Remember, Remember

by Hazel McHaffie

Her fingers are clenched on my elbow. She shakes her head. ‘We’ll be fine. I can’t go home now. I’ll have to stay here tonight.’

  ‘Fair enough, but well, what about a coffee? Compensate for missing dessert.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. I feel really bad about that. After all the trouble you went to.’

  ‘Trouble? I don’t think so.’ He’s looking at her in a funny way. ‘But it would be a shame if the evening ended sooner than it needed to, don’t you think?’

  ‘I should feel even more guilty if we ruined what’s left of it for you.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t call having coffee with you a ruined evening.’ His voice is all chocolatey.

  ‘But you might if… No. Besides, I do need to concentrate on Mother. She’s always slow to settle after wandering.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure.’

  ‘Thank you very much,’ I say. ‘Are you a policeman?’

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispers.

  ‘So am I,’ he says.

  I turn at the door. He’s still standing there. Watching. He looks very smart.

  ‘Are we going somewhere special?’

  She hustles me inside and shuts the door. Why is she crying? I don’t like it when she’s sad.

  Chapter 18

  Eight years earlier

  SOME DAYS IT feels like going into a tunnel. I need to hold onto me so I don’t get lost. I wish Mamma was here. I don’t like the dark. She knows that.

  Jessica doesn’t understand. She thinks everything is the same. She doesn’t know about all the things that’re going missing. I don’t tell her. I can’t worry about her too. I’m too busy hanging on. She’s so good to me.

  But she mustn’t know about the papers. I mustn’t tell her. I mustn’t tell her. I mustn’t tell her.

  The only thing is, I don’t know where they are. I can’t find them. They’re in a safe place, but where it is? I must find them. I must.

  I need George.

  The den is such a mess. Why do boys have to be so untidy? Books, papers, boxes everywhere.

  Where to start? Think, Doris, think. Where would you put them?

  In the desk? I always hated the desk. It’s too big for this room. And it looks so raggy with everything showing. I like drawers. Everything hidden away. I’ll tidy these away first.

  Goodness. So many books. Jessica can have them; she’s always loved reading. Ah, her favourites – Thomas Hardy, Geoffrey Farnoll, Jane Austen. Is this one hers? Lewis Grassic Gibbon? I don’t remember. Yes – Jessica M. Mannering – such neat writing.

  What did I come in here for? I can’t remember.

  She could have warned me. Nobody tells me anything nowadays.

  ‘We’re going down to the surgery this morning, Mum. Nothing to worry about. They like to keep an eye on their older patients.’

  ‘Does Beatrice know?’

  ‘Beatrice?

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Beatrice is in London. She’ll be at work right now but you could ring her and tell her tonight.’

  ‘Who’s looking after the children?’

  ‘Beatrice hasn’t got any children.’

  ‘Yes, she has. One of each.’

  ‘No, that’s not Beatrice, that’s Pandora, your granddaughter, who’s got the children.’

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  ‘Oh, sorry. I misunderstood.’

  The doctor’s very young. And too thin. He needs some of my raspberry trifle.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Mannering. My name’s Dr Noble. Your daughter tells me you haven’t been yourself lately.’

  ‘Does she? Well, that must be right, but I feel fine now.’

  ‘So what’s been wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. I’m fine.’

  I look at him more closely. He is looking thin. I don’t think he’s very well.

  ‘Would you excuse me for a moment?’

  It’s quiet in here after he’s gone. I read the notices. Have you had your winter flu injection? The Meningitis Trust: Signs and Symptoms… Why do they put up so many posters? You can’t read them all. There isn’t time. Obesity kills.

  The voice is low but it carries in the silence: ‘…why you brought her to see us today?’

  You’d think they’d close the door. It’s confidential. I wouldn’t want other people hearing about me.

  ‘It’s lots of little things really. Sometimes she forgets people are dead – her parents, her husband, her brother. People that have been dead for years.’ Sounds like… but I know it can’t be. It happens nowadays. Voices… things not right…

  ‘Right.’

