by Alex Brown
‘Well, that would be marvellous, my dear. But aren’t you forgetting something?’ April raised an eyebrow, mentally crossing her fingers. ‘The menu? We must have a menu.’ And as if by magic, April instantly felt transported back in time. Just like the old days, before her parents died and her whole world changed, to a simpler section of her life, halcyon, where nothing bad ever happened, or so it had seemed back then. And it really was rather lovely to relive the memory … if only for a few minutes. And Aunt Edie looked calm and relaxed too, her eyes had come alive and gone all sparkly, but then there was a certain safety in the past, a comfort. April had seen it with Gray, especially towards the end when she knew he had been feeling frightened, and Aunt Edie had seemed fearful earlier too when she couldn’t remember who Harvey was. Gray had coped by cosying up with a blanket and watching all the old Monty Python shows with Nancy – something they had done together when she was a child – the pair of them nodding along to that upbeat ‘Always Look on the Bright Side of Life’ song. Gray, with a very content smile on his face, cocooned almost in a bubble of familiarity and happy memories that this simple pastime recreated.
‘Coming right up!’ Keen to see if reconnecting with the past would have a positive effect on Aunt Edie, April darted off to the sitting room to retrieve her handbag – there was a notepad inside, but she needed something to write with. She popped her head through the hatch. ‘Do you have a pen, Aunty?’
‘Look in the sideboard, dear.’
‘Thanks.’ April pulled open the door and immediately inhaled. Mothballs and lavender. Ahh, she really was ten years old all over again. She selected a pencil from an old, washed-out Del Monte peach tin, then went to close the door, but paused to run her finger over the red felt lining inside the sideboard, just as she’d loved to do as a child. Then, after closing the door, she stood up and quickly glanced again at the framed photos: her parents – Dad with his arm around Mum, her long hair blowing out in the breeze – and April in her Brownie uniform with a big gappy smile after losing two front teeth. There were also photos of various people she didn’t recognise – although on closer inspection, the one of a teenage girl standing under an apple tree looked just like Edie, only much, much younger, with lovely long dark plaits (it was hard to be sure with the picture being black and white) and a gorgeous smile that lit up her whole face. Next to this was a picture of the woman in the uniform, only this time she was wearing a lovely, floral tea dress and had a beautiful, sunny smile, and there was definitely a family resemblance. Molly was right, because if this was Winnie, she did look a bit like April with her dark curly hair and petite frame.
Having polished off Molly’s scrumptious pie, runners and mash, April went to clear the plates away, but Aunt Edie stopped her by placing a hand on April’s forearm.
‘What is it, dear?’
‘Um, what do you mean?’ April, her hand still clasped around a plate, hesitated.
‘Well, you’ve been awfully quiet, and that’s not like you.’ Edie’s voice softened. ‘What is it, Winnie?’ April blinked. And sighed inwardly, as she had already corrected her aunt three times over dinner, but to no avail. So, deciding on another approach, April tackled the issue head on.
‘Aunty, I’m not Winnie. But I’d love to know who she is. Can you tell me about her?’ April smiled and waited, eager to hear more about Winnie, the relative she had never known.
Silence followed.
Edith stared at April. She blinked a few times, frowned and then glanced away with a doubtful look on her face. Suspicious almost. And then attempted to cover up her muddle by saying, ‘Oh, now you’re just teasing me. Shall I put the kettle on?’ And she stood up and turned her back.
April’s heart sank with disappointment; she was so keen to know more about her family, but she decided to leave it for now. She didn’t want to put pressure on her aunt, make her feel alarmed by bringing attention to her failing faculties, and maybe there was a valid reason why Aunt Edie was being evasive, confused, or whatever it was that was going on for her.
‘Yes please, that would be lovely. And there’s some cherry madeira cake left if you fancy another slice?’ April offered.
‘Ooh, don’t mind if I do.’ But then Edie hesitated, and changed her mind. ‘But I really shouldn’t, don’t want to ruin my figure.’ And she patted her perfectly tiny tummy with both hands, while a disappointed look darted across her face.
