by Liz Byrski
Stella shakes her head. ‘Well personally I think you are a bit confused. But anyway, he didn’t like me and I hope he’s not coming here again because I don’t trust him.’
‘Okay,’ Polly says. ‘Well let’s not talk about Leo. Let’s just try and get to Derek’s surgery without arguing, shall we? Then when we come out we could go and have coffee and Danish pastries at Gino’s if you like.’
‘Splendid. I can almost smell the coffee. So why are we going to the doctor?’
Polly parks the car and Stella gets out, straightens her skirt and wraps her cardigan more closely around her. She thinks she is feeling the cold more as she gets older. But I’m seventy, she tells herself, it’s bound to happen. ‘I was cold on the rocks,’ she says, taking Polly’s arm to cross the road. ‘When I was there in my nightie.’
‘I’m sure you were,’ Polly says. ‘But Gareth told me he got you a nice warm blanket, while you were waiting for the light.’
‘Bloody Gareth,’ Stella says. ‘It’s such a long time, years, since I saw him.’
Inside the surgery they take their seats in the waiting room. Stella fidgets with the handle of her bag, trying to remember why they’re here. Is it her blood pressure, or maybe it’s Polly who’s seeing the doctor. ‘Why are we . . .’ she begins, but Polly who has been flicking through a copy of New Idea cuts across her.
‘Look, Stella, look at this picture,’ she says, folding back the pages and handing it to her.
The picture shows a very old woman with wild grey hair in a white nightdress, standing against a background of rocks, with waves crashing beneath her. ‘What is it? Who is that?’ Stella says, fumbling for her glasses.
‘It’s you,’ Polly says. ‘It’s an article about the new series of Cross Currents.’
‘Cross Currents?’ Stella says, taking the magazine from her in amazement. ‘Is there a new series then?’
‘You know there is,’ Polly says. ‘You’re in it. That’s why you were in Albany, on the rocks, in your nightdress. You were playing Cassandra again. Here, see!’ She stabs it with her finger. ‘Remember?’
Stella takes it from her, ‘Ah, yes, the rocks and the water.’
‘It says here that it’s due to start screening in the New Year.’ Polly says.
‘I can’t find my glasses,’ Stella says, frustrated now; her bag seems to be full of annoying things, and she starts slinging them out onto the floor.
‘Shh!’ Polly says. ‘Calm down, Stella, calm down. Here are your glasses, but anyway I’ll read it to you.’ And she hands her the glasses, gathers other items from the floor, slips them back into Stella’s bag and starts to read.
‘Fans of Cross Currents will be happy to know that not only will Cassandra return from the dead in the new series, but she will be played once more by the stalwart Stella Lamont. Lamont has emerged once more from retirement to play the spirit of Cassandra and puts in as strong a performance as ever. Welcome back, Stella – you’re an inspiration.’
*
‘She’s not in good shape, is she?’ Derek says later. He leans across his desk towards Polly and lowers his voice. ‘You’re quite right, Polly; the indications are that Stella has Alzheimer’s. I’m going to refer her to a geriatrician and she’ll need to be seen by the Aged Care Assessment Team. We’ll organise this from here and see if we can get it all fixed up soon, and I’d be amazed if they don’t tell us that she needs some sort of residential assisted living.’
Polly’s heart sinks; she’d known this was coming but hearing it makes it a reality. She glances across to the door of the treatment room, where Stella is still with the nurse. After Derek had finished his physical examination, he left the nurse to take some blood samples, and then to give Stella a cup of tea.
‘I should have made her come sooner,’ she says. ‘But it’s just such a big step. And although she’s been struggling with her memory, and blanking out occasionally, the rest of the time she was just the old Stella. It’s all so confusing. Sometimes I feel it’s me who’s losing it not her, and then . . . well, you’ve seen how she is this morning.’
‘I have,’ he says, ‘and I think there’s a slight personality change too, isn’t there?’
