by Rosie Green
How can there be anything wrong with her when she still remembers little things like cheese scones being my favourite?
‘I’ve got something to show you,’ I add. ‘Can you guess where I took these photos?’ I lay them out on the kitchen table.
She picks up the one of Harrisons department store and frowns, shaking her head.
‘What about this one?’ I show her the war memorial photo, which seems to spark some sort of a reaction, although she doesn’t seem sure.
Then she spots one I took of the tree with the cottage in the background, and her eyes light up. ‘Sally Bacon and I used to sit in that tree for hours. That’s where she lived. We could see the duck pond from there and the village green.’
I nod happily. ‘You did. You always used to tell me about that. Look, this is the view from that tree. Where you used to sit.’
She looks at it and laughs. ‘Well I never!’
‘I even found your initials carved into the tree trunk. And Sally’s.’
She gazes at the photograph in wonder and my heart clenches with love for my gorgeous mum, who’s been through so much heartache in her life. We lost Dad when I was twelve and she brought me up on her own. And now, at the age of just fifty-six, she’s facing another enormous challenge that can only end in more heartache.
She’d been having problems with her short-term memory for a while. But we just used to joke about it when she forgot a word in mid-sentence or repeated herself without realising she’d already told me the story.
I’d noticed that telephone conversations with her weren’t as easy and fun as they once were. We used to jabber away about anything and everything when I phoned her mid-week. But lately, I found I that I was having to do most of the talking. I would ask her what she’d been up to and she’d just say, ‘Oh, nothing much,’ then there’d be silence. I told myself it was just because she was at home a lot with not much of a social life, so her world was naturally growing narrower and she therefore had less to talk about.
All these niggles were fairly easy to explain away.
Then one day, we went to an out-of-town shopping centre together. I was at the till buying something and when I turned around, Mum was nowhere to be seen. I spent an hour pacing around that bloody shopping mall, becoming increasingly desperate, trying to find her. Phone calls went straight to voicemail. She seemed to have completely disappeared.
The staff at the centre got involved but they had no luck either. They advised me to go to her house and wait for her to return, so I did but I couldn’t rest. It wasn’t like her not to phone me immediately, if she’d got lost somehow.
Red lights were starting to flash and I was so scared for her.
Finally, just as it was getting dark and I was at my wits’ end, a taxi drew up and Mum got out. She seemed dazed and couldn’t answer my questions properly. She said she’d found herself alone and didn’t know where she was so she’d just walked around and eventually, ‘a nice man’ had asked her if she was all right and found her a taxi. She remembered she lived beside the big hill and the taxi driver obviously knew where she meant.
What struck the most fear into me was that Mum didn’t even seem to think there was anything wrong with her behaviour. I made her something to eat and she went off to bed quite happily and slept like a baby.
But afterwards, I couldn’t get the ‘nice man’ out of my head. He obviously had been a nice man because he found her a taxi and she got home, but what if he hadn’t been? What if someone else had found her, wandering lost and alone? It chilled my blood to think about it.
Next day, I took her to the doctor’s and eventually, after lots of tests, it was confirmed.
Early-onset Alezheimer’s.
I think deep down I’d suspected dementia for a while but I’d refused to acknowledge, even to myself, that this could be the reason for Mum’s absent-mindedness. She was only fifty-six. People that young didn’t get dementia.
Apparently, they did.
In a panic, I went online to search for a ray of hope. I needed to find something I could do to try and combat this wretched disease that was going to steal my lovely mum away. That’s when I saw the idea of a ‘memory book’ for people suffering from dementia. Apparently, sufferers could often recall the distant past far better than things they did just the day before.
Mum had always talked to me so lovingly of Sunnybrook, the place she grew up. So I decided that’s what I’d do. I’d take lots of photos to remind her of her childhood, so that in the future, she’d have a record of her past that might spark memories if the going got tough.
