by Alec Birri
Dan stared out of the window. It was another beautiful summer’s day, just as it had been then. ‘She’s dead, isn’t she?’
Lucy started to cry. Dan cupped her face. He hoped her almost identical looks would help him to remember his later years with Claire, but they didn’t. The earlier joy was replaced by sadness. Lucy put her hand over his. Dan could see it was difficult for her to talk.
‘She died of a heart attack five years ago, Dad – around the time you first needed looking after.’
It was like being told for the first time, when in reality Dan must have known for years. He tried to get his head around the shock, but couldn’t. The doctor asked another question, but it then occurred to Dan that it wasn’t just his wife’s death he couldn’t remember. All of his memories between 1966 and just three days ago seemed to have gone. He tried hard to recall something, anything, from the period, but it was a complete blank. He raised it.
Adams explained Dan’s situation, his condition, why he was taking part in the trial, and the stage he was at six months ago on first arriving at the hospital. Alzheimer’s disease had robbed him of not only memory, but just about every ability and sense most people take for granted. The pattern of loss had been classic in the years leading up to it. From initial absent-mindedness and repeated episodes of forgetfulness, to an inability to reason, judge, or make simple decisions and perform tasks; this was followed by frustration, irritability, and anger, to personality changes, delusions and, finally, the impairment of basic motor skills needed for physical requirements like dressing, walking, and eating.
By the time Dan had been admitted he’d even forgotten what hunger was, let alone how to open his mouth or swallow food. He was just weeks away from either starving to death or falling victim to a cold most people would simply shrug off. For those who believed in such things, his condition now would indeed seem to be a miracle sent from above.
Adams explained that Dan was just one of sixty million people worldwide with dementia. In that context, his refusal to take the red pill could be seen as an affront to those less fortunate. Dan was ashamed at this apparent ungratefulness, but his doctor made it clear that the ability to exercise emotions again was infinitely more significant than the purpose of them. Even Dan’s wish to take his own life had been a demonstration of that – providing he had actually come to terms with it, that is.
It was clear to all that Dan was now in the process of regaining the skills needed to lead a normal life, but what of the missing sixty years? He knew the two people next to his bed were his daughter and her husband, but he couldn’t recall anything else about them beyond three days ago. The only other memories of Lucy were when she was a six-year-old. He asked the doctor about that.
‘Do you recall your analogy of the brain being like a filing system, albeit a disorganised one?’
Dan nodded.
‘Then you’ll also remember how a temporary loss of memory could be likened to individual letters falling onto the floor, which the mind can pick up again. But if the floor has holes in it, they can be lost forever. Alzheimer’s disease appears to cause holes so large, entire cabinets of files can fall through.’
Dan recalled his dream and the snow of letters pouring like sand over him and the others while he clung on to the crumbling rim.
The doctor continued. ‘Even though the treatment is designed to plug those holes and provide new cabinets, the pages in the files are blank and have to be filled in again.’
Dan was puzzled. ‘Then how come I’ve remembered how to walk, eat, and generally take care of myself? I haven’t had to relearn it.’
The doctor hesitated before answering. Dan had no problem recalling what that usually meant. What was Adams up to now? Dan knew it was wise to remain wary of him.
‘The mystery that is the mind, I’m afraid. You still have months of recovery ahead of you and you may find some of your long-term memory returning, but not as readily as the basics needed for you to lead an independent life again. And, without wishing to pay lip service to your concerns, which would you rather have?’
The doctor asked a question as if to illustrate that. ‘Can you remember what you were doing on the twelfth of March 1998?’
Dan thought hard; it must have been something significant for a specific date to be mentioned but he ended up shrugging. The doctor put his notepad away.
‘Neither can I, and I suspect nobody else on this planet could recall what they were doing that day either.’
Dan took the point. He tried thinking of something, anything, experienced more than a few days ago, but there was only his accident with the barbecue. He thought of how being made to relive it had recovered the memory, and wondered if something similar could be done to get back the rest of the half century. He looked at Lucy’s compact lying open on his bed and realised something had – and successfully, too.
‘You deliberately blocked the corridor with that mirror, didn’t you?’
Adams glanced at Tracy. ‘Not just the corridor – I had a team of people follow you around the hospital with it. Viewing your own reflection was the obvious way to get you to see reality, but each time you did that in your room, your brain knew who it was, so reflected back what it wanted you to see. Placing a mirror in an unusual location freed it of that expectation, allowing your true condition to be revealed – a ninety-six-year-old man recovering from Alzheimer’s.’
Dan studied himself in Lucy’s compact and, once again, couldn’t decide whether to be impressed or scared at the way the doctor’s mind worked.
Dan didn’t have any other questions, so the two medical professionals headed for the door. Dan’s new short-term memory decided to exercise itself.
‘You didn’t say if the crash was real or not.’
Adams held the door open for Tracy to leave. ‘1966 is a long time ago now – the details will need to be researched and we’re not keen on allocating resources to something that might not have happened.’ He looked at Lucy. ‘Google’s your best bet.’
