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Under any other circumstances, hearing his mother speaking in those terms –has the season wrapped– would have made him smile. Not today. ‘Yes, it has.’ He didn’t add that it had wrapped for good; he thought he’d save that conversation until later.
‘You don’t normally come home when you’ve got a break from filming.’
‘Yes, I know.’ Ordinarily, he’d be sitting on a beach somewhere, or throwing expensive parties, or on the road doing press junkets to promote the up-and-coming season. Not anymore.
‘So, look … about Dad ...’ He followed his mother into the dining room and helped her clear the table of cups, saucers and empty plates with biscuit and cake crumbs.
‘The doctors said it was inevitable, the decline.’ She turned around with two cups and saucers in her hand. ‘Go see for yourself.’
Callum looked at her. ‘I will.’
He followed her into the kitchen, and watched her load the new dishwasher. ‘Where is he, then?’
‘Highgrove House. It’s a nursing home.’
Callum sighed heavily. ‘Dad’s only in his seventies.’ He was aware that his father had had memory problems for several years before his diagnosis.
‘I know. But as I said, it’s getting worse.’
Callum looked around the kitchen. ‘How are you affording the care home fees?’ he blurted, then cringed, really hoping she wasn’t going to ask him for money.
It wasn’t the only question that was going through his mind regarding her financial situation, though. He commented, ‘The house looks nice.’
Callum wondered again where the money had come from to do it up. His mum was a teaching assistant. He knew she’d worked part-time for years. Perhaps she’d done up the house on a retirement lump sum.
His thoughts turned again to his dad. He hoped she hadn’t spent the money on the house at the expense of his dad; it made him wonder where she’d farmed him out to.
‘You might want to call a taxi. It’s on the outskirts of Edinburgh.’
He noticed she hadn’t answered his question about the care home fees, and had appeared to avoid getting drawn into a conversation about the house. He wondered how much the care home was costing. He thought perhaps he could get a job and take out a loan to help her out. He was at a loose end, after all. But the transformation of the house suggested she wasn’t short of a bob or two, and wouldn’t be asking him for money.
Callum had the card from the taxi driver who had dropped him there from the airport. He scribbled down the address on the back of the card and rang for the taxi. Then he walked into the dining room, and stood there watching his mother wipe the table.
‘When you said that he’s getting worse ...’ ventured Callum. ‘How much worse?’
‘Sometimes he’s okay. Other times ...’ she trailed off.
Callum pursed his lips. He understood. She didn’t want to talk about it.All this can’t be easy, he thought – although with her designer dress, her immaculate hair and makeup, and her social life, she didn’t appear worried or anxious at all that her husband was in a care home and she was all on her own.
But she isn’t on her own, thought Callum. He’d seen the way the man at the book group had placed a tender hand on her arm and kissed her goodbye.
Callum got a text on his phone, informing him that the taxi would be there in five minutes. Moira returned to the kitchen and flicked on the kettle.
‘That was the taxi,’ he said, holding up his phone. ‘Do you want to come with me?’
Moira shook her head. ‘No, I’d rather not. I’ve got some shopping to do in town.’
Callum had seen the brand new car on the driveway, and assumed it might be a friend visiting. ‘Is that your car on the driveway?’
‘Yes, but before you ask, you can’t borrow it. I’m going into town.’
‘I wasn’t going to ask.’ Callum hadn’t driven on British roads for years. He knew it would come back to him, but after a long-haul flight, and not much sleep, he wouldn’t risk getting behind the wheel of a car, and certainly not a brand new sports car.
‘Well, I’ll go and see Dad on my own, then.’
‘Okay, but don’t you want your bags, Cal? You left them in his study.’
‘What do I want to take those with me for?’
