Chasing Angels by Meg Henderson Read Free Book Online

destruction of the nerves in his spine from the waist down with booze.
She was dragged back for the first time five years ago, but not permanently, it would never be permanent, she’d made sure his doctors understood that. Having already escaped and made a life
for herself she was determined that she wouldn’t go back and spend what was left of Con’s life at his beck and call, and she made it clear that she gave not a fig what anyone thought.
Old Aggie would’ve had a field day if she’d still been alive. Kathy remembered how Aggie had defended Con at every turn, he was a good man, a man who needed to be looked after, one of
nature’s victims.
    ‘Yer arse in parsley!’ Kathy had replied. ‘He’s an alkie, that’s a’. Wance ye’ve said that ye’ve said everythin’ aboot ma Da!’
    ‘May God forgive you!’ Aggie shouted, crossing herself. ‘He’s a heavy drinker, but he’s no’ an alkie!’
    ‘Ye’ve nae need tae tell me how heavy he is, Aggie,’ Kathy replied bitterly. ‘Ah’ve had tae lift him aff the floor an’ carry him tae his bed often enough.
Naebody hastae tell me how heavy a drinker he is!’
    But Aggie was long gone when Con at last made his exit, the name of his long-lost son on his lips, though Kathy had no doubt she would be hovering about somewhere, celestially investing her
son-in-law’s final tragedy with as much saccharine sympathy as he would himself. Kathy had looked after him during those last months, but she had refused to leave her life in Glenfinnan when
he first became ill, so, as his ungrateful daughter had declined to become involved, a battery of carers took over Old Con’s life. He had a home help every day, district nurses to attend to
his needs and check his skin daily for bedsores, because having no feeling he didn’t know when it was time to move from one buttock to the other. Doctors arrived regularly to check on his
urinary catheter and to treat the frequent infections that flared up, and over the next five years he would be admitted to hospital as and when various bugs became resistant to his usual
antibiotics. He quickly adapted to being looked after – why not? He’d been looked after all his life – and soon he had become mentally institutionalised, his entire world
revolving around his condition and his little band of helpers. He played the role of the feisty little man to perfection, the plucky little martyr singled out for yet more terrible suffering, and
humbly prepared to accept his lot, as long as everyone understood how feisty, plucky and humble he was being. He became a great favourite with the Royal Infirmary staff. They said he wouldn’t
walk again, but he had hoisted himself to his feet and learned to throw his weight from numb leg to numb leg with the aid of a zimmer, which was why they didn’t want to amputate his leg if it
could be avoided. Such spirit in adversity, they said, and when he was treated for the inevitable urine then kidney infections, they were touched by his gratitude for all they did for him. And that
sense of humour! He must be a joy, a right card to live with!
    Kathy made sure she couldn’t confirm or deny either opinion, keeping in touch by phone and the odd visit from the West Coast. She’d had enough of caring for Old Con, she’d done
it almost all her life in one way or another, and having once departed there was no way she would go back. And the medical people caring for him made their displeasure very clear in a hundred
different little ways, all of which Kathy ignored. Much of the criticism being voiced behind her back centred, she knew, on the fact that she had no other family responsibilities. She was the
spinster daughter with no one and nothing else in her life, and therefore little to do but care for her ailing father, who had, as far as they were concerned, provided for her all her life. They
couldn’t understand how anyone, least of all his own daughter, could be ambivalent about such a