The Art of Forgetting

by McLaren, Julie

  “I went to The Willows this afternoon and they want her out. Something had happened – I think she fell out with one of the other residents – and she ended up halfway down to the village. They say they can’t manage her.”

  “Well, it sounds as if they can’t,” says Patrick. “Sounds like she needs something a bit more … specialist?”

  She does. Laura knows that, but she would have preferred Patrick to have shown at least a little indignation about The Willows and its apparent lack of vigilance. Even if they decided to do nothing about it, which was almost certain, it would have been an indication that he cared. But that’s Patrick for you. I don’t know why I expected anything different, she thinks as he goes to change out of his suit. She can’t complain about him in any other way – he’s steady and kind, he works hard, he’s good with the kids – but he is so self-contained that sometimes she wonders if there is anything hiding in there at all.

  She waits until later to make the call, after the kids are safely upstairs and Patrick is sitting at the dining room table with his laptop, the screen casting a cold light on face and his brow a little furrowed. It is Beth who answers, although it is Robin’s mobile she has called, and this throws her.

  “Oh, hello, Beth. Have I called the landline? I wanted a word with Robin. Are you OK? The kids?”

  Beth assures her that all is well and she has simply taken the call for Robin who is ‘out of the room’. That is typical of Beth – she is so prim and proper, thinks Laura. Robin is probably in the loo, but she wouldn’t say that, so they exchange pleasantries for another minute or two until she is handed over.

  “Oh, Robin, sorry to disturb you, but it’s about Mum. We’ve got to find somewhere else for her, and quickly.”

  If Patrick’s response is disappointing for its lack of displeasure, Robin’s is quite the opposite. He is furious and wants a letter of apology at the very least, to say nothing of a reduction in fees. He talks of going to the press, to whoever it is that inspects care homes, to the local MP, and it takes Laura some time to calm him down. They need to focus on the practicalities and avoid wasting time on battles they are unlikely to win, especially as The Willows has never claimed to be a secure home. In the end, she raises the issue of money, something that is always guaranteed to gain Robin’s attention, and that does the trick.

  It is an hour before she is able to get back to Kelly. Robin already has power of attorney over their mother’s financial affairs, following a health scare a couple of years ago, but he has never used it until now and Laura almost forgot he ever had it. But it is a blessing as it means they can start to think seriously about the future and how the fees, which are likely to be considerable, will be paid. They will also have to take a difficult decision about the house, but Robin says there is plenty of time for that. Mum is financially ‘very comfortable’ as he puts it. Their father was well insured and had paid off the mortgage when his own mother died. How strange it all is, thinks Laura, as she says goodbye to Robin. It was only a few years ago that Grandma died and now here they are, the elders of the family, making all the decisions; taking all the responsibility.

  Chapter 5

  It is a bright, sunny day. The air seems to have that sparkling quality that Laura always associates with the Whitsun holiday, but the children have another week in school and she is on her way to see her mother.

  It is nearly six weeks since she left The Willows and everything is organised, at last. The new home is as nice as it could be, given the sad condition of its residents, and Mum has settled in better than they could have hoped for. That means Laura is in relatively good spirits as she bowls along the country lanes, joining in with Madonna on the radio and thinking about next week. They have decided not to go away but to take the kids on as many day trips as they can. Of course, it is Laura’s task to plan them, just as it is her role to organise everything remotely domestic.

  She is barely aware of the journey, having made it so often in the past few weeks, and she arrives at the nursing home before she knows it. It is called Cavendish House and it is much larger than The Willows, having long, modern extensions on both sides. However, it has pleasant grounds, plenty of windows and the obligatory conservatory, so Laura hopes her mother is able to enjoy the sunshine. She swallows back the lump that rises in her throat when she remembers her in the garden at home, wearing an old shirt and a battered straw hat. Thank goodness she can’t see it now, she thinks, as it is wild and over-grown. Yet another reason for Lydia to complain.

