Page 23 of Things We Never Said
‘Unpleasant?’ Sean offers. ‘Hard to bear?’
‘Well, yes.’
Sean nods. ‘You’re right. It is. But her brain’s frazzled and her filter’s gone haywire. It was never very good, to be honest – the filter. But now it’s completely packed up, so she just says the first thing she can think of, whether it makes any sense or not. Try not to take it to heart.’
‘Does she even know about Mum ... you know ...?’
‘Does she know about her dying?’ Sean asks.
April nods.
Sean shakes his head gently. ‘No,’ he says, looking pained. ‘No. I didn’t tell her. There’s no point, really. She doesn’t ... you know ... retain anything. Even if she did understand, it would only be fleeting. And she’d probably just say she was glad or something. There’s really no point.’
April nods and reaches out to squeeze her father’s arm. ‘You’re too nice to her, Dad.’
‘Hmm,’ Sean says. ‘I’ve heard that before.’
‘From Mum?’
Sean nods and bites his bottom lip.
‘So, are you going back in there?’ April asks.
‘I have to, really,’ Sean says. ‘I mean, there’s not much point, but now I’ve driven all this way ...’
‘I’ll come back in if you want me to.’
Sean shakes his head. ‘No,’ he says. ‘I think it’s easier without you, to be honest. You just relax or go for a walk or whatever. And then ...’ He glances at his watch before continuing. ‘At, say, twelve thirty, we can go for lunch. There’s a nice pub down the road. How does that sound?’
‘OK,’ April says. ‘I’m sorry, Dad, really I am. But the truth is that she does my head in.’
Sean laughs sourly, and as he turns and starts to head back towards room 23, he says, ‘Don’t worry, honey. She does my head in, too.’
As they enter the Langford Poacher, April pulls a face. ‘God,’ she says, ‘it looks more like an old people’s home in here than back there.’
‘Really?’ Sean asks, looking around. ‘I quite like it. Well, the food’s good, anyway. And they’re friendly.’
‘Sorry,’ April says. ‘I suppose it’s just the carpet, really.’
‘Hmm,’ Sean says, looking down at his feet. ‘Yes, I see what you mean. It is a bit seventies.’
Once they’ve ordered food and carried their drinks to a table, April asks, ‘So? How was it?’
Sean shrugs. ‘You saw how she was today. I just sat and read the newspaper to her, really. I’m not even sure if she understood who I am. But you know ... These things have to be done. Sometimes she has good days and she’s almost like normal. But you just can’t tell.’
‘What about Perry? He still comes regularly, doesn’t he?’
Sean nods. ‘Mum always got on better with Perry than with me. I don’t think she’s quite such hard work when he comes. But yeah. He comes every weekend, I think.’
‘So she must recognise you. I mean, if she treats you differently.’
‘On some level, she does, I suppose,’ Sean says, sipping at his pint of IPA. ‘Though I don’t think she’s really conscious of who I am. Not on days like today, anyway. It’s more as if my presence brings out a habit of behaviour, you know? She’s always been grumpy towards me, so she still is, but it’s just a habit really. It’s the same with Perry. She was always nicer to him, so, out of habit, she still behaves the same way, automatically.’
‘I still think it’s weird,’ April says, ‘to like one of your kids more than the other.’
‘Ha,’ Sean says. ‘It’s more common than you’d imagine. You’re just lucky you were an only child. You got smothered in love.’
April pulls a face. She’s pretending to be unconvinced. ‘Will you go and see him afterwards?’ she asks.
