The Art of Forgetting (11 page)

“That’s sad. You’re doing the right thing, but it’s hard, isn’t it?” says Emil. He glances over at his mother. She is still in a deep sleep, but he leans over to speak in a conspiratorial whisper, as if she were wide awake and in full possession of her faculties. “I had to re-home her cats, and that wasn’t easy even though I hated the bloody things. Honestly, they were the most aggressive cats I’ve ever come across, and they ruled the house by the time mother moved out. I had to wear protective clothing just to gain access!”

Laura smiles at the image. She knows he is probably exaggerating to cheer her up, but it is comforting to know there is such a lot of shared territory. Every family of every resident here will have been through similar situations. If there are no pets to re-home, there may be frail or lonely husbands and wives to consider. Even if there is no house to sell, there will certainly be possessions to sort out and financial affairs to manage. So much responsibility. So many decisions to take, and all this alongside the sadness of watching somebody’s very essence trickle away like water from a leaky bucket.

Before Laura knows it, two nurses arrive to take their mothers inside for lunch and she realises that more than an hour has passed. She kisses her mother on the cheek and receives a smile in return – the first of the day – then bends to pick up her bag. As she straightens, she sees that Emil has produced a carrier bag from somewhere, and is holding it in front of him in a way that indicates this is not simply a bag of groceries. There is a small, awkward moment and then he plunges his hand into the bag and produces a book. There is something about his eyes she cannot quite work out.

“I brought this for you,” he says. “I hope you don’t think I’m being presumptuous, but you said you would like to learn the names of some plants ...”

Laura looks at the book. He is holding it out to her and it fills the space between them. It is a large hardback book, brightly coloured. ‘The Cottage Garden,’ she reads.

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly,” she says, stepping back a pace. “It must have cost a fortune! Really, you shouldn’t … I wasn’t ...”

“Please take it,” says Emil. The book continues to hover between them and the weight of it is making Emil’s hand shake slightly. “I have so many books like this at home. People know I like to garden so they buy me gardening books, but there is a limit to how many I need. I won’t miss it, I promise!”

Somehow, some of the weight of the book has transferred itself to Laura’s hand and they stand there, holding it between them as if it is far too heavy for either to manage on their own.

“Well, if you are absolutely sure,” says Laura, and the deed is done. Emil smiles and reiterates all he has said, withdrawing his hand at the same time, so Laura is forced to take it. She finds herself wondering where she can keep a book of this size – it will not fit on any of the shelves – and it all feels a little strange. She takes the carrier bag Emil is holding out for her, thanks him again and leaves. But something has shifted and she doesn’t quite know what to make of it.

It is Saturday and Laura is being bright and cheerful. This is partly for the children’s sake and partly because she is trying to cheat herself. Kelly is bringing their mother over any minute now, and Candy arrived with Jip about an hour ago. This provoked such a crescendo of squealing and excitement from the children and Jip himself that Laura had to send them all out for a walk with Patrick.

Now she is alone and it would be easy to switch off the smile, even to sit down for a minute and hold her head in her hands, but she does neither of those things. Instead, she bustles about heating up loaves of ciabatta and garlic bread. She slices tomatoes and washes salad. She opens packets of cured meat and arranges a selection of cheeses on a board. This is the kind of lunch Mum loves, and she hopes it will help to make today a happy occasion. As happy as it can be, anyway.

She has just about finished when she hears the doorbell. Patrick and the children are still out, but that is probably a good thing. Now Mum can have a few quiet minutes with her two daughters before the noise and chaos of a family meal. Laura has no idea how today will turn out but she knows it is the right thing to do. She tries not to think about Patrick’s warning that it could all go horribly wrong and is unnecessary anyway.

“Exactly who are you doing this for, Laura?” he’d asked. “Your mother will forget about it in five minutes and the dog will think it’s staying with us. To say nothing of the kids getting attached. It’s madness, but I’m sure you’ll do it despite anything I say.”

This tension probably accounts for the fact that her stomach has been churning all morning. What if Patrick is right? But then Kelly had agreed their mother deserved to see Jip once more, and even Robin has promised to pop over for an hour if his children are back from some competition or other. She fixes her smile and opens the door.

Mum is standing there, so close that she is practically in the house already. Kelly rolls her eyes at Laura as she follows her in and gives a little warning shake of her head as Laura reaches out to help her mother with her coat. It is a long, quilted thing that Laura does not remember, and it is certainly not necessary on a day like today, even outside.

Their mother marches into the kitchen and they follow her, but at enough of a distance for Kelly to answer Laura’s unspoken query.

“Don’t ask. We nearly didn’t make it. She’s really worried about being out and thinks there’s bad weather coming. That was all she could talk about on the way.”

