Marigold looked at Daisy and smiled. She wondered whether Luca had asked her to marry him at last.
‘I’m moving in with Taran,’ said Daisy. She braced herself for her mother’s response.
There was a long pause while Marigold tried to remember who Taran was. She was certain he was called Luca. ‘How lovely, dear,’ she said and went to sit down.
‘They’re going to live in Toronto,’ said Nan.
‘But we’re going to come and go,’ added Daisy quickly, desperate to avoid upsetting her mother, who was looking puzzled. ‘It’s only an eight-hour flight so we’ll come back every few months at least. Taran will want to see his mother too.’
Marigold’s smile did not falter, although she was sure Daisy’s boyfriend lived in Italy. ‘Toronto is a lovely city,’ she said evenly, taking the chair at the head of the table, next to Nan.
‘And he told me he’ll move back here one day, so it’s not for ever,’ Daisy reassured her.
‘Toronto’s a dreadful city!’ Nan exclaimed. ‘Noisy, dirty, too many people and the buildings are too high.’
Daisy frowned. ‘Have you ever been to Toronto, Nan?’
‘I don’t need to go to Toronto to know what a dreadful city it is.’
Daisy gazed at her mother searchingly. She wasn’t sure Marigold had understood what she’d said. ‘You see, Mum, Taran works in Toronto. He’s an architect. A good architect. He has his own business and designs the most beautiful buildings. When I went out there, I realized that he couldn’t leave his business to come and live here. At least not yet.’
‘You don’t have to explain, Daisy,’ said Dennis gently, putting Marigold’s cup of tea in front of her. ‘You’ll have fun in Toronto. You’re young. It’ll be good for you to have fun in an exciting city like Toronto.’ He sat down on Marigold’s right.
Marigold understood that Daisy would be leaving her, but she focused on the part where she said she’d be coming back. As long as she came back, Marigold didn’t mind her going.
‘Maybe Suze will step into the breach,’ said Dennis hopefully. ‘She’s grown up a lot in the last year and she’s a respectable married woman now.’
‘It’ll be nice to see more of her,’ said Nan. ‘Suze is the sort of girl who’ll jump only as high as she has to. Let’s raise the bar and see what happens.’
Marigold sipped her tea, settling into the familiar routine with the relish of a nesting hen. ‘Dad says that our children are not our children, they’re sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself,’ she said.
Nan noticed Marigold’s use of the present tense and bit her tongue. She knew now not to correct her these days, even though the urge to do so was almost irresistible. ‘Your father said many wise things,’ she said instead.
‘That’s Khalil Gibran,’ said Dennis. ‘How clever of you to remember, Goldie.’
‘They come through us but are not from us, and although they are with us, they don’t belong to us,’ Marigold continued, soaking up Dennis’s praise. ‘Dad has always encouraged me to take my own path, whatever that may be.’
Dennis smiled broadly. ‘He’s right, of course. And I have always encouraged our girls to do the same. You go to Toronto, Daisy, without any regret. You’ll make a home of it with Taran.’
Marigold was confused. She was certain Daisy’s boyfriend was called Luca.
‘Dreadful city,’ repeated Nan.
‘Yes, I’ll make a home of it with Taran,’ Daisy said, her anxiety lifting at the sight of her mother’s gentle smile.
‘Home is where love is, dear,’ said Marigold. Then she turned and looked at Dennis.
Taran liked to leave the city on weekends and head to Muskoka, a large region of lakes, islands and mountains north of Toronto. He enjoyed hiking and canoeing, hanging out on the dock in the summer and snowshoeing and cross-country skiing in winter. He’d rented a small cottage from a client who owned a large estate in the hills and it was there that he took Daisy. Thirsty for the serenity of nature she drank in the big blue skies, the crystal water, the forests of ever-changing colour and the wild flowers that grew among the long grasses. She didn’t hanker for her English home because she’d made a home there with Taran and was perfectly content.
