The Woman Who Kept Everything Page 7

  ‘Adult windmills.’ She grinned.

  It was a shame it wasn’t sunny. Gloria looked at her watch and saw it was getting a little late to be wandering around a new town by herself. Grudgingly, she got to her feet, stopping to stretch as she felt a creak in her left hip. She rubbed it. She’d been far too active, of late, for an old woman of seventy-nine. Or was this was just her body adjusting to all the shenanigans she was getting up to?

  Taking her time to meander back down the street, stopping periodically to look in shop windows, she made her way slowly back to the taxi rank. She was pleased she’d decided to have a cursory look round before getting straight into a taxi.

  ‘Yeah but I’m knackered now,’ she said out loud to herself.

  Aha! No queue! Just as she’d hoped. The taxi rank was now empty, apart from a youngster with a backpack, staring at his phone.

  The taxi dropped her off at the small hotel she’d booked, which was just perfect for her. No rowdy tourists. Just a couple of old dears in the bar, so Gloria said hello to them as she passed but went straight upstairs for an early night. She fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow.

  The next morning, Gloria asked the taxi driver, from the night before, to drop her at her friend’s house and wait outside for her, in case Mabel wasn’t in. She’d memorised her address from the years and years of letters that had sped across the countryside to each other’s doors.

  It was a twenty-five-minute journey through a flat, bland landscape of huge fields surrounded by dykes that stretched for miles and miles in every direction. Ah but it was so lovely to see so much uncluttered space! When they arrived at the farm, the taxi drove slowly around the back, while Gloria looked for Mabel’s home. They stopped outside a small whitewashed stone cottage. Gloria eased herself out of the taxi and knocked on the door.

  Nothing.

  She began to wonder if this was the wrong place, although the name of Mabel’s house was on a post by the drive outside the main farmhouse. And there didn’t seem to be any other buildings behind the farmhouse. She knocked louder, and heard a rustling movement when she put her ear to the door. Someone was in there.

  What a relief!

  Gloria stood there grinning, excitedly. She couldn’t wait to see her old best friend from school days. A few minutes later a very surprised yet dishevelled Mabel answered the door. Gloria waved to the taxi driver.

  ‘Gloria Frensham? It can’t be! But oh my goodness, it is! It really is! I think we last exchanged photos in the Naughties, didn’t we? Oh, I can’t believe it! Well, what a marvellous surprise! Come in. Come in. You’re staying I take it? Well, you wouldn’t want to be coming all the way from Norfolk without staying, would you, my love?’

  Gloria hugged her for a long time.

  ‘Indeed I wouldn’t, my dear, dear friend. And – oh – you virtually look the same, you do! Just a few flecks of grey in your hair …’

  ‘More than a few, I’d say, Gloria. And, well, I must say you pretty much look the same but just a few inches around your midriff …’

  They both burst out laughing.

  ‘Ha, ha. Well the years haven’t been too bad, I suppose. Now let me put the pan on for tea and you can tell me all your news!’

  Mabel freed herself from Gloria’s hug with a wheeze. She leaned on a stick, Gloria noted, and walked with a limp. Gloria had also noticed how skinny and frail Mabel was, when she’d hugged her, and how her dress hung loosely off her bony shoulders.

  But the biggest shock was when Gloria looked beyond Mabel, into the space she, undoubtedly, called home.

  Chapter 17

  Seeing inside Mabel’s little cottage for the first time was like déjà vu, for Gloria. It was exactly like her own house had been: stuff everywhere! Mainly newspapers and magazines. But in a much smaller, more claustrophobic and foul-smelling fusty, dirty environment. Is this what people saw, then, when they first entered my house? It must have been! The shock sent a little shiver down Gloria’s spine.

  She tried not to gag.

  There was hardly any space to walk between the door and the one two-seater settee, opposite a blackened fireplace in the front room. Gloria couldn’t see a TV, although a jingle came from a radio somewhere. Mabel’s ‘thing’, Gloria could see, was newspapers and not just in piled-up heaps that were easy to get around either. It looked as though someone had been in and pulled the individual faded sheets out, one at a time, then bunched them up or torn them and strewn them all over the room. It was chaotic and baffling. And Mabel smelt as damp as the room itself.