Seeing her smiling at the tree photos, clearly recognising where they were taken, brings a lump to my throat, and the shadow of the disease hanging over us recedes a little. That sixty-mile drive to Sunnybrook was well worth it just to see Mum happy and engaging with the pictures.
She looks up at me. ‘Have you had anything to eat, love? I’ve got some lovely fresh scones from the bakery. Cheese ones. Your favourite.’
CHAPTER FOUR
Arriving home at last, feeling chilled to the bone and exhausted, I switch on the lights and boost the heating. Then I make a cup of tea and go through to the living room and flop on the sofa, preparing to unwind with some mindless channel hopping.
Then I spot the voicemail message flashing on the home phone.
I sit bolt upright to listen to it.
It’s Richard. Has he finally made a decision about us? Perhaps he wants to get back together.
My heart beats faster as I hear him say he wants us to meet up the following night. He even suggests our favourite restaurant – a little Italian place we often went to on a Saturday. He signs off, saying he’ll see me there tomorrow night at eight and to call him if there’s a problem.
I slump back on the sofa, my head in a whirl.
I’ve missed him. A lot. Ours has never been the most passionate, can’t-keep-our-hands-off-each-other sort of relationship, but I’ve always thought that was probably a good thing. We loved each other and I regarded him as my best friend, which was surely more important. Plus, of course, we were both now keen to start a family - Richard even more so than me.
I smile to myself. Having a baby is sure to bind us together even more firmly. I’ve really missed my best friend. And I need him more than ever, now that I have Mum’s diagnosis to cope with. Richard doesn’t even know about that yet. I’ll be able to tell him tomorrow night.
A feeling of sheer relief washes through me.
At least one area of my life is about to get back on track!
*****
Next day, I’m awake early, zinging with energy, which surprises me after the emotion of the previous day. I actually find myself singing in the shower.
‘You look chipper,’ says my colleague, Mandy, when I arrive at the surgery. ‘Has something happened?’
A smile bursts through. ‘You could say that. I’m meeting Richard for dinner tonight.’
‘Are you two back together, then?’
I cross my fingers. ‘I think we might be.’
During the day, I manage to do my work efficiently, but all the time I’m thinking of my dinner date later, planning what I’ll wear. I might even call in at the hairdresser’s on my way home. Treat myself to a make-over!
At last, it’s late afternoon and almost time to leave. Mandy and I are both at the front desk.
I check in a mum who’s worried about her young son, and I spend time trying to reassure her. After they’ve gone through to see the doctor, I think to myself: That will likely be me soon! Scared stiff whenever my child develops a fever in case it’s something more sinister!
‘I’m here for my twelve-week scan,’ I hear Mandy’s patient say.
‘Okay.’ Mandy peers at the computer screen. ‘And your name?’
‘Giselle. Giselle Hunter.’
I swing round, my legs turning to jelly. That’s her. That’s Thing.
She’s pregnant?
Thing suddenly glances over and - catch
ing sight of my face, which must be drained of every last remnant of colour - she frowns. ‘Are you all right?’
Mandy swings round to look at me. ‘Jeez, you look terrible, Ellie. Go and sit down. I’ll be through in a minute.’
Glancing at Thing’s little rounded belly in the skinny T-shirt, I swallow down a wave of nausea then I scuttle through to the back office, where I plop down in a seat, as my world crashes around me all over again.
When Mandy comes through to check I’m okay, I can’t find the words to explain. So I just tell her I’ve got a sudden, splitting headache, at which point she orders me home immediately.
As I’m leaving, I spot Richard’s car parked a little way along from the surgery in a side street, and all the strength drains out of me. He’s obviously waiting for Thing to emerge from her scan. He was no doubt avoiding the surgery car park in case I spotted him there and put two and two together. I guess tonight wasn’t about us getting back together. It was all about breaking the news of his excitingly imminent bundle of joy!