‘I’m sure a second slice won’t hurt.’ April busied herself with opening the tin, and after pulling a knife from the block on the side, she cut a couple of very generous slices, figuring it a crying shame if an elderly lady couldn’t have two slices of cake in one day if she really wanted to, and served them on to plates. ‘There, I’ll finish the tea while you tuck in.’ April put the plates on the table.
‘Well, if you insist, my dear.’ Edie wasted no time in breaking off a corner of cake and popping it into her mouth.
‘I most certainly do,’ April grinned, preparing the tea in a china tea pot, with cups on saucers, just the way she knew her aunt liked it.
‘You always were a persuasive child,’ Edie chuckled, licking crumbs from the tips of her fingers, thoroughly enjoying the treat.
‘Was I, Aunty?’ April asked, seizing the moment to talk about the past.
‘Oh, yes, very much so. Spirited! That’s what we used to say … your parents and I.’ April placed the pot of tea on the table and sat down, allowing herself a moment of contemplation while she remembered her parents. Their smiles. Her mum’s perfume – one whiff of Rive Gauche and April was in her childhood bedroom being kissed goodnight. She swallowed, hard, and rearranged her thoughts, not wanting to go there right now. It was at least twenty years ago and she had only happy, albeit faded, memories of her mum and dad, but she knew from experience that train of thought inevitably led to Gray. But his death was different. Raw. And he had suffered, been forced to be brave and face up to his end of life. At least her parents had gone quickly, most likely went out with a bang – literally, if the newspaper reports at the time were anything to go by with their unnecessarily graphic details about the crash. She had read them online, several years later, out of curiosity mainly, but had regretted doing so ever since.
‘And what did they say about you when you were a child?’ April asked, pouring her aunt some tea.
‘Cheeky!’ Edie shook her head. ‘But I got away with it you know.’
‘Oh, why was that then?’
‘I was the youngest. The apple of my father’s eye. Spoilt, my brothers and sister would say …’
‘Your sister? What was her name?’
‘Winnie.’
Bingo! April leant forward and the faded memory of her dad chatting to Aunt Edie in the sitting room, years ago, flooded into her head. She had been playing with her Tiny Tears doll on the carpet and Dad had picked up the photo of the woman in the uniform. April suddenly felt overwhelmed with joy, figuring it was very lovely indeed to be piecing her family history together – precious memories returning – bringing her long-gone relatives alive and making them immortal. And one day perhaps, she’d reach a point where memories of Gray would create the same feeling within her.
‘What happened to your sister, Aunty?’
‘I don’t know,’ Edie said quite abruptly, before finishing her cake. ‘Mmm, that was delicious. We must bake some more cakes, dear, you used to love helping me cook, do you remember?’ And April’s heart sank all over again on realising that the topic of Winnie seemed well and truly closed … for now.
The following day, having enjoyed her best night’s sleep in ages, up in the sunny rose-print-papered attic bedroom that she remembered sleeping in as a child, April was standing by the white picket fence surveying the front garden and wondering if she really would have enough time to tackle it before she went home. On closer inspection, it was a veritable jungle and there was no way April was going to make a deep enough dent in just one day. Maybe she could come back another weekend, bring Nancy an
d Freddie with her. Freddie might be inclined to be lazy around the house, but he was always up for doing outdoorsy stuff, and Nancy would be happy to get stuck in, April was sure of it.
Deep in thought, April had just taken a mouthful of her post-lunch mint tea when Aunt Edie appeared on the footpath wearing a floor-length, russet-red organza ballgown and a big sprig of cherry blossom in her hair. April nearly snorted tea from her nose, but managed to refrain from doing so in the nick of time. She then opened her mouth. And closed it. Utterly unsure of how she should react. Edie looked resplendent, like a shiny big Quality Street as she rustled down the path. But she was dressed quite inappropriately for another afternoon of pottering around her rural country cottage, or indeed cleaning her Aga … again, as she had mooted earlier this morning over their scrumptious breakfast of freshly laid eggs. Edie had asked April to check the hen house, and amazingly there were ten feathery, mud-splattered eggs waiting in the straw for them, which they enjoyed boiled with soldiers slathered in salted butter, made from bread from the baker in the village, whose sister lived in the cottage at the top of the lane, so ‘it’s no trouble for him to drop a loaf in when he’s passing by’, apparently. April had heard all about it from Edie over breakfast.