One weekend at the beginning of March Taran declared that he wanted to show her something special. He drove further into the hills, up a long dirt track, to a secluded place among the trees where a barn stood derelict and forlorn, staring out over the uninterrupted view of a lake. He took Daisy’s hand. ‘Do you think this would be a good place to build a house?’ he asked.
‘I think it would be amazing. Is it for a client?’
‘No.’ He turned to her and smiled. ‘It’s for you.’
Daisy was so taken aback that she laughed. ‘Ha ha, funny joke.’
‘I’m not joking. I want to build a house here with you. A house for us.’
Daisy stopped laughing. ‘You’re really not joking, are you?’
Without letting go of her hand he went down on one knee. Daisy felt a surge of emotion and pressed her palm to her chest to steady the sudden rush of fitful beating. He looked up at her, his eyes shiny and his cheeks suddenly flushed in the amber glow of sunset. ‘Daisy Fane, love of my life, will you marry me?’
Daisy knelt and took his face in her hands. She blinked away tears. ‘I would love to, Taran Sherwood, love of my life.’ She rested her forehead against his, then gently kissed his lips.
He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. ‘I bought this land a long time ago. I was just waiting for the right girl to share it with,’ he said. ‘Now I’ve found her.’
Daisy closed her eyes and allowed him to envelop her. Mum was right, she thought, cherishing the familiar feel of him. Here was where she belonged. Here with Taran.
Home is where love is.
Daisy and Taran were married in the village church in June. Lady Sherwood helped Daisy with the arrangements. She couldn’t help but draw parallels between their marriage and her own. While she had left Toronto and moved to England to marry Owen, Daisy was leaving England to move to Toronto to be with Taran. She’d secretly hoped that Daisy would entice her son back, but she understood that his business was there, as were so many of his childhood memories. But Taran had assured her that they’d move back eventually and she believed him.
Suze and Batty decorated the tent which had been put up in her garden for the reception and dinner dance. Nan was very impressed. It was much more glamorous than Suze’s reception had been. Taran’s friends and cousins flew in from Toronto and Patrick and Lucille came all the way from Sydney. There were two hundred and fifty guests, all seated at elegant round tables, beneath a ceiling studded with little lights, like stars. Dennis had to hire a morning coat especially. Suze and Daisy took Nan and Marigold into town to buy new dresses and hats. Suze made sure that Marigold didn’t miss any of Daisy’s fittings. Nan insisted on coming too and had nothing sour to say about the dress, which was white, but she did tell Daisy to eat more. ‘No man wants to lie with a bony woman,’ she said with a sniff. ‘I’ll bet Taran’s a man who likes something to hold on to.’
Marigold watched Dennis take Daisy down the aisle with tears in her eyes. She hoped she’d remember this moment for ever, but she had already forgotten Suze’s wedding. She would inevitably forget Daisy’s. However, she was learning to live in the moment. To savour the present. Not to regret what was lost or anticipate what would vanish. Her father told her to enjoy the simple things which can only be found in the Now. ‘The Now is the only thing that is real, anyway,’ he told her during one of their chats in the garden. ‘Dementia throws you into the Now, Goldie. Enjoy the birdsong, the breeze, the changing seasons. Enjoy it all in the Now. It is only by being alert to the present moment that you can connect with the real you, which is eternal.’
‘The me who is driving the car,’ she said proudly, pleased that she remembered.
‘The you who is driving the car,’ her father repeated
. ‘Your eternal soul.’
‘I’m going to be okay, aren’t I, Dad?’
‘Yes, you are, Goldie.’ He smiled so that the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes deepened. He took her hand. ‘You’re going to be okay, because you’re loved. That’s all anybody needs.’
In the months that followed, the fog in Marigold’s mind closed in. Little by little, inch by inch, her world shrank. Daisy FaceTimed regularly, telling her mother about her new life in Toronto, that she was becoming quite a successful artist, even though she realized that her mother found it hard to follow what she was saying. Suze stepped into the breach and jumped way beyond the bar that had been raised for her, surprising even Nan with her dedication and attentiveness to her mother. Without Daisy there to do everything for her, Suze relished the sense of responsibility that looking after Marigold gave her. She felt needed and full of purpose, and the admiration she received from her grandmother and father, and from Batty too, made her feel good about herself in a way she hadn’t before. It felt good to shine.
