Page 8 of Big Nick Energy
I’ve been poring over brochures and websites for weeks now, looking at contracts, prices and medical provision. Nana’s simply been scouting out the soft furnishings. This one would give her a lovely private room overlooking trees and the river, the menu looks varied, and most importantly, Tuesday night is bingo.
‘I liked the room. We could really make it your own, bring your own things in. We could hang some pictures.’
‘Would my Netflix work here? Could I watch my shows? I’m still on that one with the firefighters. Got two more series of that.’
‘Yes, and I’d give you my password to Prime too. They’ve got great stuff on that.’
She nods. I glance at her, seeing all the anxiety and fear in her eyes, and it breaks my heart. She’s not resistant to this but I think she knows it means life is moving in a certain direction, away from independence, towards a time when her mind will leave her completely and she won’t remember all the things that make her life what it is.
‘Can you visit whenever you want?’ she asks me.
I hold her hand tightly. ‘I will be on call whenever you need me, but I’ll make it here once a week at least.’ I feel a lump lodge in my throat. I still don’t know if that’s too much or not enough. I’d come every day if I could, but the last few months have shown me that I couldn’t juggle work and being Nana’s carer, and that fills me with incredible guilt.
‘Don’t do that, lovely,’ Nana says.
I shake my head. ‘I just… I wish I could do more.’
‘I don’t want you here all the time, you daft thing,’ she says. ‘Popping in at one in the morning to say hello? I’d tell you to sling your hook.’ I pull a face, knowing she’s trying to make me feel better about it all. ‘I will be fine. When did they say I could move in?’
‘New Year? Gives us Christmas together,’ I say. ‘We could do something special.’
‘Get a bigger turkey?’
‘We could go away?’ I suggest. Maybe we could escape to a dreamy Christmas market in Germany, toast this next adventure with spiced cookies and mulled wine.
She shakes her head. ‘Nah, let’s spend it in my house. Maybe we’ll have a day in London. Go to a gallery or something, getan afternoon tea somewhere posh.’ I nod, trying not to tear up. ‘Hey, do you remember that Christmas when I got that stupid big tree off Facebook and you had to saw it up in the street?’ she says.
The episode comes to mind again. I’m curious at how her brain and memory work. ‘That buggered my hands, do you remember the blisters, the splinters?’ I say, giggling.
‘And didn’t something jump out of that tree?’ she asks.
‘A mouse. Leapt out at me from the branches.’
‘Then you screamed, told me you were going to get rabies, waving that saw around like a loony and then the neighbours…’
‘Called the police.’ We both stand there, broad grins on our faces.
‘And when the police came, you sweet-talked them into helping us,’ I remind her. It was peak Nana on form. She was a little old lady who’d been scammed by the internet and she didn’t want to be a nuisance.
‘You went on a date with one of them!’ she says, pleased as punch to be remembering her matchmaking skills. That night, Nana really had been on form.
‘Lewis, his name was Lewis.’
‘Hold up,’ she says, a little worried. ‘Did I go to your wedding and not remember it?’
I shake my head at her cheeky smile. ‘No. We only lasted a couple of months.’ He was good at trimming Christmas trees but had debatable sexual fetishes involving feet, which wasn’t great when his smelt like cheese. I don’t tell Nana that much.
‘I’m sorry that didn’t work out,’ she says, taking my hand.
‘I’m not,’ I joke. Since university and a move to London, my love life has followed quite the trajectory and Nana has witnessed a lot of it; the highs, the lows, the laughs, the tears.
‘You will get married one day though, won’t you?’ she asks me.
‘Maybe. If the right man comes along.’
‘I’d just like to come to your wedding. That’s on my bucket list, you know?’ she says, and my heart prickles to hear her use that term, to look forward to the future. ‘I’d wear the biggest hat. Something with fruit.’
‘So you’d have something to snack on all day,’ I joke. She sticks her tongue out at me, and I see that adorable, wonderful woman I know so well. ‘We could have a dance to “Copacabana”. I’d be Lola, you’d be Rico. We’d act the whole thing out.’
