Page 86 of The Bookshop By the Loch

My protective streak for my mum kicked in. “What’s going on? Did he upset you? What did Dad say? What happened?”

Mum cut through. “Stop worrying, sweetheart. He didn’t upset me.”

“Oh, right.”

“Quite the opposite.”

I frowned as I slid the tea towel back over the handle of the oven door. “Why? What happened then?”

She took a long intake of breath. “We talked for ages. I’ve been with him all evening. He kept apologising for what he did to the both of us. In some ways, it was as if the past twenty-three years never happened.” She halted, her words transforming into a whisper. “I can hear myself saying these things to you, Lexie, but I can’t quite believe it myself.”

A warning klaxon let rip in my head. “Mum? What are you saying? What are you trying to tell me?”

“Don’t hate me,” she begged, her voice growing more urgent, “Don’t hate your father.”

A wave of concern swamped me. “Mum? Will you please tell me what happened?”

There was a crackle down the line. “Your dad won’t be returning to the States.”

“What? Has he decided to stay in Scotland?”

Her voice softened like melted butter. “Yes. Here in Bracken Way.”

It took a few moments for my head to catch up. “But where is he going to live?” As soon as I asked her the question, my stomach plummeted to the floor. A shocked gasp escaped from my throat. “Wait. No.”

Mum ignored my reaction. “We’ve decided to give our relationship another go,” she carried on, her disbelief creeping down the line. “We don’t know how fast his dementia will progress, so we’re going to grab every bit of happiness we can, while we can. Together.”

My mouth opened and shut. This couldn’t be happening. This was some sort of weird dream. I blinked a few times. Nope. I wasn’t dreaming. I was still standing in Mum’s sweet, cosy home, listening to her tell me that she was getting back together with my estranged father – twenty-three years after he’d left us.

“But Mum… but… have you thought this through? Do you realise what you’re doing?”

“Yes. I’ve never been more sure of anything.” Her voice was whipped up with emotion. “I’ve been looking into it and there will have to be a health and social care assessment carried out, to make sure his needs can be met at home. Eventually, he might need to go into residential care.” She paused and gathered herself. “But I’m not thinking about that right now. We’ll need to organise for social services to come and assess what we need; what your father needs. That will be the first step.”

“Mum,” I faltered, my voice breaking and stuttering. I’d imagined them talking, a strained atmosphere at first, whirling with accusations, possibly giving way later to reluctant mulling over the good times, before swapping stories, the recriminations being replaced by tentative laughter. But I hadn’t envisaged this.

I rubbed my face. “Look, Mum, this is commendable and I do admire you for it, but what you’re thinking of doing is huge.”

She continued, regardless. “Shower rails, widening doors, ramps; whatever it takes.”

“Mum,” I began again. “You need to think about what you’re doing; what this means for you and for Grandpa.”

“Your dad is going to live with us,” she stated, her tone brooking no argument. “I’m lucky. I’ve got you, whereas your father has no one.”

I bit back a swell of emotion.

“I’m going to take care of him, Lexie.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

The weekend vanished, what with Mum’s revelation about her and Dad getting back together and me trying to ignore my festering hurt over Tobias. And to think I was going to tell him how I felt about him as well. Whatever that almost kiss had been, it was clear it had meant far more to me than it had him. I had to try and face up to the fact that my feelings for Tobias weren’t reciprocated after all.

Still, at least I’d received a phone call from the local estate agent on the Monday morning to tell me that my offer on the flat had been accepted. It was as if the stars were aligning at the same time.

Mum was being her usual, proactive self, making lists of who she should speak to at the council’s social services department about Dad’s requirements, as well as ensuring he was registered with a local GP and arranging for his American medical records to be transferred to Bracken Way Medical Centre. Dad, meanwhile, was making himself useful and was making numerous transatlantic phone calls to Washington, explaining to the TV station that he wouldn’t be returning, and liaising with an American house removal company to transfer his belongings over here and have them put in storage.

Mum had even started reading up about distraction techniques to use when Dad became agitated or upset, such as playing music, making him a drink or going for a walk.

Mum rolled up her sleeves and took it all in her stride, even insisting on sitting in with my father when he had a Zoom call with his hospital consultant in the States.