by Annie Lyons
‘Oh. I see.’
‘I’ve only been working here for about three months but she seemed a lot calmer back then. Have you noticed anything?’
I stared at her, unable to think what to say. I only saw her once a month so honestly had no real way of knowing. ‘Perhaps.’
‘I’m very fond of your mother. She thinks the world of you.’ She smiled again.
‘Does she?’ I asked with genuine surprise. Unlikely, given our history.
Laurie nodded. ‘She says your name all the time. I think she’s lost in memories from the past but you’re always in them.’
I felt my chest grow tight as she opened the door and I saw my mother lying in her bed. She looked tiny, like a child. Her face was grey, her hair matted and thin. I thought she was asleep at first but she turned her head towards me, a confused frown creasing her expression.
‘Hello,’ I said in a croaky voice.
Her face flickered with recognition but she didn’t speak. She just gazed at me as if searching for the answer to a question.
‘How are you, Mrs Winter?’ asked Laurie. ‘Are you feeling better today?’
My mother’s gaze transferred from me to Laurie. She raised her eyebrows and then smiled in reply.
‘That’s good,’ said Laurie. ‘And lovely to have your daughter visiting too.’ My mother glanced at me and then back to Laurie, like a spectator at a tennis match. ‘I’ll let you have some time together,’ she said, giving me an encouraging smile before she left.
I stood by the side of the bed and took in my surroundings. I didn’t usually come in here. My mother was normally sitting in the lounge area, staring into the middle distance, whilst activities such as bingo or singing went on around her. She reminded me of a lonely person at a party and I felt sad that she couldn’t seem to take part in her own life any more. Then I would remember how she had barely participated when she’d had her marbles and dismissed the thought.
The room was very pleasant, with two windows looking out over the garden and apart from the adjustable bed, it felt much like a miniature version of her old home. There were fresh flowers on the table by the window and a bowl of fruit as well. She had brought one of her chairs, her bookcase and quite a few of her knick-knacks. She had liked to collect miniature Wade figures and these were all arranged on a little wall-shelf in one corner.
I could remember loving these as a child but never being allowed to touch them for fear of breakages. One day, I had crept into the dining room where they were kept and picked up a tiny porcelain hedgehog that I liked the look of. I made him jump from surface to surface but had accidentally chipped his perfect black nose. My mother appeared at that moment, turning white with anger when she saw what I had done. She sent me to my room but I had been happy to hide there until my father got home, whereupon he had done his best to quell her anger.
I stared at the figures now, noticing the replacement hedgehog my father had bought, resisting a childish urge to knock it off the shelf. I turned away.
My mother was looking at me again now, so I pulled up a chair and sat next to her bed. I wanted to get this over with. ‘Do you remember what happened last night?’ I asked. She seemed to shrink into the bed even more. I should have felt sympathy but I was still heavy with childhood anger. ‘I’ve had to beg Mr Jarvis to let you stay here.’ My mother mumbled something. I frowned and leant in closer. ‘What did you say?’
‘Sorry,’ she whispered.
I was taken aback. Perhaps the sedation was still having an effect. My anger started to dissolve. ‘Okay, well, I’m glad you’re sorry.’ She stared up at me with huge eyes made all the more pathetic by her shrinking frame. I transferred my gaze to the garden and was surprised to see Guy Henderson wheeling an elderly lady in a wheelchair. My mother’s eyes rested on them too. There was a moment’s silence before she started to pound her fists on the bed, her face enraged.
I leapt up from the chair. ‘What’s the matter?’ I cried. She lashed out a fist in my direction but missed and slumped down onto the bed, before looking up at me. She seemed twice the size all of a sudden, her eyes narrow and angry. I recognise you now, I thought.
‘Fuck off,’ she hissed.
‘I beg your pardon?’ I cried. I had never heard my mother swear before.
‘Fuck off,’ she repeated. ‘Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off.’
I pulled the emergency cord and within seconds Laurie and a colleague were there. ‘All right Mrs Winter, let’s try to breathe and calm down, shall we? Jem, call the doctor,’ said Laurie, taking my mother by the shoulders in an attempt to soothe her.
