Short story

Silent Movies

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‘I would like you to take me to the meadow, Angie dear, before I die.’

 

Gran sits in her wheelchair in her Sunday lunch outfit. Dark green velvet dress, several rows of pearls round her neck and a beige knitted cardigan. Her white hair is tightly curled, framing her pale, deeply leathered face. I often wonder how she manages to look so neat.

 

‘Of course, Gran,’ I say. ‘When it’s a warm, sunny day we’ll take a trip through the garden.’

 

Gran stares at me through sightless eyes. ‘No, dear. I want you to take me now.’

 

I put down my book. ‘OK. It’s a bit chilly. You’ll need a coat.’

‘Get me my shawl, dear. That will do. I want you to describe to me all you can see as we go.’

 

Mum is busy in the kitchen. I tell her where I am going and wheel Gran down the slope to the croquet lawn. That’s what Dad calls it anyway. We have a croquet set in the garage which comes out occasionally when he wants to impress people. That’s if he’s here at all.

 

‘You write such nice stories dear. Describe our little journey. What do you see now?’

‘We’re at the lawn, Gran. The path curves gently to the right. A little further on there is the flower bed. I’m not very good with flowers’ names but there are reds and yellows and purples.’

‘Sedum, hollyhocks and Bizzy Lizzy I expect dear. Flowers tend towards red as the summer fades but are mainly blue in spring. At the height of summer, anything goes.’

‘Did you plant them yourself?’

‘Most of them. With your Granddad, when he was alive. When do you go to university?’

‘In a few weeks.’

‘It feel’s darker now.’

‘We’re reaching the trees, Gran.’

‘Ah yes, the oaks and the birches. Is your father going to take you?’

‘Take me?’

‘To university.’

‘I don’t know. He hasn’t mentioned it.,’

 

Gran gives a barely audible snort. ‘He’s hardly ever here to say anything.’

 

‘He’s got a busy job, Gran’

‘He should be here with his family on a Sunday.’

‘He’s in Abu Dhabi.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘What do you mean, Gran?’

‘Tell me what the birches are like. They were small saplings when I last saw them.’

‘They’re towering above us. They look like silver lances.’

‘Your father was always like that. Never had time for anybody but himself. It’s our fault for spoiling him. He was a very late baby, you know. We didn’t think we’d have any children.’

‘We’re nearly at the meadow now, Gran’

‘The first film I ever saw was a silent picture. I suppose you call them movies now. Funny how things turn out. Sound is all I’ve got now.’ I said nothing. After a while she said, ‘What are the clouds like?’

‘They’re chasing each other. Some are like cotton wool but mostly they’re being swallowed up by blankets of pale grey. Are you warm enough Gran?’

‘Yes thank you dear. Tell me about the meadow.’

‘The grass is tall and parched, swaying like wheat. The path has almost disappeared. Shall we go to the bench?’

‘We’ve had such lovely times here, haven’t we dear?’

‘Yes Gran.’

‘Your father took your mother for walks down here many times. He proposed to her in this very meadow. Sometimes I could hear her laughing. She doesn’t laugh now. She cries occasionally.’

‘I’ve never seen her cry.’

‘No dear. She hides it from you. Your father is not being totally honest I’m ashamed to say. Turn me towards the sunlight dear.’

‘What are you talking about, Gran.’

 

Gran remains silent. She is facing the two apple trees that have managed to plant themselves some years ago at the edge of the meadow. I sit on the bench. Some of the wooden slats are broken. Dad keeps promising to repair it but Mum has stopped asking now.

 

‘Do you like my set of dolls and teddy bears?’ Gran asks.

‘Yes they’re lovely. Bit old for me now though.’

‘To play with, perhaps. I’ve left them to you in my will. Some of them are older than me. They were made in Germany. I’ve had them valued. They could put you through university if needed.’

‘I wouldn’t sell them, Gran.’

‘I don’t mind if you do. They’re for you to do as you wish. This house I have left to your mother.’

 

I can think of nothing to say. Gran is a lovely old lady. We get on so well. And now I’m being told things like we’re sisters. I feel a boundary’s been crossed. It isn’t comfortable.

 

‘What about Dad?’

‘Your father will need to fend for himself. As he’s always done.’

‘What do you mean, Gran? You want Dad to leave the house?’

‘That will be up to your mother.’

‘Why are you telling me all this? Do Mum and Dad know?’

‘No. Only you. Keep it to yourself. They’ll know soon enough. But I wanted to be sure you understood. You do understand what I’m saying Angie dear.’

‘I think so Gran.’

‘I’m very tired now. I might sleep a little.’

 

The clouds are getting sombre and the sun shines weakly as though through a gauze cloth. I feel cold.

 

‘I think we’d better be getting back, Gran.’ I say but there’s no answer.

 

I release the brake and turn the wheelchair round. The meadow has been left uncultivated for as long as I can remember. It has turned itself into a nature reserve and got me interested in Botany. Pity a degree in the subject is never going to get me rich. Neither will Dad be now it seems. Gran is so unhappy with him and I refuse to guess why. The wheelchair bumps over the uneven ground and Gran’s head lolls forward, rests on her chest and stays there. Her right arm falls and lays untidily across her lap.

 

‘Are you all right, Gran?’

 

There is silence. Not even the quiet sniffling snore she gives out while trying to watch television.

 

‘Gran, Gran.’

 

I touch her shoulder but she remains still. I push the wheelchair carefully back to the house and run to find Mum. I suppose it’s all up to her now.