(Chapter 10 continued)
(If you recall Charles has been into the village and has bumped into Atta. They are chatting.)
"So my mother has been keeping a secret from me and it concerns you."
"She's been keeping many things a secret and I'm only a small part of it."
"And you're not going to tell me? Or are you?"
"No, no I think I won't. I'm visiting my son who is living nearby, I often come and stay for weeks on end. I'll be happy to talk to you once she tells you but if not...then maybe we can meet for cake another time. Here is my number," she said, scribbling down a number on a napkin "I have the new iPhone 6 with 64 giggles."
"What's an iPhone?" said Charles, confused. Atta frowned at him, looking utterly baffled.
"Shall we meet tomorrow? Say 10am?"
"What makes you think she'll tell me by tomorrow?"
"Just mention the name Rufus Monroe to her and see what she says. Now drink up, you'll want to be getting back to those jumpers I expect."
He drank his cappuccino in silence, keeping his eyes low. 'Rufus Monroe' he thought, puzzled. He finished the dregs of his coffee then looked at the old woman.
"Can I ask you one question?"
"You can ask," she said shrugging her shoulders.
"What is your name?"
"Ah. Great question. Thought you'd never ask. My name is Atta."
Charles looked at her and furrowed his brow.
"Wondering where you've heard my name before?" she asked.
"No. Wondering what kind of a name Atta is. Totally bonkers if you ask me. See you tomorrow," he said as he pushed back his chair and went to pay George.
"Mother," he called as soon as he walked through the front door. There was no answer. "Mother?" he called again, determined to find her and have it out with her. "Where are you?"
Charles looked in the few rooms downstairs and saw no sign of her. He ran up the steps two at a time, even though it nearly caused his lungs to explode, and found her lying on his bed sleeping. She was clutching an old teddy of his, one he used to take everywhere with him until the age of 12. Charles frowned, it was unlike his mother to sleep in the middle of the day. He was about to walk out of the room to start on the remaining orders when he noticed something else in her hand. It was a photo of a man, a handsome man with a ruddy complexion and a warm smiling face. Whoever the man was it most definitely was not the man he had once called father. He went to leave again but this time haltered because of the sight of an empty bottle of pills on his bed side table.
Two hours later and they were in the hospital, Suzannah having had her stomach pumped and Charles having had the fright of his life. They had caused quite a stir amongst the national trust guests when the ambulance arrived, and when his mother got carried away on a stretcher. At the time he had been too concerned to care but now his cheeks flushed with the humiliation.
His mother was sleeping now, the doctors informed him that it would take some time for the pills to flush out completely in her system. He stayed by her side and held her hand, willing her to wake up, willing her to be ok. If anything ever happened to his mother...she was all he had, he should never have shouted at her or stormed out like that. He cried and a giant tear fell and landed on the bed.
The kindly nurse who had taken charge once they were taken to the ward saw Charles upset and waddled over to comfort him. She was 8 months pregnant and felt every step. She rubbed his back however and bent over as far as her stomach would allow.
"Is there anything I can do for you?" she asked in her Lancashire accent. "Is there someone I can call?"
Charles knew, later on when he recalled the whole scenario, that he wasn't thinking straight, and that if he was to ask anyone to come in that it would be someone like Jane, the national trust coordinator that they spoke to regularly, or Mr Timms the closest neighbour that they had who occasionally made them jam from the plums he grew in his garden. But never in a million years should he have called the number on the napkin in his pocket.
"Yes, could you call this number please? She has an iPhone 6 with 64 giggles and her name is Atta."
Chap 11
Agatha
The small company sat down at the table and looked at the food in front of them. Agatha had finished serving the final bits of food - the veg, gravy, though only after spending 20 minutes bleaching the kitchen after the mouse debacle. She looked around at the food she had so lovingly prepared and felt quite dismayed. It looked awful...the Turkey was greasy looking, the potatoes had gone soft, the cranberry sauce had a weird shine over the top. The marks and spencer stuffing balls she had tried to pretend were hers were looking quite well however. She let out a deflated sigh and looked at her guests.
"You know what," she said, "forget it. It all looks gross, I wouldn't feed it to a dog. Just go home, it's not worth it."
"No, it doesn't look that bad," said Ben, reaching across the table to touch her hand.
"You're very kind but it really does. It's started snowing outside and there's every possibility that it won't stop. You don't want to be stranded here with me in this tiny flat. That would be an unmitigated failure."
"It was an unmitigated failure when you brought out those starters...what were they?" This from Ruby, ever the tactful one.
