Page 54 of The Golden Girls’ Road Trip

‘Not completely ostracising; don’t forget, Simon has been in touch for the last ten years. Maybe you should go back so you can tell him off,’ Alex says with the mildest of laughs. I do appreciate her attempt to lighten the moment. ‘We can drive back together. I’ll come into the nursing home with you if you want. Show your mother how wonderful you are, how forgiving, and that you and Simon are a united front. Your daughter-in-law will thank you for it.’

‘I doubt that,’ I say sourly. I pick up a bottle of water I’ve got stashed behind my seat and take a gulp, contemplate what it really means that Simon has been in contact and not told me about it before. ‘If he’s been seeing her for ten years, that means he probably got in contact when my father died,’ I say.

‘Perhaps,’ Alex says simply. ‘How did you know when your father died? Have you been in contact with other family members over the years? Do you have many other family members?’

‘I have been in contact occasionally with my dad’s brother, my Uncle Henry, but he died a couple of years ago. There was no love lost between him and his brother. Henry found Dad problematic and didn’t have much to do with him. He tracked me down when Simon was about eight through one of my old school friends that I’d stayed in touch with. We exchanged phone numbers and addresses and he promised he’d only bother me with good or important news. He’d sometimes send me some money, but I always put it into Simon’s savings account. It was so important to me to be independent. He was the one who told me Dad had died and he did try and get me to go to the funeral, but I couldn’t bring myself to see my mother. I couldn’t bear for her to reinvent the past and pretend we could have a relationship just because my father had gone. She had never been strong enough to leave him or maybe, deep down, she didn’t want to. I expect that Henry was the conduit between Mum and Simon. There wasn’t really anyone else.’

‘Where is your mother?’

‘She’s in Parkview Nursing Home in Kent. Simon has sent me the address.’

Alex, who is still using my phone for navigation, begins to tap away at the screen.

‘If we head back now, we can be there by seven.

‘Hmm,’ I grunt, noncommittally.

‘When nursing homes say, ‘come now’, there isn’t much time, they usually mean it, you know. I was half an hour away from getting to my dad’s bedside when he died. I’ll never forgive myself for that.’

‘For goodness’ sake, okay then,’ I say, but an anxious feeling envelops me at my words. I don’t really want to go. ‘What about the last painting?’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll stick it in the post,’ she says with a grin.

I turn to look at her and shake my head then put the van in reverse and do a U-turn in the side road. I sigh as we head back the way we’ve come.

‘What is it? Are you worried you’ve made the wrong decision?’

‘No, not really, I’m just pissed off I still haven’t had my fish and chips,’ I say with a wry smile.

I am actually incredibly sad to see the promise of Cornwall fading away from sight in the rear-view mirror. Now Alex and I seem to be, if not quite on the same page, then certainly in the same book. I had a lovely image of us together in the West Country. I just hope we’ll have another opportunity.

*

We’re in the car park at the nursing home by seven-fifteen.

‘What about Bardo?’ I ask Alex as I find a parking space and reverse into it. We’re around the side of the building, under a tree.

‘He’s got water, the van is in complete shade and the window by the wall is down. I’ll just see you in there and then come back out while you visit with your mum.’

She takes my arm and we make our way up the path to the main entrance past the neatly clipped shrubs and rows of lurid begonias. This part of the building looks new and, inside, the reception area has the smell of freshly laid carpet. There’s a quiet and almost sombre air to the place and two staff members dressed in navy trousers and pale blue polo shirts look up as we walk in.

‘I’m here to see Elizabeth Fitzgerald,’ I say to one of the receptionists who glances down at her computer screen.

‘Are you a family member?’ she asks me.

‘I’m her daughter,’ I say, and her eyes flick from the screen to me. Her colleague’s eyes also travel to me. I’m pretty sure they’re trained not to show any kind of judgement, but these two weren’t quick enough to wipe it from their faces. She rallies though, and swaps the surprise for a well-practised and warm smile.

‘Great,’ she says gently. ‘If you can both sign in here. It’s just so we know who’s in the building in case of an evacuation.’ She pushes a book towards me and I quickly write down my name and the registration number of my vehicle. Alex declines the pen and tells them she’s not coming in any further. Then I notice Simon. He’s walking through a door at the end of the corridor leading from the area. He has his phone in his hand and an anxious look on his face. His expression softens when he sees me though and I’m grateful to Alex, then, because she’s right. I need to be here for my son.

‘Mum, you came, thank you for that,’ he says.

‘I came for you, not for her,’ I say, rather unkindly and the two pairs of eyes watch me from behind the desk.

‘And because I made her,’ Alex says behind us.

‘Alex, sorry,’ I say, moving apart from my son. ‘Simon, this is my friend Alex. Alex, my son, Simon.’

‘So you’re the man she left me for,’ Alex says.