Here and Now

by Santa Montefiore

  Nan looked at the woman and then at her daughter. She frowned. ‘That’s Mandy Bradshaw,’ she said.

  Marigold looked blank.

  ‘Mandy Bradshaw! You know her, Marigold! She’s new in the village, has a little terrier called Toby. Nasty dog. I hate terriers.’

  ‘You just hate dogs, Mum,’ said Marigold. She realized then that she was going to have to bluff when her mind drew a blank like that. If someone she didn’t recognize recognized her, she would just have to go along with it. It was as simple as that. But as Dennis sat down beside her she felt as if the church floor were spinning away from her. She took Dennis’s hand. He squeezed it. ‘All right, love?’ he asked. She nodded. But she wasn’t all right; she wasn’t all right at all.

  After lunch she toiled away at the jigsaw puzzle. She knew that working on the puzzle was exercising her brain because she could feel it working. But it was exasperating. Marigold was not a woman who gave up easily. She was not going to give up and she was not going to voice her concerns either. Instead, she internalized her fear and her frustration and smiled in the gracious way she always smiled; a happy mask hiding the growing desperation inside.

  Dennis noticed that Marigold was struggling with his jigsaw puzzle. Perhaps this one was just too big and the pieces too small for her to cope with. He wondered whether he should have given her the picture as a guide. But it was too late now. He hadn’t photographed it. He had been so sure that she would complete it as swiftly as she had all the others that it hadn’t crossed his mind to make a copy. Now he felt bad. What he had believed to be the best puzzle he had ever made had turned out to be a disappointment. The worst was that it didn’t seem to be giving her pleasure. He knew she wanted to do it. He was certain of that. He watched her sitting at the table with her glasses on, trying to figure out which pieces went where, a determined frown creasing her brow, but it seemed to be a labour not of love but of pride, because she didn’t want to admit her failure, even to herself.

  When the telephone rang, Daisy answered it. After a brief chat she called to her mother, ‘It’s Beryl. She says you’re meant to be having tea with her.’

  Marigold blanched. Daisy watched her with concern. Her mother didn’t register surprise, as one would expect, but fear. Daisy saw it in her eyes and felt a stab of fear in her own heart.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Marigold, speaking into the phone in a calm voice that betrayed nothing of her anxiety. ‘I’ve been busy with Dennis’s puzzle. Shall I pop over now?’

  ‘I’ve baked some biscuits,’ said Beryl. ‘A new recipe out of a book I was given for Christmas. They’re very good. I think you’ll like them. Do come, but don’t fret. There’s no hurry.’

  Dennis insisted on driving Marigold to Beryl’s house even though it was only a short walk away. Once he returned he found Daisy in the hall, waiting for him. ‘We need to talk,’ she said and Dennis knew from the serious expression on her face that she wanted to talk about Marigold.

  ‘Come to my shed,’ he suggested quietly and they walked across the garden together. Daisy noticed the bird feeder, full of seed, and was consoled that at least her mother hadn’t forgotten to do that.

  Dennis closed the door behind them. Father and daughter stood looking at each other for a moment, not knowing how to broach such a sensitive subject. Neither wanted to admit that something was wrong, because doing that would make it real. But they also knew that they couldn’t avoid the reality any longer. Finally, Daisy spoke. ‘She’s forgetting everything, Dad,’ she said. ‘And it’s been going on since I moved back from Italy. I suspect it started long before that. I think she should see a doctor.’

  Dennis frowned. ‘It’ll upset her if she thinks we’ve noticed.

  She’s trying hard to hide it. She doesn’t want to admit she’s slowing down.’ He smiled tenderly. ‘You know Mum, she likes being in control. She likes looking after us all.’

  ‘If it’s nothing more than old age then at least the doctor can tell her to slow down. She takes on too much. If a doctor told her to slow down, she’d have to, wouldn’t she? I’m not suggesting she has a brain tumour, but we should at least look into it, for our own peace of mind.’

  Dennis was unconvinced. He knew how Marigold would react. She’d be very upset and he didn’t want to upset her. Then he remembered the second cup of tea she’d brought him and his heart sank. She’d never done that before. ‘How about we all pull together and help her?’ he suggested.