It is a bright, June day and the sky is largely blue but Laura knows there is no point in employing logic to calm her mother’s fears, so she merely shrugs. They exchange glances as they see she has seated herself at the table, still wearing her coat. She is helping herself to the food, eating it straight from the serving dishes and using only her fingers. Laura knows it is probably the wrong thing to do, but she has to try. What will the kids think if they see her like this?

“Mum, would you like to come into the garden for a bit? I wanted to ask you about a shrub. It looks very unhealthy and you can tell me how to save it.”

Laura’s garden is long, narrow and largely given over to grass, but there are a few bushes towards the end. She is sure at least one of them will be in a poor condition as neither she nor Patrick have much interest in plants, but her mother is looking uncertain.

“Please, Mum. You know how hopeless we are. I’ve been wanting to ask you about this for ages.” She picks up Emil’s book and shows it to her. “Look at this lovely book! Maybe you can show me what I should buy to make the garden nicer.”

So that is how Mum comes to be in the garden, Emil’s book on the little wrought iron table beside her, when Patrick and the children return with Jip. She is sitting by the French windows, and they all burst through – the children full of stories about Jip and the other dogs they met, and even Patrick is smiling. Jip trots into the garden, circles the lawn then turns and stops. They all watch as he throws back his head and lets out a yelp of excitement then launches himself across the intervening space and throws himself at Mum, squeaking and wagging his tail so hard that he can hardly maintain his balance. She recoils in shock at first, but then something happens and she remembers him, holds him tight and scratches below his ears just as she always has.

“Oh, Brandy,” she says. “I’ve missed you so much! Where have you been?”

Later, when the children are in bed and everyone has gone, Laura looks down at Jip who is curled up on the rug in front of the fireplace. There is no fire on of course, but he looks as if he is basking in some kind of heat.

“He hasn’t been much trouble, has he?” she asks Patrick.

“Don’t start, Laura,” is his only reply.

The next day, Laura awakes with a feeling like a lump in her chest and lies there with her eyes closed. It must be early, as even Ricky appears to be asleep, but she resists looking at the clock. If she stays like this, today will not have started, not really, and she can pretend it is an ordinary Sunday with its ordinary routines. She can pretend that she will not have to put Jip into the car and drive to a village about ten miles away. She will not have to pull up outside a house he does not know and leave him there, confused and bereft. She can pretend that Patrick saw the remarkable transformation he provoked in her mother and thought it would be worth the sacrifice to see that change over a longer period.

She remembers his stony face. He argued that it was probably a one-off, that she is as likely to reject Jip the next time she sees him. The fact that she had taken off the bulky coat and chased around the lawn with the children and Jip almost like the old days indicates nothing.

“This is a degenerative disease,” he’d reminded her, as if she needed reminding. “Even if you’re right and this has helped her today, it’ll only be short term. Then we’re landed with an elderly dog she doesn’t want to see, plus all the responsibility, all the expense. Get Robin to have him if it’s that important.”

Laura doesn’t know where this heartless Patrick has come from. He has never been overly emotional, but he has always been kind and she has believed, without even thinking about it, that there is a good person behind the somewhat formal exterior. Now she is beginning to wonder. It seems as if he is only interested in his own immediate family and her mother appears to fall outside this exclusive set.

She sighs and turns over, reluctantly opening her eyes to look at the time. It is 6.57am, so that means she has less than six hours to change Patrick’s mind, but actually she knows that this will never happen. She rolls out of bed and slips her dressing gown on, trying not to wake him. She does not want to speak to him and, she finds herself thinking, she does not want to sleep with him either. He is like a stranger. A shiver runs through her as she creeps out and closes the bedroom door.

In the event, the exchange is no worse than she had imagined. If anything, she feels a little better than she thought she would. She cannot help but like Dot and Keith, Jip’s new owners, and it is hard to see how Jip will be anything other than happy for the last few years of his life. True, he had jumped up to come with her when she rose to leave and that had been painful, but it is clear that all his needs will be met. He will be the centre of their lives, just as their old dog had been. Look at all the stuff they’ve bought him already, she tells herself. A lovely new bed, food and water bowls with his name on, toys galore. She is not even sure that he still plays with toys, but that is hardly the point. She has taken a photo of him sitting beside his new bed and she will keep it on her phone to remind herself of him but actually she is finding it hard to be as angry and resentful as she would like. She wanted to regale Patrick with torrid scenes of parting, Jip howling, her crying, but it wasn’t like that. She feels an unreasonable sense of dissatisfaction, as if she has been cheated.

Back home, she tells the children of all the lovely things Jip will have. Not only the toys and the expensive new bed, but also the fact that the house has a decent garden and is only minutes away from woods where he will be walked every day. She shows them the picture on her phone and they are satisfied, but when Patrick comes into the room she clicks off it and puts the phone in her pocket.

“Right then, who’s coming to Sainsbury’s?” she says.

