‘Eddy thinks Julian’s oxygen tank is for his golf clubs,’ Michael tells me, under his breath.
I smile into the palm of my hand.
‘I usually read him stories from the newspaper,’ Evelyn says to me. ‘World events, you know. He likes to stay informed, don’t you, Eddy?’
Eddy is looking at me, and doesn’t seem to hear.
‘Do you want to go for a ride?’ The gardener passes us on his ride-on, and waves.
‘On the bus across the lawn?’ Eddy perks up.
Michael beams another smile at me. Then he says, ‘Eddy, do you recognise Alice from somewhere?’ Because Eddy keeps on looking at me.
‘No,’ he says, seeming sadly puzzled. ‘I don’t think so. I’m sorry. I’m not good with faces. But she is very pretty.’
‘That’s fine, Eddy,’ I tell him. ‘There’s no reason for you to know who I am.’
His face brightens suddenly. ‘Is she your daughter?’ he says to Michael.
I can’t help but squeal with laughter.
‘You certainly know how to pay a guy a compliment!’ Michael pulls a horrified face and passes the paper cup to Evelyn. It’s Evelyn’s job to make sure Eddy takes his pills along with some water.
‘Why do I have to keep taking these?’ he asks.
‘We all have to take these when we reach a certain age, Eddy,’ she explains. ‘They’ll make you feel the best you can be.’
‘I don’t think that’s going to be very good,’ he says.
‘I’ve already taken all of mine,’ Michael pats the top pocket of his nurse’s blue tunic. ‘They clearly haven’t given me a fountain of youth.’
We chuckle again.
‘You must be having a positive effect on him,’ he whispers to me as Evelyn feeds him his pills. ‘This is the most talkative we’ve seen him in a very long time.’ His breath creates a pleasantly warm draught on my neck.
‘Would you like to read him some articles, Alice?’ Evelyn asks.
Michael winks at me. ‘I’m off to do my rounds.’ He wheels his medication trolley toward the door. ‘Stop by the office before you leave to say bye-bye.’ Then he adds, ‘My child.’
I chortle again.
‘I try to choose cheerful stories,’ Evelyn says when he’s gone. ‘Sometimes, I do the crossword puzzle. Once or twice, he’s even helped me find words.’ Pride crosses her face, briefly. ‘If you want to sit and read to him, I might pop back home. I’ve a few chores. I could come back in an hour?’ She’s already standing up.
‘Thanks. Take the time you need.’
Evelyn kisses Eddy’s cheek. ‘Sometimes, he falls asleep. So don’t be surprised if he doesn’t last long. When I come back, we can take him to water the plants, if you like. He loves doing that, don’t you, Eddy?’ Devotion fills Evelyn’s eyes, and a part of me can’t look, because it touches me so deeply.
‘Yes,’ Eddy says, automatically, blankly.
Once Evelyn has left, we sit there. The first time I’ve been alone with him in thirty years. But with everyone gone now, Eddy doesn’t seem to realise I have stayed. I comb the newspaper. It’s not easy to find a cheerful story, but eventually I come across a cute one about a child and his Dartmoor pony. I read it slowly, looking up once in a while to see if he’s still awake. And he is. His eyes are glued to my face the entire time.
By the time I’ve read a couple of other stories, Eddy’s chin has dropped to his chest. I can watch him without him knowing, which is perfect. The thick, steel-grey hair, recently cut, parted to the left. The noble head, perfectly aligned with the spine – immaculate posture, even still. The shallow rise and fall of his chest and the gentle rumble of his breathing. I sit like this for what feels like ages, picturing him pushing me on the swings, watching me in my dance class, reading Evelyn’s last letter telling him to forget about her.
His left hand is curled by his leg. I stare at it for a while, then slip my fingers between his index finger and thumb. My heart is pounding. I’m surprised he can’t feel the vibration of it, transmitted through our veins. I am fascinated by the sight of us holding hands, seeing myself as a little girl dragging him into the park toward the swings, while he says, Hold on! I can’t run as fast as you! A memory? Or do I just wish it were?
Evelyn comes back an hour or so later. I have lost track of time. She sees us holding hands, and smiles. Eddy is still sleeping. ‘We should leave him now. I thought I’d take you across the street for a late breakfast. And Michael wants to come, too.’
‘Michael?’
‘He said it’s his parental obligation to supervise.’
I laugh. ‘Oh dear! This joke will never end!’
I pick up my bag and cast my dad a final glance. When I pop a kiss on his cheek, he smells of the orange he ate earlier.
FORTY-ONE
There are three more of these visits in short succession. Usually he sleeps. He’s not as communicative as before, though; I feel we have regressed.
One day, Michael wheels in an old-fashioned stereo and the home’s donation of old records. We select some songs from Eddy and Evelyn’s era, and play them for him. He loves the music! He rests his head back, and his facial expressions seem to ebb and flow along with the tune. Then, when Michael downloads The Ronettes’ ‘Be My Baby’ on to his iPod – the song Eddy had hammed it up to, to Evelyn, at the wedding where they met – it’s fascinating. Eddy raises his head. He leans in close to the iPod docking station. You can almost see him listening, intently, as though each lyric were a brain-teaser, slowly peeling away layers of a mystery that he’s set on getting to the heart of.
‘He remembers how you met!’ I whisper to Evelyn.
‘Either that, or he’s never seen an iPod before.’ She smiles.
I wonder if we are giving up hope.