"They were a recipe I made up...it should've worked. But thanks for your honesty," Agatha said, without a trace of sarcasm or anger.
"Maybe we should go," said Charles, "I mean I need to get back to mother and if I'm snowed in on Christmas Eve she will never talk to me again."
"We're not leaving," said Ben "we are having a quick bite to eat and then we'll finish what we came here to do. It never snows that bad in England and it's not going to start tonight of all nights."
Agatha looked at him gratefully for his support but really wished they would all go so she could put her pjs on and cry into the nice bottle of wine that Charles had hidden around the flat somewhere. He must have thought she hadn't noticed but she would make sure that he left it for her if it was the last thing she did.
She sighed again.
"Look, how about we skip all this and just have dessert. It's a particularly tasty Christmas pudding. While we're eating it I can deal with the necessary arrangements and then you can go. Go back to the wonderful lives you must all lead, and then we never have to cross paths again. Deal?"
Charles.
"Rightio," said Charles, infinitely relieved. He hoped that Agatha hadn't found the bottle of red that he had secretly stashed away in a shoe cupboard in the spare room. He refrained from rubbing his hands together with glee.
Ruby
'Finally, a sensible suggestion. I can get the hell out of here.' Ruby thought. Everybody looked at her with varied expressions... "I thought out loud again didn't I?" she said.
Ben
Ben felt a small twinge of something at Agathas words. 'What was it?' he thought. He looked at his hostess with her beautiful eyes and delicate wrists and realised that maybe he didn't want to leave and never see her again. She was...really quite sweet. But he couldn't out stay his welcome so he resigned himself to another Christmas with just his brother and a box set.
Agatha
Agatha bought out the steaming hot Christmas pudding and placed it on the table, in place of the turkey which had been dumped in the kitchen with the hope she might salvage some to make curry with. She wasn't too hopeful but she had learnt over the years how to be thrifty and she had to try.
The guests looked underwhelmed at her Christmas pud, but she could hardly blame them after her previous efforts of the night. She served up four helpings and dolloped the brandy sauce on top.
They all picked up their spoons cautiously, hoping that a catastrophic event would suddenly prevent them from eating it. Agatha took a bite.
Charles
The girl took a bite so Charles felt he should follow suit. He took as small a mouthful as he could without drawing attention to himself and put the spoon in his mouth. The taste was...the taste was surprisingly good. He could not contain his shocked expression.
Ruby.
'So the girl can make a Christmas pud. At least she can do something right.'This time no one looked at her so she was fairly confident she had managed to keep her thoughts inside her head.
Ben
Ben took a spoonful and grimaced. There was one thing he hated and that was Christmas pudding. And trifle. And chocolate gateaux. In fact he wasn't really a pudding kind of person. For so many years of trying to look good, stay healthy so he could wear the clothes he liked to wear, his taste buds were no longer fond of sweet things. And plus he hated raisins. But he would persevere because after the terrible night his hostess had had she deserved to know he appreciated her for something.
"You know," he said suddenly, putting down his spoon, "this one time I was out on a date with this girl and we went to a quiet little restaurant with soft music in the background and candles on the tables. The conversation was lovely, she was really nice, the food was amazing. But after the main course she asked the waiter for a glass of ice...nothing else, just ice. When it came she popped one in her mouth and crunched...really loudly, with her mouth open. I listened to her as she munched through 16 ice cubes ...I know it was 16, I counted...and by the end the whole restaurant was looking at us in pure disgust. It was then that I realised what I feared...hearing people eat. Apples, carrots, ice...it sends shivers down my spine!"
He finished with gusto and expected people to laugh. He got a disgusted look off Ruby, a puzzled face from Charles and Agatha gave a polite smile but looked back down at her pudding.
Maybe it was best that they leave soon.
Agatha
'It was a very sweet thing to do,' she thought as she took another mouthful, 'but it doesn't really come close to breaking the frozen ice of this party.'
"What is it about mice then," Ben asked, trying to cover up his belly flop of a story.
"Oh...oh I'd rather not talk about it if that's ok? I um...I don't like to dwell on it, I just don't like them. Now excuse me a moment while I go and get something that nan left."
