Not a good day, relatively speaking

Moira O'Neill

It began well, that day. I woke with such a sense of wellbeing, of rightness. All was well in my little world. As I lay back luxuriating in the peace of the moment my mind ranged over the events of the last months.

The roots of this day lay in a phone-call from my daughter. "You know Mum, how depressed Auntie has been since she turned 80, and how she hates that flat? Well... I was wondering if I could maybe buy her something really nice. She wouldn't have to pay rent or anything .What do you think?"

Well, I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. My aunt has been one of the best-loved people in my life. She never married and poured all her selfless and generous impulses into caring for family, friends, acquaintances, stray cats, dogs, any creature in need. All my life I'd been on the receiving end of her bountiful energy and goodness, and now through my daughter I would be able to let her know in a tangible way how much she was appreciated.

My aunt was ecstatic. She would get out of that housing scheme. She would realise a dream. She was positive. She was enthusiastic. She was back to the old vivacious lady we thought had been blown away with her 80th birthday candles.

We found the perfect place, a brand new luxury flat with bathroom en suite, state of the art kitchen, and even a utility room; that's where the pulley would go. It was on the 3 floor, but there was a lift; no more trundling shopping trolleys up stairs. It was very handy for bus-stops and shopping and Byres Road. . . It even overlooked a pond with swans and ducks.

The next few months I came often down from Lochaber and we shopped, my aunt and I, with the money my daughter had sent to spend on furniture. We spent the lot, and what fun we had! Now the flitting was over and The Day really began.

I got up and went to make a cup of tea, ready to perch on my aunt's bed and chat as we loved to do. She was still huddled under the bedclothes and when I put down her cup, she raised a white, agonised face to mine.

"I've not slept a wink," she said. "I've made a terrible mistake. Do you think they'll let me have my old house back? And all my things, I've given away all my things, but I just hate this place. I don't belong here. I can never live here." And she began to sob, heart-rending sobs.

She became so hysterical that eventually I called a doctor. As soon as I broke the news that he was coming, she dressed, put on her lipstick and told me very coldly that I'd had no business calling any doctor, and who did I think I was, and I took too much upon myself. As she got into her stride, she became really vituperative about me and my bossiness, and how sick she was of my interfering in her life. I thought I could tell her what to do, buy, eat, and think. This all came as a bit of a shock.

"She does need a lot of support, you know" said the doctor as I saw him out. "At her age change is very disturbing. He patted me gently. "It's the nearest and dearest who get all the flak". When he left, you could have cut the atmosphere with a knife.

Tea was made, panacea for all ills. They say. My aunt, the new paranoid version, refused to say what had happened between her and her doctor; in fact she had nothing to say to me at all. I said I would go home and give her, and myself, a bit of space.

"You're not going to leave me in this place?" came the enraged response." You got me here and now you're going to desert me! I'll drown myself in that pond if you do." Reluctantly, I agreed to stay that night. We even managed to swallow some dinner together. The large glasses of rose wine no doubt helped.

She spent a long time on the phone. I could hear every word. I had left my door open. Is paranoia catching do you think? Eavesdroppers hear no good of themselves ,my mother used to say. By 8 o'clock my whole world was spinning crookedly on its axis. All my life I'd imagined this special relationship with my aunt. She'd let me know how she depended on me. Not to my face you understand, that's not the Scottish way. But I knew. Or thought I knew. Till now.

Around 9 o'clock I began to feel queasy. Climbing a steep painful learning curve is bound to leave you feeling less than chirpy. Then the vomiting began. Was I vomiting up regret, shame, resentment, or just bile?

Days like this come unheralded, unwelcome and unforgotten.