Polly nods. ‘More than slight on occasions. She can be quite off hand, even arrogant, which is so unlike her, and she’s more stubborn and critical too. That’s the side you saw this morning. The old Stella never shied away from saying tough things, but she was thoughtful and sensitive about how she put it.’
Derek nods. ‘Well, she is now the centre of her own world, and that world is narrow and distorted. This change may well become more pronounced. Try not to take it personally. And don’t struggle to correct her misconceptions, just hang in there, keep her calm and happy if you can, and we’ll get all this moving straight away. Physically she’s in good shape for her age but mentally . . . well, you know all that. You could start thinking about a place for her but we need to be sure what level of care she’ll need. And of course we may not be able to find a place before Christmas. Can you manage in the meantime?’
Chapter Twenty-five
Albany, November
‘Dinner’s on me,’ Ben says, as he and Mac climb into the car. ‘I thought we’d go to the pub that has those amazing pies.’
‘The Earl of Spencer,’ Mac says. ‘Excellent, my favourite; and I feel a pint of Guinness coming on.’
‘You’ve made a great job of the place,’ Ben says as they head into town. ‘What’s next on the list?’
‘Painting the main bedroom, and I’d like to renovate the bathroom, but that’s a big job, so I won’t be starting on that until I come back after Christmas.’
Ben frowns. ‘I think, when you told me what you were planning to do this year, I may have said something patronising about it. Something about your wanting a boy’s own adventure.’
‘You said exactly that, and you were right, that’s exactly what I did want, only I wanted it under the most comfortable conditions. No campfires or sleeping rough. Just wanted to get away, be on my own doing my own thing. No domestic restrictions.’
‘So Dennis turning up and staying must have messed that up?’
‘Not really, although I’ll admit it was longer than I anticipated. But we did a lot of work together, repaired all the fences, built those new bookshelves in the lounge, and the fitted desk in the small bedroom, and he did a lot of the painting. I was a bit anxious at first, but it turned out to be pretty special, just the two of us here, talking, working together. It made me realise that what I’d been struggling with was simply the idea of getting old.’
‘Were you? I didn’t realise . . .’
‘No, well nor did I until then. I’d been feeling a bit useless, kept telling myself that there was a time when I was a really important person, when I’d won those CSIRO research awards and people wanted to work with me, it was all pretty good for the ego. Even after I’d retired they kept getting me back in. And then I started thinking, well, it doesn’t seem to matter now, so what am I supposed to be doing? Who am I supposed to be now?’
Ben laughs, shakes his head. ‘Bloody hell, Dad, I never thought you’d be one to have an existential crisis.’
‘Well there you go. I’ve been having one for several years – stretching it out, wallowing in it. Being here turned out to be a time of reckoning. You see I always liked feeling important, Ben, being in charge of things. And I really liked being deferred to, feeling as though I was up in the top ranks. But mooching about down here, on my own and then with Dennis, I began to think, well, if this is getting old I rather like it. In the end it’s the people you care about that matter, that make life special and precious.’ He feels quite choked up as he says it and knows that Ben must be able to detect that in his voice.
‘That sounds a pretty good way to be,’ Ben says. ‘And what about Mum?’
‘Your mum wanted s
omething new and different. I think she had something to prove to herself. That course and then being offered this work at the language school . . . it’s meant a lot to her.’
Ben pulls into the car park and switches off the engine. ‘You don’t seem quite the same together though,’ he says. ‘Nessa and I thought that when you were back home there was something going on between you. I thought it was because Mum’s still very upset about Helen.’
‘You’re both right,’ Mac says, looking away from his son out into the darkness of the car park. ‘But there is other stuff too. Stuff we have to sort out between us.’ He looks back at Ben and sees the concern in his face. ‘It’s all right, my fault of course, but nothing for you to worry about. We’ll get there eventually.’
They get out of the car and saunter towards the pub where Ben orders two pints of Guinness and they browse the dinner menu.
