Marigold’s eyes shone. ‘There and back,’ she repeated, as if hearing those words for the first time.
‘Like me, Goldie. That’s why I’m back, because of love.’ He put a hand on his heart and patted it. ‘This is the only thing that matters. Simple really and strange that so many people don’t realize it. They waste their lives, missing the whole point of it.’
Marigold rallied. ‘If you’re with me, Dad, I think I can manage the journey.’
‘That’s my girl! Your journey was planned before you came into the world. And I’ll tell you a secret.’ He grinned mischievously.
‘What’s that then?’ she asked, finding the twinkle in his eyes irresistible and smiling too.
‘You’re making a very good job of it.’
She brightened. ‘Am I?’
‘Oh, yes. You’re getting full marks.’
Marigold’s eyes filled with fresh tears. ‘I never got full marks in anything at school.’
‘Life’s the most important school. The one that really counts.’
‘How long have you got before you have to return . . . there?’
He shrugged. ‘A little while longer, I suspect.’
‘But you’ll come back?’
‘Oh, I will, Goldie. You can be sure of that. I’ll come back whenever you need me to.’
And Marigold knew he would.
A few days later a small gathering of people met in Beryl’s sitting room. There was Eileen Utley, Dolly Nesbit, Cedric Weatherby, the Commodore and his wife Phyllida. The atmosphere was sombre and a little tense. They all waited. Eileen was good at talking about nothing. She used to talk about nothing to Marigold, but now Marigold wasn’t in the shop every morning she had to talk nothing to Tasha, which was difficult because Tasha wasn’t very interested in nothing, nor did she have time for it. She was always racing around unpacking things, or behind the counter tapping away on the keyboard. Everyone seemed very grateful for Eileen now, though, as they waited. She alleviated the heavy atmosphere and distracted them from the purpose of their meeting.
Beryl had given them wine. Phyllida didn’t like wine, she was more of a vodka girl, but she didn’t want to be rude, so she gingerly sipped the Chardonnay, which was slowly warming in the glass because of her hot, nervous hands. She noticed that she’d left a red-lipstick smear on the glass and wiped it off with her thumb. Cedric, flamboyant in a pink shirt and yellow corduroy trousers, sat on the sofa beside Dolly, who smelt of violets. Dolly had a shaky hand. It wasn’t anything sinister, she’d had it checked out by the doctor. But it meant she had to hold her glass in her more steady one. Sometimes she forgot and spilled her drink. Beryl’s sofas were dark green and patterned, and the wine was white, so it wouldn’t matter. Eileen chattered on. She was quite safe talking about the weather – everyone loved talking about the weather – and about food. Animals, however, were a sensitive subject, considering Dolly’s cat, and the Commodore’s moles. Eileen was careful not to upset anyone by mentioning animals. But she was beginning to run out of steam. She hoped Tasha would arrive soon before she dried up altogether.
At last the doorbell rang and Beryl showed Tasha into the room. Dolly moved closer to Cedric to allow her to sit down. Tasha greeted everyone a little nervously, before sinking in beside Dolly. Beryl poured her a glass of wine. Tasha took a sip and gulped loudly. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, clutching her throat. Everyone smiled at her reassuringly. Smiles that said it didn’t matter because they were all nervous.
‘Right,’ said Beryl in an officious tone of voice. ‘You know why you’re here, so let’s get started.’
They nodded solemnly. Eileen shook her head and drew her lips into a thin line. Out of all those present, she very much believed that she was Marigold’s closest friend. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she said. ‘It just doesn’t seem fair, does it?’
‘Life isn’t fair,’ said Cedric. They all nodded their agreement. No one could disagree with that.
‘Why do bad things happen to good people?’ asked Phyllida. ‘If we knew the answer to that,’ said her husband, ‘we’d know all the great mysteries of the world.’
Beryl inhaled through her nostrils. ‘I called a meeting this evening because we need a plan. We need to form a united front. Now, I have a friend in a nursing home who has dementia, so I know better than most how to manage the situation. And it is management, I can assure you. There are rules, and if we abide by them, then Marigold’s life is going to be a lot more pleasant.’
