Here and Now

by Santa Montefiore

  ‘He doesn’t strike me as a shooting dog.’

  ‘Oh, he’d love to be out there with the guns. All those eager spaniels, putting up the birds. He’d like to be one of them. But he’s not trained. He won’t come when he’s called. He’s got a mind of his own and there’s no arguing with a dog his size. You just have to let him get on with it. Once, I tried to restrain him and he ended up dragging me a hundred yards across the field. I learned my lesson: Bernie rules. It’s as simple as that.’

  Daisy was excited about her new profession, although a little nervous. It had been a while since she’d done a portrait. Might she have forgotten how to do it? Would her picture be any good? At least Mary wasn’t paying, but still, she’d be very disappointed if it didn’t look anything like Bernie.

  That afternoon she borrowed her mother’s car and drove into town to buy supplies. Her mother had told her there was a good art shop on the high street where she could get paint and paper, but when she got there she couldn’t find it. She walked up and down a few times, dwelling occasionally on the happy memories certain parts of the street inspired, until she finally resorted to asking someone. ‘Oh, that shop hasn’t been here for twenty years,’ said the passer-by. ‘I know the one you mean. It used to sell proper stuff for artists. I’d order online if I were you. There’s nothing of that quality here now.’

  Daisy was baffled. Her mother was a regular in this town. She must know every inch of the place. It wasn’t very big. How had she not noticed that the art shop had closed down twenty years ago. But then she didn’t paint, Daisy reasoned, so why would she notice it had gone? She’d probably bought some supplies for her when she was a little girl and painting was her passion, and then not noticed when it disappeared. She would tell her when she got home and they would have a laugh about it.

  Later she found her mother in the shop, chatting to Eileen. Eileen was leaning on the counter, talking about the Commodore. ‘He’s going to flood the ground with water when it freezes, so that the mole holes block up with ice. It seems a little cruel to me, but I don’t want to speak ill of anyone. I mean, those moles don’t know what a nuisance they are, do they? I bet there’s a perfectly humane way of trapping them. He should look it up on the internet. You can get everything on Amazon these days, you know.’

  Marigold turned to Daisy. ‘Hello, dear. What are you up to?’

  Daisy was on the point of telling her about the art shop when something stopped her. A strange feeling in the middle of her chest where her intuition was. She noticed her mother looked tired. Perhaps now wasn’t the time. After all, if she was getting forgetful, teasing her about it might not be very kind. She decided to let it go. ‘Nothing,’ she replied breezily. ‘Just popping in to say hello.’

  The reason for the strange feeling was confirmed when, later that evening, her mother sat at the kitchen table with her book of Sudoku. ‘This is very taxing,’ she said to Nan, who was good at Sudoku. ‘I can feel my brain aching.’

  ‘It’s doing it good,’ said Nan. ‘Though nothing stops the ageing process. That’s just life and the only thing we can do is accept it.’

  Daisy sat down. ‘Mum, are you seriously worried?’

  ‘No,’ Marigold replied a little too quickly. ‘Not at all. I’m just getting on a bit as Nan says.’

  ‘Good, because you don’t need to worry. You’re all there.’ She smiled reassuringly. ‘And sixty-six is not old, by the way.’

  ‘Wait until you’re eighty-six. That’s old. I’ve one foot in the grave and the other on a bar of soap,’ said Nan. ‘One false move and it’s curtains.’

  Suze sat in the café in town. It was quiet and warm and she had a large soya milk latte beside her, which made her job more enjoyable. She’d read an interview with an author once who had said that the key to writing a book was to make your work space as pleasant as possible; that way, you’ll always want to get back to it. Suze eyed the flapjacks on the counter and knew that one of those would most definitely enhance the appeal of hers, but do nothing positive for her figure, so she restrained herself. It was too unrestful at home to write there, now that Nan and Daisy had come to live with them. Before Nan had moved in Suze had had the kitchen to herself. It had provided the perfect ambience for her writing. Now she had to share it, and Nan was a real chatterbox. That was the trouble with old people, she thought, they didn’t know how to edit their stories. They went on and on and on. Unimportant details, long boring meanderings. It made her really twitchy. As much as she would have preferred to be sitting in her own home right now, she was happy she didn’t have to endure Nan’s reminiscences about her youth, or her unsubtle hints that Suze should be doing something better with her time. And she disapproved of the hours she spent on the telephone to Batty (she disapproved of his name too), so it was better that she sat here in this café, where she could talk to Batty for as long as she liked.

