Page 35 of Coming Home to Sturcombe Bay
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Nanna and Arthur had dozed for most of the afternoon, which didn’t stop them commenting loudly and critically on everyone’s play. “That Neville Perkin — I don’t know what he’s even doing in the team. Couldn’t catch a cold.”
Richard Channing laughed. “Come on, Mum,” he coaxed. “Time to go home.”
“Huh! You’re going to put me in that damned wheelchair again, ain’t you?”
“Well, I’d offer to give you a piggyback but I don’t think that would be very dignified for either of us. And I do have a certain position to maintain — quite a few of my pupils are here, with phones that can take photos, which would end up on Instagram.”
“Huh!”
But when Ollie came over, she didn’t argue, allowing him and Richard to ease her from her garden chair into the wheelchair. She leaned over to pat Arthur on the arm.
“Well, goodbye then, you old duffer.”
He grinned at her. “Goodbye, my luvver. See you again soon.”
“Maybe, maybe . . .”
Cassie anxiously searched her grandmother’s face as they wheeled her back to the car. She looked pale and tired, but there was no doubt that she had enjoyed herself, so maybe it had done her good after all.
She seemed to doze as Richard Channing drove at a sedate pace back along the Esplanade and up Cliff Road to the house. They helped her into her wheelchair, which was then carried up the steps to the front door, and she didn’t grumble at all.
“Would you like a cup of tea, Nanna?” Cassie asked as they wheeled her into her bedroom.
“Not just yet, my little Pickle.” She smiled, an unusually sweet smile. “I think I’ll just have a bit of a nap for now.”
They settled her into her chair by the window, tucking the cushions comfortably around her and laying a blanket over her knees. Cassie made sure she had a glass of water and her bell close at hand on the table beside her. Then they all tiptoed out.
In the kitchen Richard had put the kettle on and had teas brewing by the time the rest of the family had walked back from the cricket ground.
“How is she?” Lisa asked, lifting the baby out of her carrier and settling down to breastfeed her.
Ollie smiled crookedly. “I didn’t even try to take her pulse. I don’t think it matters anymore.”
All eyes turned to him in concern.
“You think . . . ?”
“A few days at most.” His voice was heavy. “Possibly less.”
“Oh . . .”
Cassie’s mum wiped away a tear from the corner of her eye. “Well . . .” She sat down heavily on the wooden chair at the head of the table and picked up her teacup. “Well . . .”
No one spoke for several moments, then Richard cleared his throat. “I’d better go and mow that back lawn.” Nobody bothered to mention that he had only mowed it two days ago.
“Shall I do the veg, Mum?” Cassie offered.
“Uh . . . Thank you, yes. Are you staying for dinner, Lisa?”
“Yes, if it’s no trouble.”
“Of course not.” Helen put down her cup, the tea untouched. “Well . . . I . . . I think I’ll go up and have a doze for a bit.”
“Okay, Mum. I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”
Cassie sorted out enough potatoes for all of them and began to peel them at the sink. They were all being terribly English about it — all stiff upper lip. But if it helped them cope . . .
