Of the six patients transferred by Goulden to the Marion Unit at Kingsfield three suffered a slow decline and were moved there not long before the disease killed them. Ernest Theakston was an unknown and the other two people – Lily Palmer and Philip Braithwaite – had become ill more rapidly. Mr Braithwaite had not only had dementia but a scan had revealed a brain tumour. A biopsy had been done at the MRI but Mr Simcock felt it was too late to operate.
‘He was on tablets,’ his daughter had said, ‘to try and calm him down but there wasn’t anything else they could do for him.’ As it was the tumour hadn’t killed Mr Braithwaite: he’d caught flu while in hospital and died there.
Was Ernest Theakston dead too? It wouldn’t be unexpected. These were elderly, often frail patients, so ill that they could no longer be nursed at Aspen Lodge or Homelea.
Time for school pick-up. I still needed to ring Diane back, I wanted to give Moira a nudge over the tablets and I hadn’t done anything yet to find out more about any links between Goulden and Simcock. I didn’t get a chance to do anything until after six o’clock. The kids were both in needy mode. Tom had developed a cold, which gave him a pair of permanent green nose-candles and an uncharacteristic tendency to whine. Maddie couldn’t bear the diversion of attention and promptly came up with tummy ache and a sore ear. I dispensed drinks and toast and honey and proceeded to read stories to them – the only activity they’d both go along with.
At half-five we had beans on toast and when Ray came in I asked him to take over. He loaded Snow White into the video.
I spoke to Diane first, arranging to meet up later in the week. There was no answer from Moira’s. I rang the surgery; she’d appointments booked up until seven o’clock.
Agnes had got through to the hospital, though, and Lily was back on the ward. We could visit any time before eight o’clock but she’d still be asleep.
‘I could get a taxi,’ Agnes offered.
‘No, you’re fine,’ I replied. ‘Are you ready now?’
I explained to Ray and the children that I needed to pop out. Maddie burst into tears and clung to my leg.
‘But I don’t want you to go. I want you to put me to bed.’ She wasn’t going to listen to logic. I promised to come and check on her as soon as I got back. Together Ray and I prised her off.
‘Mummee,’ she wailed, ‘Mummee, don’t go, please, Mummee.’
My stomach curled round on itself. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’ I fled.
I was an awful mother. How could I do this to my child? And how could she make me feel so bloody awful?