  She’d acquired eleven more followers on Instagram that morning. The post she’d put up the evening before, showing off the five little diamanté hoops she’d put in her ear, had clearly been a winner. She’d got five thousand likes and lots of comments. She’d make sure the shop where she’d bought them saw it, because they gave her a discount. Now she was writing an article for Red Magazine about how the hoop earring was a classic that never died. Dress it up, dress it down, it was always chic. Easy article. She could do it off the top of her head, with a few references to celebrities, which she could quickly find online.

  Suze enjoyed her job, even though it was shallow and unchallenging. But what was wrong with that if it made her happy? She loved fashion and beautiful things and writing about them was simple. There was very little effort required, which suited her, because she was intrinsically lazy. She liked the comfortable feeling of doing something familiar and knowing she was doing it well. She would have liked to have been a model, but although her face was pretty and photogenic, she hadn’t had the figure for it. She was short and pear-shaped like her mother. She knew she had great hair and big almond-shaped eyes, the colour of topaz, with long black lashes, and she knew she had sex appeal and charisma too. Men fancied her and since her schooldays girls had always copied her. All the ingredients for a successful influencer, she figured. She just needed more followers. Like, many more; a few hundred thousand. But Rome wasn’t built in a day and she’d only decided to do this eighteen months ago. The thing with social media was that you had to post all the time and the pictures had to be curated to make people want what you had. The truth was that none of them would want to live in a small cottage in an insignificant village in the middle of nowhere with Dennis and Marigold and Nan – and now Daisy too. But that was the good thing about social media, you only showed people what you wanted them to see.

  She allowed her gaze to stray out of the window where it lingered, lost in the half-distance, somnolent and unfocused. It was in that moment of nothingness that Daisy’s suggestion about writing a book popped into her mind. Suze rather fancied herself as a novelist. She could even see her imaginary book in the shop window. Yet before her fantasy carried her away, she reminded herself that she couldn’t think of a single thing to write about. Not a thing. She sighed and turned her eyes back to the computer screen where her article about hoop earrings was nearly finished. No point dreaming about being a famous novelist when she didn’t even have an idea.

  The following Saturday Marigold drove into town with Suze and Daisy to do some Christmas shopping. It was drizzling. A thick layer of cloud hung low over the wet rooftops and chimney stacks and bedraggled seagulls squawked crossly as they bickered over the odd crusts they found in the bins. The place was busy. It seemed everyone had decided to do their shopping today. The pavements were glistening and full of rushing feet. Marigold thought the lights looked pretty, shining like gumdrops in all the shop windows. She smiled as she remembered the sweets she’d enjoyed as a child. She hadn’t thought of gumdrops in sixty years!

  They decided to split and regroup at midday, by the c
ar, as they wanted to buy presents for each other. Marigold wandered up the street, past the town hall and the Bear Hotel, and browsed in the shop windows. Eventually, she bought a sweater for Nan and a scarf for Dennis. She enjoyed the festive feel of the town. There was a giant Christmas tree in the square, a gift from some town in France, but Marigold couldn’t remember why. It was decorated with big colourful balls and tinsel. Marigold loved tinsel. She loved things that glittered. Santa Claus sat in a special red-and-white-striped tent and there was a queue of children and their parents waiting to visit him. Someone had dressed up a pair of donkeys to look like reindeer and attached them to a sleigh. How little things had changed over the years, she thought. She’d taken the girls here when they were small. Marigold stood there a while, smiling. This town was full of memories, and all of them golden. Not one bad one, she realized. Indeed, every corner inspired a recollection and she basked in the warm glow they gave her. Life was good. She’d been lucky.