  Laura parks the car and goes into the garden via the security gate at the side. There is a wide lawn dotted with various garden furniture. It is bound by a small wooded area at the top and shrubs to both sides. Many of the residents are out here, some with staff and some with family, and Laura tries for a moment to pretend she is somewhere else. It is a coffee afternoon for Save the Children or somebody’s birthday. Her mother is here to help, not to be looked after. If only that could be.

  She looks around and sees her mother by the shrubs near the terrace. As she approaches, Laura sees that she is holding a small, plastic bowl and is moving slowly, picking leaves from the bushes and placing them carefully in the bowl. Tears prick Laura’s eyes again. What on earth does she think she is doing?

  “Hello, Mum,” says Laura, hating the false brightness in her voice and hoping her smile will not look equally fake. She receives no smile in return and changes her mind about giving her mother the hug that would have been so natural, so automatic, just a few months ago.

  “Ah, hello. I’ve been looking for you. I’m doing this all by myself. Go and get another bowl or we’ll never be ready.”

  Laura knows better than to question or challenge, she has learned that the hard way. But deflection sometimes works so she fishes around in her bag and produces an envelope.

  “Here, this is for you, Mum. Lily made it for you.”

  Laura holds out the envelope. Inside, there is a picture and Laura can visualise it clearly although Mum has yet to take the envelope, let alone open it. Lily has drawn her family – Laura, Patrick, Ricky and herself – but the figure in the centre is her grandmother. Laura thinks it is recognisably her, but all the drawings are carefully labelled to avoid doubt. There is a bright sun shining in one corner and each person is sporting a wide smile. Birds fly over their heads and multicoloured flowers peek through the green grass. To add to the effect, Lily has made a border of stickers and sequins, some of which have adhered better than others. It is a delightful picture, made with care and love, and Laura knows her mother will like it as much as she does. She has always doted on Lily.

  She appears to be torn between taking the envelope and continuing her task, but Laura sees this as an opportunity and opens the envelope for her.

  “Look,” she says, holding out the picture. “It’s us. There’s you in the middle, and this is ...”

  She stops, as Mum takes the picture and looks at it. For a few seconds this seems like a good sign, but not for long. She watches, frozen, as her mother tears it right down the middle and her happy, smiling self is rent in two. She drops the pieces on the grass.

  “Do you think I’ve got time for rubbish like this?” she says, her voice loud and harsh. “I’ve told you, we are going to be very late so go and get another bloody bowl before I lose my temper!”

  Laura feels the tears well up in her eyes and a sob catches in her throat. She feels like a child, castigated for something she didn’t do. Her head knows her mother can’t help her behaviour but her heart wants to rail at her. How dare she ruin Lily’s lovely picture? She spent ages making it and it was such a thoughtful act. “It will help Granny remember our names,” she’d said, with a wisdom beyond her years.

  Luckily, there are always staff around, keeping out a watchful eye for situations that may get out of control. That’s what they are paying such huge fees for, says Patrick whenever Laura remarks on how good they are. Now there is a hand on Laura’s shoulder and somebody is leading her away t
o a bench on the terrace, whilst somebody else talks to her mother. She sees that the two halves of Lily’s picture have been retrieved, but she doesn’t want them back. What could she say to Lily? Sorry, but Granny ripped it up?

  Suddenly it all becomes too much and she buries her head in her hands, sobs shaking her body. The effort of keeping this under control is hurting her chest and throat, but there is an arm around her shoulders.

  “It’s OK, don’t worry. It’s good to cry,” says the nurse, who has stuck by her however much Laura tried to insist she was fine. “Sometimes I go home and cry too, and it’s not even my mum who’s giving me a hard time. Lord knows what I’d be like if it was!”

