Katie snapped the book shut.
Supper was horrible. Not the food, which was pasta and pesto – the atmosphere. Mary barely ate. She seemed so different – sort of deflated, like her air had come out. Her eyes kept searching the room, searching faces, as if she was trying to work out where she was and why. At one point she grabbed Mum’s hand and whispered, ‘Pat? Is that you?’
Mum shook her head. ‘I’m Caroline.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Sun downing,’ Mum whispered to Katie later. She’d gone straight to her laptop while Katie cleared the table and looked up symptoms on some dementia website. ‘Late afternoon and evening, she’ll lose energy and be prone to restless and impulsive behaviour. Her concentration will lapse and she’s likely to do things which may endanger herself or others.’ Mum reeled them off as if they were certainties, slapped the laptop shut and slumped back in her chair to gaze hopelessly at the ceiling. ‘Brilliant. Doesn’t life just get better by the hour?’
Mary was watching TV with Chris at the other end of the room. She didn’t appear to have heard. Katie went to sit with them. It seemed wrong to talk about that stuff in front of them and Katie didn’t know what to do about it.
‘Shove up,’ she told her brother. He huffed, but moved over and she sat between them on the sofa. They were watching some detective programme about a psychic who knew what people were thinking and could tell the cops where bodies were hidden.
‘I’m going to learn to read people’s minds,’ Chris said.
‘You can read mine if you like,’ Mary laughed. ‘Let me know what you find.’
Katie leaned in to her. Her grandmother was warm and solid.
Eleven
Mary played the memory game as she walked. Today’s category was: love.
She is twelve years old sitting in a cherry tree and spies a boy cleaning his bike. Blossom falls into her hair and down the back of her dress. Sunlight climbs the side of the house as she smears her lips crimson.
She is fifteen and has permission to stay at the street party until midnight. It’s not as glamorous as being allowed into London to the Festival Pleasure Gardens, but it’s better than nothing at all. A man clutches her round the waist and spins her. He demands a kiss and she proffers her cheek, but Pat pushes him off and brushes down the place on Mary’s dress where his hands have been.
‘What are you like?’ Pat admonishes.
‘You tell me!’ Mary demands, standing with her hands on her hips and her chin tipped at her sister.
What was she like? It became a phrase, asked of her for years.
She would never come to any good, that seemed to be generally agreed upon. She was too encouraging of male attention, too bold, too opinionated. She couldn’t be trusted with any domestic task. She broke things. Couldn’t cook for toffee. She had no control of herself. Don’t put a baby in her arms – she’ll drop it. Not a motherly instinct in her.
And the ridiculous notions she came up with! The Royal Academy of Dramatic Art? She’d clearly lost her mind if she was still on about acting. Dad would rather she dug fish from the sand every day than have his baby girl leave him. She was the apple of his eye, his treasure. Pat was very sure about Dad’s opinion on this, and when he wavered she wagged her finger and told him that being an actress was only one step away from prostitution.
What picture is this now? Ah yes, Mary’s on her way to secretarial school and a young man winks at her as he swings onto the bus. She knows she’s supposed to smile coyly at the floor, but she smiles into his eyes instead and neither of them look away. He’s there again at the bus stop the next day. Same wink, same smile. They get talking, she tells him where she’s going and that evening he’s outside the gates, just happened to be passing, what acoincidence! His eyes are full of something and she knows what it is – desire. When he asks if she’d like to go dancing on Saturday night, it makes her heart sing.
Is it just her? Do all women and girls possess this gift – something hot and quick that draws men to them? Has she always had it? Should she love it as much as she does? It feels like a spark that keeps tipping into flame. And it’s freedom of sorts, isn’t it? It’s something that belongs to her, that Pat and Dad can never take away. If she’s to be trapped in this little town, then why not make life a bit more interesting?
She studies other women – the angle of their necks as they sew and knit, her own sister’s tired eyes as she goes through the household accounts. She dares to ask how it is for married women, in their opinion. What are men like to live with in that way? Jean next door says, It’s two minutes of pleasure and a lifetime of pain. Pat says, That sounds about right.
She confides in a girl at the typing pool, who laughs and says, ‘I should think men do gawp at you, Mary, with that trim little figure of yours.’
She asks her friend Audrey while they stand in the queue for the Roxy. ‘Do you think there’s something wrong with me? It feels like a sickness to be thinking of love all the time.’
Audrey frowns and says, ‘You better be careful. You’re getting a terrible reputation.’
Mary ended up at an intersection. A bigger, busier road crossed the quiet one she’d walked down. Here, the world was full of traffic. Light bounced off metal, engines hummed. She seemed to recognize this place. Had she been here before?
There was a wonderful smell of coffee coming from somewhere, ah, yes – that café was open. She rather fancied sitting at one of those outside tables and ordering something to drink. But no, to stall was to forget and there was a place she needed to go. She’d woken with such certainty and already it was slipping away. She’d know it when she got there, of course, but all she had right now was the ache of it. It was like having your hands tied when you wanted to itch. It was like seeing a man you wanted to kiss and standing next to him was his wife.
