Chapter 36

Margaret sat back in the taxi as it crawled through the streets on its way to Christopher's care home, and she stared out the window at the passing buildings, lost in thought. They drove past a church where the congregants were streaming out, smiling and greeting each other with Christmas wishes. Ah yes, Christmas Day; she remembered attending Christmas Day services at this very church when she and Christopher had lived in London, and she wondered if she would have recognised any of the congregants had she dropped in for some words of spiritual comfort.

Spiritual comfort … God knew she needed something to lift her spirits. These past weeks in London had been some of the most difficult of her life. She had never felt so alone, with no one to comfort her through the long hours spent in hospital where Christopher had been recovering, if it could be called that, after the procedure that Martin's colleague had performed. It was supposed to clear the blockages that were causing his small strokes, and they told her that it had been successful. Martin had confirmed their assessment, but he also cautioned that Christopher had already experienced extensive damage by the time they had arrived in London. Now, he seemed to be slipping deeper into senility.

It was challenging enough to watch that happen and know that he would no longer be able to take care of her, but she was concerned that there might be no one to step in once he was gone. Martin had grudgingly taken her to visit Christopher's solicitor and his bankers, and he had helped her set up a schedule to follow to pay their bills and such, but it was all so confusing. She would have to rely on him to take over once Christopher had died, but he was so unpleasant about the entire situation that she dreaded that day when it would inevitably come.

The only bright light in her life at the moment was her friend Carlotta, who was in town to spend the holidays with her son and his family. They had met for lunch several times in the past two weeks and Carly had even accompanied Margaret one afternoon to visit Christopher. She was all sympathy for Margaret's plight. She had been through something similar when her first husband, Reginald had died a number of years ago. He had been in a coma for several months after a tragic car accident and Carly had spent those months by his side in hospital and then in a care facility. Margaret had to listen patiently as she recounted over and over all the hospitalizations and procedures that Reginald had to endure. It had become a tedious litany, but it was a small price to pay for having some company in this big city.

Carly had even invited her to spend Christmas Eve with her family and several other guests. It was a delightful respite from the dreariness of the care home and the loneliness of her stylishly furnished but impersonal flat. Of course, Carly's grandchildren, the twins, were completely out of hand. Whatever happened to the old adage that children should be seen and not heard? Fortunately, they were ushered off to bed by eight pm with the reminder that Father Christmas would only come if they were sound asleep. After they were snug in their beds, drinks were served and the real festivities began. Several colleagues of Carly's son were invited and one of them, Wilson Margate, a senior solicitor in his firm was especially attentive to Margaret which made the evening even more enjoyable. He had hinted that he would enjoy meeting for lunch one day and she had let him know that she would like that very much.

Carly and her husband Geoffrey were planning to attend a Boxing Day party at the home of some old friends and they had asked Margaret to join them. She was hoping to make some new acquaintances at that event as well. Carly had met Geoffrey at one such event only months after her first husband had passed. If Margaret were able to meet one or two single men at one of these events all the better. It wouldn't hurt to get a head start on husband number two. Perhaps she wouldn't be so dependent on Martin if she could find another husband. Some might consider her attitude inappropriate, even crass, while Christopher was still alive, she reflected with a sniff, but she needed to be practical if she were to land on her feet after his passing.

In the meantime, it was Christmas Day and she was expected to spend at least a portion of the day with Christopher. After the taxi dropped her off, she opened the door to the care home where he had been placed after spending nearly four weeks in hospital. They were lucky to have snagged a room in this particular facility, considered one of the best in London. It was light and airy and the staff was competent and caring, but she hated every minute that she had to spend there. She longed to be back home, back in their villa in Portugal, preparing for their annual holiday party. If he had to get ill, why couldn't it have been after the new year.

She walked down the hall leading to Christopher's room, barely noticing the fairy lights strung up near the ceiling and over the doorways to each room. The holiday decorations were tastefully done and the music wafting from the speakers set up throughout the facility leaned toward classic Christmas carols. No "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer" would ever blare from those speakers. Carly's grandchildren couldn't get enough of that tune the day before when she visited for Christmas Eve dinner. No, no amount of holiday cheer could lift the despair that followed her down the hall past room after room occupied by the desperately ill and disabled. Thank God Christopher was given a private room; so many of the rooms were doubles and there was no telling with whom one might find sharing the room. Things could be worse, she kept reminding herself.

"Put on a happy face." That was the advice the doctors' and nurses gave her to help Christopher keep a positive attitude, to aid in his recovery. That was one thing she knew how to do. She had been putting on a happy face for years through all of the dinners with hospital donors, stuffy bankers and arrogant financiers. She knew how to be charming when she had to be; her mother had instilled the importance of a welcoming visage long before her coming out.