  It was nearly midday when Marigold noticed the clock on the church tower. How fast the morning had gone. She still needed to get a present for Tasha. Something small but thoughtful. She looked at her watch, hoping the one on the church was wrong, but they were in sync. She’d have to come back another time. She hurried off towards the car park; except she couldn’t remember where it was.

  She stopped and looked around. She tried to shift her mind into focus, but it was like trying to make out a form in thick fog. Nothing came. Nothing. A cold fear edged over her skin. She couldn’t recall the car park. She couldn’t even picture it. It was as if it had vanished – or as if it had never been there. The more she tried to conjure it out of her mind, the further it sank into oblivion. She stood there, in the middle of the pavement, as people hurried past her with their shopping bags and their sharp, purposeful expressions, and felt dreadfully alone.

  ‘Mum?’ Marigold blinked and Daisy’s anxious face shifted into view. ‘Mum, are you all right? You’ve gone very white.’

  The relief at seeing her daughter gave her a jolt and she was yanked out of her stupor. Registering Daisy’s worried face, she forced a smile. ‘I’m fine. I’ve just taken a turn. Must be low blood sugar or something.’

  Daisy examined her mother with concern. Marigold looked smaller, suddenly, and frail. Perhaps she was getting older, Daisy thought with a sense of regret, for she’d been abroad for so long she hadn’t noticed. ‘Come, let me take your bags. I won’t look inside, I promise.’ She linked her arm through her mother’s and they started off down the street. They walked slowly, as if Marigold needed time to find her feet again. Daisy noticed that Marigold’s hand was clenched into a tight fist. There was something about it that made Daisy feel uneasy.

  As quickly as it had gone, the image of the car park returned. Marigold was overcome with relief. She knew exactly where it was. She saw it clearly, as she always had. She couldn’t imagine how it could have vanished like that.

  ‘Did you get everything, dear?’ she asked, feeling brighter.

  ‘Everything except something for Suze.’

  ‘Oh, I got her a make-up bag full of lovely things. It comes in a box, as a set. I hope she’ll like it.’

  Daisy laughed. ‘You know she will. She loves make-up.’

  ‘I didn’t get anything for Tasha, so I have to come back.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ said Daisy, and Marigold almost cried with relief. What if it happened again? What if the car park vanished and didn’t return? What then?

  Marigold made an appointment to see the doctor. She had to wait a couple of weeks because there was a long waiting list with all the coughs and colds going round. She didn’t tell her family because she didn’t want to worry them – although not all of them would worry. Nan would say she was being ridiculous, that she shouldn’t waste the doctor’s time just because she was getting forgetful. Old people just were forgetful, she’d say, and then list all the times she’d forgotten things. Dennis would worry, not because of her forgetfulness, but because she was worried. That’s the way he was. He hated seeing her upset and he’d insist on coming with her, which she didn’t want. She wanted to see the doctor alone, so that if it was nothing, she wouldn’t feel like a fool.

  When the day arrived, she sat in the surgery waiting room, flicking through magazines, but not really reading any of them. The doctor was busy and appointments ran on, which meant that by the time Marigold’s turn came she’d waited over an hour.

  ‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,’ said the doctor, who was very young, Marigold thought. She hadn’t met him before. It had been years since she had seen a doctor. Up until now she had enjoyed very good health. ‘I’m Dr Farah. What can I do for you?’

  Marigold felt the colour warm her cheeks. She already felt foolish. The poor man was so busy and here she was coming to see him about such a silly thing. She took a breath. ‘I was in town a couple of weeks ago and had a frightening moment where I forgot where I was.’ The doctor tilted his head, listening carefully. ‘I couldn’t remember where I’d parked the car. I couldn’t remember where the car park was. I couldn’t visualize it. Yet I’ve lived here all my life.’

  ‘Did you suffer any other symptoms?’ he asked. ‘Sickness, dizziness, shortness of breath, pain in your body?’

  Marigold shook her head. ‘No, it was just in my mind. A total blank.’

  ‘How long did it last?’

  ‘A few seconds, I suspect, but it felt much longer.’