  ‘Yes, I agree. We could do much more for ourselves.’

  ‘I mean really help her. If she plans tea with Beryl then we can gently remind her, for example. We can prompt her without her knowing we’re prompting her.’

  Daisy sighed. ‘I’m not sure it’s that easy, Dad. We’re working. We’re not with her the whole time. We can’t prompt her in the shop, can we?’

  ‘Let’s give it a go, eh? Let’s just try.’

  ‘I still want her to see a doctor.’

  ‘Then you have to suggest it.’

  Daisy smiled sympathetically. ‘I will, Dad. Don’t worry. I know this sort of thing makes you uncomfortable.’ But Daisy was prepared to upset her mother if the end result gave them all peace of mind.

  Beryl offered Marigold a biscuit. Marigold took one and bit into it. She nodded. ‘Very good, Beryl.’

  ‘Aren’t they? I’ll give you the name of the book. Simple recipes, but delicious.’ Beryl looked at Marigold across the kitchen table and noticed she was looking unusually pale. ‘Dennis made you another jigsaw puzzle, did he?’

  ‘He makes me one every year, but this year I think he’s outdone himself. He’s certainly outdone me. I’m finding it quite a struggle. I can say that to you. But I can’t tell Dennis. He worked so hard on it.’

  ‘He’s very talented, your husband.’

  ‘Yes, he is.’

  ‘That mole trap he made for the Commodore has got everyone talking. He’s caught twenty-five moles, you know.’

  ‘Goodness! That’s a lot of moles.’

  ‘He’s setting them free in the countryside.’ She grinned. ‘I hope they don’t find their way back and set up home in my garden.’

  ‘So do I,’ Marigold agreed with a chuckle. ‘That would be ironic, wouldn’t it, if Dennis made a trap, only for them to come back and make their home in his garden?’ She began to feel better. It was good to be out of the house, at Beryl’s table, drinking a nice cup of tea and eating her delicious biscuits.

  ‘I see Daisy is becoming a bit of a local celebrity,’ said Beryl admiringly. ‘Her animal drawings are very popular.’

  ‘Daisy’s thrilled. She works well at the farm, with all that light and the lovely views.’

  ‘I went to visit Rosie Price on Saturday at her nursing home. That’s got lovely views too.’

  ‘Rosie’s in a nursing home?’ said Marigold in surprise.

  Rosie was an old schoolfriend of both hers and Beryl’s.

  ‘I did tell you, Marigold, but you’ve forgotten. It doesn’t matter. She’s got Alzheimer’s. Very sad. She doesn’t remember anything anymore. She only just remembered me and that’s because I’m a very old friend.’ Marigold went cold. ‘It’s a perfectly adequate place, as nice as it can be, I suppose,’ Beryl continued. ‘Must have been a big old private house once. Not far from here, with a view of the sea. It has one of those commonplace names like Seaside Manor or Seaview House. The poor thing was just sitting there in the big sitting room when I arrived. My heart went out to her. I reminded her who I was and she did remember. Her face lit up. She was pleased to see me. We reminisced. She was surprisingly lucid about her childhood. She remembered all her dogs’ names. Imagine that? We talked about our old schooldays and she was as sharp as a tack.’

  ‘And her children? Does she remember them?’ Marigold asked anxiously.

  ‘I’m told she gets confused. Because she exists in her youth she thinks they’re her uncles and aunts. She probably can’t imagine she has children at all. She talks about her
parents, who died years ago, and complains about the place she’s in and asks to be taken home. Home for her is not with her husband Ian, but with her parents, and that house where she grew up no longer exists. I was told, very specifically, by her eldest son Julian, that I wasn’t to contradict her or ask her any questions. It was a lot harder than you’d think. As long as I stuck to those rules she would remain calm and not get upset. Julian, who was there, was wonderful with her. When she said she wanted to go home he told her that they were going to have a nice lunch, take the dogs for a walk, and then they were going to go home. She was very happy to hear that. Of course, a few minutes later she had forgotten they’d even had the conversation. The trick is to make her present moment as contented as possible, because that’s really all she has.’

