Twenty-Nine

Nothing could be heard save for the small swish on the laptop as one photograph replaced another. And as the silence grew and realization slowly dawned, Mandy withdrew her gaze from the screen and looked at John. He turned towards her and their eyes met. Not daring to breathe, they remained very still, waiting for the next breath. So quiet and still, the silence was deafening – palpable almost.

Then John slowly lowered the lid on the laptop and stood. Mandy rose too. She walked close beside him as they crossed the study to the bed, all the time listening, expecting, almost willing that next intake of breath. None came. The silence continued, disturbed only by the faintest brush of their feet on the carpet. At the bedside Mandy hesitated before looking down, afraid of what she might see. But with his eyes closed, head relaxed to one side and mouth slightly open, Grandpa looked exactly as he had done when asleep.

Mandy stood beside John at the bed and listened and waited some more. ‘Is that it?’ she whispered, expecting something different – something more dramatic almost.

‘I think so,’ John said. Lowering his cheek to Grandpa’s nose he felt for any hint of breath. ‘Yes,’ he said, straightening. And neither of them moved, for being aware that Grandpa had stopped breathing was very different from accepting he was dead.

After a moment John reached out and drew the sheet up and over Grandpa’s face just as Mandy had seen in films. Then, crossing the room, he switched on the main light. Mandy continued looking at the bed, not really believing.

‘I’ll wake Evelyn and Gran,’ John said at last, taking control. He looked at his watch. ‘Will you phone your parents and tell them Grandpa died at eleven twenty. Use the phone in the sitting room if you prefer.’

Mandy nodded dumbly and, finally taking her gaze from the shrouded figure that was once Grandpa, left the room.

It wasn’t until she heard her father’s voice break and her mother crying in the background that she too began to cry, and once she’d begun it was difficult to stop. ‘It was very peaceful, Dad, really it was,’ she sobbed, trying to reassure him and control her own tears. ‘He was asleep, and then he just stopped breathing.’

‘And he didn’t say anything?’

‘No. Nothing. He died in his sleep.’

‘And he wasn’t in any pain?’

‘No, not at all.’ Thank goodness she could say that honestly.

‘And Gran?’

‘John has gone to wake her and Evelyn now.’

He paused and blew his nose. ‘I’ll come over first thing tomorrow. Could you ask Evelyn or John to give me a ring when they come down, please?’

‘Of course, Dad.’

‘Thanks, love.’ He hung up quickly so she couldn’t hear him break down completely.

Mandy stayed on the sofa in the sitting room, tears silently falling, too exhausted to move. Her parents never cried openly; hearing them do so intensified her own sorrow. She felt completely overwhelmed, and tired to the point of collapse. It was like coming to the end of a marathon; stamina had kept her going for so long but now there was no reason to continue she’d collapsed at the finishing line, drained and depleted. Presently she heard Evelyn and Gran come downstairs and go into the study. A few minutes later Evelyn came into the sitting room. Wearing a dressing gown and slippers, she looked as exhausted and wretched as Mandy felt.

‘Gran is staying with Grandpa until the undertakers arrive,’ Evelyn said, sitting on the sofa. ‘She’s being very brave, poor love.’

Mandy dried her eyes and tucked the tissue into her sleeve. ‘Dad asked if you would phone him. He said he’ll come tomorrow. Is there anything I can do?’

‘No, we’ll take care of everything now. Why don’t you go to bed?’

‘If you’re sure, I think I will. I’ll see Gran first.’

Evelyn nodded and reached for the phone. Mandy heaved herself from the sofa and kissed her goodnight. ‘See you tomorrow, Mandy,’ Evelyn said quietly.

Going along the hall to the study, she found the door open and tentatively took a step in. Gran, in her dressing gown, was sitting beside the bed, just as she had been doing every day since Grandpa had come here from the hospital. She’d drawn back the sheet from Grandpa’s face and was holding one of his hands. Bent slightly forward, she was looking at him with the same concern and tenderness she’d always shown, as though he could wake at any moment and find her sitting there. She looked up at Mandy and smiled sadly, then returned her attention to Grandpa. Mandy went over and kissed Grandpa’s cheek; his skin felt cool and damp. Straightening, she kissed Gran and said goodnight. ‘I’m going up. I love you.’ Turning, she quickly left the room.

Upstairs she went into her bedroom and, switching on the light, stood for a moment in the centre of the room, unsure of what she should be doing or feeling. Dear Gran, now alone after nearly sixty years of marriage – a lifetime. How would she cope? Mandy felt lonely too and wished she had Adam with her – to feel his comforting arms around her and hear his words of support. It was too late to phone and tell him of Grandpa’s death now, he would be asleep, and it wasn’t something you could put in a text. She’d phone in the morning before he went to work. Closing the curtains but leaving on the light, she undressed, then dropping her clothes on the chair, climbed into bed.

The sheets felt strangely smooth after so long sleeping in her clothes in the chair, too smooth, in fact, and distant – not enfolding. She lay on her back and stared at the ceiling as thoughts came and went. Like the photos on John’s laptop, images flashed across her mind – charting a chronology of events since she’d first arrived. How long ago it now seemed since she’d woken to find her father throwing gravel at her window and been told of Grandpa’s illness. How long it seemed since she’d come into this house a stranger, recalling almost nothing of the hundreds of visits she’d made as a child, her mind having blocked them out in order to protect her. But tomorrow she would be leaving, remembering and aware. Aware, but not healed, she thought. And she had yet to tell Adam what had happened, and talk to her parents. Perhaps Evelyn was right and a therapist would help, for she doubted the past would simply settle into its rightful place, remembered but not tormenting.

Some time later, exhausted yet unable to sleep, she heard the front doorbell chime and then male voices in the hall. Footsteps made their way to the rear of the house, then it went quiet. Mandy got out of bed and taking her kimono from her suitcase tied it round her. She quietly opened the bedroom door. All the lights were on. Padding round the landing, she went to the small bay window at the top of the stairs that looked over the front. From the window she could see a hearse on the driveway below, gloomy in the half-light of the lamp. The rear door was up and the back of the hearse was empty. Voices came from the study, fell silent, then footsteps sounded in the hall again. Taking a step back from the banister, like a child hiding on the landing, she looked down. A wooden coffin, supported by four pallbearers, came into view and moved silently through the reception hall beneath her and out of the front door. John was with them; Evelyn and Gran must have stayed in the study. Returning to the window she saw the pallbearers slide the coffin into the rear of the hearse and lower the rear door. Taking a step back they gave a small respectful bow and then climbed into the hearse. Mandy watched it as it pulled to the end of the drive and then, turning right, disappeared from view. ‘Goodbye,’ she said quietly under her breath. ‘Goodbye, Grandpa, love you.’