‘What kind of rules?’ asked Eileen. She didn’t really want anyone telling her what to do about Marigold. Being her closest friend, she figured she knew how to deal with her illness.
‘Marigold’s memory will slowly deteriorate,’ said Beryl.
‘I wouldn’t use the word “slowly”,’ interrupted Cedric. ‘I’ve noticed a certain quickening over the last few months. She didn’t recognize her own sister-in-law at Suze’s wedding. Most of the time she covers it up, because she’s clever. But she’s a lot more forgetful than she lets on.’
‘Soon she won’t be able to retain new information,’ Beryl continued, ignoring Cedric’s contribution. ‘She’ll recall the distant past and that will confusingly merge with the present. For example, yesterday she told me she had had a long chat with her father. Well, Arthur died, what, fifteen years ago? You see, her brain plays tricks on her. She thinks he’s still alive. So we have to go with her and not try to put her right.’
‘What did you say when she told you she had seen her father?’ asked Dolly, secretly wondering whether Marigold had seen his ghost, for she had once seen the ghost of her grandfather.
‘I said, “How lovely.” I didn’t ask her what he had said, because she probably wouldn’t remember. Do you see? I went along with her and I suggest you do as well. We need to form a united front,’ she repeated, pleased with the metaphor.
‘Such a shame,’ sighed Phyllida.
‘Always happens to the nicest people,’ added the Commodore gravely.
‘You’re suggesting, Beryl, that we lie to her?’ asked Eileen suspiciously. Eileen prided herself in calling a spade a spade.
‘It’s not really lying,’ Beryl replied. ‘It’s joining her in her world. It’s making her present moment happy. If I had said, “But your father is dead, Marigold,” would I have made her happy? No, I would have made her very sad and confused. Let’s try to avoid that.’
‘But Marigold isn’t that bad yet,’ said Eileen. ‘She knows very well that her father is dead.’
Beryl put her glass down on the little table beside her armchair and knitted her fingers in her lap. ‘Of course she does, most of the time. Some days are good, some days are bad. I assume that when she told me she had seen her father, she was having a bad day. But soon she’ll forget that he’s dead and it won’t be because she’s having a bad day. It will be because her brain is being devoured, like a piece of cheese being eaten by mice. If we all stick to the same song sheet, we can protect her from unpleasantness.’ Beryl turned to Tasha, who had only opened her mouth once since she arrived. ‘What do you think, Tasha? You see more of her than any of us.’
Tasha’s cheeks flushed as all eyes settled upon her. ‘She gets very embarrassed when she forgets things,’ she said. ‘When she was running the shop she was forgetting things every day and it was becoming serious. It’s difficult to run a business if the owner is forgetting everything. Of course, she thought no one noticed, but we all did, didn’t we? I think she’s more relaxed not having to worry about the business now.’
‘It can’t have been easy stepping down,’ said the Commodore. ‘When I retired I felt bereft.’
‘Yes, you did,’ agreed his wife, nodding gravely.
‘But I found things to do to keep me busy, and I can’t say now that I miss the old days.’
‘Marigold won’t miss them either,’ said Tasha.
‘Well, she won’t remember them, will she,’ said Eileen.
‘So, what are the rules?’ asked C
edric. ‘I like to know where I am. I like to have boundaries. I don’t want to put my foot in it.’
‘Don’t contradict her,’ said Beryl firmly. ‘That’s the main one. Go with her, whatever she says. Don’t expect her to remember things. Be patient when she forgets. Don’t ask questions or put her under pressure to remember something. We don’t want to send her into a panic. We need to be there for her.’
‘How long until she forgets who we are?’ asked Dolly anxiously.
‘I don’t know,’ Beryl replied. ‘Everyone is different.’
‘I remember when she forgot to cook the Christmas puddings for Lady Sherwood,’ said Cedric. ‘That was last Christmas. I didn’t think anything of it then.’
‘None of us did,’ said Beryl.
‘I just thought she was getting older and a little dotty,’ added Dolly.
‘We all are.’ The Commodore chuckled cheerlessly.