She walked on a little way. She’d definitely been here before. That tree over the road looked very familiar. Was she being ridiculous? Didn’t all trees look the same? The angle of that roof struck a chord too. So did the queue at the bus stop and the buildings over there that sparkled and winked as if they knew something.
She crossed the street and that’s when she saw the number twenty-three glistening in sunshine on a gate. That’s when she noticed a neat front garden and tiled steps leading up to the door. Eight steps in all.
‘It’s here,’ she shouted. ‘I found it.’
For a brief moment she swung, one hand strapped to the gate, the other grasping air. She stepped badly, her foot at an odd angle.
Someone said, ‘Hey, love, are you all right?’
Her foot hurt. She tried to rub it, reached towards it, but it was too far away.
‘You knock yourself?’ The same voice, a man’s voice.
There were a small group of people at the bus stop. This man was one of them. They were all looking at her.
‘She by herself?’ one of them said.
‘You cold, love?’ the man said. ‘You’re shivering.’
The world shifted from dream to reality and back again. As Mary opened the gate it was as if everything thickened, as if the air had density and texture.
When the man comes up behind her and asks if she lives here, she shakes her head. ‘My sister does.’
He looks pleased, asks if he might take her arm and help her up the remaining steps. It will get embarrassing when they get to the door because Pat will be furious. But never mind that. She’s going to knock, and when Pat answers Mary will take whatever consequences come her way. Even if the damn place falls down about their ears.
She glances at the man who has linked arms with her. She’ll have to get rid of him before things get tricky.
‘You OK?’ he says. ‘Am I going too fast?’
‘You can go now.’
He raps on the door. ‘I’ll just wait until someone comes.’
‘I’ll be fine.’
‘I’m not leaving until I know you’re safe.’
A woman answers.
A woman Mary’s never seen before. She stands blinking down at them, says, ‘Can I help?’
‘This lady says her sister lives here,’ the man says.
‘No, love. Wrong address.’
‘Well, that’s what she says. She pointed me here.’
The woman frowns. ‘Never seen her before.’
‘Well, what do I do now?’ says the man. ‘I’ve left my missus at the bus stop.’
‘You should call the police, shouldn’t you? If she’s lost.’
The man looks at his watch. ‘I’m already late.’
‘Well, you can’t leave her with me.’
They both look at Mary, assessing the possibilities. This is ridiculous! Do they think she’s a robber? Do they think she’s one half of Bonnie and Clyde? She smiles her sweetest smile. ‘If Pat’s not here, would it be all right if I came inside and had a little peek? I’d love to see the bedrooms.’
The man says, ‘My mother-in-law’s like this. Wears a bracelet with her address on. You reckon she’s got something like that?’
The woman’s eyes soften. ‘What’s your name, darling, do you remember? Where have you come from, eh?’
This really is none of their business. Mary tries to draw the appropriate words together. ‘I’m currently living in London. I caught the train and walked here from the station. I stopped off for refreshments at the coffee bar.’
The woman shakes her head, looks doubtful.
The man says, ‘You mean the café?’
‘If you like. There’s a particular seat near the window. I watch this place from there.’
The woman frowns. ‘You watch my flat?’
‘Just to make sure everything’s the same, you know – the mantelpiece and the neatness. I have to know she’s being looked after properly, you see. Now, I’d appreciate it if you’d let me come inside.’
The woman’s eyes fill with something. Pity? Boredom? She turns to the man. ‘Why don’t you try the café? That’s probably where she came from.’
‘I’m late for work already. How about you call the police instead?’
‘Not the police,’ Mary says. ‘That really won’t be necessary.’
The woman looks sorry. ‘But you don’t seem to know where you are.’
‘I’m at Pat’s house.’
‘No one called Pat lives here, darling. And it’s not a house, it’s a block of flats.’
The panic builds slowly. It’s as if the world widens out to include things that don’t belong – this woman’s bare shoulders, the ring through her nose, the man tapping away at some gadget, a car alarm blaring, the sound of traffic building up on the road behind them.
Where is she? What year is it?
The hands are the best clue. Folded like origami round her handbag. She lifts them in front of her face to look. They are lined and dry.
She is ancient.
The world shifts once more.
The woman suggested she walk Mary back to the café. She said this was a less alarming solution than calling the police.
The man rubbed Mary’s arm in a friendly fashion. ‘Cheerio then. Best of luck.’
Mary stalled at the gate to look back at the house. It was all wrong. The window frames were some sort of white plastic and it never used to stretch so high or wide and there never used to be balconies or quite so many doors.
The woman said, ‘These flats were built years ago. Maybe it’s a block of flats like this? Down a similar road perhaps?’
‘Did you ever find a suitcase?’
‘No, darling, I’m sorry. What was in it? Something valuable?’
But Mary couldn’t remember, so she smiled instead and they continued a slow path out the gate and along the street. Daisies were scattered on the verge. Had they been there earlier? The bus stop certainly looked familiar. Mary yearned to sit there and let the sun warm her, but the woman had her firmly by the elbow and was chivvying her along.