  He smiled. He had a kind smile, Marigold thought, and felt reassured. ‘Horrible moments always feel longer, don’t they. How old are you, Marigold?’ He looked down at his records, but she answered him anyway.

  ‘Sixty-six,’ she said. ‘I’ve become very forgetful too. Silly things, like forgetting where I’ve put things.’

  Dr Farah took her blood pressure and asked questions about her history and her parents’ histories. Then he sat back in his chair and took off his glasses, looking at her sympathetically with his dark brown eyes. ‘I suspect you are simply getting older, Marigold,’ he said.

  Marigold hadn’t realized how tense she had been until her shoulders dropped with relief. ‘Is that all it is, do you think?’

  ‘Absolutely. I’m afraid everything slows down as you age. Everyone ages at different speeds. Some are very lucky and remain lucid and others get a little foggy. But it’s nothing to worry about. Do you take exercise?’

  ‘Not really,’ she confessed.

  ‘I suggest you start. A brisk walk in the country air will do you a lot of good. Drink lots of water. Keep your mind active.’

  ‘I’ve started doing Sudoku,’ she told him proudly.

  ‘That’s good, Marigold. Very good.’ He stood up, indicating that the appointment was over. ‘If it gets worse and you have another frightening episode, please come back and see me. In the meantime, I hope you have a lovely Christmas.’

  ‘I will now,’ she said happily and walked out of his office with a spring in her step.

  ‘Hey, Suze, are you asleep?’

  ‘Well, if I was, I’m not now.’

  ‘I need to tell you something.’

  ‘That clearly can’t wait until morning.’

  ‘You know when we went into town to do our Christmas shopping?’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Mum took a funny turn.’

  ‘She did?’

  ‘Yes, I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to worry you, but I have to tell someone.’

  ‘Well, you’re worrying me now, so thanks for that.’

  Daisy could make out Suze’s face through the darkness and saw that she was smiling. ‘Look, I’m sure it’s nothing, but it’s been bothering me. She’s been getting very forgetful.’

  ‘She’s old, Daisy!’

  ‘She’s not old. She’s not even seventy and Nan is nearly ninety and has all her marbles.’

  ‘Nan does nothing but sit around drinking tea, doing crossword puzzles and playing bridge with the few people
she can tolerate. Mum’s tired. She works hard. She takes on too much. She needs a rest.’

  ‘When was the last time she had a holiday?’

  ‘I can’t remember. A long time ago, I think. If you’re going to suggest we send her to the Caribbean, you’ll have to pay for her yourself because I don’t have any money.’

  ‘And I don’t have much,’ said Daisy. ‘But we could suggest she and Dad go away for a weekend somewhere. A country house hotel. Somewhere quiet, so she can have a rest.’

  ‘It’s not a bad idea.’

  ‘I have enough for that.’

  ‘Great, that’s their Christmas present sorted.’

  ‘I thought you said you’d done your Christmas shopping.’

  Suze grinned, her teeth white in the blackness. ‘I have now! Thanks, Daisy.’

  Chapter 5

  As Christmas approached, the snow melted, leaving the ground waterlogged and slippery, but Marigold still got up an hour earlier than usual to walk along the clifftops. She believed it was in her power to hold back the corrosive effects of time if she did as the doctor suggested. Exercise and Sudoku were going to be her weapons against memory loss. Her weapons against time; the only weapons she had.

  It was always dark and cold when she set off up the path and she was always alone. By the time she had reached the top of the hill she was short of breath and hot, and the sun was a glowing coal rising slowly out of the eastern horizon. If she had known how magical that time of the morning was, up there by herself, she would have come sooner. The air was crisp and clean, the weedy smell of the ocean ripe and uplifting, the sound of seabirds waking to a new day enchanting. It was as if she had sneaked backstage and was witnessing the world preparing for the daily show. There was a stillness in spite of the motion of the waves and the gulls in flight, of the wind blowing off the water and the rising sun; a deep, eternal stillness that, in those moments of contemplation, Marigold felt inside herself. She took deep breaths. She filled her lungs and she felt her chest expand with gratitude for her life, for that is what beauty did to Marigold, it made her feel grateful.