Jemma handed me a pint of real ale. ‘No arguments,’ she said. ‘This is to say thank you for giving up your evening for me yet again.’
‘Thanks, but it’s no problem.’
She steered me towards the same corner table as before and dumped her bag on the floor. I slipped off my coat as she started to unbutton hers.
‘I promise no major dramas this evening,’ she said.
‘How’s Drew doing?’
She draped her coat and scarf over a spare stool then sat down. ‘He’s a bit up and down but he’s coming to terms with it. I think that Luukas giving him such a poor reason for ghosting him has helped because Drew’s starting to focus on all the negative stuff in their relationship. He’s realised that he’d put Luukas on a pedestal. He’ll get there. It takes time to get over losing someone you love, doesn’t it?’
Oh God, yes! Confession time. A little earlier in the evening than I’d hoped, but best just to throw it out there. I was grappling with how to word it when Jemma spoke again.
‘I’m absolutely dying to chat about home, but would it be really rude if we finish talking about Mum first?’
I smiled as I took out my notebook and pen. Conversation closed. For now. Hopefully I’d have another opportunity to tell her later. ‘That’s fine. It’s why you arranged to meet me in the first place.’
‘Thank you.’ She rummaged in her bag and, placing her iPhone on the table, she pulled a face. ‘Sorry. Do you mind? I promise I’m not one of those phone-obsessed individuals but, with everything going on with Mum, I like to have it out, just in case.’
‘I don’t mind. Honestly. How was she at the weekend?’
‘Not good.’ She shook her head as she brought me up to date and added in a few things she’d remembered since our last discussion.
I put my pen down on my open notebook when she’d finished. ‘I know that you’d love for me to give you a definite answer as to whether or not your mum has dementia, but I’m afraid I can’t without actually meeting the patient and doing a proper evaluation.’
Her eyes immediately clouded with tears and she nodded her head slowly. I felt terrible.
‘That doesn’t mean we can’t talk about dementia and what that might look like.’
She nodded again.
‘Let’s start with the science bit. When people think about dementia, they tend to think of Alzheimer’s which, granted, is one of the most common forms and one of the most well-known. It’s possible for a patient with Parkinson’s to also have Alzheimer’s. Both affect the neurological system, but in different ways. There are also forms of dementia specifically linked to Parkinson’s. There’s something called Parkinson’s dementia where the patient presents dementia symptoms a year or more after experiencing the motor symptoms – movement problems – and there’s something called Lewy bodies which is where the dementia symptoms present at the same time or before the movement problems. Does that make sense so far?’
Jemma took a sip of her wine and nodded.
‘When most people think about Parkinson’s, they think about people shaking but tremors aren’t the only symptom and they’re not something that happens to everyone.’
‘Like Mum. She doesn’t have any shakes. She has stiffness instead.’
‘There you go, then. With dementia, it’s the same in that there are several symptoms and not everyone with it will present with every symptom…’
Jemma sipped on her wine and listened intently as I talked about dementia and the different symptoms. She wrinkled her nose as I said each new one and I could tell she was thinking of something her mum had said or done which might suggest a display of that symptom.
‘Do remember that your mum’s only 46,’ I added, ‘and that developing dementia under the age of 65 is very rare. It could be something else.’
Jemma finished her glass of wine. ‘I hope so.’
‘Another one?’ I asked, nodding towards her empty glass.
‘Yes please. I could certainly do with one.’
As I squeezed past her, I gently squeezed her shoulder. ‘It’ll be alright.’
I stood at the bar, watching her slumped shoulders and hung head. Poor Jemma. The symptoms she’d described were certainly indicative of dementia but they were also indicative of other things like stress and depression. Julie’s age was a big plus. She was very young for dementia, but that wasn’t a reason to rule it out because there were exceptions to every medical ‘norm’. Without meeting her, properly examining her medical history, and conducting tests, I couldn’t give a diagnosis, no matter how much Jemma might want me to.
‘Thanks,’ she said when I returned to the table and handed her a large glass of wine. ‘And I don’t just mean for the drink. You’ve explained everything really well and I think we both know it’s dementia only you’re probably not allowed to say that without having met the patient, are you?’
‘I genuinely can’t say it because, unless I’ve done a proper diagnosis, it’s impossible to comment. It could be a number of things. It really could. Please don’t convince yourself that it’s dementia because, given her age, it’s highly likely it isn’t.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
Jemma smiled brightly and, in that moment, she looked like I’d lifted the weight of the world off her shoulders. ‘Thank you so much, Sam. I can’t tell you how helpful you’ve been.’
‘Any time.’
‘So, subject change time. Talk to me about home. Were you brought up in Whitsborough Bay?’ she asked.
‘Yep. Born and bred and so was my dad. My mum’s from Middlesbrough. We moved to York when I was three but my parents missed the sea too much so we were back within a year. What about you?’
‘My dad was born in Whitby but his family moved to Whitsborough Bay before he started senior school, and Mum was brought up in Great Sandby. We used to live in town but we moved out to Little Sandby when they split up. Mum loves it there and it’s been great for Sean growing up in such a friendly village with loads of fields and woods to play in. I hope he still loves it when he hits the teen years and he can’t see his mates on an evening because buses don’t run.’