He left, and Dan turned excitedly to his daughter. ‘Who’s Google? Is she a friend of yours?’
Adams addressed Tracy once they were in the corridor. ‘Nurse Roberts, I’d like you to prepare my office for a meeting, please.’ He looked at his watch. ‘In ten minutes, if that’s acceptable?’
Tracy checked her own watch and ran what would need to be done through her head. ‘Yes, Doctor. That won’t be a problem.’
He left her standing there. The doctor was renowned for being emotionally detached, but by addressing her formally she knew how serious the subject would be, and the urgent nature of it. It made her nervous. Still, his office was only two minutes’ walk away, so there was plenty of time. Tracy made for the staff restroom.
A short while later she was standing in the office preparing for his arrival as instructed. Doctor Adams often required a meeting straight after a patient had made significant progress, and this occasion would be no different. The room doubled as his call-out accommodation, so Tracy sorted the bed settee first, before turning to the desk.
There were some papers, pens, and other loose stationery items, which she tidied away at one end. Two chairs were moved to better positions. Satisfied with the surroundings, Tracy checked her own appearance. That had already been done once in the restroom, but she looked over herself again to ensure all was still present and correct – the doctor’s standards were high and he expected no less of others.
She looked down at her shoes – clean and polished. Stockings – straight, with no snags or ladders. Uniform – a little tight, but otherwise clean and pressed. Apron – unmarked, starched, with fob watch and name badge correctly positioned. Hair – tied up in a tight bun, nothing loose. Hat – spotlessly white, with the correct number of clips holding it in place. She heard footsteps approaching.
The end of the desk faced the entrance
and she took up her usual position there with her back to the door. Reaching down to her knees, she grasped the hem of her uniform and pulled it up and over her hips. Her underwear had been removed in the restroom, so Tracy just needed to bend at the waist and lay her chest on the desk for the preparations to be complete. Doctor Adams entered the office and, after adjusting his own clothing, began the meeting as she expected.
Chapter Three
‘Are you trying to tell me everyone today not only has a portable television, but it can be used as an encyclopaedia, a typewriter, and a telephone?’
Lucy and her husband both laughed.
‘And a camera!’ Tony added.
Lucy chimed in. ‘Don’t forget the computer!’
Dan looked at them in disbelief. ‘I’ve seen one of those and they’re the size of a room – bigger than the complete set of Encyclopaedia Britannica your mother and I bought when you were born. Cost me nearly six months’ wages by the time I finished paying for it.’
Lucy made a calculation. ‘Well, you can get all that now for less than it costs to feed yourself each day, and in something that will fit into the palm of your hand.’
‘Must weigh a ton. You’ll be telling me it can read people’s minds next.’
‘Only a matter of time,’ said Tony.
He passed Dan his iPhone. Dan took hold of it like one would a photograph, and the screen image moved under his thumb. He screwed his face up and gave it straight back.
Lucy and Tony stopped laughing as the size of the task that lay ahead dawned on them. Moon landings, the first female British prime minister, the internet, the first black American president, self-driving cars – these and much more would have to be either recalled or learned from scratch all over again. At least the threat to humanity by global nuclear annihilation seemed to have subsided a bit since 1966.
Lucy took her father’s hand. ‘Dad, you’ve no idea how good it feels to have you back – even if you have forgotten everything about me from when I was six to just three days ago.’
Her father looked at her lovingly, just as he had done for decades. They both knew that was what really mattered.
‘When was the last time you saw Brian, Dan?’
Father and daughter looked at Tony.
Dan shrugged. ‘He’s probably been to see me at some stage – I guess I’ve forgotten that too. Mind you, he’s a couple of years older than me, so I suppose he could even be dead by now.’ His eyes flitted between the two of them. ‘Is he?’
The couple looked at each other before Tony spoke again.
‘No, what I meant was: have you had any more hallucinations of him?’
Dan appeared to conduct a visual search of the room.
‘No, although he, er, I mean it, generally only appears when I’m on my own. Maybe he’s gone for good now I’m taking the red pill again.’ He picked up Lucy’s compact and prodded one of the dents in his skull. ‘So what’s been done to me exactly?’ Lucy looked at her husband to provide the answer.
‘Stem-cell therapy. New brain cells are cultivated and then planted where they’re needed in your skull. The red pill and you thinking nice thoughts does the rest.’
Dan looked at Tony as if he was the one who needed brain surgery. ‘Stem what?’
Lucy and Tony realised there was something else that would need explaining all over again.
There was a knock on the door and a nurse entered. The small translucent tub in her hand told them all it was pill time again. Husband and wife took that as their cue to leave. Lucy asked her father if there was anything he needed, but nothing occurred to him. She made a suggestion.
‘Something to throw through a window, perhaps?’
Dan stuck his tongue out. ‘I always knew you had my sense of humour!’
