Saturdays, she usually appeared in the garden as soon as Nesbit went out for his first sniff of the day. The morning after my dinner at Hatherstone Hall, I was on my second mug of tea and there was still no sign of her.
I decided to shower and get dressed and then call round and ask if she wanted to come on a dog walk. Before I made it up the stairs, I spotted a note pushed through the letterbox:
The girl needs checking on. She has been reading the same book for a week.
I tried to remember what Joan had been reading as she lay on her blanket in her corner spot. If it was another Tolkien, then I wouldn’t be overly concerned about it taking a week. Then again, if it had been Tolkien, Ebenezer probably wouldn’t bother telling me about it.
It was a quick shower, my hair still hanging damp down my back when I knocked on her door. After two more tries, I went around to the back and had a peer through the window. No Joan in the kitchen. At least, I thought there was no Joan. It was hard to see past all the clutter. I banged loudly on the back door a few times and eventually a tiny face peeked around the side of the door that led from the hallway into the kitchen. I gave her a wave from the window so she knew I’d seen her, and after a long moment of indecision, she opened the back door.
‘Are you okay? I was worried when you didn’t come to see Nesbit this morning.’
Nesbit, upon hearing the door open, had raced over and squeezed past Joan into the kitchen, which to a greedy puppy must have smelt like doggy heaven.
Joan went to pull his head out of a plastic bag stuffed with rubbish, so I used the opportunity to step inside. Amongst the smell of dirty dishes and stale food cartons, when I moved closer to slip Nesbit’s lead on, I caught the whiff of unwashed clothes and a body in need of a bath. Joan usually wore her hair up; this morning it hung lank and greasy over her shoulders. As she bent to pat Nesbit, the nobbles of her spine stuck out above the frayed edge of her vest top, her shoulder blades jutting painfully either side.
My innards twisted even tighter as I blinked back the shock and dismay.
‘How’s your mum?’ I asked, having got no response from my first question.
Joan shrugged, her face buried in Nesbit’s fur.
‘Is she at work?’
A nod.
‘Have you had breakfast?’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘Joan.’ I crouched down and gently placed one hand on her shoulder, using the other to move Nesbit away so I could see her face. My tone was quiet, but firm enough that she knew I wasn’t about to let this go. ‘I’m a bit worried that Mum hasn’t been feeling well again, and has been so tired she’s got behind with some of the things that need doing, like maybe the shopping or tidying up.’ I smiled, in a vain attempt to convince Joan that while I might be worried, she didn’t have to be. ‘I’m wondering if she could do with some help, just until she gets better. What do you think?’
Joan dropped her gaze to the filthy floor, her jaw clenched. ‘She’s got help. I help her. I know how to clean and cook and do the washing. And I can buy food for us after school when she’s too tired. We’re in this together; we don’t need anybody interfering!’
I nodded. ‘I understand. My mum used to say that about me and her, too. But you’re a child, Joan. You should be concentrating on school and playing with your dog and amazing books that need reading, not having to look after your mum, and take care of everything else that needs doing.’
Her bony shoulders hunched over, trying to shut out the reality that they desperately needed someone to interfere.
‘Is that what you’ve been doing this week, when you haven’t been over? Helping Mum with the cooking and other things?’
Despite her furious frown, a tear managed to escape and slip down the side of her face.
I took hold of her hand. It was stiff and unresponsive, but I gently held it anyway.
‘We all need a bit of extra help sometimes, and that’s okay. Look at me – I’ve had so much help from you with Nesbit, and Yasmin. Remember when Steph and Drew helped me paint?’
‘She’s…’ Joan’s voice broke on a sob, before she shook her head in frustration, sucked in a deep breath and swallowed the tears back down. ‘She’s just been extra tired this week, so it takes longer for her to clean the houses and then she gets home later, so there isn’t as much time, and then she’s even more tired. Once she’s feeling better, she promised we’ll have a big spring clean and a sort-out and get everything nice again. We’re going to bake cakes and go on a picnic.’