‘There you are, Winnie, my dear! I looked all over for you,’ Edie said in a very chirpy, singsong voice. April went to correct her, but didn’t get the chance before the old lady carried on talking, and besides, April wondered if it really mattered. Especially as she had lost count of the times now that she had reminded her great aunt that her name wasn’t Winnie. And when April had taken the opportunity again over breakfast to find out more about the elusive Winnie, her aunt had given April a baffled look, just as she had last night, before swiftly changing the subject. Not to mention the fact that Edie still hadn’t said a word about Gray; it was as if she really had forgotten he had died, and that in itself was worrying as April knew that her aunt had been very fond of him. Until his death she’d always asked after him when they spoke on the phone and she had never missed his birthday. In fact, when they last visited Edie together, it had been Gray that her aunt had seemed most keen to chat to, even taking him around the orchard and regaling him with stories of how she had enjoyed many summers playing in the fields, running in between the apple and pear trees with her brothers, paying special attention to Robert, April’s grandfather. Gray had said she was very lucid for a woman of her age – she had remembered the tiniest of details, such as the time Robert had found a baby starling with a broken wing and nursed it back to full health before setting it free.
‘That’ll be where your compassion comes from, April,’ Gray had said later in the car on the way home, and April had liked the thought of having inherited something of her grandfather. It was comforting, knowing that a genetic part of him lived on in her. It seemed important to April, with her not having any living relatives left apart from Edie. And April and Gray hadn’t been blessed with babies, despite them both wanting a family – they had tried at the start, soon after the wedding, but then when Gray became ill … it hadn’t seemed important any more. Although still young enough to have a baby, April doubted now that she’d ever be a mother, but she felt very lucky to have Nancy and Freddie in her life. Being their stepmum was a wonderful next-best thing …
‘Now, I shan’t be gone for very long – will you be all right without me for a bit?’ Edie smiled sweetly as she patted the sprig of cherry blossom.
‘Er, um …’ April managed before nodding her head, curious to know what this was all about. ‘You look amazing, Aunty. May I ask where you’re off to?’ she ventured, making a mental note to see if she could have a chat to her aunt’s GP before she went back home – just to see if she, or he, had any concerns too about Edie’s mental health. But her aunt didn’t answer. Instead, she did a blank stare before busying herself by plucking dead leaves from a nearby rhododendron bush. Perhaps she hadn’t heard – maybe Edie’s hearing was diminishing, and April could ask the GP about that too.
April had a little bit of experience of caring for elderly patients, having worked a summer, many years ago, on a geriatric ward as part of her training, but no real first-hand knowledge of dementia. Or memory loss. Perhaps that’s all this was – with the obsessive Aga-cleaning thing, and wandering out and about in her slippers, forgetting to put on her shoes, and of course continually forgetting April’s name – and Edith was in her nineties so it was to be expected … she guessed, hoped. Full-blown dementia could be a very cruel thing. Debilitating, just like Grey’s motor neurone disease was, which had progressively robbed him of the man he used to be. He had kept his independence for as long as was possible though – going to work in a wheelchair with oxygen piped directly into his nostrils, wearing an elastic strap around his head to keep the plastic tube in place. April had admired him for that as he had always hated wearing stuff on his head, ever since childhood when his mum had said she could never get him to keep a hat on even in winter. April hadn’t known this until later in their relationship when she had knitted him a lovely red wool hat as a stocking filler for their first Christmas together. And, to give him his due, Gray had worn the hat a couple of times before stuffing it into his coat pocket, later admitting that hats just drove him mad. She could still see his face now – apologetic but exasperated too, followed by silliness when he had made light of it all by suggesting several ludicrous alternative uses for the hat, culminating in April crying with laughter at the ‘cut in two leg holes to turn it into a pair of woolly pants’ option.
