Page 11 of Clara's Secret Garden
Lois and I were equally enchanted by this tiny addition toour patched-together family, and for that first year, we vied with each otherto babysit. But then Lois met a boy called Gerry at a party, and after that, shewas rarely at home for longer than a few days at a time. Gerry, who owned asuccessful communications business, was much older than Lois and he was foreverwhisking her off on weekends away and holidays to the south of France andDubai. The babysitting became my job. Not that I minded. It meant I got tospend loads of time with Bertie – especially once Irene started working at thecasino.
She’d get home in the early hours and sleep most of the dayuntil her shift in the evening, which obviously made looking after Bertiedifficult. Dad told her she didn’t have to work – he was earning enough to keepus all – but Irene insisted she needed the job. It kept her sane, she said.Otherwise, she’d go mad at home all day with just a baby to look at.
She made a joke of it, but I couldn’t always laugh the way Daddid.
‘Irene worships Bertie. She’s just not the kind of womanwho’s happy being stuck at home all day,’ he’d say with a shrug. ‘It takes allsorts, Clara.’
Dad started working from home so he could look after Bertie.I was at college and working some evenings at a doggy day care centre, but Igave the job up while Bertie was really little, so that I could be there tohelp out as much as I could.
Then Dad got ill.
He’d begun a training regime to get fit and he’d go outrunning most days. But after a week or so, he noticed his ankles were startingto swell up and he found he was struggling to catch his breath, even hoursafter a run. He assumed the symptoms were linked to the increased activity, sohe stopped working out. But the shortness of breath didn’t go away, and hedeveloped heart palpitations. I kept telling him he should see the doctor, butboth he and Irene would brush it off and tell me to stop worrying. Eventually,though, I made an appointment and I practically frog-marched Dad along to it.
The news was bad. He had an autoimmune disease that wasattacking his heart. His best chance was a heart transplant and he was put onthe list, and we waited anxiously for a call from the hospital. Dad gotprogressively weaker over a shockingly short period of time and there wasnothing I could do but sit by and watch as he deteriorated before my eyes. Bythe time a heart was found, Dad was too weak to survive the operation.
He died a few weeks later, and my whole world caved in.
Outwardly, I had to be strong, though.
For Bertie.
It’s doubly cruel that having watched my lovely dad decline sofast, I’m now faced with Gran being in the same position – too weak to have theoperation that could potentially save her life...
CHAPTERFOUR
It’s a muggy day with gun metal clouds lurking overheadwhen I arrive with Bertie and Luke next morning at the scene of OperationGarden Blitz.
As we emerge from the car, the slinky, up-beat rhythm ofLatin music drifts over from next door, conjuring up a summer holiday mooddespite the threatening skies. I ask for the boys’ phones and they hand themover dutifully, as that was the deal.
‘So... what are you boys planning to dofirst?’ I ask, gazing upwards. It’s been so hot recently, and thunder isforecast for later on this afternoon, which spells disaster for keeping thementertained (or preferably, entertaining themselves while I get even hotter andsweatier in the vegetable patch).
‘Don’t know,’ says Bertie, fiddling with the red cap Ibought him. He’s still fed up over his bike wheel and would much rather havestayed at home with Luke playingMinecraftin his bedroom.
‘You can have a go onmybike,’ says Luke with ashrug. He’s had his red hair cut very short for the summer.
I smile at him. ‘That’s so kind of you, Luke. Isn’t it,Bertie? You could take it in turns. Ooh, I know!’ Inspiration strikes. ‘Granhas a stopwatch somewhere. Why don’t we go and find it, and then instead ofhaving races, you cantimeeach other with the stopwatch, just like theydo on the Formula One races you watch on the TV.’ (I’m not at all sure theyactually do this, but it sounds good.)
I beam at them encouragingly, while secretly expecting themto reject such a terrible ‘Mum idea’ out of hand. But to my relief, they grinat each other and run for the cottage.
‘Hang on, hang on. Wait for me.’ I hurry after them, pullingthe front door key out of my bag, and hoping against hope that we can find thestopwatch. Because without that, my cunning plan to keep them amused for a few minuteswill fall utterly flat.
Until the lawns are mown, they can’t play football.
But thankfully, the stopwatch is in Gran’s drawer in the kitchenwhere she keeps her jumble of miscellaneous items, and the boys run off with it.Luke gets on his bike and pedals out of Gran’s gate with Bertie haring afterhim.
I follow them, panicking slightly from being in charge ofnot one buttwoextremely energetic small boys. Gran’s cottage is situatedat the end of a sleepy cul-de-sac and it’s a very safe place for them to play. Butstill, I need to have them in my view at all times.
Gran has only one close neighbour here – a guy in histwenties called Shaun, who moved into the cottage next door last summer. Gransays he’s a builder and he’s often working away, but I’ve said hello in passinga couple of times and he seems really friendly. He always used to take Gran’sbin out for her. And once, he climbed in through the downstairs toilet windowwhen Gran accidentally locked herself out. Clearly, he likes his Latin Americanmusic!
‘Stay where I can see you, boys,’ I call. ‘Don’t go furtherthan the post box, okay?’ ‘Okay,’ they call back in unison.
‘Have you got sun cream on, Luke?’ I shout.
‘Yes,’ he calls back. ‘Mum put it on.’
‘Good. Come back for drinks when you’re thirsty, all right?’
But they’re already away in an exciting world of their own. Smiling,I watch as Bertie holds up the stop watch and shouts, ‘Go!’ and Luke starts pedallingfuriously along the pavement to the post box, at which point he swings his bikearound and pedals straight back.
