,’ she scolded herself, hoping nobody had noticed as she quickly selected the correct gear and drove off. It would be such a relief to find her mother putting the world to rights over someone’s fence or strolling back towards her bungalow.

  She chose the most straightforward route to the pretty park where she knew her mother liked to sit and managed to manoeuvre her car into a space between the council dog warden’s van and a smug Chelsea tractor. Before getting out, she hesitated. Was her mum with a neighbour, after all? Drinking tea somewhere, oblivious to the fact that her only daughter roamed the public highway, frantic with worry?

  Andrea banged her fist on the steering wheel, hot tears rolling down her cheeks. Angrily she brushed her hand across her eyes. It was a good job she hadn’t bothered to apply eye makeup earlier. She mustn’t go to pieces. Not now. Not ever. Especially not after hearing Keir Harrison’s good news yesterday. With Greg gone, she had to be the strong one, taking charge of what little family was left to her. But at that moment she wondered how on earth she’d cope.

  Chapter Three

  Andrea pulled out her phone and sent a text to Richard Bailey’s mobile. At this rate she’d be working all through her lunch-hour to make up for lost time. This thought filled her with such shame, such remorse that she should think about her job, about disruption to her day, when her mother could be about to step into the path of a snarling juggernaut. She didn’t even know if Rosemary had worn a coat that morning, a dazzling morning marred by a sharp-toothed east wind. Why hadn’t she thought to collect a warm jacket from the wardrobe just in case?

  Fortunately she’d left a rug on the back seat. She grabbed it and got out of the white Peugeot, locking it and striding towards the park entrance. She’d walk the path leading to a drinks and snacks kiosk beside the ornamental lake. Her mother might be there, maybe buying a sandwich on its sell-by date so she could feed beak-sized portions to the waterfowl.

  Andrea noticed a council worker raking the earth around the shrubs. She hesitated, almost calling out to ask if he’d seen an elderly woman walking by, but how stupid was that when she didn’t even know what her mother wore? She clutched her mobile phone in case Lizzie rang with news.

  At first she couldn’t believe her luck when she saw the familiar figure strolling towards her. Rosemary noticed Andrea at once and began to wave. Surely, surely, her mother couldn’t be too bad if she was capable of recognising her daughter so quickly. Her clothes, including a quilted jacket, even looked as if they were accustomed to being worn together. Maybe things weren’t so depressing after all.

  “Hello, darling,” Rosemary called cheerfully. “Isn’t it a lovely morning?” She pointed at the rug. “Are we going to have a picnic? I like picnics.”

  “Mum, you worried me. You didn’t answer the phone, so I drove round to the bungalow and found the front door wide open.” Andrea took her mother’s arm. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

  “My front door, do you mean?” Her mother frowned, head on one side.

  “Yes, Mum. Don’t worry. I’ve locked it now. Everything’s fine but we really must have a chat.” She guided the older woman gently but purposefully towards the car. She’d ring Lizzie but not before Rosemary sat safely belted in the front seat.

  As Andrea called up the number, her mother dropped the bombshell. “It was so nice to see Greg this morning. He looked very handsome in his uniform. You know those shiny round things he wears on his best tunic? They really
gleamed in the sunshine.”

  ***

  “So you can see, Richard, why sometimes I think she’s fine on her own. Other times I think she should never be left without someone to keep an eye on her. But I don’t believe my mother’s in need of round the clock care. Hope not, anyway.”

  Richard steepled his fingertips and sat back in his chunky black leather chair. It always reminded Andrea of the pilot’s seat in the old Thunderbirds TV show. Face impassive, he didn’t interrupt.

  “Dr Harrison has told me he’s been given the green light,” Andrea went on. “Funding’s in place for the drugs trial. If you still think my mother will make a suitable subject, I’m going to recommend to her she volunteers.”

  The Prof raised an eyebrow. “Sure this isn’t just a knee-jerk reaction? Your mother gives you a fright. As soon as you find her, she tells you she’s just seen your late husband in full dress uniform complete with medals. You’re entitled to feel concerned.”

  Puzzled, Andrea leaned forward in her chair. “I thought you were keen on her taking part?”

  “I am. Of course I am. But this is your mother, Andrea. You must make a considered decision. And at the risk of being boring, dare I mention contacting her GP?”

  “It’s OK. I’ve already rung the surgery. It’s easy to convince yourself someone’s losing her marbles when she blurts out a comment like Mum did.” She shook her head, her expression thoughtful. “You know, Lizzie insisted it was highly likely my mother saw Greg in the park. She believes it was proof he watched over us. Especially as Mum said he told her to walk towards the main entrance and find me.” She shrugged. “As you can imagine, I didn’t know quite how to respond. Talk about a conversation stopper!”

  Richard shifted in his seat, not meeting her eyes. “Yes, well, I think we should concentrate on the practicalities. Your mother’s presenting certain signs even though most of the time she seems absolutely fine. Her GP will refer her for an assessment but have you thought any more about a possible carer?”