Whiteout - Ken Follett [57]
Toni hoped Mother would be all right at Bella’s place. Bella was an amiable slattern, and Mother never seemed to mind her ways. Mother had always been happy to visit the windy Glasgow council estate and eat undercooked fries with her grandchildren. But she was now in the early stages of senility. Would she be as philosophical as ever about Bella’s haphazard housekeeping? Would Bella be able to cope with Mother’s increasing waywardness?
Once when Toni had let slip an irritated remark about Bella, Mother had said crisply, “She doesn’t try as hard as you, that’s why she’s happier.” Mother’s conversation had become tactless, but her remarks could be painfully accurate.
After Toni had packed, she washed her hair then took a bath to soak away two days of tension. She fell asleep in the tub. She woke with a start, but only a minute or so had passed—the water was still hot. She got out and dried herself vigorously.
Looking in the full-length mirror, she thought, I’ve got everything I had twenty years ago—it’s all just three inches lower. One of the good things about Frank, at least in the early days, had been the pleasure he took in her body. “You’ve got great tits,” he would say. She thought they were too large for her frame, but he worshipped them. “I’ve never seen a pussy this color,” he once told her as he lay between her legs. “It’s like a ginger biscuit.” She wondered how long it would be before someone else marveled at the color of her pubic hair.
She dressed in tan jeans and a dark green sweater. As she was closing her suitcase, the phone rang. It was her sister. “Hi, Bella,” said Toni. “How’s Mother?”
“She’s not here.”
“What? You were supposed to pick her up at one o’clock!”
“I know, but Bernie had the car and I couldn’t get away.”
“And you still haven’t left?” Toni looked at her watch. It was half past five. She pictured Mother at the home, sitting in the lobby in her coat and hat, with her suitcase beside the chair, hour after hour, and she felt cross. “What are you thinking of?”
“The thing is, the weather’s turned bad.”
“It’s snowing all over Scotland, but not heavily.”
“Well, Bernie doesn’t want me to drive sixty miles in the dark.”
“You wouldn’t have had to drive in the dark if you’d picked her up when you promised!”
“Oh, dear, you’re getting angry, I knew this would happen.”
“I’m not angry—” Toni paused. Her sister had caught her before with this trick. In a moment they would be talking about Toni managing her anger, instead of Bella breaking a promise. “Never mind how I feel,” Toni said. “What about Mother? Don’t you think she must be disappointed?”
“Of course, but I can’t help the weather.”
“What are you going to do?”
“There isn’t anything I can do.”
“So you’re going to leave her in the home over Christmas?”
“Unless you have her. You’re only ten miles away.”
“Bella, I’m booked into a spa! Seven friends are expecting me to join them for five days. I’ve paid four hundred pounds deposit and I’m looking forward to a rest.”
“That sounds a bit selfish.”
“Just a minute. I’ve had Mother the last three Christmases, but I’m selfish?”
“You don’t know how hard it is with three children and a husband too ill to work. You’ve got plenty of money and only yourself to worry about.”
And I’m not stupid enough to marry a layabout and have three children by him, Toni thought, but she did not say it. There was no point in arguing with Bella. Her way of life was its own punishment. “So you’re asking me to cancel my holiday, drive to the home, pick up Mother, and look after her over Christmas.”
“It’s up to you,” Bella said in a tone of elevated piety. “You must do what your conscience tells you.”
“Thanks for that helpful advice.” Toni’s conscience said she should be with their mother, and Bella knew that. Toni could not