‘I have to go,’ I said, heading for the door, not looking back. ‘I’m sorry,’ I added, but I’m not sure to whom. I hurried along the corridor, signed out and fled back to my car.
Once inside, I realised that I was shaking. I could hear my heart beating, a sense of panic coursing through my body. I could not believe what I had just witnessed and my urge to flee had taken over. I contemplated going back, to check if my mother was all right but I realised that I didn’t want to. I simply didn’t want to know. This woman was a stranger to me. She’d always been a stranger in that she never seemed like the mothers of picture books or films. There was no softness or gentle kindness in our relationship, no lap in which to snuggle or shoulder on which to cry.
Why should I care about her now if she had never cared about me? Why should I pick up the pieces of her shattered life? What was the point? She barely knew me.
The people at the home claimed that she asked for me but they could be making it up. There were flickers of recognition but it was fleeting. She was trapped in her own world, like she had trapped me in my room for every minor indiscretion as a child.
She hadn’t wanted anything to do with me back then so why should I bother now? I didn’t need her. I had carved out a life away from this ageing and decay. I didn’t need it in my life. I could simply drive away and not come back.
And yet, there I remained. Silently cursing my indecision. Why couldn’t I just leave? Go back to the order and harmony of my real life? There was a tap on the glass and I jumped in surprise at the sight of Laurie’s concerned face. I wound down the window.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I just couldn’t take seeing her like that.’ It sounded as if I cared and I felt immediate guilt for being disingenuous.
Laurie gave me a reassuring smile. ‘Of course. It’s very hard sometimes. Do you have any idea what brought it on?’
I shook my head. ‘We were just sitting, looking out into the garden. I saw someone I knew – Guy Henderson with an elderly lady in a wheelchair.’
Laurie nodded. ‘Mrs Henderson has only recently arrived at the home. Sometimes, people with dementia react badly to change, a new face or someone who reminds them of something from their past.’
‘I only met Guy this week, so there’s no connection between my mother and his.’
Laurie smiled. ‘Well, your mother is much calmer now, so we’ll monitor the situation and keep in touch, okay?’
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Thank you so much.’ I gave her a final wave before starting the car and driving off, feeling relieved that my mother was someone else’s problem for the time being, tucked away where I didn’t have to think about her, her illness or the pain of the past.
Run away, Caroline. Run back to your place of safety and don’t look back.
I switched on the radio. They were playing ‘Weather With You’ – a Crowded House song that Oliver and I used to sing along to while we were decorating the house at weekends. I turned up the volume and sang at the top of my voice, drowning my worries with happier memories.
CHAPTER SEVEN
NATALIE
‘Mum! Pizza’s ready!’ yelled Woody.
‘Okay,’ I replied. ‘Just finishing up.’ I glanced back at the blinking cursor. I’d always thought that would be a good name for my writing memoir – The Blinking Cursor by Natalie Garfield. I smiled. I was in a good mood tonight. I was abou
t to officially embark on the campaign to get Dan to fall in love with me all over again and I was excited.
I practically skipped down the stairs. I felt like a natural woman, every woman and a woman in love. Choir had obviously had a positive effect on me. We had a rehearsal tonight and I was in two minds as to whether I would go. The next hour would decide that for me, depending on Dan’s reaction to my surprise.
I had contemplated telling Doly about it when I popped into the shop earlier but she wasn’t on her own so I decided to keep it to myself for now.
‘Are you going to choir tonight?’ she asked with a smile.
‘I’m planning to,’ I replied. ‘Have you been practising?’
‘Only all the time. Never stops singing, this one,’ said a man who was carrying a box from the back of the shop. ‘She has the voice of an angel,’ he added, his eyes glittering with pride.
Doly beamed at me. ‘This is my husband, Dev.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ smiled the man.
‘Oh, is this your singing thing?’ asked another, younger man, who was re-stocking the fridge. I could see a family resemblance to Dev. His dark-brown eyes twinkled with amusement. ‘I bet it’s all Abba and Spice Girls – a zigazig ahh! Am I right, brother?’ he added, glancing at Dev.
