Golden Hour by William Nicholson Read Free Book Online Page A

that for years she and Perry came and went through that gate twice a day.
    Oh, Perry. It’s all over now. I’ll be coming to join you soon.
    A wave of misery sweeps over her.
    What am I supposed to do?
    This is the question that torments her waking hours. Old age has taken away her ability to do things, but not her will. Always such a busy person, such an effective person, always more to do than there was time to do it. Well, when you live on your own for as long as I have you learn to do things for yourself. Many’sthe time I’ve got out a screwdriver and tightened a loose door hinge, and if I haven’t paid all the bills and always on time I don’t know who has. So what right does she have to treat me like a baby? I go to bed when I choose to go to bed, not when some bossy little woman tells me.
    Apparently I’m supposed to be grateful, but I don’t know for what. All I do is sit in a chair in the kitchen. Then for a change I go and sit in a chair in the garden. Why doesn’t anyone understand that it’s driving me insane? They think if they put me to bed and get me up and feed me that I’m well looked after. But count the hours in the day. Count the minutes in the hours. All those endless minutes, and I’m living through them, doing nothing.
    Don’t tell me my brain’s not working properly. I know what’s going on. I’m not gaga yet. She’d like you to think so, that’s her story. “Mrs. D’s not all there,” she whispers, but I can hear her. And why can’t she call me by my name? I’m not Mrs. D, thank you, I have a name like everyone else. And I’m all there all right, as you’ll find out soon enough.
    Oh, Perry. Can you hear me, Perry? I think of you all the time. I think of the walks we had together. I hear your bark. I see you curled up on your rug by my chair. You understand, don’t you, Perry? You know I’m living in hell.
    Bridget comes out with a torch. The beam of light causes the night to fall.
    â€œTime for bed, Mrs. D,” she says. “I have to be off. I’m an hour late already.”
    â€œThen be off,” says Mrs. Dickinson.
    â€œNow don’t be silly. You know you can’t go on sitting out here.”
    â€œPhone Elizabeth. Tell her to come round. There’s something I have to tell her.”
    â€œNow, Mrs. D, you know your daughter can’t just come round whenever you want.”
    â€œDo as I tell you!” says Mrs. Dickinson. She hears her own voice rising to a shriek. The effort of it leaves her breathless.
    Bridget stands there for a moment, the beam of the torch wobbling about over the grass. Then without another word she goes into the house.
    Maybe she’s walked out.
    Mrs. Dickinson’s heart lifts in momentary exultation. Her one desire these days is to force Bridget to quit her job. She’s asked Elizabeth to sack her, but Elizabeth says, “Don’t be silly, Mummy. She’s wonderful.” If she’s so wonderful, why do I hate her? Why do I want to kill her? You try living with her. You try being ordered about all the time and talked to as if you’re a baby. Just because she gets me meals doesn’t mean she keeps me alive, you know. Exactly the opposite. She’s slowly killing me. She wants me dead. But she doesn’t know me. I’m a survivor. Rex thought I’d just give up and die when he left, but I didn’t, did I? I’m still here. So just let her try, that’s all.
    Bridget comes out again, invisible behind the glare of the torch.
    â€œYour daughter says she can’t come round right now and could I get you to bed before I go.”
    â€œWhy can’t she come round?”
    â€œDon’t know. So come on, I’ll give you a hand.”
    A white hand looms toward her. Mrs. Dickinson twists her body away.
    â€œNow come on, Mrs. D. I haven’t got all night.”
    â€œI