A Postcard from Italy - Alex Brown

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her mother ate … usually very, very, very slowly as she complained through every mouthful! A genius plan, and Grace didn’t know why she had never thought to do this before now. In fact, she had done a lot of thinking over the weekend, and talking too – she had called Bernie to ‘let her know’ how their mother was … as per the instruction in the telephone conversation on Friday afternoon, and to moot the idea of them setting up a care rota for Cora.

      Bernie had actually gasped out loud on realising that Grace was implying the rota would be shared between the four of them! And then said she might be able to manage a contribution to pay for a professional carer to ‘give you a break, Grace, if that’s what you really need.’ Grace had then tried her other sister, Sinead, who – to be fair – had acknowledged that Grace ‘pulled the short straw when it comes to looking after Mum, and I wish there was more I could do but it’s so difficult with me being so far away these days.’ Grace had pointed out that Chelmsford in Essex wasn’t really that far away. A weekend, or even just a Saturday here and there was manageable, surely? And it really would make a great deal of difference to Grace to have a few hours to herself. She was in desperate need of a haircut and some new clothes, or even just the chance to visit the library or browse the chunky yarn section of the craft shop a few streets away. Plus she fancied trying a salted caramel smoothie in the pop-up bar that had opened up. It had been months since her counsellor had set these activities for her to accomplish on her own, and she hadn’t made any progress whatsoever on them yet.

      But the call with Sinead had somehow moved on to her offering to chip in for a private carer too, or ‘better still, get on to the council, Grace, and see if they can send someone round for free. My neighbour has a woman who comes in three times a day to help out. And it’s all paid for by us taxpayers. Just make the call!’

      Grace had tried to point out that it wasn’t as simple as all that – there were forms to fill in and assessments to be carried out and Cora would never allow a stranger inside the house for all that in any case. There had been no end of recriminations from Cora for that one time Grace had managed to get the care assistant from social services to come and show her how to lift her mother and see to her basic needs. As soon as she had left, Cora had gone on strike and refused to even hold the handle on the hoist for days after that. But Sinead had breezily suggested if Grace found someone Mum liked then it would be ‘absolutely fine’, before ending the call because her Waitrose delivery driver was lugging her shopping through to the utility room and it would be rude not to give him a hand.

      Lastly, Grace had spoken to her brother, Mikey, the hedge-fund manager, who in his usual fashion had got straight to the point: ‘Stick her in a home and be done with it, Grace! I can’t be hearing all this crap about her not wanting strangers in the house – did she ever give a toss about what we wanted when we were kids?’ Silence. ‘No, we did as we were bloody well told or a whack around the head and no dinner was the punishment. That woman is a bully, and believe me I know what I’m talking about: I deal with them all day, every day, and the sooner you wake up and realise that, Grace, the better. Now, if you call my PA, Annabel, on Monday, I’m sure she’ll sort you out with a list of half-decent places you can visit. Just pick one. A cheap one. And make them come and collect her if you have to. I’ll pay for it all and recoup my losses when we flog her house. Annabel will probably go with you if you’re still getting in a state about going out on your own. Or if you just want a second opinion! You know, to make sure the staff aren’t slapping the old dears around like you see on those undercover documentary programmes on the telly. Mind you, what goes around comes around, so it would serve Cora right to get a taste of her own medicine!’

      Grace had hung up at that point. Frustrated and weary. She could just imagine the look on her mother’s face if she selected a care home for her, a cheap one at that. Then bundled her off there without so much as a conversation about it, let alone without seeking her consent, which she knew would never be given. Deep down Grace also knew that she was scared of her mother. Scared of her rages and scared of what she would do or say to hurt her if she ever turned on her … and that is exactly how Cora would see it if Grace did what Mikey suggested. A betrayal.

      But Grace was decided on one thing … if her siblings weren’t going to help out, then she was going to help herself and implement a few more changes to make her own life a little bit easier … like encouraging Cora to manage her bed bath, for starters. Grace knew that her mother was perfectly able to sit up in bed by herself, and she could rub the edge of a coin over a scratchcard too, so surely she could utilise that hand action and replace the coin with a flannel and move it over her own body? This would give Grace a precious extra ten minutes or so to go towards doing all the other things that had to be sorted before she was able to leave for work each morning. It was only a small change, but it was a start at least. A small step towards taking back the life that she used to have and that had got lost along the way. Along with her dancing career … her dreams and aspirations of being blissfully happily married to Matthew, with perhaps a cherub-cheeked child of her own – but that had all vanished on that terrible day when she caught Matthew cavorting with the Perky Yoga One.

      ‘I work at the storage company because I enjoy my job and because Larry and Betty are so kind,’ Grace answered, bringing her thoughts back to Phil and his beard, which was now burrowing into the side of her neck and making her skin all irritated and itchy.

      ‘But you could do yourself a favour and just pack it in,’ he suggested.

      ‘Why would I do that?’

      ‘Well, it’s not like you need the money or it’s a proper career or anything! Not when you’re all set up here.’ Phil paused burrowing and glanced around the room. ‘If you play your cards right, this house will be yours one day. And you must get a fair whack in benefits and stuff, what with you being your mum’s carer. You might even get more if you didn’t work and looked after her full time.’

      ‘I don’t, actually. And I do need the money. Plus the house will probably be split between all four of us …’ Grace leant forward to reach another slice of pizza.

      ‘What?’ Phil said, aghast. ‘But that’s not fair. Surely it should be all yours seeing as you are the one doing all the work, and saving the rest of them a fortune on care-home costs? When my nan was old and had to go into a home, my dad sold her house to pay for it so there was no money left for any of us.’ Grace could see that Phil had given her mother’s care needs a great deal of thought …

      ‘Anyway, let’s enjoy the film while we can before Mum needs me upstairs,’ Grace said, keen to move the conversation on. Phil lifted his arm away from around her shoulders and swivelled his body on the sofa until he was facing her.

      ‘How about I need you upstairs?’ he grinned, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively as he picked a stray curl of red hair away from her face. ‘Come on, Gracie … bet your mum is fast asleep by now. She’s probably snoring.’ And he pressed pause on the TV remote control to cock an ear up to the ceiling, as if to prove his point. Grace swallowed her mouthful of pizza and looked at Phil. She did fancy him but, to be honest, she really didn’t feel like going to bed with him right now. She was exhausted, and with her mother in the bedroom next door of their tiny terrace house where the walls were paper thin … well, it just didn’t feel right.

      ‘Not tonight, Phil. It’s late and I have work in the morning. And I’m tired, I was up again with Mum last night and—’

      ‘You see! There you go again …’ Phil sat back and folded his arms like a petulant child.

      ‘What do you mean?’ Grace asked tentatively. She really wasn’t in the mood for this kind of conversation.

      ‘Well, I thought we had sorted all this out and agreed we would put each other first for a change, instead of you always putting your mother first. I even let you pick the film!’

      ‘I’m doing my best, Phil.’

      ‘Are you? You know, I reckon you don’t even want to put me first.’

      ‘Of course I do.’ Grace heard her voice jump up an octave. ‘But I can’t just not bother with my mother … what would become of her if I just did whatever I

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