The next day, she finds herself looking forward to visiting Cavendish House. She tells herself that it will be nice to show everyone the photograph and tell the staff about the happy outcome for Jip, but actually it is Emil she really wants to tell. It is the second instalment of the story, and he had been so sympathetic, so understanding as he listened to part one.

It is different from talking to Kelly, even though she understands perfectly. Nowadays there is always an unspoken imperative in their conversations, an imperative that says Kelly is very busy and brevity is important. Her teaching commitments are increasing week by week – testament to how good she is, thinks Laura – but she is still inexperienced and her planning takes up a lot of her spare time. Added to that, she does have a social life. Laura sees snippets of this on Facebook and marvels at her sister’s ability to party so hard and still function the following day. Emil, it seems, has no such restrictions on his time and he appears to be interested in Laura’s trials and tribulations. There is nothing more compelling than a good listener, especially when you have shared problems. And there is no harm in it, after all.

When she arrives, she goes through the side gate into the garden and her eyes dart straight to the terrace. There is no sign of either her mother or Emil, so she goes through the conservatory and into the day room. Mum is sitting in an armchair watching the television. She crouches down beside her and touches her on the arm.

“Hello, Mum. How are you today?” she asks in a voice that she knows she would find irritating if someone used it when speaking to her, but which somehow seems to have become her default setting when speaking to her mother. There is no reply and her mother’s eyes have not even flickered away from the screen.

“Mum? It’s me, Laura. I’ve come to see you. Shall we go into the garden? It’s not a bad day and we could have a little walk. Get some fresh air?”

“For God’s sake, can’t you see I’m busy?” snaps Mum, still barely looking away. “You know I’m renovating my house. How am I supposed to know what to do if you keep interrupting me? So thoughtless!”

“You’re not ...” begins Laura, then thinks better of it. The programme will finish in about half an hour so she will leave her to it and wait outside. She sees Ruby on her way out and tells her what happened. Then she sees Emil, leading his mother to one of the soft, cane armchairs on the terrace. Laura feels a small surge of pleasure at seeing him but does not approach. He is here to see his mother, not me, she tells herself and starts to walk up the steps onto the lawn without saying anything.

“Laura! How did it go?” she hears him call, so she has no choice but to turn and walk back down the steps. It would be rude not to answer, and she is certainly not going to engage in a conversation shouted across the garden.

“Here, come and sit with us,” says Emil, fetching a third chair and placing it next to his. “I expect Mother will nod off in a minute or two, but she can listen anyway. Mother, this is Laura. Do you remember?” he shouts, then turns to Laura and adds, “Of course she doesn’t, but we still say these things, don’t we? Go through the motions. It must be very deeply ingrained in us, don’t you think?”

Laura agrees, and they talk for a while about the strangeness of talking to someone with dementia. How it is like having one foot in the real world and one in another, slightly dislocated world where everything can appear to be the same for quite some time then change, suddenly and inexplicably.

“It’s like pitching up in a place that has completely different social conventions, isn’t it?” says Emil. “We can only use the ones we know, but they don’t operate. Or being abroad and speaking English very slowly to make oneself understood. It doesn’t work, but you can understand why people do it.”

Laura says it is actually worse than that. At least if dementia had some rules, she could learn them, but it is totally anarchic and changes not by the day, but by the minute. She tells him about her mother’s house renovation delusion, which leads to further conversation about houses and dealing with the consequences once they are vacated.

“Oh yes, and you were going to tell me about the dog!” says Emil. “How silly of me! I ask you about one thing and end up talking a whole lot of nonsense about something completely different. You don’t think …?”

He puts his hand up to his mouth and raises his eyebrows. For a few seconds Laura thinks he is serious, but then she can see that his eyes are crinkling at the corners and she laughs.

“No, I’m sure you don’t have to worry about that,” she says. “I know they say it runs in families, but I’m not even going to think about it. I bet they’ll have a cure for it by the time we’re that age.”

“Well, it’s very kind of you to lump us together in the same age bracket, Laura, but I think I will have to worry about it a lot sooner than you will,” says Emil. “However, you’re right. There’s no point in fretting over something that may not happen. So. Tell me about the dog before I forget what we were talking about and you get tired of waiting and go to find somebody sensible to talk to!”

Laura doesn’t say what comes into her mind. She doesn’t say that she enjoys talking to Emil and has no intention of talking to anyone else. That would be way beyond the social conventions they both know and understand, but it is true. Nobody has talked to her about this wretched disease in the way Emil does, even people who are going through exactly the same thing. It is helpful but it is also stimulating in a strange kind of way. Should she feel guilty, enjoying conversations about something so sad and depressing? Naturally, she does not explore these thoughts now, but tells Emil about Dot and Keith and shows him the picture on her phone, even though she knows it will be anything but interesting to someone who has never met Jip. She even shows it to his mother, and she looks at it for a while before appearing to gather her wayward facial muscles into some semblance of control in order to say one word: “Woof.”