Dev laughed but then noticed his wife glaring at him and adopted a serious face. ‘I’m sure they sound wonderful,’ he replied diplomatically.
Doly rolled her eyes at me. ‘Pay no heed to my fool of a brother-in-law,’ she declared.
‘I’m Hasan,’ said the young man, wiping his hand on his jeans before offering it to me.
I grinned. ‘Good to meet you,’ I said, accepting it.
‘And you,’ he replied, smiling, holding my gaze for a few seconds.
‘Right, stop harassing my customers,’ said Doly, shooing him away before turning back to me. ‘Sorry about him. He likes to flirt with all the pretty ladies,’ she added.
I felt a bit giddy as I walked home. I had been called pretty, received attention from a handsome young man, all without brushing my hair.
I’ve still got it and it’s only a matter of time before Dan realises this too.
I walked down the hall into the kitchen, humming the tune to ‘Everybody’s Changing’. Guy had sent us a list of songs he wanted to try along with the music files so that we could practise. I loved this song. It reminded me of when Dan and I were first married, before we had Woody – simpler times. Not happier necessarily. Just simpler and more carefree.
Dan was just fishing some garlic bread out of the oven. Two pizzas already sat on the side. ‘Someone’s in a good mood tonight,’ he said, smiling.
‘Mum’s always singing these days,’ groaned Woody, appearing in the kitchen, helping himself to a glass of juice.
‘I like singing,’ I beamed, leaning past Dan to steal a piece of the bread. ‘And I am in a good mood.’
‘Well, I think you sound great,’ said Dan, flashing me a grin. That grin. The one that used to make my body ache with longing.
‘All your songs are old and boring,’ declared Woody. ‘You should sing something by Ed Sheeran.’
‘Maybe we will,’ I said, ruffling his hair. ‘Anyway, it looks as if dinner’s nearly ready. Could you lay the table, please?’
‘’Kay,’ he replied, fetching knives and forks and carrying them into the dining room.
I watched as Dan cut the pizzas with a pair of kitchen scissors. Maybe I should tell him now? He would be surprised and we would laugh, have a glass of wine and the scales would fall from his eyes.
‘What?’ he grinned, flicking the oven gloves at me. ‘What are you looking at, eh?’
‘Dunno, the label’s dropped off,’ I teased. ‘Anyway, didn’t you used to poo-poo my pizza-cutting techniques?’ I added, gesturing at the scissors.
‘That’s before I realised how brilliant they were, darling.’
Darling. He just called me darling. You didn’t use that word casually. You just didn’t. ‘Do you fancy a glass of wine?’ I asked, opening the fridge and taking out the bottle. There was always an open bottle in the fridge-door these days.
‘Aren’t you going to choir?’
‘Er yeah, but one glass won’t hurt. In fact, it actually makes your voice higher,’ I said, pouring two glasses.
‘Is that a fact?’ he grinned.
I nodded, feeling my body lift with joy at our easy banter. You must miss this as much as I do, Dan. ‘I’ll take these in, shall I?’ I asked, gesturing at the plates and garlic bread.
‘That’d be great. Ta.’
He followed me into the dining room, where Woody was already sitting in his place. He looked up and smiled. My lovely boy.
Dan put the pizzas on the table and sat opposite him. I took my place to his left, just as I always had. I sat back and watched as Dan dished up the pizza to Woody and then to me. This was the main reason for my good mood. We were all together again. Just as we’d always been. I could almost pretend that the thing hadn’t been said, that Dan was still living here, that he wasn’t just having dinner with us before I went to choir, that he would be staying the night. Oh yes, I’m the great pretender.
‘Salad?’ he asked, gesturing towards the bowl.
‘Thanks,’ I replied. ‘So, Woody, how was school?’
He shrugged. ‘Good.’
‘What did you get up to?’
‘Maths, literacy, art.’ He reeled it off like the world’s most boring shopping list.
I persevered. ‘What are you doing in art?’
He frowned. ‘Can’t remember.’
‘Wow,’ I teased. ‘I’m so glad we had this conversation.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘It’s school. School is boring. End of.’
