Thornaby Accident Page 2

  When they finished, they found Natasha sitting at the kitchen table. She had a notepad open in front of her, which she tapped with a pen.

  “OK, Alan,” she said. “If you take a seat, David and I would like to go over a few house rules with you.”

  When they returned from work on Monday, Natasha went to the kitchen and David went into the living room. Alan was sitting on the sofa, watching the TV news and eating a sandwich from a plate on his lap.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “Oh, David,” he said, placing the sandwich on the plate and wiping his mouth. “How are you, son?”

  “I’m all right, Dad. Have you had a good day?”

  David watched him as he considered the question.

  “Yeah, son,” he said, nodding his head. “I think so.”

  “Oh, I bet you have,” said Natasha as she entered the room, stopping in front of Alan. “You could have at least washed the dishes.”

  “Oh. I forgot about doing that, Natalie.”

  “It’s Natasha,” she said, her eyes cold and blue like marbles. “My name is Natasha.”

  Alan put his hand to his forehead. “Of course it is,” he said. “I’m so forgetful. Sorry, Natasha.”

  “Dementia?” David asked. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Something’s going on with him,” Natasha said. She closed the door that separated the kitchen from the hallway, and stood beside David as he loaded the dishwasher.

  “You don’t think he’s been acting a bit weird?” she said.

  “Weird, how?”

  “He keeps asking me where the bathroom is. Like he hasn’t been living here for the last week.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yes. And he can’t even get my bloody name right!”

  David pressed a button, starting the wash cycle. “He’s just getting old, Nat.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. We’ll have to keep an eye on him. He might get worse.”

  Thursday morning, Natasha put on her dressing gown and went downstairs to make coffee.

  David got dressed and brushed his teeth, then went downstairs. As he passed the living room, he heard raised voices. He stood in the doorway, watching the argument unfold.

  Alan sat in his chair looking at Natasha, who stood in front of him, pointing her index finger as she spoke.

  “You’ll burn the bloody house down if you’re not careful!”

  “I was going to put my pie in,” Alan said.

  “But you didn’t, did you?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I must have forgot.”

  “Yeah. No shit,” Natasha said, shaking her head. “How long’s it been on?”

  “Not long.”

  “Why the hell are you putting a pie in the oven this early in the day?”

  “I was hungry. I think…”

  “Jesus Christ!” she said, joining David in the doorway. “Have a word with him, will you? Sometimes I think he’s doing it on purpose, just to piss me off!”

  David helped his father exit the passenger side of the car, and held his arm as they entered the house. He led him to the living room and guided him to his favourite chair.

  “Fancy a cup of tea, Dad?” he asked.

  “OK, son.”

  David went to the kitchen, filled the kettle and rubbed his temples while the water boiled. He let out a long sigh just as Natasha entered the room.

  “Well?” she said. “What did the doctor say?”

  “Dementia. Early stages.”

  “I knew it.” She shook her head slowly. “Too bad.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’ll only get worse,” she said. “The doctor must have told you that?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “He did.”

  “We’ll need to have a think about what we’re going to do.”

  David stood by the bedroom door and watched his father climb into bed. Then he turned out the light, closed the door and went downstairs.

  He found Natasha sitting at the kitchen table, pen in hand, with pages from a notepad spread in front of her. She updated him on what she’d found out about care homes.

  “Jesus!” David said. “We can’t afford that.”

  She placed the cap back on the pen and let out a sigh. “I know.”

  “How many places did you call?”

  “Three.”

  “Did you try The Grange in Thornaby?”

  “Yeah – they were the most expensive.” She slid a sheet of paper to him, pointing at the number circled in ink. “Look at that.”

  “Bloody hell. They must be making a fortune.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “What are we going to do?” David asked.

  “Make some more calls tomorrow, I suppose. See if we can get any help with benefits.”

  Alan sat in his chair watching TV, a cup of coffee on the table beside him. David felt the side of the cup with the backs of his fingers.

  “You haven’t drunk your coffee, Dad,” David said. “It’s cold.”

  Alan looked at the cup beside him for a few seconds. “I didn’t even know it was there, Kenny.”

  “Kenny? Who’s Kenny?”

  “What, son?”

  “You called me Kenny.”

  Alan looked puzzled. “Did I?” He giggled, then turned his attention back to the TV.

  David left the room, shaking his head and muttering to himself. He found Natasha in the kitchen, sat in the doorway, smoking a cigarette and looking out at the garden.

  “I can’t go on like this,” he said, taking a seat at the table. “He doesn’t even recognise me any more.”