  Slowly, Laura pulls herself together. The nurse is called Ruby, and she has that beautiful, rich melodic voice often found in women of African descent. She tells Laura about all the good things she has seen in Judy, how it is clear that she was – still is – an intelligent and caring person. How this behaviour is the disease, not the person. It does not mean that this horrible, thoughtless Judy has been lurking around inside her for all these years, waiting to be let out. The disease has symptoms and they are no more part of Judy than a tumour is part of a cancer sufferer.

  They wait a little longer. Laura dabs at her eyes and nose for a while, hoping she doesn’t look too much of a mess, but logic tells her that all the family members here will have been through something similar and will understand. Nobody appears to pay her much attention but she catches the eye of a middle-aged man leading an elderly woman by the hand. He gives her a sympathetic half-smile as he passes, gently resisting the old woman’s attempts to pull free. This is what I have to look forward to, thinks Laura with a sigh.

  By now, her mother has been coaxed away from the bushes and there is no sign of the plastic bowl as she is led down the steps to meet them.

  “Look, Judy. Here’s Laura come to see you. Why don’t you sit down here whilst I go and find the Sellotape?” says the other nurse. Ruby shuffles along to the end of the bench to make space and Laura watches recognition dawn in her mother’s eyes.

  “Oh, how lovely to see you, love,” she says, a smile lighting up her face.

  Later, Laura tells Lily how much her grandmother had liked her picture. She misses out the bit about it getting ripped, especially as the nurse made a fantastic job of matching the two halves and sticking them together at the back so the join was hardly visible. She tells her how delighted Granny had been to see herself at the centre of one branch of her family. How impressed she’d been with the bright colours and the shiny sequins. She even tells her that Granny asked about Lily’s age at least five times and marvelled anew at such artistic skills in one so young. There is no point in hiding her condition from the children even if they must be protected from its worst effects, and it doesn’t matter that Lily laughs. Sometimes that is the only thing to do.

  Although she feels better by the time she has cleared up and the kids are in bed, she can’t quite banish the image of her mother gathering leaves. It pops back into her head every time her attention wanders from the television, so she starts to tell Patrick about it. She has reached the bit where Mum ripped Lily’s picture when she becomes aware that Patrick has at least half an eye on the news. Something has happened in the world of football, something about a manager sacked unexpectedly, and this is apparently vying for his attention. She winds up her story quickly and leaves him to it. There is no point in having an argument – Patrick rarely rises to the bait anyway – and she lacks the energy. Kelly will listen.

  Kelly does listen. Of course it is different for her, Laura tells herself later, when she is running through the events of the day in the hope that sleep will follow. Of course it is different when it isn’t your own mother. A little voice tells her that she would be a lot more sympathetic if it were Patrick’s mother in this state and he was having to deal with it, but she suppresses it. Kelly is shocked and sympathetic in equal measures, says all the right things, and helps her to focus on the positive. Lily’s picture was rescued, wasn’t it? It has pride of place on Mum’s mantelpiece, doesn’t it? And hadn’t Laura said that their mother took it round to all the groups of residents and families in the garden, as proud a grandmother as you could hope to find?

  Yes, Laura concedes, all those things are true. It was a lovely five minute oasis of calm and normality, when the old Mum appeared to have fought back for a while. Everyone said the right things about Lily’s picture, especially the families and staff. Even the old lady who had walked past when Laura was crying appeared to cease her attempts to escape when Mum showed it to her.

  “It’s lovely,” said the man beside her. “A real work of art. You must be very proud.”

  Laura noted that he was the first person to speak directly to her mother and not through herself or Ruby, who was accompanying them on their tour of the garden, just to be on the safe side. She had admired the way he looked straight at her and engaged her attention, as if she were a real, normal person. She vowed to do the same with the other residents from now on.

  She doesn’t get to tell Kelly that sort of detail, however. Although she has listened and sympathised, there is something else she wants to talk about. Laura is tired and thinking about a nice, relaxing bath but she can hardly cut her off when she has been so good.

