Here and Now

by Santa Montefiore

  ‘Don’t let them chase you out of the shop,’ said Eileen in a sympathetic voice. ‘You have to stand up to bullies, Mary.’

  Mary sighed. ‘I just wanted some teabags,’ she said. ‘I’ve run out.’

  ‘You stay here and I’ll get them for you,’ said Marigold.

  She got to the end of the aisle and began searching. But she couldn’t remember what it was that Mary wanted. She knew it was somewhere here, because this is where she had walked immediately after Mary had told her what she wanted. She tried to focus. If she’d had cogs in her brain she would have heard them turning, or rather grinding, with the effort. She was used to these lapses of memory now. Blanks where nothing remained, like black holes in her mind. She stared into the black hole and felt the familiar fear creeping across her skin, the dizziness in her head and the strange feeling of detachment, as if she were miles away, watching herself failing from a distance. She took a deep breath. She could feel Dolly and Cedric’s eyes upon her as they lingered near the sugar. Marigold knew she needed to hurry, because Dolly and Cedric couldn’t leave while Mary was at the till, and Mary couldn’t leave until Marigold had got her what she wanted. What was it? But nothing came into her mind.

  She ran her eyes over the shelves, hoping that something would jog her memory. She felt very hot and wondered whether it was time to turn off the heating. After all, it was March and the weather was mild. Her gaze fell upon the boxes of Tetley teabags. She wished she could go home and have a cuppa right now. Just the sight of them there, on the shelf, restored her a little. Then the black hole disappeared, quite suddenly, and she remembered. Tea! She picked up the box with a trembling hand and walked unsteadily back to the counter. Mary and Eileen were busy chatting and Mary didn’t raise an eyebrow when Marigold put the teabags through the till. It felt like she’d been lost there in the aisle for a long time, but no one else seemed to have noticed.

  Mary paid for the teabags and left the shop. Tasha returned from her tea break with a smile. Dolly and Cedric bought the cocoa powder and departed. Marigold looked at her watch. It was time to take Dennis his tea.

  She found him in his shed, working on a bookcase for the vicar’s study. ‘Hello, Goldie,’ he said when he saw her coming. ‘You’re a love.’

  She put the mug down on his workbench. ‘The Commodore caught a mole,’ she told him, pleased that she remembered without writing it in her little book.

  ‘Did he now? Alive?’

  ‘Alive and well, I think.’

  ‘That’s good. I’m glad the trap worked. Where’s he going to put it?’

  ‘I can’t remember, but hopefully somewhere safe.’ He watched her leave then went back to work.

  Marigold walked around the garden, breathing the fragrant air with delight. The scent of spring was very different to the scent of summer. She could smell the sweet grass, the Daphne, the fertile aroma of the earth, warming slowly in the milder weather. She still fed her birds, although she didn’t really need to now, for there were worms in the soil and insects on the breeze. Yet she so enjoyed watching them flying about the feeder. She just so enjoyed them.

  When she got to the kitchen, Nan was at the table, doing the crossword. ‘Burst of bad temper, seven letters,’ she said.

  ‘Tantrum,’ said Marigold.

  ‘That was an easy one. How about, waste away, nine letters.’

  ‘Oh, that is hard.’

  ‘Droop? No, not enough letters. Wither?’

  ‘Ah, I know . . .’

  Nan looked up expectantly.

  ‘It’s on the tip of my tongue.’

  ‘Well, what is it? Fourth letter is I, because three down is rib, for tease. I got that one.’

  Marigold could feel the word as if it were a potato in her mouth, as if it had round bits and smooth bits and knobbly bits. As if it had texture. But she couldn’t articulate it. ‘Give me a minute and it’ll come to me.’ It was so close.

  Nan sighed. ‘Very well. I’ll do another clue.’

  The word bothered Marigold so much that she decided to leave the room and work on her jigsaw puzzle. She hadn’t told anyone, but she was finding this puzzle very challenging. She had managed to do the border, but she was having trouble doing the rest. It was as if the cogs in her brain were having to work through porridge. They simply weren’t as efficient as they once were. It was as if they needed oiling to get them moving smoothly again. She put on her glasses and went through the pieces, separating them into colours and patterns. She found two that went together and felt a rush of jubilation. She didn’t notice the time passing. Suddenly, the sight of a pigeon outside her window distracted her and she looked at her watch. Goodness, she thought. I must get back to the shop. And I need to make Dennis his tea. She hurried into the kitchen and boiled the kettle. Just as she was leaving, the word came to her, as if someone had dropped it into her head from above. ‘Dissipate,’ she said to her mother.

