Monday, 10November
Im perched on the little balcony of our terraced house in Salford, watching my motherinlaw, Eleanor Whitmore, sit in the gloom on the bench outside the front porch. Im tornshould I call her over? If I do, shell turn her face up and shake her head, murmuring that shell stay a bit longer. She only drifts outside for fresh air when the bench is completely empty; the chatter of the neighbours about council tax, soaring grocery prices and the like feels like a foreign language to her. Eleanor grew up on a farm in Yorkshire and, for the past two years, has been forced to live with her son James and his wife Emily.
Shes completely given up on herself, I sighed to James. Its time we grant her wish.
James shook his head. Hold on a little longer. Not everythings ready for her to move.
Two years ago, a fire reduced Eleanors farmhouse to a single intact foundation. The blaze devoured everything the outbuilding with its chicken coop, a modest greenhouse, even the garden sheds. She had been at the market, hawking cucumbers and tomatoes from her garden, when a faulty wiring or an appliance shed forgotten to switch off sparked a flame that the strong wind fed in seconds. By the time the fire engines arrived, all that remained was a heap of ash. Local folk still shudder when they recall her sprinting through the blackened courtyard, soot smearing her face, yelling in panic. She lived alone; the chickens survived, but the house was her main wealth.
After Eleanor suffered a stroke, James and I brought her into our home. For a long stretch she lay halfparalyzed, but slowly she started to take steps again.
Mom, try to rest a bit longer. Walking too much now will only make things worse, I urged her gently.
No, Im getting back on my feet and soon Ill head back to my old cottage, she replied, stubborn as ever.
We all began to think shed lost her mind. Had she forgotten what had happened? We tried to pry the details out of her carefully.
Do you think Ive gone mad? Eleanor asked me with a wry smile. No, I remember everything the house went up in flames, I was in the hospital. I figure Ill stay with my neighbour, Mrs. Margaret Clarke, shes also alone, Ill help her around and save my pension, rebuild slowly. I know youre not rolling in money, and my granddaughter is growing up while I occupy her room. Im just a burden here.
No one wanted to admit that Margaret had passed away not long ago, and that her property was now being fought over by relatives, each threatening legal action. Everyone feared another stroke for Eleanor. Margaret had been her closest confidante, not just emotionally but also because she lived nearby. Eleanor also had a beloved younger sister, Annie, who lived up north where the climate is harsh. Then there were the two brothers James and the younger David while the third, Michael, was always at sea as a deckhand, forever on a ship.
What weighed on Eleanor most was that she was sharing a room with her granddaughter Lucy, a university student who could barely invite friends over. Eleanor seemed convinced that girls must always gather in someones house.
Grandma, were all on the internet now, we can keep in touch that way, Lucy explained.
Whats that then? Not even a cup of tea together? Eleanor replied, perplexed.
Beyond the cramped quarters, Eleanor didnt want to be a burden to James and me. I saw how modestly we lived and tried to help with chores and cooking, but my clumsy attempts stumbling on my feet and my left hand refusing to cooperate only added to the strain. When I learned about Margarets death, I wept for a long while before finally saying:
Children, please dont be angry, but Ive made up my mind. Find me a place in a care home. James, you have power of attorney; I signed it while in the hospital, so you can handle everything. I really need a bit of company there. If it costs too much, sell my little plot of land. It might fetch a modest sum, but at least itll help.
Emily, James and Lucy were furious, yet gradually Eleanors suggestion settled in. James took on the paperwork for a residential home, claiming hed sold the land, but the bureaucracy was a nightmare. He handed cash to the director, who still stalled, waiting for his turn. Autumn was looming, and the desire to move grew stronger, hoping to leave the children and Lucy in peace.
One evening, after her customary walk, Eleanor stormed through the door. James, if you dont get me to the care home by Monday, Ill go myself. Ill march straight to the manager and demand a bed youve already paid the fees, the state owes me a place!
James vanished every weekend, only to reappear late on Sunday, whispering nervously to me. He finally announced that hed arranged everything with the director; a room would be ready tomorrow, even a private one.
The next morning we piled into Jamess ageing Vauxhall Nova. Eleanor couldnt understand why James was driving toward her old village when we were heading the other way.
Mum, theyve closed the road, we have to take the detour, James explained.
We drove through familiar neighbouring hamlets, then past the fields where Eleanors old cottage once stood. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see the familiar lanes and the plot of land shed sold two years earlier. When she opened them, the car had halted at a gate. A brandnew redbrick house stood there, and at the gate was her sister Annie, beaming. Eleanors vision blurred, the world swimming around her.
When she finally steadied, she and Annie embraced, and I had to explain the whole scheme, even how close wed come to ruining the surprise.
Sweetheart, nobody intended to sell the land. We wanted to build a new house from the start! We took out a mortgage, and Michael sent over a generous sum. The development was already in the works new gardens, a proper kitchen with a veranda, a dualsystem boiler, a shower and a separate toilet. In fact, Aunt Annie moved in six months ago after leaving the north for good; shes been overseeing the interior finishes, waiting to see you. It was all a surprise! If youd held out a couple more weeks, the outbuilding with the chicken coop would have been finished, but you couldnt wait. Michael would have arrived in two weeks, and youd have scuppered all the plans!
Tears and laughter rolled down Eleanors cheek as she hugged her sister, her son, me, Emily, and Lucy in turn, not knowing how to thank each of us. Who could have imagined such a surprise? It almost gave her a second stroke from sheer joy! How wonderful it is to have family that cares enough to plan such a thing.
EmilyClarke, 28years old, daughterinlaw, diary entry.