  ‘And some days it’s like she’s forgotten how to do things that were second nature to her before; cooking, crosswords, gardening, reading, knitting.’

  ‘Could you give me a concrete example maybe?’

  ‘Well, the other day she was going to make drop scones. You know, the kind you make on a griddle. They were one of her specialities. Only she didn’t seem to know she had to beat the eggs…’

  I do that sometimes.

  ‘…but she still surprises me with what she can do. Last week my son found her connecting the TV to the video with a new scart-to-scart, and neither of us bought it, so she must have. I mean, how can she be so vague one minute and understand something as technical as that the next? It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Well, it’s quite common for older people to forget things – names, places. And get more clumsy.’

  I could have told her that!

  ‘Well, it seems like more than that.’

  ‘Has she taken any different medication recently? Sometimes people react to certain drugs.’

  Ah. I knew there was…

  ‘Not that I’m aware of, but then I don’t know everything she does. I’m not there all the time.’

  ‘Well, there’s nothing in her notes to suggest… as you know, her own doctor is on leave this week, but I’ll have a chat with him when he gets back. He may be able to throw some light on this.’

  ‘She gets very frustrated when I don’t understand – when she uses the wrong word, or name, or something.’

  ‘Mm.’

  ‘But then she can be fine when visitors call.’

  ‘Right. Well, thank you. That’s helpful. Would you like to come in too while I chat to your mum?’

  The doctor comes back in. He’s been ages. Jessica’s with him. Why is she here? She doesn’t look directly at me. I want to tell her… but he’s asking me questions. Funny questions. What year is it? Who’s the prime minister? Think of an object… Makes you want to say something silly.

  ‘That’s fine, Mrs Mannering. We’ll keep an eye on you for a bit. See how you go.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Are you saying there’s nothing…?’

  Jessica is blinking fast. Why?

  ‘I don’t know. But don’t worry, your mother’s entire future care won’t hinge on one assessment! I expect her own doctor will want to monitor her. I’ll leave a note.’

  ‘I started her on folic acid supplements. It said they enhance cognitive function, particularly the memory.’

  ‘Right. You could have a chat with Dr Robartz about that.’

  She’s quiet all the way home. I keep my eyes shut. I don’t want to see the look on her face.

  She said I could ring her. Hash 2. Easy.

  ‘Beatrice?’

  ‘Speaking.’

  ‘Hello. It’s me. Jessica said I could ring you.’

  ‘Good grief. Do you need permission to ring your own sister these days?’

  ‘I went to the doctor.’

  ‘Did you? Something wrong? Is it something serious?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘Why did you ring me, then?’

  ‘Don’t you want to know?’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Doris. Are you dying? Is that it? Should I speak to Jessica?’

  ‘You mustn’t.’

  ‘So why did you ri
ng, then?’

  ‘The doctor said so.’

  ‘The doctor said you should ring me?’

  ‘No. Don’t be silly. I wanted you to know… I have to tell her.’

  ‘Tell who?’

  ‘Jessica.’

  I hear her suck in her breath. ‘Tell… Jessica? No! No, you mustn’t, Doris. You promised. Remember?’

  ‘Did I? I don’t remember. But the doctor said…’

  ‘Doris, listen to me. This is important. You mustn’t tell her. And you mustn’t let her see the papers. Have you got them somewhere safe?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The papers. You know! Have you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Never you mind.’

  ‘I do mind. With you forgetting things, who knows where anything is?’

  ‘You never cared a diddlysquat before.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘I’m tired. Thank you for calling. Bye.’

  ‘No, Doris! Hold on. Let me speak to Jessica. Is she there?’

  ‘No. She doesn’t live here any more.’

  ‘Well, I know that! But she’s often at your house. Oh, never mind. I’ll ring her myself.’

  She makes everything so confusing. But then she always did.

  It’s the same today. I feel sad. No reason. I just do.

  I know it’s sad that George has gone. Lionel. Reuben. And Jessica is sad sometimes. I see it. But, I don’t know. It isn’t that kind of sad.

