Sue stood up and began to silently lecture herself - a habit she had found helpful at times when feeling threatened or when the world started to behave in a hostile or incomprehensive manner.
Now, come on. You’re a capable person. All right, this is a situation you haven’t come across before but that doesn’t mean you can’t handle it. So - first things first.
There was at least no argument about what that first step should be. Sue retrieved the milk from outside, returned to the kitchen and put the kettle on. This was a large, iron thing which she half filled to do the washing up. A small saucepan would do for tea. She made a lot of noise while doing this. Taps full on, kettle banged down hard on the gas, hoping to discourage whatever had nipped behind the stove on her arrival from nipping out again.
The tea, cheap and rather powdery, was in a tin caddie celebrating the coronation of George VI. The procession covered every side - a golden coach, an open landau, stiff-legged toy soldiers and red-coated horsemen with fire buckets on their heads.
While the tea brewed Sue braced herself to sniff at the various dishes on the floor to see what could stay and what must go into the bin. In the event she decided they should all go and took them out into the back yard together with the empty tins. She could always run down to the shop and get more dog food.
Rex’s few pieces of cutlery were laid out in a neat row on old newspapers. The bone handles were yellow with age and knife blades rattled loosely. Sue selected the least discoloured teaspoon, found a tin mug in the cupboard, sliced off a section of the frozen cream and poured out. She took the mug, a bag of sugar and a saucer next door.
Rex seemed not to have moved. Sue sat down opposite him and said, ‘How many sugars is it?’
When there was no reply she tried to remember from the Writers Group evenings. As she recalled it, quite a lot. She put in three spoonfuls, stirred and held out the mug until the metal handle started to burn her fingers. She put it down in the hearth. She poured a little tea into the saucer and put that down too but, though Montcalm approached and lowered his rough, grey muzzle to the dish, he did not drink.
‘Do have some tea, Rex,’ said Sue. ‘Please.’ Then, suddenly understanding, ‘He won’t drink until you do.’
Rex turned at this and stared directly at her. And, if Sue had been previously distressed at his appearance, she was now even more so. For there was no recognition in his eyes at all. He looked at her quite wildly as if she was a stranger.
Once more she held the mug out, this time putting it into his hands and guiding it to his lips. Saying ‘please’ again, and ‘for Sue’, like she did with her little ones. Rex drank a little and Montcalm immediately started lapping, his huge tongue sloshing the liquid in all directions. It was gone in an instant. Rex got down a couple more swallows then put the tea aside.
Sue asked again if he was ill. There was no response until she added, ‘Would you like me to ring the doctor?’ Rex shook his head violently.
‘But I’ve got to do something.’
‘I’m all right.’
‘And what about Montcalm?’ said Sue.‘He’s not all right.’
Rex started shifting about at this, rocking in his old red-velvet chair, slipping backwards and forwards, his arms locked across his chest.
‘You know he hasn’t eaten any of the food you put down.’
Rex shouted then, the dull vacancy in his eyes banished by a flare of wretched comprehension. He started to struggle to his feet, hanging on to the mantelpiece. But once up he pitched forward and would have fallen had not Sue taken his weight. Although his frame was fragile there was a lot of it and she staggered as she tried, with one arm around his waist and the other across his chest, to persuade him back into the chair.
In the kitchen the big iron kettle boiled over. Sue could hear the lid dancing and clattering, water hissing everywhere. Probably putting the gas out.
‘Oh God . . . Rex . . . please sit down . . .’ She lugged him another step backwards towards the seat. ‘Please? Sit . . . down . . .’
Montcalm sat. Rex wrenched himself free, moved in the direction of the door and tumbled, saving himself by grabbing at the edge of the games table. Sue left him hanging there and ran into the kitchen.
She found a cloth, so stiff with dirt it was practically standing on edge, and mopped around in front of the stove. She wrung the water out in the filthy sink and thought: I can’t cope with this. No matter how firmly I talk to myself. I just can’t. As soon as I get home I shall ring the Social Services.
A figure materialised in the doorway, leaning on the architrave. Sue caught her breath. Distracted by anxiety she had not heard him shuffling down the hall, nor the accompanying click of Montcalm’s claws.