“Right! We’re off to town!”
I
can’t stand the sight of Nick’s manky sweaters any longer. Everything is ripped
and stained, with holes in odd places. And as for his socks…
The
beautiful soft cashmere mix jumper he got for Christmas is unrecognisable after
many dinners spilled down the front, elbows worn thin with scuffing, its rich
chestnut colour strangely tie-dyed after the carers had thrown it into the
washing machine with his blue socks, towels and sheets.
“Classic”, I think, “the one time they actually did the washing” because when the
laundry basket is getting full they are supposed to stick a load in the machine
in the morning, then take it out at lunchtime. But they don’t.
I
have darned the elbows of some of the jumpers – one that belonged to our dad,
for instance, that we both felt sentimental about – and sewn up the seams that
were coming apart, because Huntington’s turns even the mildest mannered man
into the Incredible Hulk, arms bursting out of sleeves with the flick of a muscle.
So
Nick needs new clothes. I wouldn’t presume to go and buy them for him on my
own. He still has some say in what he wants to look like, though this is
sometimes random – he can be very clear that he wants to wear his leather
jacket, but with old baggy chinos and a grey prison-issue style sweatshirt
underneath. And red and white striped fluffy Christmas socks. And his alarm
pendant round his neck.
I
thought I would take him to M&S. I used to go shopping there with one of my
Alzheimer’s clients and they were unfailingly courteous and kind to her, but
Nick has other ideas.
“I want to go to Boyes” – which was his
default shop back in the northeast for practically everything that isn’t food.
It’s one of those slightly old fashioned stores that seem to stock anything
from shampoo to bras, from licorice comfits to weedkiller, fishing tackle to crayons
and cool stationery, all under the one roof. We used to take the kids there for colouring books and sweets when they were little and we all loved it. And I
always made a beeline to Boyes when I visited Nick, for their amazing supply of
coloured lacy tights. I’m not sure
about the men’s clothes though.
I
don’t even think there is one in Sheffield (oh, just did a search and what do
you know, there is! Way on the other side of town though)
Anywhere
else you’d like to try, Nick?
“Peacock’s” he says.
There
was a branch of Peacock’s in Consett that was just stumbling distance from his
house there and increasingly as far as he could walk. I know there’s one in
town, on a pedestrian precinct with easy wheelchair access, so we’ll go there. Great. Though suddenly
the film Rain Man pops into my mind with the Dustin Hoffman character insisting
that he gets his pants from K-Mart.
Nick
used to wear handmade suits with peacock lining and had a silk tie and matching
socks for every day of the week and two for Sunday. Handkerchiefs too, peeping
out of his breast pocket, sometimes in a contrasting colour. He liked cuff
links and those elasticy things that hold up your shirt sleeves. Off duty, he
still looked sharp and always had smart shoes that he kept in shape with a shoe
tree. (I’ve never had a shoe tree in my life)
He
always wore aftershave balm and cologne and smelled good.
He
still wears cologne but it’s what the carers help him spray on after his strip
wash in the morning, and he can’t do up a button any more, let alone a
cufflink.
I
still iron his shirts though, and press his trousers. Increasingly, I think he
just chooses the first thing on the pile when the carers ask him in the morning
what he wants to wear (he says they do and I hope this is true) so I try to
make sure that at least it is reputable. The carers don’t seem to notice his holey socks
though, but maybe because they seem to wear out almost on contact – that Hulk thing
again.
Anyway,
we’re going shopping.