  I must get on. The den is such a mess. I wish George was here to keep it all straight. He knows where things are. I’ll start tidying it up and then perhaps I’ll come across those papers when I’m not really looking.

  This sadness. It’s not official. It’s just informal.

  Jessica’s finished putting my washing on the line. I can do that. I did it this morning. I don’t know why she has to do it again.

  ‘Jessica,’ I say.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Am I going loopy?’

  She looks at me like she thinks I’m going to ask her something difficult. ‘Why ever would you think that?’

  ‘Only, I can’t find my purse. I know I had it yesterday.’

  ‘And there it is on the table. I expect you popped it down when you thought of something else to do.’

  ‘I do forget things sometimes.’

  ‘So do I and I’m 20 years younger, so don’t fret yourself about that!’

  She drags out the hoover and starts on the sitting room. I can do it; I told her that. But I know she likes helping people.

  I watch her. She’s so efficient, so thorough. So busy.

  Jessica is very conscientious. She works hard and is always polite and helpful in class. A credit to her parents and the school, that’s what they said.

  She probably doesn’t have time to notice. I hope I’m gone before she sees it. I don’t want her doing more for me. She’s got her own home to run, her own family. And I can manage. It doesn’t matter if I can’t remember everything. Some things are best forgotten.

  She’s a smart girl, Pandora. A bit starved looking, but she oozes confidence. I watch her now curled up on my settee, arms wrapped about her model’s legs. She seems lit up.

  ‘What d’you think, Gran? Italy, here I come! Dreamy or what?’

  ‘Sounds amazing. What does your mother think?’

  ‘She says it’s my life. I have to decide what’s important.’

  ‘What about… what was his name? Eddie, was it? Eric?’

  She tosses one hand. ‘Oh him. Edwin. That finished ages ago.’ A couple of months ago she was turning a foil strip around her ring finger with a faraway smile on her lips.

  ‘And it’s for – two years, did you say?’

  ‘Two years initially. But I’ll be home for holidays. And I’ll phone you, often. Promise.’

  ‘Until some Italian heart-throb sweeps you off in a gondola!’

  ‘That’s Venice! I’m going to be in Florence. Fab place, Gran. Like a life-sized museum. Totally ancient statues, bridges, buildings… you’ll have to come and visit, and I’ll take you round and show you everything.’

  ‘And the job? Is it what you really want?’

  ‘What’s not to like about a walloping pay-rise, and loads of travel, and a personal expense account, and my own car? I tell you, it’s a million light years away from what the Newcastle office gave me.’

  ‘I hope it’ll be everything you dream of, dear.’

  ‘Will you come and see me?’

  ‘I expect you’ll be terribly busy soaking up all the culture and the sunshine, and falling in love with dark-eyed Italians who’ll serenade you with cornettos.’ She laughs. ‘And you’ll come back looking like a fashion plate.’

  ‘The Italians do know how to dress, don’t they? Gorgeous clothes, shoes, handbags, jewellery. I can’t wait.’

  ‘That’ll suit you to a T, Pandora.’

  ‘Even the old ladies look like a million dollars over there.’

  ‘Well, the ones you see out and about in the tourist attractions, maybe. But I imagine some of them slop about at home sometimes, don’t they? The ones who feed 30 peasants at harvest time on Dolmio products and sun-ripened peaches!’

  ‘Well, I think it’s a sign of a civilised culture when old folk respect themselves enough to buy nice clothes and pamper themselves.’

  ‘I’m only teasing you, Pandy.’

  ‘Did you see that thing on the news about old people in this country – Monday, I think it was? Saying they ought to be allowed to die if they feel they’re a burden on their families.’

  ‘I did, yes.’

  ‘Well, I bet the Italian oldies wouldn’t feel they were a burden.’

  ‘Maybe. Depends on the family, I think.’

  ‘Well, you’ll never be a burden in our family, Gran.’

  ‘I hope not, sweetheart, I do hope not. But thank you for saying so.’

  The back door clicks.