  Mabel noted the look of consternation on Gloria’s face.

  ‘My daughter made this mess of my newspapers yesterday. She doesn’t come to see me often,’ she said quietly, with tears in her eyes. ‘Said I should be ashamed of myself living like this.’

  Gloria’s mouth popped open in shock. ‘Oh my God, Mabel. How awful for you!’

  Mabel shook her head and moved painfully to the settee, plopping down with another wheeze. Gloria could see she would not be able to get up again easily. What a dreadful situation for her friend to have to tolerate. It filled Gloria with despair. Thank God she’d got out of her own house before desperation set in. And thank God for the good people at Green’s Nursing Home, who’d helped her see that she could not go on living like that.

  Seeing Mabel’s house made Gloria determined never to go back to how she’d been living. And she knew she had to try and help Mabel, somehow.

  ‘Right!’ said Gloria, putting her suitcase down by the door and removing her jacket.

  ‘Tell me where the kitchen is and I’ll put the tea on. No, don’t move. Just stay where you are, Mabel. I’ve got this.’

  ‘Kitchen’s next door. Um, bit of a mess in there, too, I’m afraid, and you might not find much. I, er, I haven’t been eating lately you see. Don’t need to eat so much now I’m at home all day.’

  That last sentence piqued Gloria. She’d heard this excuse before. She’d used it herself with Clegg, on one of his visits, when she’d been feeling particularly sorry for herself, before Tilsbury moved in to help her out more. Life had been getting harder and harder and yet Clegg had never even thought to ask how she was coping when it was patently clear, without hindsight, according to Green’s Nursing Home, that her hoarding had ‘consumed her’ and ‘very nearly killed her’ as well.

  Anyway, Mabel’s kitchen seemed to be behind the fireplace. There were no doors. The sink was full of old chipped cups and dirty plates and dishes that looked as though they’d been there a very long time. There was no dishcloth, no tea towel, no bin. A pile of dirty clothes sat in an unruly heap, next to the only kitchen unit that housed the sink. There was an old gas stove that also looked as though it hadn’t been used in decades. But no fridge.

  However, when Gloria turned the tap, she was delighted to see that clean cold water actually came out of it.

  ‘Mabel, how do you heat the water?’

  ‘In a pan. There’s an electric two-ring portable hob on one of the shelves. My Roy bought me that after Gerard died.’

  Gloria had another déjà vu moment about heating water in a saucepan. I’m not the only one, she thought wryly. But she intended to be very careful this time.

  ‘Gerard died? I didn’t know that, Mabel.’

  ‘He died this March. Freak farming incident with a tractor. He was showing a young chap the ropes. He wanted to retire you see. Well, he was seventy-eight. I’d wanted him to give it up years ago, as he should have done. But he loved it, you see, so he kept going. Anyway, the bloke reversed the tractor into him. Said he didn’t see him.’

  ‘Good Lord, Mabel!’

  ‘Aye. It was terrible at the time. Luckily my Roy was around then and he sorted the funeral out and got me a few bits. You see, I’ve, er, been laid up quite a while now. Gerard was looking after me. Sandie was better to me back then. She doesn’t understand me now. I’m okay apart from my aches and pains. Got a bit of tummy trouble, now. But I’m okay. Don’t
see my David much, but he gets me a few bits and pieces from time to time when I ask him to. He’s got a guesthouse in Skeggy, you know.’

  ‘Yes, you said in one of your letters. Doin’ well by the sounds of it. Mabel, is the electric safe?’

  ‘I think so. Made tea yesterday anyways.’

  Gloria tentatively flicked the switch, expecting a loud bang! But, luckily, nothing happened. Moving things around on the shelves, stacked with old cereal boxes and other packaging from foodstuffs and the like, Gloria finally found some teabags but there was no milk. She washed two of the better-looking cups under the cold water tap.

  Gloria had never tried tea without milk but she was determined to put on a poker face for her friend who, it was clear, was in dire need of some kind of support. She couldn’t believe Mabel’s three children had left her to live like this. At least, between them, Clegg and Tilsbury had made sure she had the basics.

