‘Two-faced cow,’ Gordon muttered under his breath.
‘I hope I didn’t get you into trouble.’
‘No problem. She has it in for me, that one. Come on, I’ll show you to Teddy.’
The room reminded her of when her mother had been ill. The sour smell of badly washed bodies mixed with the lingering stench of human waste. The room itself was narrow and long with a large window at the opposite end. A single bed was pushed against the side wall and in it lay an old man. Elizabeth stepped towards him. His rheumy eyes were open but unfocused. Wisps of grey hair sprouted from his head, while patches of stubble dotted his parchment-yellow face where he had been haphazardly shaved by a busy nurse. He looked unkempt and uncared for. His green and white pyjamas were buttoned right up to his throat. The only sound was the slow rasp of his breathing, his dry lips hung apart.
‘Now, Teddy,’ Gordon almost shouted at the old man. Elizabeth started. ‘There’s a visitor here for you. Isn’t that great?’
The old man did not seem interested in the news. His gaze didn’t shift, his breathing didn’t alter.
‘Say hello to him. Squeeze his hand. He likes that.’
Elizabeth felt uncertain. It seemed too forward, too intrusive somehow.
‘Edward,’ she said and then a little louder, ‘I’m Elizabeth.’ Reaching forward she touched his arm. It felt so warm and thin beneath the fabric of his pyjamas.
Gordon pushed a chair towards her. ‘Have a seat. I’m going to shoot off. Nice to meet you.’
‘You too, Gordon. Thanks for your help and good luck with everything.’
‘And you.’ As he left the room he turned and said, ‘Be patient. Teddy has his moments.’
Left alone with the man who was her father, Elizabeth began to question why she was here. Even if he suddenly became completely lucid what good could come from this? He knew nothing of her life and she was completely ignorant of his. All she could tell him was that her mother had told her he had died many years before and what person on their deathbed needed to hear that? With Gordon gone she felt more comfortable holding the old man’s hand. Stroking it, she repeated her name and then added quietly, ‘And I’m your daughter.’
The rasp of air entering and leaving his lungs continued like a slow, steady drum.
‘I was out at Castle House. It’s very beautiful. You must have hated leaving it.’
His gaze didn’t shift.
Elizabeth found that her eyes had filled with tears. She brusquely brushed them away. This was maudlin nonsense. She didn’t know this man or anything about him. Why should she weep for him?
‘Sorry to interrupt.’ It was Sarah Cahill at the door. ‘I was just checking everything was all right.’
‘Yes,’ Elizabeth said as brightly as she could. ‘Everything is fine.’
‘Gordon tells me you are Mr Foley’s daughter?’ Her tone suggested she needed some clarification.
‘Well, technically I am, but my parents were estranged. We never knew each other.’
‘I see. I see. Well, lovely that you got to spend time with him before it was too late.’ The Care Director seemed sincere.
‘Thank you. Yes. I never thought I’d get to meet him.’
‘If you are interested there are some old family photos that he brought in with him. It’s nice to have some personal effects in the room, if not for them, then for the staff. Makes the residents seem more like real people.’
She reached down and opened the drawer in the bedside table.
‘They’re in there. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you having a look.’
‘Thank you.’ Elizabeth spoke quietly as if the two women were sharing a secret. Sarah withdrew, closing the door gently.
A small stack of photographs was at the front of the drawer alongside a packet of Rennies and an old ballpoint pen. She picked the pictures up and placed them under the bedside lamp.
A woman sitting on a tartan rug on the beach with two little boys. That must be the dead brother, thought Elizabeth. There was something about the way his lips were slightly downturned that reminded her of Zach. She peered closer to get a better look at Mrs Foley. Her grandmother was probably younger than Elizabeth in this photograph but had the air of a pensioner with her headscarf and tightly permed hair. What was most striking however was the way she was holding her sons. They were both gripped tightly to her sides. In contrast to the wide, tooth-filled smile their mother wore, both boys looked sullen and uncomfortable. It seemed an odd picture to have kept all these years.