‘Thanks for coming down, Ben,’ Mac says, raising his glass. ‘It’s great to have time with you, so long since we did anything like this.’
As they wait for their meal an old school friend of Ben’s strolls over and thumps him on the back and as the two of them catch up Mac’s thoughts drift back to Dennis, to the end of a marriage which had seemed rock solid, and then to Helen. There had been a time when he had thought that Dennis might never get over her death, the manner of it had haunted him for weeks, but slowly he got himself together and began to mould his life into a new and different shape: the house sitting, changing the car, and he’s looking for a place of his own. He wonders how Dennis had thought about his old age before any of this happened, and how he feels now about the future. Mac knows that their time together down here is something he’ll remember with a special fondness, not only for his friend, but because it helped him to get to grips with growing old.
Meeting Carol has been an important part of that too. The time he spent with her took him back in time. She showed him glimpses of himself as a young man, and in contrast to the time he spent with Dennis, it was dazzling, seductive. A slideshow of his life – who he was, who he is now – had begun to unfold for him. He’d reflected on the journey that brought him to this time and this place: the decisions, the successes and failures, the struggles and the rewards. Back home again, with Joyce and the family, as they all faced the tragedy of Helen’s death, he’d realised how important it was to appreciate the present, value each day; not just to tolerate ageing, but to enjoy it.
He has met up with Carol a couple of times since he got back, tried to explain what had happened when he told Joyce, but he’d done it badly, leaving her with the impression that everything was now fine. Meanwhile this elephant is slap bang in the middle of the room between him and Joyce, something that has to be dealt with before the last pieces of the new jigsaw puzzle of life drop into place. Joyce still hasn’t raised the subject so is she waiting for him? And if so what does she want him to do? It can’t be as simple as apologising can it?
*
‘So what did you think of Valerie?’ Polly asks.
‘Who?’
‘Valerie, Val, she came this morning, to help you.’
‘Oh is that her name?’ Stella says. ‘Very pleasant, she did a good job with the cleaning, and she made me some lunch, a very nice tuna and salad sandwich. Yes, I liked her, and I can see that it’ll be good to have someone to do the cleaning. I can’t get down in corners like I used to. She said she’ll be back on Wednesday, but I told her not to bother, once a fortnight will be fine.’
‘She doesn’t only come to clean,’ Polly says. ‘She can shop for you, drive you anywhere you want to go. You can go out together for a coffee or lunch, whatever you want.’
‘Oh, I don’t think so. You do all those things for me. And I’d rather have lunch or coffee with you.’
‘Well let’s see how it goes,’ Polly says.
‘That man, Leo,’ Stella says, ‘his name is actually Leonard, I looked him up on Google. Most Leonards settle for Len, but I suppose he thinks Leo is more dashing. Anyway, I don’t like him and I don’t trust him. He’s very self-centred, one of those men who is incapable of really caring about anyone other than himself.’
‘Do you think he doesn’t care about me?’ Polly asks. Stella thinks she sounds angry, or perhaps hurt.
‘I think he cares as long as it suits him, and that may not be for long,’ she says.
‘He came all the way from England to visit me.’
‘Yes, well he probably likes the grand gesture. There’s something he gets from you, from being with you, but it will either not be enough, or possibly it will be too much. I especially didn’t like that he doesn’t look you in the eye. You have to ask yourself what that’s about.’
Polly laughs. ‘Okay,’ she says, patting Stella’s hand. ‘You don’t have to like him.’
‘No, I don’t, but I do love you, Polly, I don’t want you to get hurt,’ Stella says and she feels herself on the verge of tears. ‘It’s a gut feeling, but I won’t say any more. No one wants to hear bad things when they’re in love. Now that’s something I do remember.’