  Gloria was also shocked to note that there was no other food, whatsoever, in this very dilapidated tiny cottage, apart from half a bag of mouldy bread. And it looked as though Mabel had been picking off the mould and eating what was left, judging by the leftovers she’d found on one of the shelves.

  Beyond the kitchen, Gloria spotted the small shower room and toilet. But it was filthy and there was a hole in one corner, straight through to the outside. Weeds had found their way in and insects were crawling around. The toilet pan itself was blackened with a dark green slime. She had no idea if any of it worked and felt saddened by Mabel’s absolutely appalling predicament.

  ‘Mustn’t cry! Mustn’t get upset. For Mabel’s sake!’ she told herself.

  She tottered back into the lounge area with their hot drinks.

  ‘So how’ve you been coping since Gerard’s death, Mabel? I can see things have lapsed and, I hope you don’t mind me sayin’, but we do need to do a bit of sortin’ out round here. You can’t live like this, ducks,’ she said, sitting down on the worn, uncomfortable settee next to her friend.

  She sipped the weak brown liquid and was surprised it was not as bitter as she’d anticipated.

  ‘Yes well it ain’t been easy, my love. Gerard’s death was a huge blow, of course. But the farm said I could live out my days here, rent-free. And I, um, know it ain’t much to look at, Gloria, but it’s home, at least.’

  ‘Uh-huh. What’ve you got upstairs? Couple of bedrooms?’

  ‘Yes just the two. Me and Gerard squashed into the little one and we let the kids share the larger one.’

  ‘So how’s life been since you left Norfolk?’ Gloria asked, as she glanced around and processed Mabel’s dreadful situation.

  ‘Well, like I said in my postcards, David, Roy and Sandie all left home the minute they turned eighteen. Not surprising really. Not so much room here but this place and the job came at a time when we lost everything in Norfolk, as you know. It saved us in a way. I rarely hear from our Roy and see him even less. He’s always been a bit of a hippy. Likes travelling around but never settled down. Lost his long-term girlfriend to cancer and it shook him up, it did. Never been the same since. Hadn’t seen or heard from him in eight years. But then he popped back a few days before Gerard died, fortunately, and helped me out a bit and then shot off again after the funeral. Never rings.

  ‘And, well, Sandie got married and lived near our David in Skeggy for a while. But she split up with her husband and moved back to Norwich. Didn’t have any kids with him. But she married one of her old boyfriends and they’ve got a daughter, Chloe. In fact, Sandie’s a grandmother now. Chloe got pregnant at fifteen and the boyfriend didn’t want to know; all of which I think was a shame. But she lives at home with our Sandie. At least that’s the reason my daughter gives for not being able to come up and see me much.’

  ‘Hmm. Right. So you have a phone? Can you ring her if you need to?’

  Mabel nodded. ‘It’s one of the few things that works in this house, my love. Ha, ha! Phone’s by the door on the window ledge. Small pad there with Sandie and David’s numbers. David pays for it.’

  ‘Well that’s a blessing then,’ Gloria said cheerily and eased herself, with difficulty, out of the old settee.

  ‘Right well I want you to sit there and relax, Mabel, and I’m going to do some sorting out around here. No, I don’t want you to worry about things. I’m doing this, and I need to know how to get hold of the farmer – and also when’s bin day?’

  Chapter 18

  Gloria couldn’t remember the last time she’d done a full day’s housework. Or perhaps it had been when Arthur was alive and there’d been space around the telly and getting up to the bathroom had been a whole lot easier. But as her hoarding had gradually crept over all the available floor space and risen up the walls, eventually blocking the hoover, cleaning products and her clothes in cupboards and wardrobes, all thoughts of trying to clean the place or live a so-called normal life evaporated.

  Yet, despite her own hoarding tendencies, Gloria could clearly see that Mabel’s cottage was a disgrace and completely unfit for anyone to live in, whereas at least Gloria’s own home had been mould-free and watertight. But her immediate worry was that the state of this place was taking its toll on Mabel. She’d tried to ring the farmer but was informed he was at a country fayre for a few days. Pah! And if the farmer thought he was getting off lightly by not helping with Mabel’s predicament he was soon going to learn the error of his ways!