They left and the nurse offered Dan the tub and a beaker of water. A red pill was nestling amongst two other, paler ones. He got out of bed, took them from her, and walked over to the window. He soon saw Lucy and Tony making their way hand in hand towards the car park.
He watched as they stopped at the entrance and turn to face each other. Dan picked up the red pill and placed it on his tongue. He raised the cup to his lips and smiled when he saw Tony raise Lucy’s lips to his.
Chapter Four
Tracy put her head on his chest and he pulled the covers up over them both.
‘Will he live?’
‘Who?’
‘Your patient, of course. The reason why you wanted to have sex.’
Adams kissed the top of her head. ‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.’
She playfully pinched him. ‘Don’t give me that. I’ve known you for over twenty years – I know exactly how your mind works.’
The doctor reflected on their time together. ‘I hardly think reading you bedtime stories when you were eight counts as the start of our relationship.’
Tracy insisted. ‘Don’t let the facts get in the way. We may only have met again three years ago, but that was when I first fell in love with you, which is what counts.’
The doctor tried to get his head around the concept. Not of eight-year-old girls falling in love with twenty-four-year-old babysitters going out with their nineteen-year-old cousins, but of love itself. He’d experienced it, of course, not least with Tracy’s cousin, but what seemed to happen so naturally back then appeared to require more of an effort now.
Which was strange, as Tracy was almost exactly like her cousin and certainly the reason why he had initiated the relationship in the first place – he wanted to recapture the love of his life. She wasn’t her, of course, but, perhaps just as importantly, nor was he a young, soon-to-be-qualified doctor any more. He cared for Tracy and would do anything for her – but love? It was such an alien concept these days.
Adams answered her question. ‘He still has a long way to go and the treatment only replaces the cells damaged by dementia. It doesn’t cure the underlying cause, so surgery will be required again at some stage.’ He thought of the most likely outcome. ‘Alzheimer’s aside, he still has other conditions to contend with. Angina, Parkinson’s, emphysema – you name it. He’s much more likely to succumb to one of those first.’
Tracy snuggled up. ‘I’m still proud of you, though.’
Adams played down his part in Dan’s progress. ‘It’s Professor Savage you should be impressed with – he’s the genius behind the science. I’m just a whipping boy needed to conduct his trial, although I do question why he selected such physically weak candidates. Seems a waste to spend so much time and effort on patients who could all drop dead at any sec—’ He broke off when he realised Tracy was giving him some kind of physical examination – her fingers probed his abdomen. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Just checking out my investments.’
‘And?’
‘Not bad – for your age.’
He poked out his tongue. She grinned and pulled herself closer.
‘It’s such a shame. Giving someone a second chance at life is an incredible achievement – you only had to look at the emotion in his daughter’s face to see that.’ Tracy looked up at him. ‘Or the emotion in yours.’ They kissed. ‘I love it when Mr Grumpy’s true feelings come out.’
Adams jokingly denied the existence of them. ‘My dear young lady, do I look like the kind of person to suffer such basic human weaknesses?’
He tickled her. Tracy grabbed his manhood.
‘My dear sir, do I look like the kind of person to suffer such basic human bullshit?’
She let go as a half-serious look of panic appeared on his face. He relaxed. She giggled.
‘What are you laughing at now?’
‘You and your silly rituals.’
Adams kept up the fake denials. ‘What rituals? I could tell you wanted sex and merely suggested one of our r
egular meetings.’
She pinched him. ‘We both know full well which one of us initiated it and why – you don’t need to be a psychologist to work it out.’
The doctor pleaded ignorance. ‘That comes under psychosexuality, which I never studied, I’m afraid – you’d need to speak to a specialist.’
Tracy propped herself up on an elbow. ‘I don’t need to – every woman’s one when it comes to understanding men and their strange needs.’
‘Okay, Doctor Richards, give me your diagnosis.’
Tracy took up the challenge and pondered his sexual proclivities. ‘Well, by your own admission, even after our fun, you still masturbate at least five to ten times a day and view internet pornography whenever you can, which means you have a high sex drive. Couple the prolific nature of that with a life governed by a strict series of moral disciplinary codes, and is it any wonder those two worlds collide to create some kind of sexual OCD when faced with an emotion you can’t immediately control?’
He was genuinely impressed. Adams referred to himself in the third person. ‘Sounds like the poor chap’s a hopeless case. Is there a treatment?’
Tracy put her head back on his chest. ‘I can heartily recommend a dose of marriage, followed by a course of children.’ She looked back up. ‘Under my personal and very close supervision.’
He made out to consider her proposal. ‘And the prognosis?’
Tracy kissed him on the lips. ‘A very happy ever after for us all.’
‘Hmmm. I shall give your professional opinion careful consideration and get back to you as soon as I can. In the meantime, fancy a quick one?’
Tracy got off the bed settee and began to get dressed. Her change in mood was palpable. ‘Darling, what’s the matter?’
She rolled up a stocking and slipped her toes into it. ‘You know exactly what the matter is. Every time I get serious about us, you respond with humour.’