‘Hey, let’s not get carried away here. Out of bed means a short stagger on a walking frame, not the Great North Run. It’s going to be a long road back to anything like I was before.’
Carol snorted. ‘You make it sound like you were Paula Radcliffe. Come on, Tony, you were hardly the Rambling Boy of Bradfield.’
‘Maybe not. But I had a great action,’ he said, his upper body miming an athletic movement.
‘And you will have again,’ Carol said indulgently. ‘Pretty good day, then.’
‘More or less. My mother stopped by, which does take the shine off any given twenty-four hour period. Apparently, I own half of my grandmother’s house.’
‘You’ve got a granny as well as a mother that I don’t know about?’
‘No, no. My grandmother died twenty-three years ago. When I was still at university. Half a house would have come in quite handy then. I was always skint,’ he said vaguely.
‘I’m not sure I’m following this,’ Carol said.
‘I’m not sure I did either, not entirely. I think I’m still a little less than morphine-free. But what I understood my mother to say is that her mother left me half of her house when she died. It seems to have slipped my mother’s mind. It’s been rented out for the last twenty-three years, but my mother thinks it’s time to sell it and she needs my signature on the documents. Of course, whether I’ll ever see a penny of the proceeds is another matter.’
Carol stared at him in disbelief. ‘That’s theft, you know. Technically speaking.’
‘Oh, I know. But she is my mother.’ Tony wriggled himself more comfortable. ‘And she’s right. What do I need money for? I have everything I need.’
‘That’s one way of looking at it.’ She dumped a carrier bag on the bed-table. ‘All the same, I can’t say I approve.’
‘My mother is a force of nature. Approval’s irrelevant, really.’
‘I thought your mother was dead. You’ve never spoken about her, you know.’
Tony looked away. ‘We never had what you’d call a close relationship. My gran did most of the hands-on child rearing.’
That must have been strange. How was it for you?’
He squeezed out a dry little laugh. The Yorkshire translation of
Carol harrumphed. ‘You men are such wimps. I bet you never went to bed cold or hungry.’ Tony said nothing, unwilling to invite either anger or pity. Carol pulled a wooden box from the bag, opening it up to reveal a chess set. Tony frowned, bemused. ‘Why are you setting up a chess board?’ he said.
‘It’s what intelligent people are supposed to do when one of them is in hospital.’ Carol’s tone was firm.
‘Have you been secretly watching Ingmar Bergman films, or what?’
‘How hard can it be? I know the moves, I’m sure you do too. We’re both smart. It’s a way of exercising our brains without working.’ Carol continued to lay out the pieces without pause.
‘How long have we known each other?’ Tony was laughing now.
‘Six, seven years?’
‘And how often have we played any kind of game, never mind chess?’
Now Carol paused. ‘Didn’t we once…No, that was John and Maggie Brandon.’ She shrugged. ‘Never, I guess. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t.’
‘You’re wrong, Carol. There are very good reasons why we shouldn’t.’
She leaned back. ‘You’re afraid I’ll beat you.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘We both like winning too much. That’s just one of the reasons.’ He pulled his notepad and pen towards him and started scribbling.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m going to humour you,’ he said absently as he wrote. ‘I’m going to play a game of chess with you. But first, I’m going to write down why it will be a disaster.’ He carried on writing for a couple of minutes, tore off the page and folded it in half. ‘Let’s do it, then.’
Now it was Carol’s turn to laugh. ‘You’re joking, right?’
‘Never more serious.’ He picked up a white and a black pawn, muddled them in his hands and offered her his fists. Carol chose white, and they were off.
Twenty minutes later, they were down to three pieces each and a long tedium of strategy beckoned. Carol let out a huge breath. ‘I can’t take it. I resign.’ Tony smiled and handed her the piece of paper. She opened it and read aloud. ‘I take far too long to make a move because I’m exploring all the possibilities four moves ahead. Carol plays kamikaze, trying to get as many pieces off the board as possible. When there are hardly any pieces left and it’s clear it’s going to take for ever, Carol gets bored and cross and resigns.’ She dropped the paper and gently punched his arm. ‘You bastard.’
‘Chess is a very clear mirror of how individuals think,’ Tony said.
‘But I’m not a quitter,’ Carol protested.
‘Not in real life, no. Not when there’s something meaningful at stake. But when it’s just a game, you can’t see the point of expending all that energy with no guarantee of a result.’