‘But her forgetfulness was different,’ said Phyllida quietly. ‘It wasn’t normal. I think we all noticed that.’
‘I thought it might be dementia, but I didn’t want to say,’ confessed Eileen. She dropped her gaze into her wrinkly old hands that fidgeted anxiously in her lap. ‘I hoped it wasn’t. I don’t want to lose a friend. I don’t want to lose Marigold.’
‘We’re not going to lose her,’ said Beryl determinedly. ‘If we work together, as a united front, we’ll hold on to her.’
‘And we mustn’t let on that we know,’ said Cedric, looking at the sombre faces in turn. ‘Marigold is very sensitive.’
‘I agree,’ said the Commodore. ‘We must keep it hush-hush.’
‘Such a shame,’ repeated Phyllida with a sigh. ‘Why does it always happen to the nicest people?’
The Commodore shook his head again. They all went quiet. Tasha drained her glass. Beryl noticed. ‘Let’s have some more wine,’ she suggested, forcing a smile and pushing herself up from her chair. ‘I think we need it.’
Suze returned from her honeymoon as glossy brown as polished teak. She wore her hair in tiny plaits secured by colourful beads, and clothes more suited to a 1970s hippy. ‘I smoked so much weed,’ she confided to Daisy as they sat in the kitchen. ‘I’ve been floating for the last ten days.’
‘Well, it’s just as well you’re coming down to earth. I’ve got some bad news for you.’
Suze’s face fell. ‘What? Is it Nan?’
‘No, it’s Mum.’ Suze stared at Daisy but said nothing. ‘She’s got dementia.’
Suze went white. ‘Are you sure?’
‘The test results came while you were away. The diagnosis is almost certainly dementia. She also had a brain scan, which confirms it.’
‘Is there a cure?’ Suze demanded.
Daisy shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not.’
‘What? No cure! We can fly rockets into space and land on the moon and yet we can’t find a cure for dementia.’
‘There aren’t cures for lots of diseases.’
‘There should be a cure for this!’ Suze swore, spitting out the word with frustration and anger. ‘Is she going to die?’
Daisy looked into her sister’s stricken face and felt her own face drain of blood. The thought of their mother dying was inconceivable. But the thought of losing her little by little was somehow worse. She didn’t want to contemplate a future where all that remained of her was a shell. ‘Of course she’s not going to die!’ she exclaimed.
Suze smiled bitterly. ‘You’re such a bad liar, Daisy.’
‘Well, we’re all going to go eventually.’
‘Is she getting worse?’ ‘Yes.’
‘Do we talk about it? Is it a secret? How do I behave around her?’
‘As normal, but we have to be patient.’
Suze stared into her tea. It was just as well that she had moved out and gone to live with Batty, because she didn’t think she had much patience for sickness. She was frightened that she wouldn’t have much patience for her mother. ‘Everything is going to change, isn’t it?’ she said apprehensively. ‘I mean, we’re going to have to look after her. It’s always been the other way round.’
‘I’m glad I came home,’ said Daisy suddenly. ‘I’m glad I’m here when Mum needs us most.’
‘I’m glad you came home too. You’re good at this sort of thing,’ Suze agreed. ‘I couldn’t cope on my own. I’m not very good at responsibility.’
‘You’ll learn,’ said Daisy. ‘We’ll both learn to be good at it.’
Suze turned her eyes to the window and sighed. ‘Do you think she’ll forget to feed her birds?’ she said with a smile, remembering how irritated she used to get with her mother claiming they belonged to her.
Daisy looked into the garden, at the apple tree where the feeder remained empty during the summer months. ‘When she does, that’s when we really need to worry,’ she said.
Chapter 21
Marigold had been very down. She hadn’t gone into the shop in days, preferring to hide away in the house, trying to do the Sudoku, or staring passively at the television. Dennis decided to take her away for the weekend. The present that Daisy and Suze had given them for Christmas had been on his mind for a while now. He had hoped to go in the spring, but Suze’s wedding had got in the way and Marigold had been much too busy in the shop. But now that Tasha was managing it, Dennis felt it was the right time to go. It was the beginning of August and they both needed a rest. They needed time to be alone together. And Marigold needed something to distract her and lift her spirits. Daisy had assured them she’d look after Nan. Nan had assured them that she didn’t need looking after. Suze was busy settling into married life. She’d barely poked her head round the door since she’d got back from honeymoon.
