LITMIR.BIZ

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      Mandy rose and crossed to the bed where she stood next to her father. They looked at Grandpa and his eyes slowly opened. Turning his head towards them, he smiled. His eyes were moist from sleep and his skin was so pale and thin it was almost translucent. Mandy could see the effort it took for him to speak. ‘Hello,’ he said, his voice catching. ‘Good to see you. Can you get me some water, please?’

      ‘Of course, Dad,’ her father said, patting his shoulder.

      ‘It’s on the desk,’ Gran said to Mandy.

      Mandy crossed to the desk where a silver tray with a water jug was at one end, away from the laptop, printer and phone. On the tray, beside the covered jug, were a glass and a plastic feeding beaker.

      ‘Use the beaker, love,’ Gran said. ‘He can’t manage a glass any more. It spills down his front.’

      Mandy glanced over and saw the shock on her father’s face – that Grandpa could no longer drink from a glass but was reliant on what looked like an adult version of a toddler’s training cup. She took the lid off the beaker and poured the water, then snapped the lid on and carried it to the bed.

      ‘Evelyn usually gives it to him,’ Gran said anxiously. ‘I can’t lift his head.’

      Mandy glanced at her father, wondering if he wanted to help Grandpa with the drink, but he shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what was required.

      ‘Grandpa, shall I hold the beaker?’ Mandy asked, leaning forward so she was in his line of vision.

      He gave a small nod. Her father eased back his chair so she could get closer to the bed. Leaning over, she wriggled her left hand under the top pillow and slowly eased Grandpa forward and upright. His dry, lined lips closed around the funnel of the feeding beaker. Mandy gradually tilted it as he sucked and then swallowed. He took three sips and collapsed back, exhausted. Mandy lowered the pillow and moved to one side.

      It took a moment for him to gather his strength again to speak. ‘I’m pleased you came,’ he said slowly, forming each word separately and with effort. ‘I’m not very good at present. Have you spoken to Evelyn and John?’

      ‘Yes, Dad,’ her father said. ‘I’ve seen Evelyn and everything is fine.’

      Grandpa smiled, reassured, and allowed his eyes to slowly close. Mandy watched as his hand came from under the sheet, searching for his son’s hand. Her father took it in his and his mouth quivered as he fought back emotion. Men in her family rarely showed their feelings; it wasn’t considered the ‘manly’ thing to do. It was more than Mandy could bear to watch her father and Grandpa exposed and their emotion raw. Thank goodness we came, she thought. Thank goodness Dad was able to surrender his pride and take the opportunity to see his father at his sister’s house.

      ‘Is Jean with you?’ Grandpa asked as Gran had done, his eyes still closed.

      ‘No, Dad. She sends her love. She’ll come next time.’

      ‘If there is a next time. I’m very tired, Ray, and the pain is getting worse.’ It was said without self-pity, but Mandy saw her father flinch.

      ‘Are you in pain now?’ he asked, sitting forward and still holding his father’s hand.

      Grandpa shook his head.

      ‘The nurse gave him something,’ Gran said. ‘But it wears off too quickly.’

      ‘You shouldn’t have to suffer in this day and age,’ her father said. ‘I’ll speak to Evelyn and we’ll have a word with the doctor.’

      Grandpa nodded, but his eyes stayed closed. Then his breathing slowed and deepened as he drifted once more into sleep. Her father eased the bedclothes up round his neck with a tenderness Mandy found exceptionally touching. He stood. ‘I’m going to the bathroom,’ he said and Mandy knew it was to hide his emotion.

      ‘Will you tell Evelyn that Dad has taken some water?’ Gran called after him. ‘She’ll be pleased. It’s a good sign, isn’t it?’

      He nodded without saying anything, unable to give Gran the false hope she desperately sought. Glancing pointedly at Mandy, he left the room. Mandy moved into the chair her father had vacated, next to Gran and beside the bed. She looked at Grandpa, his chest rising and falling beneath the sheet as his laboured breathing once more filled the air. Until now he’d always appeared much younger than his eighty-five years, but now his illness had aged him enormously. Mandy found it almost impossible to equate the upright, agile person that had been her grandpa a few weeks ago with the shell of a man before her now, who hadn’t even the strength to raise his head for a drink.

      ‘It is a good sign, isn’t it?’ Gran said again. ‘Water is good for you. You can do without food, but not water.’

      Mandy gave the same non-committal nod her father had done, feeling the same reluctance to fuel what was obviously an unrealistic hope. She wondered if the seriousness of Grandpa’s condition had been explained to Gran. Had the doctors, Evelyn or John said that her husband wouldn’t be getting better; if so, had she accepted it?

      ‘So tell me about your painting,’ Gran suddenly said, her voice lightening as she changed the subject. ‘Have you finished that masterpiece yet? I want to be the first to see it.’

      Mandy gave a small, dismissive laugh. ‘No, not yet, but I promise you’ll be the first to see it, if and when it happens.’

      ‘You mean when, not if,’ Gran said.

      Somehow, in the strange intimacy of the sick room, with Grandpa’s laboured breathing as a backdrop, Mandy now found herself able to share her thoughts and frustrations with Gran in a way she couldn’t with her parents or even Adam. ‘You see, Gran,’ she began, ‘I think I’ve got the equivalent of writer’s block. It’s nearly eight months since I stopped work to paint and I haven’t painted anything. I might just as well give up the idea and return to work. When I had little time and I was under pressure, the ideas seemed to pour out. I painted at weekends and some evenings after work. Now I have all the time in the world I can’t do anything. I’ve lost confidence. I haven’t a single thought in my head.’

      ‘Like me then.’ Gran smiled, lightly touching her arm. ‘But, Mandy, the main thing is you tried, love. That’s so important. Even if nothing comes of it you had a go. And you know Grandpa’s favourite saying?’

      Mandy frowned questioningly. ‘I don’t. He’s got lots of sayings. Which one?’

      Gran paused, looked at Grandpa as though bringing him into the conversation, and then quoted: ‘“It is better to have tried and failed, than never to have tried at all.”’ She looked again at Mandy, and there were tears forming in her eyes. ‘Don’t give up on your dreams, love. Stay with them or you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. I’m sure you’re talented, and I know when you find the right subject you’ll be able to paint. Then it will be from your heart and the painting will be perfect.’

       Five

      As her father returned from the cloakroom Mandy said she would go. ‘It’s down the hall to the right,’ he said, pointing to the front of the house. ‘And your aunt said lunch is about to be served in the dining room. Apparently they always have lunch at this time,’ he added, ‘while Dad sleeps.’

      ‘OK, I’ll join you there,’ she said and left the study.

      Mandy knew exactly where the cloakroom was without her father giving directions. It was reassuring that she remembered, but hardly surprising, given the number of times she must have used the downstairs toilet when she’d stayed as a child. Down to the end of the hall, turn right, and she knew the door marked ‘Cloakroom’ would be set in a recess on her left. It was a large room, she remembered, far larger that their toilet downstairs at home. In addition to the loo and washbasin, there had been a dressing table

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