Lost & Found. Kitty Neale

at home.

      Before she’d gone into hospital, how her mother had been able to put on such a front when Mavis called round was beyond Lily, but rally she did. And how her daughter could be so naïve was beyond Lily too. She must have seen her grandmother fading away before her eyes, but the stupid girl had believed their story of an ulcer. An ulcer! God, if only it was that! Oh, Mum, why did you leave it so long before you saw a doctor? Why did you wait until it was too late? And when you found out—why didn’t you tell me?

      Lily knew the answer. As usual her mother had been trying to protect her. Misguided love, that’s what it was. If only her mother had told her when she’d been diagnosed. Lily groaned. She could have spent more time with her mother, but all she’d done was to pop round every day, too busy to make it a long visit. Yes, and if she hadn’t been so busy, so trapped in trying to make enough to pay the rent every week, maybe she would’ve seen what was right in front of her eyes. Why! Why hadn’t she taken more notice of her mother’s weight loss?

      When she’d found out the truth, Lily had begged her mother to move in with her, but she’d stubbornly refused. It would have made things so much easier and she could have nursed her mother at night too, but she wouldn’t even allow that, nor her suggestion that she and Mavis move in with her. Instead her close friend and fellow widow next door had taken on that role, until, finally, she became so racked with pain that the doctor had insisted she be admitted to hospital.

      Lily dashed a hand across her eyes. There was little time left, she knew that, and as soon as Mavis came home she’d go to the hospital again. Mavis, yes, she’d sent her daughter off with a flea in her ear, and now Lily felt a surge of guilt. She shouldn’t have taken it out on Mavis. It wasn’t her fault, but all that fuss about a silly painting had been the last straw.

      Had Mavis gone to Mrs Pugh’s? Lily didn’t know, but seeing how devastated her daughter had been, she doubted it. Mavis knew the truth now, so maybe she should think about taking her to the hospital, but how would her mother react?

      ‘Mavis, what is it?’ Edith asked as the girl staggered over the doorstep. Her coat was wet, filthy with mud, and her hair hung around her face like rats’ tails.

      ‘Oh, Mrs Pugh. My … my gran’s dying.’

      Edith placed an arm around Mavis’s shoulder, gently leading her through to the kitchen as she murmured, ‘How awful for you. I’m so sorry, my dear. Sit there and tell me all about it.’

      Mavis slumped onto a fireside chair, and, though the spring days were warmer than the preceding harsh winter, Edith had a small fire burning. The cold was no friend to her pain and it would be a long time yet before her hearth was left empty of the comforting flames.

      At first Mavis could barely speak, but gradually the story emerged. ‘I … I thought she was just in hospital for a small operation. Oh, Mrs Pugh, I can’t believe she’s dying.’