  ‘Of course. We should have known that, shouldn’t we?’

  Marigold felt better now that she had remembered the word. She went through the garden and opened Dennis’s door. He looked up in surprise. ‘Hi, Goldie,’ he said.

  ‘Your tea. A little late this morning. I got carried away doing the puzzle.’ She put it down on the workbench and frowned at the mug already sitting there. ‘I must get back to the shop,’ she said, not noticing the bewildered expression on Dennis’s face or the doubt in his eyes.

  As she walked back through the garden she felt a little put out that he had made himself a cup of tea. He had never done that before.

  A few days later Marigold forgot that Batty was coming for supper, so when he appeared in the kitchen at seven she was surprised to see him. But Marigold was getting good at hiding her memory loss. The little book helped (when she remembered to look at it). The red book in the shop was also a vital lifeline and no one questioned the amount of things she wrote in it, because it was her job to write things down. The list on the fridge winked at her whenever she opened the door. However, Suze had told her that Batty was coming for supper that morning while she had been feeding her birds, so by the time she went back into the kitchen she had forgotten all about it. Really, her mind was like a sieve. If she didn’t write something down immediately, it vaporized. Gone. Like steam from the kettle. But she smiled graciously at Batty and told him to help himself to a beer. She went to lay an extra place at the table and didn’t think that Batty noticed.

  The family tucked into their roast chicken and Batty and Suze sat side by side, grinning at each other like loved-up teenagers. Marigold saw that Daisy was happy too. She was enjoying her new job, working up at the Sherwoods’ farm, and was getting plenty of commissions. More, in fact, than she could handle. Nan said it was because she was so cheap. ‘If you charged more, you wouldn’t be so popular,’ she had said, but Daisy had ignored her.

  It wasn’t until the end of the meal that Suze whispered something to Batty, who then stood up, as if he was about to make a speech. Batty wasn’t very tall, but he was undoubtedly handsome with a chiselled face, curly brown hair and deep, sensitive brown eyes amplified by the Trotsky-style glasses he wore.

  The table went silent. Dennis caught Marigold’s eye. She recognized the smile in his eyes and smiled back hopefully.

  ‘I have an announcement to make,’ said Batty, his lips curling as the upturned faces looked at him expectantly. ‘Last night I asked Suze to marry me and she said yes.’

  Suze jumped to her feet and kissed him loudly on the cheek. ‘Actually, what I said was, yes please!’

  ‘Well, congratulations to the both of you. I think this calls for a bottle of wine,’ said Dennis, pushing out his chair.

  ‘Oooh yes, how nice,’ said Nan. There was nothing negative about a glass of wine.

  Marigold’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m so happy for you, dear,’ she said when Suze embraced her. She put her arms around her daughter and held her close for a moment. ‘I’m happy you’ve found someone to share your life w
ith,’ she said, thinking of Dennis and the many wonderful years they had spent together.

  ‘Life is a long road,’ said Nan. ‘Made easier if you have someone to share the journey with. That’s what your grand-father used to say. Of course he was right, but then he died, leaving me alone. One of you has to go first, I suppose. Only the lucky few go together.’

  Dennis returned with a bottle of chilled white wine and Daisy steered the subject away from death, and from Nan. ‘Is there a ring?’ she asked.

  ‘The ring!’ Suze exclaimed as Batty pulled a grey suede box out of his pocket.

  ‘We didn’t want to ruin the surprise,’ he said, opening it and slipping it onto Suze’s outstretched finger. The surprisingly large diamond solitaire sparkled expensively.

  ‘It belonged to Batty’s grandmother. As it turned out, his grandfather had exceedingly good taste in jewellery,’ said Suze happily. ‘Isn’t it beautiful? Like a star.’

  ‘There’s only one star,’ said Batty smoothly.