And she started to write. After she wrote the first line the words became a torrent and she could barely type fast enough to keep up with it. That was inspiration, creativity flowing through her from a higher place. She realized then that she had never been inspired before.
In early summer Suze and Batty’s first child was born. Suze came over often so that Marigold could enjoy being with her granddaughter. While Marigold gazed tenderly into the baby’s face and held her tiny hand, Suze made her cups of tea and helped with the household chores, until Dennis realized that it was too much for Suze and paid Sylvia’s eager young niece Karen to do the cleaning and laundry instead. Nan enjoyed talking to Karen. It was a little dull in the house now that Marigold’s health had declined and the girls had moved out, and Karen was full of gossip like her aunt. Marigold spent a lot of time in the garden watching the birds, or in the sitting room doing her new puzzle. Even though it was becoming too great a challenge for her she enjoyed looking at the pictures and reading the explanations on the back. They made her feel warm inside.
In November it snowed again. Nan complained, as she always did. Marigold gazed onto the white garden with wonder and Dennis commented cheerfully that it looked like Narnia. Yet, this year Marigold forgot to feed the birds. Nan reminded her. ‘If you don’t feed them, Marigold, they won’t make it to spring.’ She handed her her coat. ‘You don’t want to catch a chill,’ she said, helping her into it. Mother and daughter went out together to fill the feeder and talk to the robin who waited for them on the roof of Dennis’s shed.
Determined to do his best for Marigold, Dennis devised systems so that she could look after herself. He knew her independence was important to her. In the bathroom he put a basket of her toiletries and medicine by the sink to help her remember what she had done, to avoid doing things twice. After brushing her teeth, she put the brush and paste to one side. After washing her face, she added the soap to the brush and paste. After moisturizing, she added the cream, and so on until the basket was empty. That way she knew everything had been done as it should. She then put all the items back in the basket for next time. He refashioned the kitchen cabinets, giving them glass doors so Marigold could see what was in them. He labelled the bathroom door and the drawers and cupboards in the kitchen and sitting room. He added more lights, so Marigold could see more clearly, and made sure the floors were smooth so she wouldn’t trip over. He kept the house clutter-free so as not to confuse her, and ensured that important things like keys and her mobile telephone were always put in the same place. Most crucially he agreed with her, all the time. However crazy she sounded, and she did sometimes sound a little crazy, he simply smiled at her with encouragement and understanding. He hoped she would never know how far her brain had deteriorated.
It never occurred to Dennis that the day would come when he would be incapable of looking after her anymore. He had made his vows in church before God, to look after her in sickness and in health, and he wasn’t about to break them. He didn’t think her condition would deteriorate to such an extent that he could no longer care for her himself. Yet, it did.
As the books on the metaphorical bookshelf in Marigold’s brain began to show empty top shelves, Marigold began to exist on the bottom shelves – in the memories that were still there, from long ago. She tried to run away various times, claiming that she wanted to go home. ‘But home is here,’ Dennis explained patiently when he found her in the lane in her nightdress and bare feet, shivering with cold.
‘No,’ she replied, shaking her head in panic. ‘I want to go home to Mum and Dad and Patrick. They’re missing me, you see. They’re worried. I need to go home so they don’t worry.’
Dennis struggled against the fear that threatened to overwhelm him and tearfully gathered her into his arms and carried her home. How could he be a good husband to her if she no longer recognized their house as home?
Then one night, she refused to get into bed because she didn’t recognize Dennis.
‘I’m your husband,’ he said in desperation. ‘You’re married to me. We’ve been married for over forty years, Goldie.’ But she remained pinned to the wall in her dressing gown, trembling with fright, until Dennis was forced to ask Nan to come in and talk to her.
Nan found the whole situation unbearable. She couldn’t understand how Marigold could forget Dennis. Dennis, the light of her life. How could she? ‘He is your husband, Marigold,’ she said, lips white and quivering. ‘You love him.’ And there was something about the word ‘love’ that brought him back to her. But if it happened again, would love be enough?
