Go Not Gently

CHAPTER TEN

It was Tuesday of the following week. Temperatures had plummeted and black ice glassed the roads and pavements. I was in the office with the little convector heater blasting out hot air. The phone rang. I picked it up, automatically pulling pen and paper towards me. Agnes introduced herself.

‘I wanted to speak to you about Lily,’ she said. ‘They’ve moved her. When I went to visit yesterday Mrs Valley-Brown saw me. They transferred her during the night.’

‘To Kingsfield?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh, I am sorry.’ I waited for her to carry on. I sympathised with Agnes but what was she ringing me for? Was I the only person she could tell? I had a sudden chill as I imagined Agnes becoming dependent on me, investing me with the role of social worker as she herself became less independent, ringing me in the night, turning up on the doorstep…’

‘I expect you’re wondering why I rang you?’ she said, wiping out my fantasy. ‘You see, I’d like to hire you again.’

‘But why?’

‘To find out more. That probably sounds a little feeble,’ she said, ‘but I still feel…I can’t shake…’ Emotion prevented her continuing. I gave her a few seconds.

‘Perhaps I’d better come round,’ I suggested.

‘Or I could come to you,’ she rallied.

‘No, I’ve got the car. I’ll be there in a quarter of an hour.’

I squirted de-icer over the car window inside and out and created streaky gaps to peer through. The steering wheel was so cold it made my fingers ache. Other people bought steering wheel covers or driving gloves. Somehow there was always something higher up my list like new shoes for Maddie or getting the vacuum cleaner fixed.

Agnes had tea already made and laid out in the front room. I took my coat off and sat down. I motioned to the teapot. ‘It’s been a while since I’ve seen a tea cosy.’

‘It keeps it warm,’ she said. ‘It’s not leaf tea, mind. I went over to tea bags as soon as they came in. All that mess, clogging the plug hole.’ She smiled. She poured the tea and passed me mine.

‘So?’ I invited her to talk.

‘You probably think I’m foolish, throwing good money after bad. Maybe so. I’m just so worried about Lily. I want to make sure she’s all right.’

Apart from having dementia, I thought to myself. ‘What’s actually worrying you?’ I asked. ‘What do you think might be wrong?’

‘They’ve rushed her into hospital, it’s all so sudden. Too sudden. Just like with her illness. Why all the hurry?’ She looked at me, eyes dark blue, frank. ‘I’m not an illogical person. I don’t like the way things are happening so quickly. I can’t stop worrying about Lily. I’m making myself ill with it.’ Her eyes glittered but she made no move to wipe them.

I set down my tea. ‘Lily’s ill. She’s deteriorating. Pretty soon the Lily you know will have gone. And sometime later there’ll be her physical death. It could be this that you’re anxious about.’

‘I have thought about that.’ As she spoke tears trailed down her cheeks, catching and spreading along the network of creases. ‘And I have tried to accept it. But there are these inconsistencies,’ she said. She stood up and went over to get a tissue from the box on the sideboard. ‘Alzheimer’s doesn’t progress so quickly, read any of the books. Two months ago Lily was at home, leading an independent life. Now she’s in hospital, transferred there in the middle of the night. It doesn’t add up. And that Dr Goulden, he’s been funny with me. He more or less accused me of taking Lily’s tablets.’

‘What?’

‘He apologised later. It was yesterday. After talking to Mrs Valley-Brown I went to gather Lily’s things together. I was doing that when I heard people arguing in the corridor. It was Mrs Knight and Dr Goulden. He was shouting something about checking the bottles, accounting for everything. I couldn’t hear her reply, then he said he knew it had been the middle of the night, except he used very strong language, but it was still her responsibility.’ Dr Goulden seemed to have a propensity for bawling out his female colleagues.

‘Then they came into the room. He asked me what the hell I thought I was doing and told me to put everything back. Mrs Knight explained I was a friend and when he realised I wasn’t another resident his manner changed. I think she was quite embarrassed, she went crimson. Well, he explained that Lily’s tablets hadn’t been returned to the medicine cupboard as they always were in between doses. He said it had probably been overlooked in the commotion. He asked me to empty out the bags I was filling so he could check I’d not packed them by mistake.’

Agnes leant forward and replenished our cups. ‘I knew I hadn’t and I told him so but he insisted. He said it was a serious offence for drugs to be unaccounted for. So I tipped it all out and he rifled through it and thanked me and apologised for any confusion, as he put it, then off he went. I suppose they worry about somebody taking the wrong drugs.’

