‘I’m from Errigal. The station in the Flinders Ranges. Where you’ll be staying.’
‘I can’t wait. I met your daughter and son! They’re charming.’
‘Thanks,’ he said, fighting the urge to walk away, fighting a second urge to ask her to please stop this strangeness. It was her but not her. A different version of her. An unwell, confused version of her, from what the neurologist had said. Yet her eyes were bright, her smile wide. Nick had expected her to seem vague, disoriented. Instead, she looked happy. She was also very chatty.
‘We looked at so many places to stay. I can’t wait to go camping. My husband is an architect. This is a research trip. He’s going to design a new resort in Portugal.’ She frowned. ‘I think it’s Portugal. It might be Spain.’
She seemed to be waiting for a response from him. ‘That’s great,’ Nick said.
‘Are you really in the outback? Lexie wants to see a kangaroo. I’m sorry about the fuss with the hospital. I should be better soon.’
Nick felt he had no choice but to go along with all she was saying. ‘Yes, the doctors are pleased with your progress. How are you feeling? After the accident, I mean.’
‘I can’t remember a thing about it.’ She laughed.
The sound of it hit him like a jolt. He had always loved her laugh. It felt like he hadn’t heard it – or properly heard it – in months.
She was still talking. ‘So, is your station a long way away? It must get very hot there. Will is coming soon. Lexie’s coming after that. Will is an architect. We live in London but we have always loved to travel. Lexie will join us soon. She’s our daughter. She’s twenty-nine.’ She smiled as she finished, gazing at him, as if waiting for him to answer.
Nick couldn’t think of anything to say. All he was feeling was shock. Something more than shock. Something more like fear. This wasn’t his Angela. This was a stranger.
He felt someone beside him. It was Ruth, with another doctor. ‘Sorry to interrupt. Nick, would you please excuse us?’
He was glad to leave. He couldn’t pretend otherwise.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Over the next two days, they took turns spending short periods of time with her. She was bright, happy, talkative. She spoke to each of them as if they were from the host outback station. She still looked like the wife and the mother they knew. She almost sounded the same, just with more of an English accent. There had been an Old Angela. There was now this New Angela.
Each night, they spent several hours at Celia’s computer. They googled and studied every similar case of confabulation they could find. In some, the person’s memory had been altered for months. In others, only days or weeks. In one case, for years. Sometimes, the person’s real memory had come back gradually. Sometimes, it had returned instantly, in one complete rush. By the end of their internet sessions, they were as confused as they had been at the start.
Ruth advised them not to push any conversation with her. ‘Talk if she talks to you. Follow her lead.’
Her main interests seemed to be reading and crossword puzzles and napping. She was doing a lot of napping.
‘That’s not a bad sign,’ Ruth told them. ‘The brain needs as much rest as the body. And she’ll be unsettled the first few days in Port Augusta. It’s good for her to get as much rest now as she can.’
Genevieve was still the family spokesperson. ‘She’s so amenable though. She just goes along with whatever we’re telling her is happening. We’re strangers to her, yet she’s happy to be told she’ll be coming to live with us for six weeks or more. Is that a good sign or a bad sign?’
‘It’s part of the process. Somewhere in her brain, she’s recognised you. That’s why it’s a good idea to bring her home as soon as possible. All sorts of things there might stimulate her memory. A familiar object, a smell, a piece of music, even a familiar taste. What’s happening to her in real life now is close enough to what she’s imagined for herself in her fantasy life, so this is all making perfect sense to her. She knows she had an accident, even though she can’t remember it. But she’s seen the bandages, knows about the operation, she’s taking her medication: that all makes sense to her. She understands she needs to spend more time in hospital too. She also believes she’s in Australia on holiday, to spend time on an outback station. You are taking her to an outback station. So it’s all happening as she expects it to.’
Angela’s transfer to Port Augusta went smoothly. She travelled via ambulance, with the Gillespies following in two cars, Nick’s and Joan’s. They’d all farewelled Celia that morning. Angela’s admission was swift, the nursing staff friendly. The Gillespies were surprised by how relaxed they all seemed about Angela’s memory issues.
‘It’s more common than you’d think,’ one nurse said to them. ‘We see it with Alzheimer’s patients, dementia patients. We had a lovely lady here for two months who thought she was one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting. She was frightfully grand.’ She said the last sentence in a very exaggerated British accent.
They booked into a motel near the hospital. They were less than two hours from Errigal now, but no one wanted to go home yet. Not without Angela. After dinner, using the motel computer, Genevieve composed another email. It took her a long time to get the wording right.
Hello from the Gillespies,
Mum has now been moved to the hospital in Port Augusta. She’s doing well physically, but she still has some memory issues as a result of the accident. We’re glad to say her doctors think she will be able to come home soon. Her full recovery could take some weeks yet, though, and she’ll need plenty of peace and quiet. So we hope you’ll understand if she doesn’t have any visitors or phone calls for the time being.
She added everyone’s names and pressed send.