She opened the door to his room and noticed that he was sitting upright in an armchair with the television tuned to a golf tournament. "Well that should improve his spirits. He loves his golf." She put on her happy face and walked over to the bed and greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. "Happy Christmas, dear."

"Yes, yes, Happy Christmas to you too, although I don't know what's happy about it. When can we go home? I'm itching to get back on the course. Look at these players, none of them are any good in the traps, and they can't sink a putt. I could out play them any day of the year."

He picked nervously at the edge of the blanket the staff had placed over his lap and glared at her, "Where's Martin. He needs to get me out of here. I haven't seen him in weeks. What kind of a son is he to leave me languishing here in this dump?"

"Now Christopher, you aren't well." She replied to this rant with a sweet smile on her face, effused with concern.

"Well, where is he? He should be checking in every day. He could give me the right treatments, that's what our doctor in Portugal said … Ellingham is the best, and then he pawns me off on an underling."

"Christopher, you know it's unethical for him to treat a family member. He says Mr. Brendall is excellent. He trained him himself."

Christopher wouldn't let this go. He had been ranting about Martin's lack of concern for weeks even when Martin was in town and making frequent checks.

"Martin was here late last week, just before he left for the holiday."

"Left where?"

"I told you before, he went to Cornwall with his family for the holidays." His memory lapses were getting worse; she had told him that Martin was in Cornwall every day for the past four days.

He twisted his hand into a fist and punched the air as he grimaced. "Ah right … married that fisherman's daughter, breeding with her, spawning out one brat after another. Disgusting. Isn't he head of department? He should be here watching over things." Evidently his memory wasn't quite as bad as she thought, or perhaps it was just selective. Whatever it was, it was becoming very tiresome.

After he had found James' picture and she had told him that Martin was married with two children, they had never discussed Martin's family, that is, until they first consulted with Martin over a month ago, when Martin had to make a quick exit to attend his wife as she gave birth to their third child.

"Why ever is he gone to Cornwall in the winter?" he had demanded.

She explained, "You remember Joan left him the farm when she passed, and his wife grew up in Portwenn. It's their holiday home."

"Wife's probably a fisherman's daughter. Did Joan introduce them?"

"No, they met here in London, as I understand it, in hospital." Should she tell him that Louisa actually was a fisherman's daughter? No, that bit of information would really set him off.

"Joan married that farmer, no sense at all. She probably encouraged Martin to marry below his station just to spite me … dreadful woman. We should never have let him spend those summers with her on the farm."

Margaret needed to distract him and she looked at her watch. It was nearly noon. "They will be serving Christmas dinner in the dining room in just a few minutes. Why don't we go down there and join in the festivities?"

"I'm not properly dressed."

"You look very nice, very festive in your wool trousers and red Christmas jumper, very dashing if I do say so myself. You'll be the most handsome man there."

Christopher pulled himself up proudly, "Yes, that's true. Most of these blokes here are ancient, hunched over relics of their former selves. I'm still hale and fit, just have to recover from this surgery and I'll be back out on the course."

Margaret retrieved his wheelchair from the corner where it sat and wheeled it over to his bedside. "Perhaps I should call one of the aides to help you out of the chair."

"No need. I can manage it." He started to pull himself up, but was unable to rise more than an inch or so before dropping back down, but he continued to try. "Damn chair. It's too low. Come over here and help me."

Margaret had slipped out into the hall to ask for an aide before she fetched the chair, and she now stepped back from his side and replied with consideration,"Now Christopher, you know I'm not strong enough to lift you. An aide should be here momentarily."

In an effort to distract him, she turned toward the television, "Now tell me about this match. Who is playing?"

The ploy worked and he began to tell her all about it, pointing out the various players along with their handicaps and their position on the board. What he saw in this game eluded her, as it always had; but if it kept him engaged and distracted from his current situation, then she wasn't going to complain. The aide was slower than she had anticipated and it was a good five minutes before they were able to wheel him down the hall to the dining room to enjoy the surprisingly delicious institutional Christmas dinner.

Just as she had thought, he was able to enjoy the company of the other patients. He was always a very social person, never met a stranger, and the limitations his stroke had placed on his memory and logic didn't seem to affect his ability to make new friends. Thank God, she thought to herself as she watched him charm the dining room staff and his fellow diners. He looked like the Christopher of old, the one she fell in love with all those years ago. She remembered some of the wonderful times they had had and briefly grieved their loss. What had happened to them? It was all Martin's fault, and soon she would be dependent on him. Life really wasn't fair.