‘Lily hadn’t taken them with her?’

‘No. She didn’t take anything at all. Just the night clothes she was wearing. Mrs Valley-Brown said she had been extremely distressed and they’d found it impossible to calm her. She was already on tranquillisers, she didn’t respond to the sedative they tried and they didn’t want to give her anything stronger.’

I wondered whether Dr Goulden had done anything about Lily’s medicine in the week since we’d seen him. The situation certainly hadn’t stabilised and Lily had obviously become worse. But again I came back to the fact that I was no doctor. I might be able to uncover signs of negligence if Goulden had ignored our concerns and had not been monitoring Lily, but I thought that was about the best I could hope for.

‘There’s a limit to what I can do.’ I put my cup down. ‘One or two visits to Kingsfield, see Lily, perhaps find a friendly staff member to ask about her case. Try to establish what happened the night she was transferred and whether Goulden had failed to see she was getting worse. Even if we could prove that and made an official complaint there’s no guarantee anything would come of it. Did you talk to Charles about getting a second opinion?’

‘He said he’d consider it. I think he thought I was overreacting. Charles doesn’t like to rock the boat.’

‘Well, now she’s at the hospital she will be seeing a different doctor. It might be better for her.’

‘Yes,’ she nodded. ‘Can you go tomorrow?’

‘Yes. With you?’

‘I can’t,’ she began to load the tray, ‘I’ve a funeral in the morning.’

‘How about the afternoon?’

‘The chiropodist.’

I was surprised that she wouldn’t be rearranging the routine appointment to visit her friend. She seemed a little ashamed too, refused to meet my eye as she busied herself with the tea things. Maybe she’d waited months for the chiropodist to come; perhaps she’d drop to the bottom of the list if she cancelled.

‘All right. So I just turn up.’

‘They call it the Marion Unit. If you could take some things for her. I’ve sorted out the essentials for now, things she might need immediately. There’s a bag in the hall.’

‘OK. So, I’ll go along tomorrow. We can always visit together after that and I’ll see if I can arrange for us to meet the consultant.’

‘Yes,’ she said, without much enthusiasm. Dr Goulden’s tantrum had probably put her off the profession altogether.

I had a swim at lunchtime, followed by a disappointing shower. Cold. More of a dribble than a shower really. There was lots of talk about what super new facilities hosting the Commonwealth Games would bring to the region but as far as I could remember the pools were to be somewhere over in Wigan and I doubted whether the showers at Withington Baths were even on the list of works. People said the Games would bring jobs and investment – it sounded great but how come we’d been the only city actually to bid for them? Was there something that they weren’t telling us? Agnes’ news had clouded my day and my cynicism was showing.

Kingsfield was originally built on the outskirts of the city, far enough away to protect the citizens from the ‘lunatics’ in the asylum. Since then the city had grown and now the hospital and its grounds nestled between a private housing development and an industrial estate.

It was a vast Victorian edifice, all redbrick pomp, three storeys high with wings at either end. On top of the central entrance a small bell tower rose. The gardens to the front were mainly converted to parking, and signs pointed the way to the Plasma Research Centre, Service Supplies, Speech Therapy, Artificial Limb Centre and the Marion Unit (psycho geriatric).

I went through the main entrance, which was all green and black tiles and tasteful indoor plant features, and was directed down the main corridor for some way. It was huge, the size of any major infirmary. In its heyday it must have housed hundreds of people. Where had they all gone? Being cared for in the community, or not, if one believed half of the reports being issued.

I was directed along a corridor to the right and then out and across a courtyard. The gardening budget had obviously been cut. Untended beds and containers sprouted dead grass and frost-hardy weeds.

The Marion Unit was a modern, two-storey concrete rectangle with a large grey metal triangle leaping upwards from the flat roof. As if the architect had tried to redeem the utter lack of imagination by plonking a concept on top.

Inside and immediately opposite the heavy glass entrance doors there was a reception area with a glass booth and a small office. Three women, one in uniform, were chatting there. I approached and the huddle broke up. A woman in a smart grey wool dress, her name badge identifying her as Mrs Li, greeted me.

I asked if I could visit Lily Palmer and explained she’d been admitted on Monday night. She told me to take a seat for a moment.

