Carroll Edwards, Contributor

Martha sat straight-backed and silent, her grey hair swept back in the familiar chignon, clutching the handle of the brown suitcase as if her life depended on keeping it safely at her feet. A black velvet jacket hung loosely over her faded blue cotton dress. The high-heeled satin pumps would have been perfect for a New Year's Eve ball.

Aileen's eyes filled with tears. 'The good thing is that she doesn't have a clue; but don't you feel even a little weird to be having this conversation with her here?'

'Why would you feel weird? You're too sensitive. If you live long enough, one day somebody is going to have this conversation about you.'

Aileen watched as Maureen planted a perfunctory kiss on Martha's forehead, placed a bowl of fruits within her reach and then tried vainly to wrest the suitcase from her hands.

'You like fruits, don't you? Have one of these.'

'Yuh nuh see sey she nuh want none?'

They had been going back and forth for hours and were no closer to a decision.

'She always told me that she didn't want to go to a nursing home.'

'It's not a nursing home. The places I've seen are really quite nice, almost like those assisted living places you have in the States. My friend's mother is at one in Stony Hill. We went to visit - really quite upscale, and the right kind of people. She would be comfortable there.'

'How much they charge?'

'Can't you think of anything else but the money? How much they charge! You should be ashamed to ask that question!'

'Yes, Miss Perfect, but I have to ask because I know that at the end of the day, oonu all going turn to me.'

'Don't even start with that! She's your mother too, you know.'

Aileen glanced across at her mother, who was still sitting ramrod-straight on the edge of the chair. For a brief moment their eyes locked and it seemed that Martha was looking straight at her. But there was nothing there. Aileen felt a twinge of fear. Her mind flashed back to the strong, vibrant woman who had made history as the first female to be appointed President of the International Trade Regulation Organization. It was difficult to reconcile that image with the caricature who now sat before them.

Maureen and Christopher were huddled together beside her, in deep argument. They were beginning to sound like an old married couple who had long forgotten the bone of contention but argued for want of something better to do.

'Why she can't stay with you?'

'I don't have the time to monitor her.'

'Is not that. You 'fraid she come out during one of you cocktail party and start cuss out you high and mighty friends like how she cuss off everybody last night.'

'Can't you all understand? She doesn't know what she's doing. She has Alzheimer's.'

'You always make excuse for her.'

It had started imperceptibly. Aileen had planned a trip to Liguanea and had dropped Martha at the supermarket while she dashed down to the prep school to collect the children. She returned to find Martha standing at the cashier, two items on the counter and a long line of impatient customers waiting behind her. It had taken Aileen some time to convince her mother that the fact that she still had the blank cheque in her hand meant that she had not yet paid the cashier; and she had watched, bemused, as her mother struggled to fill in the details, resisting all efforts at help. Later that evening, when Aileen questioned her conduct, Martha had defended herself stoutly, arguing that she had to be careful as that same cashier had tried to trick her on a previous occasion.

She had tried repeatedly to discuss the incident, but Maureen was always dashing between meetings, while Christopher dismissed her concern. 'Is just so she stay!' he insisted. Sometimes Aileen believed his attitude was payback for the time he had visited Martha in England and she had warned him not to let anyone know that he was her child. It must have been difficult for her, Aileen thought, young, newly married and faced with the unexpected arrival of a bastard son. Once she had offered this as an interpretation to Christopher, but he was implacable. He said that Martha had continued to ignore him when they returned to the island; that, whenever her husband had guests, she had insisted that he enter the house through the back door and eat on the back verandah.

'So what's the big deal? You thrived on it. You make money. Every carnival, rain or shine, every street dance, every parade, nuh your trucks they use? Nuh you' own the company? What more you want?'

'Yes, but oonu travel all over the world with them; oonu get education.'

'It's been 30 years, for Christ's sake. You're no worse off. Let it go.'

'What's wrong with the two of you? Why everything have to be a quarrel?'

She said it half-heartedly because the nature of their conversations had changed since Christopher had refused to pay for their father's operation. Aileen could still hear Martha's shouts: 'He never treated you any differently!'

'Yes, he did! Every time him look at me, it remind him that somebody was there before him!'

'He was right all along. You're a good for nothing bastard!'

The pounding of her heart had overpowered the crash with which Christopher slammed out of the house.

Aileen shivered. It was always cold at this time of year and it occurred to her that Martha's choice of the jacket was actually perfectly reasonable. She smiled. Was that a sign that she herself was losing her mind? The argument had stopped and she could tell from the expressions on their faces that Maureen and Christopher had come to a decision. There was no point to reminding them of Martha's views on nursing homes.

'So that's it then, folks. I'm not rushing you but I'm meeting some friends at Strawberry Hill, and I don't want to be late. 'It's only 80,000 a month. I'll pay 20.'

'So me must pay the balance?'

'Let me tell her goodbye.'

Aileen heard a slight movement and they all turned. Martha had picked up the suitcase and was walking towards them. 'Are you ready, now? We don't want to miss our flight!'

Aileen flinched. She's never coming back, she thought.