  Natasha stubbed out her cigarette, and joined him at the table.

  “I’ve been thinking,” she said.

  “Yeah?”

  “I have an idea.”

  David didn’t speak at all while Natasha explained her idea. He removed a whisky bottle from the cupboard by the sink, poured himself a large drink and sipped it until Natasha finished talking.

  When she finished he sat silently for a minute, as colour returned to his face. Then he asked a few questions, listening to her answers while he stared at the empty glass in his hand.

  “I don’t know if I could go through with it,” he said.

  “What choice do we have? He’s driving us both nuts – and it’s only going to get worse.”

  “Yeah, but-”

  “He can’t keep on living with us, and we can’t afford to put him in a care home.”

  He scratched at his chin with his thumb and said, “It seems so drastic.”

  “Yeah, but it’ll work,” Natasha said, taking the glass from his hand. “Think about it.”

  Two weeks later David helped his father dress in corduroy trousers and a warm cardigan, then called Natasha to the bedroom. He watched as she searched Alan’s pockets.

  “Good,” she said, nodding her head.

  David helped Alan downstairs, with Natasha following. They stopped in the hallway. David pulled a jacket off the rail and helped Alan wriggle into it.

  “Did you check the coat pockets?” Natasha asked.

  “Yes,” David said, zipping up Alan’s jacket. “They’re empty.”

  “Are you sure? If there’s any ID on-”

  “Yes, I’m bloody sure!”

  “I’m just saying,” Natasha said.

  “We’ve been through it a thousand times,” David said. “I’m not stupid, you know.”

  “OK. Calm down.”

  David rubbed his forehead, let out a long sigh and turned to Alan. “We’re just going for a drive, Dad.”

  Alan nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, good.”

  David took his arm, saying, “Just a nice long drive.”

  They took the A19 from Middlesbrough and drove north for three hours, with Alan looking out of the window for most of the journey. David spoke to his father a number of times, but got no reply.

  Parking the car in a remote country lane, David put on a baseball cap and sunglasses before ge
tting out and scanning the area; green fields and a small village in the distance. He nodded his head, then helped Alan out of the car.

  “Time for a walk,” David said.

  “Just down the road,” David said, indicating with his thumb. “He was wandering around, looking confused.”

  “I see,” said the woman. She was middle-aged, wearing a tweed jacket and jodhpurs. She looked at Alan, who sat on a wooden bench beside them. “Do you know his name?” she asked David.

  “I don’t know. He doesn’t seem to know. He might live around here.”

  She shook her head, and said, “I don’t recognise him.”

  “I’d call an ambulance,” David said, “but I don’t have my phone with me.” He patted his empty pockets to illustrate the point.

  “I live just round the corner. If you wait here with him, I’ll go and call the ambulance from my house.”

  “That’d be great.”

  “OK,” she said, as she started to walk away. “I’ll be back right after I’ve called them.”

  David sat beside his father on the bench, slipping an arm over his shoulder.

  “Dad, you won’t understand, but I have to explain something…”

  “No need to explain,” Alan said, turning sideways to face David.

  David stared at Alan, open-mouthed.

  “But…but…”

  “My mind’s been slipping a bit - but I know what’s going on, son.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” David said.

  “I know it wasn’t your idea, son. I’ll be better off in a home, anyway.”

  “But what about all the dementia stuff? Were you just pretending?”

  “Some of it was real. Some of it I did just to annoy Natasha.”

  “Jesus,” David said.

  Alan held David close to his chest. “It’s OK, son. Don’t cry. It’s for the best this way. I won’t tell them who I am.”

  “I’m sorry,” David said, wiping at his eyes. “We just didn’t know what else to do.”

  “I know. The plan will work. They’ll eventually put me in a care home.” Alan leaned back on the bench, as the sound of a distant siren grew louder. “You better get going before that ambulance gets here.”

  “But what about-”

  “It’s OK, David. I’ll be fine.”

  “But…”

  “You’ve got a good heart, son. But Natasha’s no good for you.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” David said. “Maybe you’re right.”

  Alan stood up from the bench and placed his hand under David’s chin, raising his face. When their eyes met, Alan smiled and said, “Goodbye, son. Be happy.”

  Then Alan turned and shuffled away, to the sound of an approaching ambulance.

  Thanks for reading!

  I hope you enjoyed my story.

  Please feel free to review this book on Amazon, and let me know your thoughts.

  Until next time.

  Glenn McGoldrick.

  If you enjoyed reading this story, then you might like to try a collection in the Dark Teesside series:

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