Small world. I’d been brought up in the next village to Little Sandby although I’d left home for medical school six years before she’d moved there. ‘I was bought up in Settering so I know what that’s like. My two best mates lived in Little Sandby, though, so I could cycle there easily.’
‘Can I ask who? I might know them.’
‘Stevie Barnes and Rob Harris,’ I said. ‘I’ve no idea if they still live there. We lost touch when we were 18. Well, I did. They’re probably still mates.’
‘Stevie Barnes and Rob Harris?’ Jemma repeated their names a couple of times. ‘Oh yes! I’m not sure about Rob but, if I’m on the right person, Stevie lives a couple of streets down from ours and he has a gorgeous Border Collie. How come you lost touch?’
‘Stupid stuff. My fault. I didn’t reckon much to the girl Stevie was going to marry but I wasn’t mature enough to keep my opinions to myself. His parents had died and I thought she was using him for his inheritance. Turned out she was using him but for a baby and, when they lost the baby, she decided she didn’t want him anymore.’
A pang of guilt hit me. Stevie and Rob had been best mates since primary school. They’d never made me feel like the outsider when we met at senior school and somehow ended up on the rugby team together, despite all being crap at the game. For years, the three of us had been inseparable until I’d screwed it up.
We’d been out for Rob’s 18th when I’d stupidly shared my views about Maddy. It was bad enough that I’d dissed his fiancée, but then I added some really low comment about how his parents would have felt about her bleeding him dry and how they’d be turning in their graves. Stevie had always been placid, but I swear he’d have decked me that night if Rob ha
dn’t held him back. Rightly so. I’d been bang out of order. He didn’t invite me to the wedding that summer; a clear message that our friendship was over.
It bothered me at first that I’d lost my two best mates, but I started medical school, made new friends, studied hard and put it behind me. I didn’t really think about them until Nikki died and I experienced first-hand what it was like to lose someone who meant the world to you. Stevie had lost his mum through illness, but his dad had taken his own life, unable to cope with the grief. I now understood why he’d done it. In the weeks that followed Nikki’s death, I didn’t want to go on. I would never have gone to that extreme, especially because I’d seen the damage it did to those left behind, but I could certainly understand the despair and desolation that could drive someone to end the pain permanently.
‘She sounds like a delight so I’m sure your comments were justified,’ Jemma said.
‘Thanks, but you’re being a bit generous. I was in the wrong and I regret that now.’
‘Then put it right. Get in touch with him.’
I frowned. ‘After 16 years?’
‘Why not? People reconnect through social media all the time after longer friendship gaps than that.’
It would be interesting to find out how he was doing and it would be good to say sorry, but what was the point? If he forgave me, what would happen? We’d have a virtual friendship rather than a real one because I was looking for reasons to stay away from Whitsborough Bay rather than reasons to return. But Jemma had such an eager puppy-dog expression that I found myself saying, ‘I’ll think about it.’
‘You do that.’
There was a pause in the conversation and I knew what the next line of questioning was going to be. It was inevitable. I decided to delay it and ask her instead. ‘So what made you leave Whitsborough Bay for London?’
‘No exciting story, I’m afraid. It was where the jobs were.’ Jemma told me how she’d planned to study at Bath University but deferred a year so she could help her mum with the baby. She then transferred her offer to York so she could get home regularly. She told me about her job as a museum curator, her flatmates, and her love for London.
Her phone rang twice while she was talking and, with a shrug of an apology, she glanced at it each time then shook her head saying she didn’t recognise the number, resuming our conversation.
‘What about you?’ she asked. ‘What made you leave The Bay?’
It was time. I had to say it. Jemma would be the first person in London, other than my boss, who knew. I took a deep breath. ‘I’d never planned to leave Whitsborough Bay. I always thought I’d settle there long-term. Get married. Have a family. Do lots more surfing.’
Jemma smiled. ‘You’ve always been into surfing?’
‘No. My fiancée, Nikki, got me into it. Her parents were surfers. Her dad said she could surf before she could walk. My brother, Jack, set us up on a blind date and she’d arranged for us to go surfing, figuring it wasn’t a complete waste of an evening if I turned out to be a waste of space.’
‘I like her thinking. Obviously she didn’t think you were a waste of space.’
My throat tightened and I swallowed hard. ‘Jack knew what he was doing when he set us up that day because I unexpectedly fell in love with Nikki and with surfing.’
‘So here’s an obvious question…’
I realised I was holding my breath.
‘You’re both really into surfing. Right?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you live in a seaside resort that’s internationally recognised as a great place to surf. Right?’
‘Yes.’
‘So you move to is London which isn’t exactly renowned for surfing given that it’s not by the sea.’
I slowly let out my breath, my heart racing. ‘As I said before, London wasn’t part of the plan but–’
Jemma’s phone rang for a third time. She glanced down and frowned. ‘It’s the same number again.’
‘Hadn’t you better get it? They’re obviously desperate to get hold of you.’
She sighed. ‘I’m so sorry, Sam. If it wasn’t for Mum, I really would have it switched on silent and away in my bag.’
