TT 28 - Who's Been Cleaning Geoffrey’s Toilet?

“There you go, Dad.” Gabriel puts a mug of tea on the table beside Geoffrey’s armchair.
“Ah, bless you.” Geoffrey opens his eyes.
“I see you’ve got a cleaner in at last, then.” Gabriel has been gently nudging his father in this direction for some time.
“A cleaner?" Geoffrey laughs. "Dear me no! What made you think that?”
“Well, the place is looking a bit more…well, I just thought the place was looking nice and cosy.”
“Well I haven’t done anything to it.” Says Geoffrey. “And I haven’t had a cleaner in, either. They’re more trouble than their worth. Your mother and I tried it once, couldn’t find a bloody thing.” He chuckles at the memory.

It is true that Gabriel’s mother, the actress Sophie Masson, was just as ‘free-spirited’ in the domestic sphere as her husband and Gabriel himself grew up quite happily amongst a chaos of books and papers and dogs. But under his mother’s reign the house was at least clean if not tidy. But now his Mum is gone. His Dad’s mobility isn’t what it was, and his eyesight isn’t brilliant these days either, even with his glasses on. It isn’t that Gabriel cares about the dirty loo per se, but it makes him anxious about how much longer his Dad will be able to live independently. On his last visit, he noticed mould growing on the bathroom towels. Which is why this time he’s noticed that the towels have been washed. And the toilet brush holder replaced by one almost identical. And the toilet looks as though it has had a bit of a bleaching. So who is secretly cleaning his father’s house?

“What have you been up to this week then?” Gabriel asks, thinking this might shed some light on the matter.
“Oh, not much. Too cold to go out. They’ve had a very nice play on the radio this week, though. You should write for radio. It’s such a lovely intimate medium.”
“It’s a thought. Had any visitors?”
“No, not really. How’s your play coming along?”
“Oh God, I don’t know.” Gabriel slumps back into his armchair with a sigh. “I had this idea. Well, you know, the one I told you about. Which I really liked. Only when I came to write it… I don’t know. It would be impossible to stage, really. Maybe it should be a novel. Or maybe I should just start again.” Gabriel rubs his right eye and looks slightly beleaguered. “What about Eric. Has he been up lately?”
“Not recently, no. So what is all this with the writing anyway?”

Gabriel gets to his feet and walks over to the mantelpiece. “Oh I don’t know Dad. Something different. Thought I’d give it a go.” He picks up his graduation photograph. “Good Lord. Who’s this handsome young beast?”
They both laugh.
“Well, you were.” Geoffrey says. “And still are.”
“Jesus, Dad, how does it happen?”
“What?”
“Age.”
“You’re not old.”
“I’m nearly 50.”
“You’re 45.” Corrects Geoffrey sensibly.
“I’m as near to 50 as I am to 40.”
“You should try being nearly 80” Geoffrey says.

Gabriel picks up the painting of the two horses. “This is very sweet.” He turns it over. On the back in a child’s handwriting it says ‘Dear Geoffrey, thank you so much for my beautiful astrolabe. With lots of love from your friend Basil.’
“Is this from Eleanor’s boy?” Gabriel asks.
“Ah yes.” Says Geoffrey affectionatley and is about to add something but thinks better of it.
“Does Eleanor ever come up with Basil?” Gabriel can just imagine Eleanor sneaking up to the bathroom with a phial of bleach and a j-cloth.
“Not usually.” says Geoffrey, reading the question quite
differently. “Sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about Dad.” Gabriel says, smiling broadly.
“No, of course not Gabe.”
“Another cuppa?”
“That would be lovely.”