  Gloria successfully boiled that pan a lot over the next few hours – so no more burns to her hands!

  She started on the bathroom and then moved into the kitchen. She found an old scrubbing brush at the back of the only cupboard. There were no other cloths, so the brush would have to do. And looking in the many discarded bottles of empty cleaning fluids she managed to accumulate just enough of the remains, although some of it was too hard. She mixed it with water to form a liquidy cleaning paste of sorts and set to, cleaning the downstairs areas as best she could. At least she thought it would make everything smell a whole lot nicer.

  From time to time Mabel would call out from the lounge. ‘Here, Gloria. What you doin’ in the kitchen?’

  Or: ‘Do you need some help?’

  ‘Never you mind what I’m doin’, ducks. Now just rest and put yer feet up. I’m just doin’ a bit of clearing up to make yer life a wee bit easier. And no arguments. Read one of your newspapers or summat!’

  That made Mabel smile.

  Broken or unusable crockery she put into boxes and she’d put all the other rubbish into old plastic carrier bags. She’d found those when rooting about, amongst all Mabel’s stuff. The exertion was knackering and her back and hip were playing up but she was determined to finish the tasks she’d set herself, in order to help her friend.

  She paused at one point to wonder what would have happened to her, at the end of the day, if that electrical fault hadn’t occurred? Would anyone have tried to rescue her, like she was attempting to rescue Mabel from her dreadful fate? She remembered Val trying to do that once but Gloria had been outraged, back then. Regretfully, she realised now, she perhaps should have been thankful.

  Gloria returned to the slow and sometimes painful process, especially when she bent down to remove a dead mouse and then nearly couldn’t pull herself back up. She’d had to sit on the filthy tiled floor and get her breath back and then pull herself up, gradually, on the edge of the sink unit.

  ‘C’mon, old girl!’ she encouraged herself.

  She was tired and hungry yet there was nothing in the place to eat; nothing at all. But she wanted to keep going because she knew once she stopped for the day she might never get started again. At least she’d had a good fry-up at the guesthouse before she left to come and find Mabel, which was clearly more than Mabel had eaten in quite a while.

  After she’d sorted the kitchen and bathroom out as best she could, she opened the kitchen window because it was the only one that would open. A light breeze came skipping in and began dispelling some of the damp and foul odours that had
clearly accumulated and hung in the air like rancid drains, over the years.

  At the end of that first day, Gloria had cleaned and scrubbed and cleared all the rubbish out of the kitchen and cleaned and removed the weeds and insects from the bathroom. Oh, no doubt they’d return at some point. But this was just a quick clear-up to get Mabel sorted out.

  After helping Mabel up from the sofa and assisting her to remove her clothing, Gloria encouraged her friend to have a wash-down. Unfortunately, only cold water trickled out of the shower. Gloria handed over tiny pieces of soap she’d found on the small window ledge, near the hole in the bathroom.

  ‘I’m sorry it’s only cold water, Mabel. But I’ve put warm water in the sink for you to use too. So try and make do with that as best you can, love. You deserve to have a proper shower and I’m going to make sure you get one very soon. But for now will you be okay with this? We need to keep clean at our age. I remember the first time I had a bath, recently, after many years of just using a bathroom sink. And it was marvellous, I can tell you.’

  It pained Gloria that Mabel only nodded in a sad response.

  ‘I’ll go find you a towel.’

  The only towel Gloria could find was stained and damp but that couldn’t be helped. Under the circumstances, it would have to do. Mabel looked very frail standing there waiting for the towel. Gloria tried not to stare at her bony ribs and loose skin and attempted to hide tears that sprang to her eyes. She found Mabel’s nightie upstairs in her tiny, fusty, damp bedroom and brought it down for her friend. Then she helped her friend up the narrow stairs to bed and returned downstairs to boil the pan once again to make her friend more tea. Then she tiredly climbed the rickety stairs for the third time that day, clinging on to the dodgy handrail, tea sloshing over the sides of the chipped cup she was carrying.