‘It’s fine.’ Plus, it delayed the confession. Why was it so hard to say the words? My fiancée died. My fiancée’s dead. My fiancée was walking next to me one minute making plans about the future and, five minutes later, she was dead in my arms. I took a gulp on my pint, forcing it down over the lump in my throat. As soon as Jemma hung up, I’d just come out with it. Nikki’s dead. Yeah. The minute she hung up…
Chapter 22
Jemma
‘Jemma speaking,’ I said, pulling an apologetic face at Sam. It was probably going to be a wrong number or some annoying salesperson trying to talk me into claiming for miss-sold PPI or an accident that wasn’t my fault.
There was a pause. ‘Hi Jemma, it’s Sarah Derbyshire.’
I frowned. Sarah Derbyshire? The name was familiar, but I couldn’t place it. ‘Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,’ I said, hoping she’d give me a clue.
‘Sarah Derbyshire. From Flowers & Gifts.’
Of course! She ran the florists over the road from Bear With Me. I’d chatted to her a few times, but we certainly hadn’t exchanged phone numbers so how and why was she calling me? ‘Hi, Sarah, how are you?’
‘I’m good, thanks. I hope you don’t mind me calling you, but… well… I’m worried about your mum.’
‘Why? What’s happened?’
‘Probably nothing. It’s just that I was working late and I noticed the lights were still on in Bear With Me. I figured your mum must be working late too so I came to the window to wave goodnight to her. And that’s when I spotted that the door was ajar.’
‘Oh my God! There’s been a break-in?’
‘I don’t think so. There’s a policeman here now but he’s had a good look around and there’s nothing to suggest anyone’s been in. The safe’s still locked and the shelves seem to be fully-stocked.’
‘And there’s no sign of Mum?’
‘No. I’ve tried phoning her, but it goes to voicemail. I saw your number on the noticeboard in the staffroom so I hope you don’t mind me calling you. I didn’t know what else to do.’
‘You did the right thing. Thanks, Sarah. You say the policeman’s still there?’
‘Yes. Hang on a sec…’ I heard muffled voices. ‘He wants to speak to you. I’ll put him on.’
‘Jemma Browne?’
‘Yes.’
‘My name’s PC Gavin Haines. Am I right in thinking Bear With Me is your mother’s business?’
‘That’s right.’
‘I’m at the premises now. I’ve searched all floors and there’s no sign of anything being taken as far as I can tell. I know this may seem like a stupid question, but you’re not aware of any reason why the premises would be left unlocked, are you?’
‘No. Mum’s always been vigilant about locking up. Some of the bears are worth a lot.’
‘So I’ve noticed. It was a long shot but I had to ask. Do you have any idea where your mum might be? I’m keen to get hold of her so we can get the premises secured, but the station have been unable to contact her by phone.’
What day was it? Monday? Did she do anything in particular on a Monday? Think! ‘She often does yoga with my friend Karen who’s a personal trainer. I can try Karen’s phone although, if she’s running a session, she’ll be on voicemail. She could be at Karen’s mum’s. Could you give me five minutes and I’ll try their numbers? Should I call you back on the shop phone?’
There was another quick exchange of words.
‘Sarah’s going to stay for a bit. You can call me back on this mobile,’ said PC Haines.
‘Bad news?’ Sam asked when I hung up.
I held my head in my hands for a moment, nod
ding. ‘Mum’s gone AWOL leaving the shop unlocked. The police are there and nobody can get hold of her. I need to try a few numbers. Sorry.’ I scrolled through my phone for Karen’s number.
‘Is there anything I can do?’ Sam asked.
I shook my head, holding the phone to my ear as it dialled Karen’s number. ‘Thanks but the number’s are all on my phone and… arse. Voicemail.’ I scrolled through for Rachel’s number, relief flowing through me when it connected after the third ring.
‘Hi, Jemma.’
‘Hi. Is Mum with you?’
‘Not yet.’
‘You’re expecting her, then?’
‘Yes. Sean’s here.’
‘He’s not listening, is he?’
‘No. He’s upstairs with Eden. They’re having a competition to see who can build the highest Lego tower. Are you okay? Has something happened?’
I ignored her question. ‘When’s she due?’
‘In about… Gosh, is that the time? She was due about half an hour ago. Should I be worried?’
‘I don’t know. She left the shop unlocked and the police are there. They’re trying to get hold of her. Is she doing yoga with Karen?’
‘Sorry, no. Karen’s running a bootcamp.’
‘Damn! I’d better hang up. I need to phone the police back then get hold of Liv or Annie. I’m pretty sure they’ve both got keys.’
‘No need. I’ve always had a spare set in case of emergency. I can go and lock up now.’
‘Thanks, Rachel, that would be amazing. One less thing to worry about. What about Sean and Eden?’
‘I’ll see if Ali’s in next door. I’m sure she’ll mind them if she is, otherwise I’ll bring them with me. Don’t worry. I won’t say anything to Sean about Julie going missing.’
‘Thanks again. Can you call me when you get back?’
‘Yes. And I’ll call you if I see or hear from her in the meantime. Try not to worry, Jemma. Your mum will be fine.’
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