  ‘So, she won’t have any recollection of you having been?’ said Marigold.

  ‘No. Julian told me, as we were leaving, that if I were to walk back in again, she’d greet me as she had done when I arrived. She wouldn’t remember I’d been there only minutes before. It’s extraordinary. Lots of people get it, you know.’ Beryl sighed heavily.

  Marigold shrugged. ‘We all have to go somehow,’ she said.

  ‘I’d like to go in my sleep,’ said Beryl.

  ‘Me too,’ said Marigold. ‘Just drift away, like a cloud.’

  Chapter 11

  A few days later Daisy plucked up the courage to tell her mother that she needed to see a doctor. It was a cold, grey morning but the daffodils gave it the colour it lacked and shone brightly through the drizzle. Marigold was out feeding her birds, talking to the robin and enjoying with the wonder of a child the sight of her feathered friends gathering in her garden.

  Daisy crossed the lawn. ‘They know it’s breakfast, don’t they?’ she said.

  ‘They do. Although they don’t get through it as quickly as they do in the winter months. I’ll stop feeding them soon. I just want to see them through until they’ve had their young.’

  Daisy thought how happy her mother was here in the garden. It was probably her happiest place, and now Daisy was going to disturb it.

  ‘Mum, I wonder whether you should see a doctor.’ Daisy held her breath.

  ‘A doctor?’ Marigold hung the feeder on the branch. ‘Why?’ But she knew and her cheeks flushed. She thought she had managed to dupe them all.

  ‘You’ve just been a bit forgetful lately. I’m sure it’s nothing, but I’d feel happier if you had a check-up. Everyone should have them at your age. An MOT. You know. Maintenance.’

  Marigold inhaled through her nostrils, wondering how much she was going to share. ‘I’ve already been,’ she confessed, putting her hands in her coat pockets and looking at her daughter from under her wrinkled brow.

  Daisy was surprised. ‘Really? When?’

  ‘Just before Christmas. I was worried too. But he said it’s normal at my age to forget things. That’s why I started going for walks in the morning. He told me to take exercise and to exercise my brain as well.’

  Daisy nodded. ‘Hence the Sudoku.’

  ‘Hence the Sudoku,’ she repeated.

  ‘I see. So, there’s nothing wrong. That’s a relief.’

  ‘Yes, it is. I thought I was getting dementia or something awful.’ Just saying that word out loud made Marigold shudder. She smiled at Daisy. ‘Thank you, dear, for worrying about me. But really, you don’t need to. I’m fine.’

  Daisy was so relieved, she put her arms around her mother and embraced her. And yet, beneath her relief lingered a shadow of anxiety that wouldn’t shift, however much she and Marigold held on to the doctor’s opinion. Did the doctor know everything? Daisy remembered her mother’s strange turn in town the day they went Christmas shopping. Did the doctor know about that?

  Yet she couldn’t ask her mother to go again.

  Daisy decided that she was going to help more around the house and try to be her mother’s memory whenever she could. She agreed with her father not to worry Nan and Suze, especially in the run-up to Suze’s wedding. Neither of them wanted to upset Suze, or for her to lose confidence in the person organizing her big day.

  Dennis thought Daisy was overreacting. If the doctor had told Marigold that there was nothing to worry about, then there really was nothing to worry about. Dennis trusted the medical profession. In his experience, doctors were always right.

  In the weeks that followed, Daisy prompted her mother whenever she could. She did it tactfully so that Marigold wouldn’t notice. When her mother had a committee meeting for the church, Daisy simply suggested she take an umbrella because she was sure it would rain. ‘I know it’s a short walk to the church hall, but you don’t want to get wet,’ she said. Marigold, who had forgotten she had a meeting, suddenly remembered and turned up on time without realizing that Daisy had nudged her on purpose. When Daisy pre-empted her in the kitchen, she would explain that, as she was passing the freezer, she might as well take out the cottage pie for supper, or switch on the oven, or cook supper herself because she missed cooking, having cooked a lot in Italy. It was a challenge, because she wasn’t at home all the time, or in the shop, but as the social things happened on weekends, she could be her mother’s memory for those at least. She even went to church on Sundays, which she hadn’t done in years, just so that she could accompany her mother and prompt her if she failed to recognize a face. Nan and Suze were oblivious, Dennis was in denial and it was only Daisy who realized how much her mother was forgetting, and how tired she was. But until her mother recognized that she had a problem there was little that Daisy could do besides subtly prompting her when she was able to.