There I was, clinging to the hope that Richard was coming back to me, when all the time Giselle Hunter was providing him with exactly what he wanted. A baby. And probably a far better sex life thrown into the bargain!
I feel so stupid and humiliated.
Of course Richard was never coming back to me . . .
*****
I walk home in a daze, feeling as if my insides have been ripped out. There will be no happy reunion. No Richard to share life’s ups and downs. No baby to plan excitedly for. Just a shadowy future that I can’t even bear to think about.
I manage to hold it together until I arrive back, but as soon as I close the front door behind me, my grief wells up. I get as far as taking my coat off and throwing it on the kitchen table before I sink down on a chair, bury my face in my hands and sob.
I’m crying for the collapse of my relationship and all my hopes and dreams, and another, even more horrifying loss – having to watch my mum decline as Alzheimer’s slowly takes her away from me.
When I finally haul myself up and go in search of tissues, it’s growing dark outside. I make some tea and put loads of sugar in it, having heard it’s good for shock, but then I can’t stomach it. Pouring it away, I stare out of the window at the houses opposite. There’s already a gleam of frost on the cars parked in the street. It’s going to be a freezing cold night.
It’s all about survival from now on. Finding a way to carry on so that I can be that support Mum so desperately needs now. But how can I move forward if I’m at the surgery every day, constantly on edge in case I’m suddenly confronted with Thing and her growing bump? I’ll be scared to go shopping in case I run into the lovebirds walking hand in hand. And how will I bear living in this house alone, surrounded by memories of happier times?
Sylvia’s face flashes into my mind.
After Snowy died, she was bogged down with grief, unable to move forward – and the solution for her was a complete change of scene. Getting away and walking on that south coast beach gave her the strength to carve out a new future for herself.
Sitting down at the table, I pull over my laptop, open it up and go online, searching. Ten minutes later, after scribbling a number on the back of a magazine, I’m feeling better.
It’s my day off tomorrow so I don’t have to go to the surgery. This is good because there are some important things I need to do.
I make some fresh tea and take it upstairs, sipping it in bed and thinking about the following day. It feels good to have a plan. Something else to focus on; to keep the image of Thing’s baby belly at bay.
Without a plan, I might just be tempted to take to my bed, pull the duvet over my head and opt out of normal life entirely . . .
CHAPTER FIVE
Driving the route back to Sunnybrook so soon feels strange but positive all at once.
Sylvia sounded surprised to hear from me when I phoned her at the café first thing on the number I’d found online the previous night.
I explained briefly what had happened; how Thing had come to the clinic, pregnant, and that it was finally finished between Richard and me. As I talked, it hit me that the relationship had been over a while but I’d been determined not to see it.
‘You poor thing,’ she said, sounding really sorry. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
I took a deep breath and squeezed my eyes tight shut for a second, then I blurted it out quickly. ‘Were you serious about renting out the flat above the café?’
‘Well . . . yes! Very serious.’
I swallowed. ‘Would you mind having me as a tenant? If I decide I want to move to Sunnybrook for a while?’
‘Would I mind? Not at all.’ She paused. ‘As long as you’d be willing to accept the particular terms of the six-month lease.’
‘Oh.’ My heart sank. That sounded very formal. ‘What are the terms? I don’t have any pets.’
‘Oh, I’m not worried about pets. I love dogs and cats. No, my only condition is that the tenant must agree to have breakfast each morning in the café. On the house.’
I burst out laughing. ‘Well, I think I could cope with that.’
Driving along Sunnybrook High Street, a smattering of raindrops hits the windscreen and I flick on the wipers. I turn into the residential street that skirts the village green in a semi-circle, driving past rows of pretty cottages, including Zak Chamberlain’s, until I arrive at the side of the green furthest from the high street. Here, the houses are more spaced out and the road narrows to little more than a pot-holed track. At the end of this lane sits The Little Duck Pond Café.