  “No, it’s fine,” she says. “Nothing bad I hope? Things OK at school?”

  Kelly reassures her that there is nothing to worry about. School is fine, everything is fine.

  “It’s just that we seem to have let the Linda thing go off the boil,” she says. “I know you’ve been tied up with Mum and the house and I’ve got these extra hours, but do you think we can really just let it go?”

  Laura does think exactly that. Where else could they take it anyway? Their mother’s memory and ability to concentrate are deteriorating by the day and they have no more leads. They’ve already upset poor Hilda and there is nothing to be gained by upsetting her again. She is very firm with Kelly as she says all this, and she can hear the hardness in her own voice, especially as Kelly does not agree.

  “Can’t we just try to locate the man? What was his name? Gordon something or other, wasn’t it? Just to find out if he is still alive? If he’s not, then I promise I will shut up about it. There really would be nothing else we could do. But if he’s still alive … I don’t know. Could you at least think about it? Now Mum is settled and most of the rubbish is out of the house …?”

  Normally, Laura would agree, just to avoid the conflict. Often, she finds, things go away if you ignore them for long enough. However, something tells her that Kelly isn’t about to let this drop.

  “No, I’m sorry Kelly, but I’m not doing it. I don’t think any of you realise what my life is like at the moment. I don’t have a minute to myself, not one minute. I had more time when I was working!”

  She continues, all the frustration boiling over, until Kelly manages, at last, to get a word in and calm her down.

  “It’s fine, I’m sorry,” she says. “I should have understood the strain you’re under and it was very thoughtless of me. Forget I said it!”

  They part amicably, as they always do. Laura in particular can never bear to leave an argument unresolved and Kelly has apologised so all is well. However, that does not prevent this being added to Laura’s long list of things to worry about as she tries to sleep. Was she right to stand up for herself, to refuse yet another task? Is Kelly right? Do they have a duty to resolve the Linda mystery before it is too late and everyone concerned is either dead or incapable of remembering what happened?

  Laura drifts into sleep, the question unanswered. She finds herself in a garden, not unlike the garden at Cavendish House, but there is a path at the bottom and she knows that this leads to her mother’s house. She needs to get to the house, although she cannot remember why, but every time she sets off she takes a wrong turn and ends up on the terrace. A little old woman is holding out a plastic bowl to her and saying something, but she
cannot hear what it is. Somehow, she knows that if she takes the bowl, she will never be able to find the house. She will have to stay here and gather leaves and she does not want that. A wave of panic rushes over her and she dashes the bowl from the old woman’s hand. The old woman’s mouth opens; it is a great ‘O’ of silent surprise and the inside is as black as a starless night.

  Suddenly, she is in her mother’s garden, so close to the back door. There are brambles and branches in the way but she is relieved, nevertheless. However, just when she starts to push her way through, Lydia appears, barring her way. She looks different but Laura knows it is Lydia all the same.

  “She’s dead, you know,” says Lydia and hands her a plastic bowl.

  Laura is awake and sweating. Her heart is thumping. She has to calm herself by breathing deeply as she learned to do in a yoga class, back in the days when she had time for such things. Parts of the dream are still quite clear in her mind and she runs through what she can remember of it, trying to work out its significance. For a fleeting moment she resolves to tell her mother about it. Mum had read a lot of Freud and Jung at university and loved to try to interpret their dreams.

  Then Laura remembers with a lurch that she can’t do that kind of thing any more. There will be no more of that; no more sitting at Mum’s kitchen table on a Saturday afternoon with a mug of coffee and a biscuit, whilst the kids play with Jip in the garden and Patrick pretends to do something useful in the lounge. “Hey, Mum, I had the weirdest dream last night!” Her mother teasing it out, turning it into the fulfilment of some subconscious wish that Laura never knew she had. Not that she believed most of it anyway, but it had been fun. Fun. Now it seems that is something that will be in short supply for her mother.