‘He’s not wrong,’ said Dan, raising his eyebrows at me. ‘Life doesn’t really get interesting until you discover love.’
‘Are you going to get a divorce?’ Woody stared at us both, his face serious.
Dan and I looked at one another. It was a fair question. He sighed. ‘Not at the moment, mate. Your mum and I need to work things out.’
‘What things?’ Oh, Woody, I could hug you for your tenacity.
‘Grown-up things,’ replied Dan. He reached out a hand to his son. ‘Look, I know this is confusing for you but to be honest, it’s confusing for us too. The thing that you have to remember is that your mum and I love you very much.’ I nodded in agreement. ‘And I want to see you as much as I can while we sort everything out, okay?’
Woody bit his lip. ‘Okay.’
‘And you can ask us anything or tell us what’s bothering you any time, all right?’ I offered.
‘All right,’ repeated Woody, but he didn’t seem very sure.
‘So how did the meeting go yesterday?’ asked Dan, turning to me, obviously eager to move the conversation along.
‘It was really good actually. Ed was on form as usual and the art director loves “Super-Hero” Ned. We’re also thinking of doing a spin-off for his side-kick, Cat.’
‘That’s brilliant, Nat. We’re proud of you, aren’t we Woody?’ said Dan, nudging my shoulder.
Woody nodded, wolfing down his pizza and wiping his mouth on his sleeve. ‘Can I go and watch TV now please?’
I had been waiting for this moment. I loved my son dearly but I wanted to talk to Dan alone. ‘Of course,’ I replied. ‘Half an hour, then pyjamas and teeth, okay?’
‘’Kay.’
Dan started to pile up the plates in readiness to take them to the kitchen. ‘Wait,’ I said. He looked at me, an expectant smile on his face.
For a moment it was as if nothing had changed. Here we sat, finishing dinner, nursing a glass of wine, about to take out the plates to the dishwasher – normal stuff that normal people do. ‘I’ve got a surprise,’ I said.
‘Okay,’ he replied, looking intrigued. ‘I’ve got something to tell you too but let’s hear your surprise. As you know, I’m one of the few people in the world who actually lik
e a surprise.’ This was true. I had thrown him a surprise party for his thirtieth birthday. He had always declared it to be the best thing anyone had ever done for him.
I hesitated for a second. Shouldn’t I let him go first? Maybe he wanted to tell me that he was having second thoughts. ‘It can wait if you have something you need to say,’ I said, almost pleading. Please tell me that it was all a mistake, that you miss me, that we can work it out.
He smiled, ever the gentleman. ‘Ladies first,’ he encouraged. ‘So what’s this big surprise?’
I walked over to the stereo and pressed Play. The opening strains of ‘Truly Madly Deeply’ by Savage Garden began to drift through the speakers. I turned to him and smiled.
‘Remember this?’
I had hoped that he would laugh and burst into song as he’d done all those years ago. I had hoped that this would be the moment when he would remember and see me as I’d been – the girl he’d fallen in love with. What had Ed said? If you’ve done it once you can do it again?
He seemed to be frozen to the spot. He didn’t speak or move. I seized the moment. I rolled up one sleeve and held out my wrist for him to see. He stared at my arm. His mouth fell open and he gawped at me.
‘You had a tattoo!’ he cried, sounding less impressed and more appalled.
‘Yes, but look what it says,’ I urged. ‘“Truly Madly Deeply”, Dan. It’s our song.’
‘Oh, Nat,’ he said.
Those two words could be said in so many different ways:
Oh, Nat, how romantic. What a wonderful loving gesture.
Oh, Nat, I hate to say it but I think you’re a bit too old for a tattoo.
Oh, Nat, what have you done? Did you actually think that you could save our marriage by inking some words onto your skin?
I think it’s safe to say that Dan’s intonation implied a mixture of options two and three. ‘I just wanted to remind you how we used to be, before life got a bit samey,’ I said quietly, turning off the music.
‘Oh, Nat,’ he repeated, walking towards me and taking hold of my arms. This time I could tell that he just felt sorry for me.