The small parking area to the side of the café is taken up by an enormous coach, so I pull up on the grass verge. As I get out of the car, a little group of people are entering the café, presumably the tail-end of the coach party that has arrived. Sylvia will be busy. I doubt she’ll have time to show me the flat.
I’m just about to pop my head round the door when a tall, white-haired man emerges.
He smiles at me. ‘Ellie? I’m Mick. Sylvia asked me to show you around the flat.’ He glances back at the bustling café with a rueful smile. ‘She’s having a bit of a busy morning.’
‘I can see that,’ I laugh. ‘Didn’t she know she had a coach party arriving?’
‘Not until this morning. They were supposed to be calling at The Swan for morning coffee but the hotel’s heating packed up, so they called to see if Sylvia could provide refreshments instead!’
‘For the entire coach-load?’ I ask in horror, picturing everyone squashed inside, knocking over Sylvia’s precious antiques.
‘God, imagine!’ Mick’s handsome face splits into a grin. ‘No, no. Just twenty or so.’
‘Still, she must be rushed off her feet.’
‘Oh, she’s loving it! You know Sylvia. Nothing much phases her and she hates to think she can’t manage on her own.’
I smile. ‘You know her well, then.’
‘I was her husband’s best friend.’
‘Oh.’ We exchange a wistful smile.
‘He made me promise to look out for Sylvia and I do my best. But she hates people fussing.’
‘She’s very independent.’
His eyes crinkle with amusement. ‘You can say that again. You could have knocked me down with a feather when she called round this morning and asked for my help.’ He rubs his hands together cheerfully. ‘Right, shall we go upstairs?’
The flat above the café is accessed via a door round the side and Mick lets us in. Facing us is another door, which presumably leads into the café. We climb the stairs to our right, which take us up to a small square landing and the door to the flat that’s up for rent.
Walking in, I’m immediately taken by how light and airy the space is. There’s a well-proportioned living room, tastefully furnished, a small kitchen with all mod cons, a decent-sized bathroom and two bedrooms. Mick fiddles with a window catch in the kitchen which he says needs some attention, while I wander into the b
edroom that overlooks the duck pond and stare out at the view over the village green, trying to imagine myself living here.
The urge to get away from Newtown and Richard is strong, but is this really the right thing to do?
I’d have to hand in my notice at the surgery if I was to take the six-month lease Sylvia is offering me. Can I really afford to live without a salary, while I decide what I want to do next? The house in Newtown might not sell for ages and I won’t receive my share of the profits until it does. I have some savings but they won’t last long if I don’t have some kind of an income.
Mick comes into the room. ‘What do you think?’
I turn and smile. ‘The flat is lovely and it’s so nice of Sylvia to offer me such a cheap rent on the basis I’m only using one of the bedrooms.’
He shrugs. ‘I guess she wants someone she likes and trusts. And her sister sometimes comes to visit for the weekend and stays in the flat.’
I nod. ‘I told Sylvia that was perfectly fine. I wouldn’t mind that at all.’
‘Sounds like you might have made up your mind?’
I frown, wishing I were brave enough to just go for it. ‘Finances are a worry.’
‘Ah, yes, money. Well, there’s a job going at the bakery. Joy went on maternity leave a few months ago now, but the card advertising the post was still in the window last time I looked.’
‘Oh.’ I could work in a bakery, couldn’t I?
He gives a rueful smile. ‘Mind you, the woman who owns it – Madeline Allsop – isn’t exactly the easiest boss to work for, by all accounts.’
A sigh escapes. I must be completely insane to even think about giving up my well-paid job in Newtown to come to a place I don’t even know!
Mick smiles. ‘How about I leave you to wander round and have a think?’
I nod. ‘That would be lovely. Thanks, Mick.’
After he’s gone, I walk around, imagining how I’d rearrange the furniture in the living room. There’s a lovely deep armchair that would be perfect to curl up in on winter nights to read or watch TV. The flat is so much cosier than the house in Newtown, and the view from every window is a delight.