  ‘And that’s me!’ said Suze with a giggle.

  Batty put his arm around her. ‘That’s you, sweetheart.’

  ‘Once we’re married we’re going to rent a flat in town, but until we find the right place I’m going to live with Batty at his parents’ house. They have more room.’

  ‘We’ll miss you, Suze,’ said Marigold, suddenly feeling a pang of anxiety at the thought of her youngest flying the nest at last.

  ‘But this is the beginning of the rest of your life,’ said Daisy, lifting the glass of wine her father had just given her.

  ‘A toast,’ said Dennis, putting down the bottle and raising his glass. ‘To Batty and Suze and many happy years together.’

  They all raised their glasses.

  ‘A summer wedding will be nice,’ said Nan. ‘Don’t leave it too long, will you? I’m nearly ninety, you know, and the Grim Reaper is sharpening his scythe. I do want to be there.’ ‘A summer wedding will be lovely,’ Marigold agreed, thinking of all the lists she was going to have to write in order not to let Suze down on her big day.

  Daisy sipped her wine, resisting the envy that was creeping into her heart like a worm in an apple. She didn’t want to resent her younger sister for getting to the altar before she did. However, she couldn’t help but feel a little sad. If she hadn’t wasted six years with a man who never intended to marry her, perhaps she’d be married by now. Maybe she’d even be a mother. Again she wondered whether she’d done the right thing. Should she have stayed with Luca and compromised? Was there anyone else out there for her?

  Chapter 10

  There was a lot to arrange for Suze’s wedding and Marigold was quite overwhelmed at the thought. Firstly, the church had to be booked for the ceremony and the village hall for the reception. The food and champagne, the dress, the cake, the bridesmaids and pages’ outfits and the invitations were only some of the many things that needed to be organized. When Marigold was younger she had relished arranging things. She had been so good at logistics. Nothing had fazed her. Now, she could barely see what needed to be done for the fog in her head. She wondered how she was going to manage. She knew it would be a great deal easier if she asked for help, but that would mean articulating her fears. She didn’t want to do that. She didn’t want her family to have to share them; she didn’t want her family to know she had any.

  And she didn’t want to make a big deal out of something potentially small. If all old people were struggling with forgetfulness, why should hers be any worse? Why should hers be given special attention? The last thing Marigold wanted was to be self-indulgent.

  The fact was that some days were fine, others much harder. Some days Marigold felt lucid and full of energy, other days she felt foggy and lethargic and bordering on despair. She decided she’d tackle all the arrangements on the days she felt well. Juggling the wedding and the shop was not going to be easy, but she was determined to make Suze’s day special without giving her undue reason for concern. She was not going to let her little problem affect the first day of the rest of Suze’s life.

  Suze and Batty settled on the first weekend in June, which was just under three months’ away, and hoped that the weather would be fine. Nan said it was good luck if it rained on one’s wedding day. ‘After all,’ she said, ‘it rained on mine and I had fifty-eight years of happiness with Grandad.’ Which no one believed, because Nan was the sort of woman who tried very hard not to be happy.

  Marigold booked the church and the village hall and crossed them both off her list.

  When it came to planning the dress Suze had strong ideas of her own. She declared over breakfast one Sunday morning that she did not want to get married in white. ‘I’m going to wear pink.’

  Nan was appalled. ‘You’ll look like a marshmallow,’ she said.

  ‘Are you suggesting I’m fat, Nan?’

  ‘No, I’m suggesting you’ll look ridiculous coming down the aisle in pink. It has to be white, doesn’t it, Marigold?’

  Marigold was not having a good day. She wished she had stayed in bed, but she had had to get up to make everyone breakfast. She couldn’t imagine not cooking Dennis his Sunday Special, and as for Nan, she hadn’t made her own breakfast since she arrived. Suze and Daisy could easily look after themselves, but Marigold enjoyed looking after them. It’s what she had always done and she did not want anything to change.

  ‘Is pink a good idea, Suze?’ Marigold asked tactfully.

  ‘It’s my wedding and I shall wear what I want,’ Suze replied tartly, flicking her hair.

  Dennis, who did not like confrontation, decided to agree with Suze for an easy Sunday morning. ‘Whatever you want, love. It’s your day.’

