But Karen had contracted a variant that was resistant to the efforts of standard treatments.
“How are you feeling today, Mummy?”
Karen patted at her bare arms. She was wearing a blue cotton flower-pattern dress without any sleeves. “You know, I think I’m a little cold, dear.”
“Me too. It must be the air conditioning they’ve got in here. Shall we go for a walk in the garden? It’ll be warmer out there in the sunlight.”
“If you like, dear.” She took a last look at Nicholas Parsons and tried to raise herself out of the chair. Her thin arms trembled as she pushed her way up.
Sue took her mother’s arm and escorted her out through the French doors and onto the brick path circling the garden. The fountain in the lily pond made a loud gurgling sound as it foamed down the central statue of Venus.
“What a lovely summer it’s been,” Karen said.
“Not quite over yet, Mummy.”
“No, no, of course not. They do seem to stretch on so these days.”
“I know.” She stopped by a bed of thick scarlet rosebushes, the flowers as wide as dinner plates. “Don’t these smell lovely?”
Karen bent over to sniff one. “My sense of smell isn’t what it was, you know, dear. I must be getting old.”
“No, Mummy, you’re not.”
They moved on.
“When are you going to bring that boy around to see me again?” Karen asked. “What was his name now? Daniel, was it? I liked him. He has prospects. And you’re not getting any younger, my girl, for all you’re a pretty thing. You have to start thinking about these things now.”
Sue couldn’t help the slight sigh that eased out through her lips. Daniel Roper had been a city executive who had taken her to Italy for a couple of weekends when she was seventeen—she couldn’t even remember exactly what his job was now. “I haven’t seen Daniel for a long time, Mummy. I’m with Jeff now. You remember Jeff, don’t you?” Sue hoped her mother hadn’t seen any of the recent media reports on Jeff. God alone knew what kind of reaction that would kindle in her faltering mind. The Hall’s domestic computer had been instructed not to allow her to access any current news streams featuring the Baker family.
Karen looked around blankly at the deep turquoise sky. “Where’s Timmy? I always like it when Timmy visits.”
“Tim’s at school today, Mummy. He couldn’t come, but he sends his love.” For whatever reason, Tim never argued with her when she brought him on a monthly visit. It was as though his grandmother was a sort of neutral territory where their usual domestic war was suspended for the duration. Not that he enjoyed going; Sue never deceived herself about that. But when he talked and listened to Karen he displayed positively human traits of decency and sympathy.
They reached a tall trellis that was swamped by honeysuckle. Karen ran her hand across the long red and gold trumpet flowers. “Timmy at school? Why, he must be nearly five now. How time flies by.”
“Yes. Doesn’t it just.”
Karen gave her a pleasant, expectant smile. “Are we going home now, dear? It’s late. I must get your father’s supper ready. You know what he’s like if there’s nothing for him to eat when he gets home.”
“Just a little while longer,” Sue murmured. It took a lot of discipline not to screw her face up in despair. Over the years she’d surprised herself by how strong she could be when dealing with her mother.
Karen suddenly sucked on her lower lip as her body made a quick lurch forward. It was as though she’d tripped. Sue gripped her tighter. “Oh dear,” Karen said brokenly. She looked down at her feet.
Sue followed her gaze. A catheter bag was lying on the brick pavement between her legs.
“They’re going to be so cross with me again,” Karen said. She began to wring her hands anxiously.
“Oh Jesus.” Staring at the bag with its leaking tube, Sue fought hard to keep her poise. “How long have you been using those?”
Karen smiled happily. “Using what, dear?”
THE DIRECTOR’S OFFICE was on Mulligan Hall’s second floor, looking out over the courtyard at the front. So he doesn’t have to see the residents shuffling around the lawns, Sue thought grimly. She still hadn’t quite recovered from the shock in the garden. A couple of staff had come running when she shouted for help. Her mother was crying softly as they led her back inside. Worst of all, one of the caretakers had said: “It’s best you don’t come with us. It always takes a while to get her settled again after these episodes.”
Sue had stood numbly on the path watching her utterly bewildered mother being urged inside. Then the director’s PA had come out and walked with her up to the office.
Director Fletcher himself sat behind a wide metal desk devoid of any clutter. A single screen had rolled up out of a narrow recess, scrolling a plain text file, which he kept glancing at. To look at, he was in his midfifties, though with genoprotein treatments Sue could never quite place people’s age. That is if he was using them. He certainly wasn’t taking any of the dodgy fatrippers that were on the market; he was a large man straining the fabric of his dark gray suit and embroidered waistcoat. He still used old fashioned gold-rimmed glasses, presumably as a badge of authority. His faintly jovial air always put her in mind of some old university don.
“I do apologize once again for any distress the incident may have caused you, Mrs. Baker,” Fletcher said as soon as his assistant had left.
“It’s all right,” she said wearily. “I suppose I should have expected something like this. I still should have been told, though.”
“The lapse is entirely ours. I have been delaying this meeting for several weeks until your husband was, uh, out. This must be a very stressful time for you.”
“It’s been interesting,” Sue admitted.
“Then I’m afraid I must add to that interest. After consulting with our doctors, I have no alternative but to tell you that regrettably your mother’s condition is no longer one that Mulligan Hall can support.”
“What do you mean?”
“We are primarily a residential care home for people who need a modest degree of assistance to maintain a reasonable quality of life. Unfortunately, your mother no longer falls into that category.”
“This place is the best care facility available, that’s what you always tell me.”
“For people who remain cognizant, yes. But as we know, your mother’s condition is an unusual one. Our resident doctors have performed a really remarkable job keeping her deterioration at bay for so long. We have to accept the simple fact, Mrs. Baker, that the human body decays no matter what we do.”
“Except for Jeff,” Sue whispered.
“Quite,” the director said. “As you say, decay underwent a phenomenal reversal in your husband’s case. However, until that particular treatment is available to the rest of us, we are subject to an entropy which can only be slowed for a while by today’s genoprotein treatments. And in the case of your mother, those treatments have reached their limit.”
“What about new ones, different ones? There are thousands of genoproteins available. Money isn’t a problem.”
“Mrs. Baker, we have complete access to the latest therapies. On occasion we even help some biomedical companies with clinical trials. But even if such things were appropriate in this case, there is nothing more we can do for your mother here. I have to say very clearly to you that the overall prognosis is not good.”
“What then?” she snapped. “What is this bloody prognosis of yours? Is she going to die, is that it? Is that what you’re saying?” She hated how angry and desperate she sounded, as if confronting him would make all this not so. It made her seem pathetic.
“People suffering from Alzheimer’s can live for a considerable time. Providing they have the correct care. Mulligan Hall does not have those kind of facilities. I’m sorry.”
