Discarded by M. Hunter (fantasy books to read .txt) 📗

only trying to brighten the room. There really wasn’t any need to break the vase.’

‘Don’t treat me like a child! If I want to break a bloody vase then I bloody will.’

She is trying to pry her hands away again, and I’ve never felt so out of my depth. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her looking so angry, and my efforts to pacify her aren’t working.

‘I don’t know why you’re so worried anyway,’ she continues. ‘I’m sure I’ll be the last thing on your mind when you leave anyway. It’s so easy for you, isn’t it? Able to just get on with your own life without having the burden of me on your shoulders too.’

I can feel the sting of tears in my eyes. ‘Mum, how can you say that? I work so hard to afford this place for you, and I come and visit whenever I can—’

‘Why don’t you just go on your bloody way then? You’ve done your civic duty and now you can wash your hands of me once more.’

It’s all I can do to keep the tears at bay. There is such venom in her eyes that I can’t process what to do for the best.

‘You know I never bloody wanted to come here in the first place, but you couldn’t wait to get rid of me. You forced me in here and then you abandoned me, just like you abandoned your sister!’

I release her hands and allow her to pace again, unsure how else to react. Slumping down on the bed, I can’t look at her for fear of the floodgates opening.

‘It was your fault she ran off that day, into the arms of some pervert or whatnot. I bet she wouldn’t have shoved me in somewhere like this at the first sign of trouble neither.’

There is a knock at the door and I’m grateful when I see Pam Ratchett’s round face appear in the gap. ‘Everything okay in here, Winnie?’

‘No, it bloody isn’t. Your bloody nurses keep bringing in flowers and it’s doing something rotten to my hay fever. You’re in charge of this bloody place – make them stop, will you?’

‘Of course I will, Winnie,’ she says, even adding an empathetic smile, before turning to face me. ‘Would it be okay if we had a little word in my office, Emma?’

I nod and feel the splash of warmth on my cheek but quickly wipe it away before Pam sees. She leads me from the room and along to her office. She hands me a box of tissues as she squeezes into her chair, and I sit across from her.

‘Don’t blame yourself,’ she begins. ‘I overheard the end of your mum’s tirade. I had meant to call and advise you it might not be best to come in today, but what with one thing and another… I’m sorry. Today isn’t the first time your mum has become aggressive towards the staff and other residents. I’ve spoken to the doctor overseeing her Alzheimer’s and this level of hostility isn’t uncommon in the later stages of the disease. Unfortunately, there is a chance that we will see more outbursts of this nature as the disease continues to eat away at the synapses in her brain. The good news is we can manage some of it with medication, and from your point of view, you can phone us on the morning when you’re planning to come in and see her, and we can give you an idea of whether you should or not.’

I wipe my eyes with the tissue and blow my nose. ‘I’ve never known her be like that before. It felt like there was nothing I could say or do to help.’

The compassion is radiating off her in waves, and I doubt I’m the first relative she’s had to have this conversation with down the years. ‘I know you want to see your mum, and to help her, but on days like this your being here could actually do more harm than good. I’m sorry, I appreciate that’s not easy to hear.’

‘I genuinely had no idea she suffered with hay fever.’

Pam sits back in her chair and opens a large drawer in her desk, withdrawing a small photo album and sliding it across the desk towards me.

‘What’s this?’ I ask, but she merely indicates for me to look for myself.

Opening the album, I see it is filled with photos from a much brighter and evidently warmer day than today. The nurses are wearing short-sleeved versions of their uniforms, some of the older residents are wearing shorts and summer dresses, and the pictures appear to have been taken outdoors somewhere. I continue flipping through the photographs enclosed in transparent sleeves.

‘We had a summer party eighteen months ago. We took most of our residents on a coach trip down to Swanage for a look around the shops and concluded the day with a picnic in a farmer’s field we’d managed to hire. The weather was superb, and you could see how much everyone enjoyed the day out from the smiles and laughter we all shared.’

I arrive at a picture of Mum with the biggest smile on her face. Her mouth is open as if caught laughing raucously. She is holding a stick with pink candy floss and I think it may be the happiest I’ve ever seen her.

‘When we were on our way home,’ Pam continues, watching me carefully, ‘a number of our residents were complaining of itchy eyes, sore throats, and runny noses, and we had to make an emergency stop at a supermarket to buy some antihistamines. That picture of your mum with the candy floss, look at where she’s sitting.’

I look at the picture again, allowing my eyes to blur out her face and just focus on the background, which is filled with pretty flowers in rainbow colours.

‘She was one of the few who didn’t need any medication, and she probably spent more time smelling and touching those flowers than anyone else. I