Dennis drove while Marigold sat in the passenger seat. The hotel was a two-hour drive down the coast. The girls had shown them photos of it. It looked lovely, just the kind of place where they could rest and put aside their worries. They listened to the radio, to old songs that appealed to both of them. Marigold didn’t like rock. She never had. She liked country music and Abba. So Dennis played Magic Radio and they watched the lush green countryside whizz by.
After a while Marigold slipped into a doze. With her eyes closed and her face relaxed, Dennis thought how young she looked. Her brow smooth, her lips parted slightly and, if he wasn’t mistaken, a very small smile curling the corners of her mouth with contentment. Gone was the anxiety that seemed to plague her much of the time nowadays, and in its place was serenity. It gave him pleasure to see her like this and he found himself humming along to the radio.
They arrived at the hotel just before lunch. Dennis parked the car and a porter came to take their suitcase, although they only had one and it wasn’t very big. Marigold was impressed with the building. She liked pretty houses. This one was white with turquoise shutters and a sloping grey-tiled roof, and had a view of the sea. ‘This is nice, isn’t it, Dennis?’ she said, taking his hand. She needed to hold his hand these days. She needed the sense of security that only Dennis could provide.
‘It’s going to be just the thing,’ Dennis replied. ‘It reminds me of the place we once went to near Land’s End. Do you remember?’
Marigold didn’t have a problem with old memories. It was new ones she struggled with. ‘It had blue shutters, didn’t it. I like shutters. They remind me of France.’
‘Would you like me to make you shutters for our house, Goldie?’
Marigold was thrilled. ‘What a lovely idea,’ she said. ‘I’d like that very much. Then I can sit in the garden with my birds and imagine I’m in Provence.’
‘Then I’ll make some and paint them blue, just for you.’
‘I think green would be nicer,’ she said. ‘To go with the garden. Blue is nice by the sea, but we’re surrounded by fields, aren’t we. So green would probably look better.’
‘Then green they’ll be.’
‘Thank you, Dennis,’ she said, smiling up at him.
Her smile made him feel good. It wa
s full of admiration and gratitude, and a childlike wonder, which was a recent happening; she hadn’t smiled like that before. ‘Anything for you, Goldie,’ he said and pulled her close to plant a kiss on her temple.
As soon as they stepped into the hotel they realized what a special present the girls had given them. Everything was decorated in a bright blue and white. From the white walls and blue sofas in the reception area to the blue-and-white-striped bedcover and matching pillows in the bedroom. It was chic and understated and in very good taste. Marigold went out onto the balcony and saw that the flowers on the terrace below were blue as well, as were the parasols shading guests from the sun while they ate their lunch. Her eyes strayed to the fishing boats bobbing about on the water, and beyond, on the far side of the bay, to the smooth green hills that descended all the way down to the sea. Marigold loved the sea. It drew her out of herself, detaching her from angst and fear and anchoring her in the moment.
What is wrong with now? she asked herself and smiled, because everything was perfect.
Dennis came and stood beside her.
‘Isn’t this lovely,’ she said, sighing happily.
‘It really is,’ he agreed.
‘Clever of you to think of it.’
‘Well, it wasn’t my idea.’
‘Wasn’t it? Whose idea was it then?’
Dennis frowned. ‘Daisy and Suze’s. It was their Christmas present, remember?’
‘Was it? How nice.’
Dennis knew better than to cause her embarrassment by drawing attention to her fading memory. ‘Are you hungry?’ he asked.
‘I suppose I am,’ she replied.
‘Let’s have lunch outside, under one of those umbrellas. They’re smart, aren’t they?’
‘I like that blue. It’s a happy colour.’
‘On a day like this, it’s the same colour as the sea.’ ‘Yes it is.’
‘We’ll go for a walk after lunch. We can go up the beach. You can put your feet in the water.’
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