‘Don’t worry,’ the woman said. ‘I’ll walk you to the café and hopefully someone will recognize you.’
‘I know her.’ Mary waved at the girl who came running up. ‘She’s a bit of a relative.’
‘Thank goodness,’ the woman said.
The girl was out of breath, her hair wild, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere! You’ve never gone this far before.’ She turned to the woman, ‘I’m so sorry. She let herself out the flat before anyone was awake.’
The woman handed Mary over, told the girl she really should keep a better eye. The girl apologized many times. The woman mentioned Pat, told the girl about the coffee bar. They all shook hands. They waved goodbye. They smiled and wished each other luck.
‘Why didn’t you wake me up?’ the girl said. ‘I would’ve come with you.’
‘I didn’t want to disturb you.’
The girl gave her an old-fashioned look. ‘It’s a heck of a lot more disturbing having you disappear. You’re lucky that woman found you.’
‘I found her actually.’
‘Well, whichever way round it was, you completely freaked everyone out. I’ll call Mum, let her know we’re on our way home.’
‘Let’s not hurry.’ Mary clutched the girl, relieved to have a familiar arm to hold. ‘I quite fancy a coffee if you want to know the truth. How about a little sit-down before we go anywhere? I could murder a cake.’
The girl laughed. Her face lit up with it. ‘I’m so glad to see you, Mary. I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in all my life.’
Twelve
‘So, Mrs Todd,’ the man said, ‘do you know why you’re here?’
Mary looked down at her feet and silently named her bones. She started with her metatarsals and intended going up in size until she got to her femur, but was interrupted by the woman sitting next to her, who leaned over and patted her hand. Mary could feel her own body trembling through the woman’s fingers.
‘Did you hear?’ the woman said. ‘You need to tell the doctor if you remember why we came.’
The room grew pale. If you do crosswords, if you read books, if you avoid aluminium saucepans, if you extract all metal fillings, if you …
Mary swallowed the panic and examined the woman’s face for clues. She looked very stern – all that hair tied up so tight. It looked like a snake was sleeping on top of her head.
‘You need to answer the doctor’s question,’ the woman said.
‘Why don’t you answer?’ Mary suggested.
The woman frowned. ‘I think he wants to hear it from you.’
Something terrible had happened, Mary knew that. A scream had shot out of her like liquid. There had been people staring, a blue light flashing.
And now she was in a room with a man and a woman and a desk. It was a small room, bright with sunshine. Through the window there were trees with leaves as wide as open hands. Summer then.
The man said, ‘Perhaps you remember the journey here, Mrs Todd? Did you come by car or public transport?’
And over there, on a chair beneath the window, was a girl. Nothing too terrible could have happened if they were allowing a child to be here. Mary relaxed a little. She recognized this girl. She had her feet on the chair with her knees tucked up and was wearing those galumphing boots of hers. Mary gave her a friendly wave. At least she was something cheery to look at.
The girl waved back, said, ‘We came in the car, remember? Mum drove and you and me sat in the back.’
The man wagged a finger. ‘It’d be better if we let your grandmother answer.’
No getting out of it then. ‘Well,’ Mary began, ‘what precisely is it you would like to know, young man? Why we are here, or how we all got here?’
The man looked as if he was thinking about that. He eyed Mary steadily. ‘This is a memory clinic, Mrs Todd.’
‘Of course it is,’ Mary said, ‘which explains why nobody’s got a clue what’s going on!’
The girl by the window laughed. It was infectious. The woman caught it and smiled. Even the man b
ehind the desk twinkled.
‘Let me explain,’ the man said. ‘Your daughter’s doctor got in touch with us because she’s concerned that you might be having a bit of trouble remembering things.’
Blood knocked at Mary’s temples. ‘Caroline’s doctor?’
‘Yes,’ the woman said. ‘I’m Caroline and you came with me to meet my doctor, remember?’
This was Caroline! How strange not to have recognized her.
The man said, ‘Would you say you’ve been having problems with your memory, Mrs Todd?’
‘Not at all.’
He nodded. ‘Well, let’s consider the next half an hour an MOT test, shall we? We’ll just run through a few things and check everything’s in working order.’ He opened a file and flicked through it, pulled out a piece of paper and read it up and down. ‘So,’ he said, ‘can you tell me a bit about yourself, Mrs Todd?’
‘What would you like to know?’
‘Perhaps a bit about your childhood? Do you have any brothers or sisters, for instance?’
‘I have a sister.’ Mary shot a look at Caroline. She was cross with her for talking to doctors behind her back. ‘She can tell you about Pat. They got to know each other very well.’
‘She’s referring to the fact her sister brought me up,’ Caroline said. ‘My mother was very young when she had me, so my aunt and uncle looked after me instead. They didn’t have any other children.’
‘Of course they didn’t,’ Mary said. ‘It was a marriage of convenience, that’s why.’
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