Agatha practically ran to the bedroom where she had kept the letter..the place she kept all her treasured things ...mementos, photos, shoes. She opened the drawer and found to her surprise the bottle of wine that Charles had brought. She had a moment of feeling triumphant and took it back out, hiding it instead in the box seat that was against the window. It had a secret compartment, a lid that opened up. She mostly kept rugs and cushions in there but it was a perfect place to hide an expensive looking bottle of wine. Then she went back to the drawer, moved her most favourite shoes aside and found the letter, beautifully written in her nans handwriting. She held it in her hands, treasuring this moment that she had waited for for over 6 months. She wished she could just get them to leave so she could savour this moment on her own, rather than with 3 strangers. Agatha found herself wondering yet again what her nan had been up to when she plotted all of this. She sniffed the letter, taking in the smell of the paper, the mustiness of the drawer but also smelling the perfume that her nan always wore. She felt a tear roll down her cheek and drop onto the letter, and there she let it stay.
Chapter 12
1 year ago
Agatha
"Miss Monnow, James Black won't give me back the car and I had it first. And he said I smelt of wee wee."
Agatha looked at the little girl in front of her and smiled, her unnatural but never ending patience with these children her most greatest gift. She knelt down and looked the child in the eye.
"Now Rose we know that telling tales is not very nice is it? Now let's go together and ask James to give you the car back, ok? Come on then," she said and took the little girls hand.
James Black - black by name, black by nature. He was from a large family with 4 older brothers and a father who worked away for much of the year. His mother tried her best but the behaviour of her youngest child left a lot to be desired.
"James," Agatha said sweetly as she approached the boy who was hitting another boy on the head with the car he was taken, "James we don't hit do we?" She went to take the car from him but he swung his arm away from her and hit her in the eye.
"Oopth," he said, stopping in his tracks at seeing his teacher covering her eye and trying not to cry with the pain. The little girl Rose burst into tears however and ran away crying "Miss Monnow has a baddy, James Black did it!" to the nearest nursery school teacher.
Agatha groaned, this would mean an accident report, a health and safety report and the boy's mother would have to be informed, just what she needed with another baby on the way.
"It's ok Rose, I'm fine," she called after the little girl who thankfully had run to Elsie, a trusted friend of Agathas who also would not want the hassle of filling out reports.
"Thorry mith Monroe," he said with genuine concern in his eyes.
"That's ok James, it was an accident. But did you take the car from Rose?"
"Yeth mith Monroe but only becauth she took it from me firtht. I wath jutht playing with it and she thnatched it away."
"Did you also call her a name?"
"Yeth, I called her a wee wee."
He said it with such seriousness that Agatha had to bite her lip in order not to laugh. He ran off from her at that moment before she had a chance to reprimand him for the name calling but she let him go. He was a sweet lad really, just needed some love and one on one time.
Elsie came over at that moment with a wailing Rose clinging to her leg, concerned look on her face.
"You alright love?" she asked.
"Oh yes, of course I am. You know me, resilient to the end. Rose," she said firmly, turning to the girl, "stop that crying. I'm fine, look, nothing wrong with me." She removed her hand from her eye but it must have looked bad because it made Rose scream even louder and even Elsie wrinkled up her nose, wincing at the sight.
The nursery manager, Victoria had started to notice the commotion and Agatha knew that it would be any moment before she came over to see what was wrong. One sniff of trouble and Agatha would be filling out forms all night. And she had plans.
"Right Rose," she said suddenly, an idea forming in her mind, "why don't you do some face painting on me, make me into a beautiful butterfly or a flower."
"Like a rose?" she hiccuped.
"Yes, like a rose! Come on, let's go over here." She led the girl to the craft cupboard and found the face paints, which they only used on special occasions, and let her paint her face with many colours. Victoria seemed content that everything was ok and in no time at all Agathas bruise was covered in bright green and pink smudges.
A few hours later and Agatha was driving in her battered old VW beetle - which she likes to call vintage - in the rain to her favourite place in the whole wide world. A place with Christmas cinnamon smells the whole year round, a place with freshly baked scones no matter how late notice it is that you're dropping by and a place with a happy, funny, wonderful woman who could sort any problem out with a good ear to listen and a funny story for every bad situation.
Agatha parked outside and locked the door, praying that the lock wouldn't stick like it did most rainy days. The key had survived so she skipped happily up the path to her grandmothers quaint little terraced Victorian cottage which had ivy growing on the outside and had a grand front door with stained glass windows. She rapped out her fondest knock and waited for the familiar creak of the doors inside and the mumbling she always made as she shuffled her way. Her grandmother was in her late 80s but she was a bright thing, fully in control of her life and her faculties. She often went out, catching the bus, train or taxi, visiting friends of old who could not leave their house, making new friends on the way, collecting them and their stories like stamps. She loved people and attracted them wherever she went. In fact Agatha had something of a reputation when it came to her grandmother. People would stop her in the street, complete strangers and hug her or shake her hand or occasionally kiss her on the cheek. She was one of the most popular people in the town, purely because of Atta Monroe.