  ‘Only me.’ Jessica is looking particularly smart for a shopping expedition. Italy must be having an impact already.

  Pandora bounces to her feet. ‘Hi, Mum. I’ve been telling Gran all about Florence and the job and everything. She absolutely has to come out and visit while I’m there.’

  ‘Because in Italy old people aren’t a burden on their families,’ I add.

  ‘Goodness, where did that come from?’ Jessica says.

  ‘Well, you know,’ Pandora explains, before I can elaborate. ‘Over there they’re into family, aren’t they? The old folk go on living with them, cooking, keeping house, all that sort of thing. But here, they don’t have any kind of role, do they? They sort of go to waste.’

  ‘So it stands to reason they ought to simply shuffle off and free up the space for the next generation to live graciously,’ I say with a smile at my earnest granddaughter.

  ‘Mum! Don’t encourage her.’

  ‘No, but they said on that programme – sometimes they want to go. They don’t want to be a burden.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know who “they” were,’ Jessica says, ‘but I do know it would be absolutely wrong to take a life for such a selfish reason.’

  ‘But surely that would be being unselfish,’ Pandora protests.

  Jessica interrupts sharply. ‘If anybody’s thinking they’re a burden then it’s up to the family and the doctors and everybody to make sure they do feel loved and wanted and valuable.’

  ‘Like apparently they all do in Italy, Jessica,’ I chip in, willing her to lighten up. Why does she sound so cross?

  Nobody seems to have heard me.

  ‘But old folk are a burden on society, Mum,’ Pandora says. ‘The number of oldies is rising, what with the baby boom and everything. We can’t keep stumping up for more and more folk who aren’t contributing anything to the economy or to society. Everybody else will suffer.’

  ‘I’m shocked.’ Jessica looks at her daughter as if she’s brought something nasty into the room on he
r shoe. ‘I really am shocked. I thought you’d have more respect for old people, for life, than that.’

  I open my mouth to say something soothing but Pandora chimes in before I can speak. ‘No, but you have to be sensible about these things. Gran can see it. She knows what I’m talking about. She doesn’t want to be a burden. Not that she would be, of course. But she wouldn’t want to be either, would you, Gran?’

  ‘No, dear. But that’s hardly a virtue. I don’t think anybody wants to be a burden.’

  ‘Well, all I can say is, heaven help us all if we dare to grow old and senile!’ Jessica says caustically.

  ‘You’d better emigrate to Italy!’ I say.

  She hunches her jacket closer around her shoulders. ‘We must go, Pandora, if you’re going to fit in everything you have on that list for today.’

  ‘It’s the big shop, Gran. Designer labels all the way. Got to look the part.’

  ‘I’m going along merely to carry the bags,’ Jessica says with a grin. ‘Trying to make sure I’m still of some use in our family.’

  I am suddenly enveloped in young arms and expensive perfume. ‘I’ll come and show you my new wardrobe before I go. Promise. Love you.’

  I just feel sad.

  Chapter 19

  Eleven years earlier

  THE CHRISTMAS TABLE looks fantastic, more festive even than usual. I’ve kept to red and gold this time. It’s almost superstitious, this compulsion to vary it every year. I have to make it bright and welcoming in a big way this time – we need all the help we can get. For the children especially, but for each other too.

  Strange, really, I decided last year it would be black and silver this time and I bought some decorations half-price in January in those colours. But black feels wrong, this first Christmas without Lionel.

  Lionel. Even thinking about him makes my knees cave in. How can he not be here? Or anywhere. I’d settle for anywhere.

  Thirty-two. That’s all he was. The same age as I was when I conceived him; our mistake. It’s another unseen but painful Christmas memory. The mulled wine the children left out for Santa seemed to have gone to George’s head; he was as frisky as the proverbial reindeer. If he had to wait up till midnight he had ‘something much more exciting’ in mind than peeling sprouts… caution was for ordinary mundane nights not Christmas Eve. I was relieved we made it to the bedroom – the youngsters were wont to appear unexpectedly looking for a sneak preview of the treats in store… not their parents in flagrante!