April smiled at the sudden memory before focusing her attentions back to her aunt who was still busy inspecting the rhododendron.
‘Aunty, is everything OK?’ April started.
‘Of course my dear, why wouldn’t it be?’
‘Well, I …’ April paused to take a breath, and changed tack. ‘You look marvellous, where are you off to this afternoon?’
‘To the tea dance of course! My escort will be here soon, and a very dashing chap he is too,’ Edie smiled, making herself look much younger as she pulled a powder compact from a sparkly evening bag that was swinging on a delicate silver chain from her elbow.
‘Oh! I see,’ April said, watching her aunt pat powder across the bridge of her nose. ‘Well, perhaps I can drive you there, where is it?’ she asked, thinking on her feet, for she didn’t want to alarm her aunt by going in gung ho and telling her that a dance on a Tuesday afternoon was very unlikely and perhaps she should go inside and take the ballgown off. What if it just added to her confusion? There had been no mention of her going to a dance over breakfast so it was obviously a spur of the moment thing. Or what if Edie got upset or cried with disappointment? It could happen – April vaguely recalled watching a documentary about Alzheimer’s where an elderly lady had sobbed like a little girl and it was heartbreaking, distressing, pitiful and poignant and there was no way she was going to put her aunt through that unnecessarily. Right now, Edie could very well be thinking she was young again, waiting for a suitor to arrive to escort her to the ball, so to burst that bubble of joy was the last thing April wanted to do. But how long should she let her aunt stand on the path waiting for the imaginary man to not show up? April had no idea, and ordinarily would have rung Gray and said, ‘Guess what …’ and they would have chatted about it and worked out the best course of action between them, but …
April pressed her fingertips into her palm and was just about to put an arm around her aunt to gently guide her back into the cottage when a woman’s voice trilled out from the turning-point piece of tarmac where April’s Beetle was parked.
‘COO-EEEEEEEEE. Only me!’ April swivelled on her heel. ‘Ooh, Edie, you do look a picture!’ a vivacious, sixty-something woman chuckled as she swept a glittery pink pashmina around her shoulders and practically skipped on up the path towards them, her super-strong perfume permeating the air. ‘The general is going to be so very pleased to see you.’
April marvelled at the transformation in her aunt.
She was absolutely glowing at the mention of the general, whoever he was, but there was something more. A sort of luminance radiating from within Edie now, as if she had suddenly come alive. And clearly wasn’t imagining there to be a suitor after all! April was now even more fascinated to see how things were going to unfold.
‘And I’m so looking forward to seeing him,’ Edie cooed, popping the powder compact back inside her bag. ‘But where’s the bus?’ she asked, leaning forward as if to scan the lane.
‘Oh, not to worry, the general had to park it a bit further back near the main road,’ the woman said brightly, and then turned to April with a saucy look on her face and added, ‘it’s getting very bushy down this end!’ before doing an extremely filthy laugh.
‘Yes, I really should—’
‘I’m Audrey by the way,’ the woman said, letting the pashmina slip down into the crooks of her elbows, revealing a tight, low-cut bodycon dress, before April could offer to get the hedgerow sorted out too before she returned home – maybe a local gardener? April made a mental note to ask Molly later if there was someone she could pay to keep on top of her aunt’s garden and the section of the single-track lane that was her responsibility, as she was quite sure Edie didn’t have the means to pay for help around the home. And April had some funds, a third of Gray’s modest life insurance money (she hadn’t thought it fair to keep it all, so had split it with Nancy and Freddie), not very much, but certainly enough to help her aunt get the garden straight. ‘I run the weekly speed-dating tea dance …’
‘Ooh, sounds intriguing,’ April said, fascinated that such things went on in rural villages where she had assumed the elderly residents spent their time making jam and watching Countdown.