Agatha knocked again, concerned that she couldn't hear her on the other side of the door. After another minute Agatha started fishing round in the bottom of her bag for the spare key. She wasn't worried, occasionally her nan had been too busy in the guest room doing her yoga DVD in nothing but a thong. That had been something of a shock but Atta just carried on the stretch she was doing until she had quite finished. Another time Agatha had burst in because she could hear screams but her nan and the local creep Old man Taylor were just in her front room with the curtains shut watching scary films. They'd had the sound up loud because he was hard of hearing. So Agatha wasn't too worried about how her grandmother was...just worried about what she would find her doing this time.
She opened the door and called out cautiously but heard nothing back. Frowning, she walked from room to room, unable to find her downstairs. Agatha thought she heard something in the front bedroom so climbed the stairs slowly, not wanting to startle her nan or cause her to have kittens over being interrupted again.
But when Agatha got to the top her heart nearly stopped. She could see an unmoving foot. She ran to the room and pushed open the door, and cried out at seeing her precious nan lying on the floor with her dressing gown on with what appeared to have been a stroke.
The ambulance arrived quickly and took the both of them directly to the hospital. Agatha was in a state of shock and kept looking at the paramedics as though they were speaking Greek to her. There were decisions to be made, phone calls to be made, but Agatha couldn't deal with any of it. When they got to the hospital the staff rushed her nan away from her and a nurse came and took her to one side, partly to get her out of the way and partly to ask some vital questions.
"Come on love, let's sit over here. Can I ask you some questions?"
Agatha just looked at her blankly, struggling to focus on the speaker of the voice.
"Come on pet, we just need to find out a few things about your nan. Are you the next of kin or is there someone else we should call?"
"My dad. Call my dad."
"Ok love, have you got his number there?"
Agatha gave the nurse her phone with the number and she went to the nurses station to make the call. When she came back she handed her a sweet cup of tea.
Agatha laughed when she took a sip, appreciating the irony in the situation. The nurse looked at her through narrowed eyes.
"Sorry, it's just that...my nan swears by sweet tea when you've had a shock."
"Sounds like your nan knows what she's talking about."
"Will she be ok?"
"I can't say that pet, but we'll do everything we can for her. Lots of people get through a stroke and have great lives."
"She's the most important person in the world to me. I can't lose her."
Agatha choked down the sobs and took another sip of tea.
An hour later her father burst through the door. Agatha was staring into space when he arrived, had not even noticed the disturbance.
"Aggie," he cried, running over and sweeping her up into a great bear hug.
She held him tightly and cried into his strong, familiar smelling shoulder. He had been at home watching the rugby probably, and thrown his work clothes on which would have been the easiest thing to find.
"Oh Aggs," he said, finally pulling away from her to look into her eyes.
"How is she?"
"I don't know dad, they won't tell me anything. They wanted you, you're her next of kin."
"Let's go and see them now, together."
They walked to the nurses station and waited for someone to be available for them. Everyone seemed to be on the phone or dealing with patients.
"You're looking good Aggs, really good."
"Thanks dad. How's Molly?"
"Yeah, she's...ok." Her dad smiled awkwardly at her but it didn't make Agatha smile back.
"She wants a baby actually. I keep telling her that I'm too old but she's desperate and you know what she's like when she gets an idea in her head."
"Well that's what happens when you marry a woman half your age."
"Don't start Aggs, not now."
They continued to wait in silence, Agatha unable to speak for fear of saying something she would regret. She was tired, stressed and worried...really worried. She bit her lip, an old habit of hers, and started shifting from foot to foot.
"Come on, come on," she muttered impatiently.
"Alright love, they're busy. Give them a break."
"I just want to know what's wrong with Nan. She'll hate being in here, I want to take her home."
"She won't be coming home tonight love, not if it was a stroke."
"It probably wasn't, they can't say until they've done tests and stuff."
Her dad kept quiet, not wanting to distress his daughter further. He put his arm around her and pulled her into him, something she found hard to resist.
Finally a nurse came over and spoke to them about the early prognosis the doctors had made. It did appear to have been a stroke and by all probability a bad one.
"But look, people recover from strokes all the time. It'll take some hard work and dedication but there's no reason why she can't gain back a good portion of her life."
The nurse was trying to help, Agatha knew this, but she didn't know Atta Monroe like they did. She didn't know how independent she was, and how sociable she was, and how many people relied on her. There did not seem to be any positives in this situation and Agatha felt desperation roll over her in a tidal wave.
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