After that, Nan knew that Dennis wouldn’t be able to cope for much longer. Dennis knew too, deep down, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to face up to it. He couldn’t bear the thought of being without Marigold. He’d do everything possible to avoid that happening. And besides, where would she go? Into a hospital? He shuddered. He’d heard terrible things about dementia patients being neglected in hospitals. But he couldn’t afford a nursing home. There was only one thing to do. With a heavy heart he wound down his work and declined new commissions. The miniature village he was making remained abandoned in his shed, gathering dust. He helped Marigold bathe and dress. He made her meals. He brewed her tea. He dedicated every moment of his life to her with patience and compassion, and for a while he felt he was swimming with his head above the water. Yet as Christmas came and went again, he felt the force of the undercurrent gradually pulling him down until he could barely breathe. Marigold was getting worse and the devices he’d created to help her were now defeating her. Worst of all, she was defeating him.
Dennis wasn’t a man who cried easily, but the moment he realized he had failed her he cried like a boy. A helpless boy. A boy who could see no way out.
Nan telephoned Patrick. She rarely telephoned him because it was very expensive calling the other side of the world and Patrick was very busy. But she needed him. She needed his advice. In the old days she would have asked her husband, he would have known exactly what to do. But since he was no longer here, she had no choice but to call her son. ‘Is everyone all right?’ he asked when he heard his mother’s voice.
‘No, it’s Marigold,’ she replied and she was much too aware of the cost to embark on a lengthy story.
‘Has she got worse?’ he asked.
‘Much worse, Patrick.’
‘I thought as much,’ he replied, then sighed heavily because there was very little he could do to help from where he was.
‘Dennis is trying to look after her himself, but she’s breaking him. I’ve never seen him so strained. I need to know whether Marigold should go into a nursing home, Patrick. I know Dennis won’t hear of it. But I think we have no choice. What do you think we should do?’ Patrick thought about it a moment. Nan’s mouth twitched with impatience. ‘I’m not sure I can take much more of this,’ she added with a sigh. ‘She’s going to break me too.’
‘Then you have to do what’s best for a
ll of you, including Marigold, and you mustn’t feel bad,’ said Patrick. ‘You, Daisy and Suze need to persuade Dennis that it’s not only for your good, but for Marigold’s too. Professional carers know how to look after people like her. She’ll be safe. Of course Dennis can’t look after her on his own.’ He chuckled. ‘I commend him for doing it, but I can tell you, I’d last five minutes before I cried out for help.’ Nan hoped Lucille never needed him to.
Nan telephoned Daisy and asked her to fly back. Suze left her baby at home with Batty and drove over. The three of them confronted Dennis together around the kitchen table, while Marigold was sleeping upstairs.
Daisy was shocked to see her father looking so tired and grey. He had aged a great deal since she had last seen him at Christmas. If she had had reservations about putting her mother into a nursing home, Dennis’s decline convinced her that it was the right thing to do, for both of them.
Dennis hugged his mug of tea and gazed forlornly at his daughters and mother-in-law with glassy eyes. ‘I know what you’re all here for,’ he told them sadly.
‘We’re not going to sit back and let you deteriorate too,’ said Nan, and she smiled and added with typically dry humour, ‘I have to live with you and it’s not fair on me.’
Dennis managed a wan smile in return, but the truth was made no easier to bear cushioned with jest.
‘It’s not fair on you,’ said Daisy kindly, looking at her father with tenderness. ‘You need to live your life, Dad.’
He stared at her in bewilderment. ‘But Marigold is my life, Daisy.’
‘I know, Dad. But if you don’t get help, she’ll take you down with her and none of us will be able to bear that.’ Daisy’s eyes stung. She couldn’t imagine Dennis without Marigold. The two of them went together like a pot and its lid. Like bread and butter. Like laughter and love.
‘We don’t want Mum to leave home any more than you do,’ said Suze. ‘But, she wouldn’t want you to suffer, would she?’
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