She went into the office and used the phone. I sat in the waiting area. Some attempt had been made to make it comfortable. The seats were padded foam, there were a couple of inoffensive prints on the wall and a large drinks machine. There were magazines on the table here too along with leaflets about the Alzheimer’s Disease Society, ‘Caring for an Elderly Person’ and ‘How to Stay Warm in Winter’.

After a couple of minutes a young nurse appeared from one of the doors to the waiting room and took me through to the dayroom. It was large and brightly lit, with a television at the far end. Low tables and chairs were clustered here and there, as well as a couple of ordinary ones with cards and dominoes on them.

There were quite a lot of people in the room. Some sat quietly, withdrawn, others muttered or sang to themselves. One man was shouting. The room stank of potpourri and there was a stale, sour smell that it couldn’t quite mask.

I followed the nurse briskly through the lounge to the corridor at the bottom. I glanced into the rooms as we passed by. Most seemed to have four beds in. Some beds were occupied.

‘How’s she been?’ I asked the nurse.

‘Fine,’ she spoke with an Irish accent, ‘just fine. There’s a lot they can do with the medication. She’s a bit sleepy with it but a lot calmer.’

‘Who decides on the treatment?’

‘Dr Montgomery, he’s the consultant. Have you not seen him yet?’

‘No.’

She paused outside one of the doors, knocked, then without waiting for a reply she opened the door and we went in.

Lily sat in a chair next to her bed, eyes half-shut. She wore a hospital-issue nightgown and a blanket round her knees.

‘I’ve brought her some things of her own.’ I turned to the nurse, uncertain whether Lily could hear me.

‘They can go in the locker. They might go walking. Some of them lose track, they’ve no sense of personal possessions. There’s nothing valuable, is there?’ I shook my head. ‘Do you hear that, Lily?’ The nurse raised her voice. ‘Here’s someone to see you. They’ve brought your things. You can put them in your locker.’

Lily opened her eyes but they remained unfocused.

‘I’ll leave you then,’ said the nurse. ‘I’ll be in the dayroom if you’re needing anything.’

I pulled up a second chair and sat down. ‘Hello, Lily. Agnes asked me to bring these for you.’ There was no response. She gazed across the room, her glasses smeared and speckled with dirt. I placed the bag on her lap. She never moved. She didn’t seem to be aware of it let alone the fact that I was there. I felt foolish. When she got up the bag would fall on the floor, she could trip over it and hurt herself.

‘Shall I put it in your locker?’ I reached over and put my hand on the bag. Swiftly Lily brought her hand up and gripped my wrist.

‘Agnes won’t come,’ she said urgently.

‘She couldn’t,’ I replied, ‘not today. She had a funeral to go to and an appointment.

‘Won’t come,’ she repeated. ‘Kingsfield. Nora came.’ She let go of my wrist suddenly so I almost overbalanced. I sat down again.

‘I’m sure Agnes will come as soon as she can,’ I said, ‘and I’ll tell her Nora’s been. Agnes is worried about you. She wants to know if you’re all right. Is there anything you need?’

She closed her eyes. I sat waiting for her to open them but she’d gone to sleep. I took the bag and placed it on top of the locker.

In the dayroom the man was still shouting and the Irish nurse was joking with a group of residents. I found the sister in charge, Sister Darling. I told her I wanted to talk to the consultant about Lily. Was I next of kin? A close relative? No. She apologised but Dr Montgomery could only see next of kin.

‘Who is Mrs Palmer’s closest relative?’

‘Her son. But he’s down in Devon.’

‘Nevertheless he’ll be informed of anything that matters. Perhaps you should talk to him. Are you related at all?’

‘Just a friend,’ I smiled. I didn’t want questioning too closely. ‘I’ll speak to her son then.’

After the sweltering heat of the hospital the outside world felt arctic. I was shivering by the time I got into the car. I drove back along the dual carriageway and past Southern Cemetery. Lily would end up here. How long would the disease take to kill her? If it had come on more quickly than usual would it progress quickly too? And would that make it any easier on Lily or those who loved her? Impossible questions.

I cut through East Didsbury and up to Withington. At the office I switched on the heater and stomped around until it felt safe to take my coat off. I made a few notes about my visit, checked the answerphone and locked up. But I couldn’t lock up so neatly my memories of that woman, alone in the hospital. Nor could I forget that momentary feeling I’d had that Agnes wasn’t being quite straight with me.