As the week in Port Augusta went by, they fell into a new routine. Each of them took turns spending time with Angela during the day. Over dinner, they shared their experiences. A pattern was emerging. Angela was friendly, but also reserved with them. She was happy to chat a little, but seemed to prefer to be left alone to read. She still slept a lot. She’d started to go for walks, just short ones in the hospital grounds. They’d all asked her if she wanted company. Each time she declined the offer. She spoke about Will and Lexie as if she were in close contact with them, yet she hadn’t asked to use a phone or a computer. Physically, she was in a good post-operative condition, the nurses told them. Her appetite was also good. She was very appreciative of the food. ‘Anything’s better than cooking,’ she often said. She was one of the easiest patients they’d ever had, the nurses said. So nice. So grateful. So peaceful.
Genevieve asked about the headaches. It had struck her after visiting Angela on the fourth afternoon in the Port Augusta hospital. Her mother didn’t just look happy and content; she looked so well. Younger. Something was different. After some thought, she’d realised what it was. The tension had gone from her face. The frown she’d often had recently was nowhere to be seen. Had the headaches disappeared along with her memory?
She asked the nursing staff if Angela had asked for any pain relief. Nothing for headaches, they confirmed. Could that have been the case? Genevieve asked Ruth next time she spoke to her on the phone. Could an accident wipe out an existing medical condition like Angela’s long-suffered headaches?
It was certainly possible, Ruth told her. Especially as her recent tests had all been clear. There was no sign of a tumour or any other underlying cause of the headaches. They’d most likely been stress-related. Now that Angela had nothing to worry about, and was living contentedly in this state of confabulation, the headaches were gone too.
Victoria had been out for a walk. For the fresh air. The thinking time. She also secretly hoped that the exercise might help her period to arrive. There was still no sign of it. For either of them. Everything had been so topsy-turvy with their sleeping, with their eating, it was still hard to tell if they had any other symptoms of pregnancy. It simply had to be stress delaying their periods
, they’d decided. Stress on stress, their mother’s accident on top of everything else. They couldn’t both be pregnant. That would be impossible, surely.
As she came into the hospital foyer, she saw a familiar figure at the reception desk. Heard a familiar voice.
‘I’d like to leave this here for the Gillespie family, please, if I —’
‘Fred?’
He turned. ‘Victoria?’ He went red.
She knew she was blushing too. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I wanted to leave some things for you all. Not just from me; from Mum too.’ She could see a basket on the counter behind him. It was packed – cakes, books, even what looked like an iPad.
He followed her gaze. ‘It’s my old one. I thought Ig could use it. I loaded it up with games for him. I heard he’s a computer whizz these days.’
‘Fred, I’m sorry. Your letter, I haven’t —’
‘I know, Victoria. You weren’t even supposed to see me today. I was just going to drop these off. There’s no pressure. No rush. Please, take all the time you like.’ He gave her a shy smile.
‘I’m sorry, Fred. I haven’t had time to think about it. With Mum, with —’
‘Of course. I mean it, Victoria. There’s no rush. How is your mum? We’ve been getting the emails, thanks for those, but if there is anything else we can do . . .’
She gave him a quick update, keeping the terms general, using the phrase ‘memory issues’ as they had all decided to do.
‘And how are you?’ he asked. ‘It must be a very worrying time.’
Seeing him standing there, so solid, so familiar, looking at her with such kindness, such concern . . . All the tension from the past few days, few weeks, few months, seemed to boil up inside her. As she burst into tears, he opened his arms wide. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to step into his embrace.
It wasn’t until they were back in their hotel room later that night that Victoria had the chance to tell Genevieve the details of Fred’s visit. Her sister already knew about the gift basket. They’d all seen it now. It had been so generous, so thoughtful: something in it for all of them to eat, read or be entertained by.
Victoria told her about her tears. The hug. How good it had felt. How kind Fred had been. The conversation they’d had afterwards. It was Victoria who had raised the subject of the letter. Not Fred. Yes, she would like to try going out with him again, she’d said.
She was regretting it now. ‘It was a mistake, wasn’t it? I should have said I needed more time. I do need more time.’
‘But you don’t, do you? It sounds to me like you should definitely have said yes.’
She lowered her voice. ‘Genevieve, I might be pregnant. You might be pregnant.’
‘We’re not. Of course we’re not. We’ll do the tests now. I’ve still got them in my bag.’
Victoria shook her head. ‘I can’t. Not here, not in a hotel room. With Mum in hospital.’
Genevieve felt the same way. They agreed they’d do it as soon as they were home again.
Six days after Angela arrived in Port Augusta, her discharge date was confirmed. She’d be going home the next day. It was nearly three weeks since the accident.
The Gillespies had met on several occasions with Angela’s occupational therapist, who’d conducted a series of tests. She confirmed that Angela was what they called a ‘safe’ patient. She wasn’t at risk of harming herself, or others. She was capable of washing herself, feeding herself, dressing herself. She was ready to go home.Her treatment plan was discussed. There would be a support team available at all times, and visits to Errigal if needed, but all that was needed now was time.
The family had a video conference call via Skype with Ruth that night.
‘Is it okay to admit I’m scared?’ Lindy asked.