  Marigold was inclined to agree with her husband, but Nan was scowling at her crossly. ‘It’s not just about being virginal, Suze, it’s about showing your respect to God,’ said Nan. ‘Isn’t it, Marigold?’

  ‘Did you know, it was only because of Queen Victoria that wedding dresses are white,’ said Daisy. ‘Before her, women got married in colour. I think you should wear red, Suze.’

  Nan pursed her lips. ‘If you want to finish me off, you’re going the right way about it,’ she muttered. ‘I’ve said I want to be at your wedding, but if you marry in red, or pink, or anything that is not white, I won’t make it. I will be six feet under and turning.’

  ‘Maybe not red, Daisy,’ said Dennis, trying to keep the peace. ‘A pale pink wouldn’t offend God, I don’t imagine. If it’s pale, it might not offend Nan either. But I suspect Nan is harder to please than God.’

  Nan did not look appeased.

  ‘God created flowers and they come in all colours,’ Suze replied. ‘I’d like a dress that’s as pink as a peony. He can’t mind about that, after all, He created the peony, didn’t He?’

  ‘Speaking of flowers,’ said Marigold, keen to change the subject. ‘We need to find a good florist.’

  ‘Well, that’s easy enough,’ Suze laughed. ‘Gardening is Batty’s profession, so I think we can leave that to him.’

  ‘At least he’ll be Atticus Buckley in church,’ said Nan with a sniff. ‘If you’re lucky enough to be named after a character in one of the most famous novels ever written, you’d be a fool not to flaunt it.’

  Suze laughed. ‘If you’re suggesting my fiancé is a fool, Nan, I’ll go down the aisle in a fuchsia-pink dress just to spite you.’

  Marigold brought Dennis his Sunday Special and put it in front of him. ‘Thanks, Goldie,’ he said, picking up his knife and fork and beaming a smile. ‘You’re the best.’

  Marigold didn’t feel like the best today. She went to the bathroom and opened her little book. It was so full of things to do that for a moment she felt quite dizzy. The sight of a full day exhausted her. Normally, such a day would have delighted her, but she seemed to function now on a lower gear, and every small thing felt like a step uphill. She knew she should go to church, but she had to cook the lunch, which was always a little hard if most of the morning was eaten up
by the Reverend’s long sermon. She had arranged to have tea with Beryl in the afternoon, which she was looking forward to, but she also wanted to spend time on her puzzle. Fortunately, the list of things her mother needed, like more shampoo and toothpaste, could be easily obtained from the shop. She sighed with gratitude for the shop. She didn’t know how she’d cope without it.

  Another problem was now brewing, she realized. She had her little book, which she kept in her pocket, her red shop book, which was kept under the counter, and the list on the fridge, of course, which was a constant reminder of kitchen things like meals and cooking, but she also had Post-it Notes around the house and a pad of paper by her bed. There were so many places to write things down that she was beginning to forget where she had written them. She knew she should keep all her reminders in one place, but her little book wasn’t always where she was. She changed her clothes and forgot to take it out of the pocket, for example, and sometimes she simply forgot about it altogether. On good days she didn’t think she needed it, then crash, her memory would fail the following day and she couldn’t remember where she’d put it.

  Everything was more of an effort nowadays. Making lunch was an exceedingly taxing operation because she didn’t want to forget to switch on the oven, or some other important detail, and in so doing alert her family to the fact that she was getting more forgetful. She had to concentrate hard, and that in itself was making her nervous. Hiding how she was really feeling was making her very tired.

  Against her better judgement, Marigold went to church with Nan and Dennis. Dennis dropped them off at the gate, then went to park the car. The two women walked into the church together. Normally, Nan would go and find a seat and Marigold would socialize, but today Marigold didn’t feel up to socializing. She kept her head down and followed her mother into a pew. Then she opened her hymn book to see what they were going to sing today. She looked up to check if Dennis was coming and caught a woman’s eye instead. The woman waved and smiled. Marigold smiled back, but she hadn’t a clue who she was. She thought perhaps she had mistaken her for someone else. When the woman continued on down the aisle, Marigold tapped her mother on the arm. ‘That woman’s just waved at me,’ she told her.