Chapter Twenty-six
Christmas
Polly carries a pile of plates into the kitchen, stacks them carefully into the dishwasher, and turns to the steamer to check on the pudding. A couple more minutes, just for luck, she thinks, and she stands there looking out across the terrace by the pool where Alistair and Steve and half a dozen of their friends are gathered at the table, mellowed by two courses and awaiting the third. It’s early evening, the candles are barely flickering in the still air, the blossoms on the frangipani trees have acquired a pearly glow in the fading light. They had eschewed a traditional Christmas dinner and opted for local fish and seafood with salads and she and Steve had shared the work. The only concession to Christmas fare is the pudding.
Throughout the day, particularly during the late afternoon and the flow of champagne, the exchange of presents and arrival of friends, Polly has struggled to appear festive and light-hearted, but it hasn’t been easy. Last night she dreamed she was carrying a big brown paper bag full of shopping, clutching it in her arms, desperate to hang on to it all until she reached her destination. But it started to rain and slowly but steadily the paper bag began to disintegrate, and bit by bit its contents slipped from her grasp. She woke to the sound of rain and, trying to shake off the dream, got out of bed and opened the blinds. The dawn light was still pale, and the rain splashed down across the terrace and into the glittering aqua glow of the pool. She stood there for a while, watching the light change, thinking about the dream, feeling that it was about both Stella and Leo, a manifestation of her anxiety about her relationships with both of them. For years now, more than two decades, her friendship with Stella has been the one that she has treasured above all others. Stella has been both sounding board and counsel, sometimes critical, never judgemental, stalwart in her love and support. But Stella is changing, and with those changes the boundaries are blurring; everything that existed unspoken between them is being swept away by the tide of dementia.
‘You’re going to have to let go, Polly,’ Leo had said. ‘You talk about her as though she’s your mother or your sister; she’s just a friend.’
His words had shocked her so much that she said nothing. What she had wanted to say was that Stella was in so many ways both mother and sister to her. She had been only twenty and Alistair almost twenty-four when their parents died, and for years she had thrashed around struggling to find an emotional framework for her life.
‘We’re orphans,’ she’d said to Alistair. ‘We’re entirely alone in the world.’
‘We have each other,’ he’d said. ‘And we need to cling to that, Polly, it’s the rock we share.’ And he was right about that. Nonetheless Polly had longed for a connection with an older woman, a connection that would sustain and nourish her as her mother had done. Years later that woman turned out to be Stella.
; ‘We’ve held hands to stop each other falling for years now,’ Stella had said almost a year ago when Polly set off to the Edinburgh conference. And as she feels Stella’s hand slipping from hers Polly wonders whether Leo is capable of this level of loyalty and commitment; whether he even understands what his promise to always be there for her really means. His silence since a couple of days before Christmas, and particularly today, adds to the feeling that her life is falling apart.
Out on the terrace she sees Steve get to his feet, clear the rest of the plates and carry them towards the house.
‘How’s the pudding?’ he asks, adding the plates to those already in the dishwasher.
‘Almost there,’ she says.
He joins her, looking out at the group on the terrace. ‘So how does Al seem to you?’
‘Amazing. Honestly, he looks better than he has for years, and he seems stronger.’
Steve nods. ‘He is. He’s been in his chair today because he knows it’s a long tiring day and he needs to conserve his energy. But often, when we’re on our own, he’ll potter around, fetch things – well, you saw that yesterday.’
‘I did,’ Polly says, ‘and he was doing that again this afternoon while you were out, and I thought he might fall so I tried to stop him.’
‘Oh dear, did he have a hissy fit?’
She laughs. ‘A minor, haughty one. He said, “Thank you, Polly, for your concern but I manage to live my life pretty effectively during your absence, so unless you have any especially testing hazards for me, you can trust my judgement on what I can manage”.’
‘Ha! Pompous git.’
‘That’s exactly what I said! And then he just laughed.’
‘He’s never lost that unique skill for putting people in their place,’ Steve says. ‘Seriously though, it’s good, isn’t it? He’s got more energy and his balance has improved.’