‘Of course it’s okay, but you don’t need to be,’ Ruth said.
‘But it’s one thing visiting her in hospital for an hour or so a day. How do we behave around her at home, every day?’ Genevieve asked.
‘You just have to be yourselves. All do exactly what you would normally do if you were living in the house together. Live your normal lives,’ she advised.
‘It’s my plans that have to change,’ Nick said. ‘I was due to go to Ireland in late February. A ten-day research trip to plan a family reunion. I’ll cancel it as soon as I get home again.’
‘Why? You were only going to be away for ten days, did you say? You can still go.’
‘Leave my sick wife and —’
‘Nick, she’s not sick. It’s important you all realise that. She’s in a different mental state, yes, but she’s not physically sick. Before this happened, did Angela know you were planning to go to Ireland on this trip?’
Nick nodded.
‘Then my advice would be to go ahead with your Irish trip. It’s only for ten days. She will still have plenty of support at home. Is she used to you being away? Before this happened?’
Nick nodded. He explained he’d often been away on overnight trips, sometimes for longer if the work he needed to do was on the far side of their property, or on a neighbour’s station.
‘Then I don’t see a problem with your trip going ahead. The closer everyone stays to their normal plans and routine, the better for Angela. It’s good that all three girls will be at home and able to help out. She is in a safe state of mind, and being with her immediate family is the best place for her at the moment.
‘I’d also advise you to let Angela settle in at home first before introducing any new people, apart from Joan. There might be some additional changes in behaviour and it would be better to keep the group around her as small as possible to begin with. I’d also like you all to keep a note of anything you notice Angela doing that seems unusual, or remarkable in any way.’
‘She takes sugar in her tea now,’ Lindy said.
‘That’s a good example. A young man I worked with was a smoker before his accident. After he “woke” again, he’d forgotten he was. He never smoked again.’
‘Won’t she start to worry about her husband and daughter in London?’ Victoria asked.
‘She might. But patients with confabulation seem able to find reasons for anything inconsistent with their stories. If she does mention them, just reassure her. Tell her they are coming, they’ve just been delayed.’
‘But it won’t just be what we say to her, will it?’ Genevieve said. ‘There are photos of her all around the house. Won’t that seem weird to her?’
‘My advice would be to take them down before she gets home. In other cases, patients haven’t recognised themselves or they’ve remarked on how similar they look to the person in the photos, in the way that we all have doppelgangers. But as you have the time to prepare, I’d advise you to keep any visual reminders like that to a minimum. We’ve learned that it’s actually other stimuli that have a more profound effect on bringing memory back. Smells. Music. In the meantime, please stay optimistic. All of you. Take it day by day. I still believe she’ll be fine again, in time. And I know you’ll all be fine with her until then too.’
There were no more questions after that.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Genevieve and Victoria drove back to Errigal together, in one of the station’s four-wheel drives. Joan’s husband had organised two of his stockmen to deliver it to them in Port Augusta.
The twins wanted to do a quick clean and, more importantly, to prepare their mother’s new room. They were putting her in the old governess’s quarters, where her overseas visitors always slept. It had a good view of the Chace Range, and French doors leading out onto the verandah. It was simply decorated: cream-painted walls, one wallpapered in a light floral pattern – chosen by Angela herself. There was a double bed, which they made up with crisp white sheets and a floral quilt, bought by Angela. On the bedside table, they placed a small glass vase holding two red roses from the bush near the pottery shed.
After her room was ready, they hurried through the
house, taking down any photos that Angela featured in. They gave the rest of the house a quick vacuum and dust.
They radioed their father, who was still thirty minutes away. They had the house to themselves for what would probably be the last time for weeks. This was their best chance.
They went into the bathroom. They did the tests, put them aside and waited the required time. On the count of three, they turned them over.
One was positive. The other wasn’t.
The twins were in the kitchen drinking tea when the others arrived. As the family came in, it became clear that Ig had volunteered to show Angela around the homestead and the station buildings. Lindy kept saying that she wanted to help. Ig insisted it was his job.
Nick put down Angela’s suitcase. The same one she’d had in the Adelaide hotel. ‘Let Ig, Lindy. He asked first.’
‘How nice to be fought over like this,’ Angela said, smiling. ‘It would be very nice if Ig showed me around today. And you can show me more tomorrow, Lindy.’
Ig looked pleased with himself. Lindy relaxed. Genevieve stepped in. ‘Good thinking, Angela, thanks. But Victoria and I are showing you your room.’
They all walked down the hall and out across the verandah to the guestroom. Angela looked around happily. It was beautiful, she told them. So elegant. What a wonderful view. The bed looked so comfortable. ‘And look, roses. What a nice touch,’ she said. She leaned down and breathed in the scent.
They all went still. These were her roses. From the rose bush planted by Nick. The bush she had tended so carefully for years, even when water was scarce.
She straightened and smiled. ‘I do like roses. It must be hard to keep flowers growing out here, is it?’
Genevieve was the first to answer. ‘It is, yes. Even harder to grow a lawn, as you’ll see. Or not see.’
Hello from the Gillespies Page 30