  Daisy said she wanted to help with the wedding preparations. ‘It’ll be fun doing it together,’ she said and Marigold agreed, feeling relieved. Suze was too busy posting things on her Instagram site and writing articles about planning a wedding, of which Suze knew nothing, to be of any use.

  ‘Why don’t you write something with more substance?’ Daisy suggested one evening at supper, when Suze was telling them about the blog she was writing about the tradition of ‘Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, and a sixpence in your shoe’.

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ said Suze, glaring at her. ‘Are you suggesting that what I write is superficial?’

  ‘No, of course not, there’s a place for fashion and frivolity, but you’re such a good writer. You’re intelligent. You’re sharp and perceptive and clever. I think you’re selling yourself short.’

  Suze looked at the faces around the table with the defensive glare of a cornered animal. ‘Is that what you all think? Have you been discussing me behind my back?’

  Dennis gave her a reassuring smile. ‘I don’t mind what you do, love, as long as you’re happy.’

  ‘I am happy,’ said Suze sulkily. ‘I’m getting married, how could I possibly be anything but happy?’ She rested her gaze on her sister and added tightly, ‘You might be the next Leonardo da Vinci, but I’m very contented doing what I do. I have over forty thousand Instagram followers now and thousands of people read my blog. Do you think Aimee Song and Samantha Maria think they should be writing articles with more substance? There are enough people out there writing polemics about politics, the failure of the NHS, global warming and the troubles in the Middle East. I’m not interested in adding to their number.’ No one had a clue who Aimee Song and Samantha Maria were, but they were too nervous to ask.

  ‘I don’t mean writing about that,’ said Daisy, wishing she hadn’t said anything. ‘I’ve told you before. You should write a novel. You always used to write stories. Why did you stop? You could earn a lot of money being a novelist.’

  ‘You don’t need money to be happy, Daisy. You should know all about that.’

  ‘It’s not just about the money, although no one would turn their nose up at making good money. You’d be doing something really satisfying. You’d be fulfilling your potential. I think you’ve got a lot of potential but you’re just too frightened to give it a go.�
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  ‘I’m not frightened,’ Suze retorted. ‘I’d give it a go if I had an idea. Anyway, I’m too busy to write a book.’ She folded her arms defensively.

  ‘Suze, I’m not criticizing you. Quite the opposite. I believe in you.’

  ‘You’ve got a funny way of showing it, Daisy.’

  Nan caught Marigold’s eye and changed the subject. ‘Moira Barnes has a fancy man,’ she said. When they all looked at her in astonishment, she continued blithely. ‘He’s eighty-six and she’s ninety-two and it’s a proper love affair. She says she’s discovering parts of her body she had forgotten were there.’

  Suze nearly snorted up her food. ‘Nan, that’s way too much information!’ She burst out laughing and the tense atmosphere immediately evaporated.

  That night, after dinner, Daisy’s telephone rang. When she saw Luca’s name on the screen her heart stalled. She hesitated, unsure whether or not to pick it up. It was a strange feeling knowing that right now he was somewhere in Italy, thinking of her, ready to speak to her. All she had to do was press accept on her phone and she’d hear the voice she had missed so dreadfully. And yet, she was nervous. What did he want? Was he ready to compromise? And if he was, did she want him to? She was beginning to settle into her new life. She was beginning to like it. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she put the phone down and walked away. She was not ready to compromise. She hadn’t given her new life a chance.

  When she later retrieved her phone there was a text. I miss you was all it said. She stared at those three words, certain now that she had done the right thing in ignoring his call. For the words that she longed for him to write cried out to her in their absence. I’ll give you whatever you want, Daisy. Marriage, children, a home. Because I love you.

  ‘It turns out that the Commodore is releasing the moles on Sir Owen’s farm,’ said Eileen, leaning against the counter of the shop the following morning.