The Art of Forgetting (13 page)

It’s Kelly, and she is walking up the steps from the terrace with their mother in tow. There is a question mark across her neat features.

“Are you coming then?” she says. Laura has already leapt to her feet and is trying to prevent her face displaying how embarrassed she feels.

“Yes, yes of course. We were just … Mum was … I’ll tell you about it in the car. This is Emil, by the way,” she adds, almost as an afterthought.

But Kelly is already heading back to the house and only nods acknowledgement. There is a spark of disapproval in her grey eyes. “Come on, Mum. Let’s find you somewhere to sit. Laura and I will be back in a bit.”

Laura can read what she is thinking by her tone of voice. Kelly is shocked. What is Laura doing sitting outside with some man whilst her mother is alone inside? What indeed?

Laura unlocks the car but Kelly does not get in. Instead, she fixes Laura with a quizzical stare. “Is there something you want to tell me?” she says.

“What about?” Laura replies, although she knows full well what Kelly means. She feels her face burning again.

“Who was that man? And why were you all cosied up with him while Mum was inside? I’m not stupid, Laura. Look at you, you’re blushing like a teenager! And you’ve straightened your hair. Are you having an affair?”

“No!” Laura almost shouts. It’s typical of Kelly to be so direct, but she hadn’t expected that. The thought has never crossed her mind. Or maybe it has, but only fleetingly, to be dismissed almost as soon as it appeared. However, she has spent more time looking in the mirror recently, there is no getting away from that. She likes it when her hair shines and falls straight to her shoulders. She likes the way her eyes look bluer with a touch of eye shadow. She enjoys liking what she sees.

“What then?”

Laura almost tells Kelly to back off and mind her own business. She hasn’t done anything wrong and she has nothing to excuse. But she doesn’t. She tells her about Emil and how kind he has been. She tells her how lonely it is, taking so much of the responsibility and with so little support from Patrick.

“He’s just a friend. Aren’t I even allowed a friend now? Just because he’s a man, it doesn’t mean it has to be anything like that. I’m surprised at you, Kelly! You’ve got loads of male friends and nobody suggests you’re sleeping with all of them. That’s a terribly old-fashioned attitude.”

Kelly has to concede this is true and she apologises. They get in the car and then she turns to Laura and promises to be more supportive. Yet Laura can tell she is not entirely convinced. She has known Kelly since the day she was born, watched her develop into the person she is. She knows she is still suspicious that something is going on and Laura feels a strange tingle of excitement. Of course it is nothing like that. But what if it were?

The journey is uneventful and conversation is sporadic and strained, even if it has a veneer of normality. They hardly discuss their mother at all, but make sallies into safer territory, such as Kelly’s work and what they will find when they get to Tonbridge. Laura is hoping that it will come to nothing, that the man will either be out or refuse to see them, but she does not say that. Instead, she reminds Kelly of her promise.

“You don’t need to repeat it. I know what I said,” says Kelly.

They park in a side street and Laura uses her phone to direct them to the flats. There are three blocks in a semi-circle, set around a patch of grass and straggly shrubs, littered with torn plastic bags and discarded beer cans. The block they need is at the far end and Laura is even less happy about ringing the bell by the time they get there. However, it will take a lot more than a bit of peeling paint and a few sad little piles of soggy cigarette ends to discourage Kelly.

“Here we are, Flat 3C,” she says brightly, ringing the bell for several seconds. “In case he’s deaf,” she adds. There is no sound from the intercom. The flats have a security system which requires visitors to identify themselves before the communal door is unlocked, but it seems Gordon Carpenter is either out or not receiving visitors.

“Come on,” says Laura. “He’s not in. Let’s get back to Mum. She might be wondering where we are.”

“Don’t use her as an excuse, Laura. She won’t even remember we were there. I’ll give it one more try and then we’ll go.”

She raises her hand to the stainless steel panel with its six stainless steel buttons but, just as she is about to ring again, a crackly voice makes them both jump.

“Hello?”

“Er, hello, is that Mr Carpenter?”

“Who wants to know?”

“Um, it’s a bit complicated. My name’s Kelly and my mother’s got Alzheimer’s. We’re tracking down people from her past to help fill in some gaps in her life story and we think you might have known her. We’d be very grateful ...”

“Wait a minute.”

They wait, and then there is a figure behind the glass door, but it can’t be Gordon Carpenter. It is a large man with a barrel chest and a thick neck, but he doesn’t even look fifty. He opens the door and looks them up and down, but his expression is relatively friendly.

“Well, go on then,” he says.

“I’m not sure we’ve come to the right place,” says Kelly. “We were looking for a Mr Gordon Carpenter, but he would be much older than you. In his seventies, at least. We believe he might have known our mother when she was about eighteen, and she’s in her sixties now.”

“That’ll be my dad,” says the man. “But I think you’re wasting your time. He’s a miserable old sod at the best of times but he’s in pain today. He’s got arthritis and he can’t get out. Can’t afford a decent wheelchair. Can’t even afford a bottle of whisky to help take the pain away.”

He looks at Laura, who is wearing a nice summer dress and, as Kelly has noticed, has taken some care with her appearance. Kelly is still in her school clothes, so she is smart too, if still a little more alternative than most teachers. Laura can see the calculations taking place in the man’s head and she knows that Kelly will have too. She opens her mouth to suggest that they have troubled him enough, but she is too late.

“Well, we can’t run to a wheelchair, but if a bottle of Scotch would cheer him up I’d be very happy to provide one,” says Kelly.

The man rubs his forehead. It is oily, and he wipes his fingers on his jeans.

“I don’t know. Have you got any identification? You could be the social snooping around for all I know.”

“Look, I’ll be straight with you,” says Kelly. “We think your dad took a shine to our mum back in the late Sixties. She agreed to meet him but she took a friend along and we think the friend started to see your dad instead so we wondered if he had stayed in touch. Our mum wrote this sort of diary, but now she’s losing her memory so quickly and we are trying to get in touch with all her old friends before it’s too late.”

It sounds hopelessly implausible to Laura and she can tell by Kelly’s voice that she thinks so too. She is floundering, and this is not like her. The man has said not a word throughout Kelly’s speech, but there is nothing remotely friendly about his expression now.

“Well then. I’ll be straight with you, love,” he says, stepping forward so they both feel the need to retreat a couple of paces. “If your fucking mother is who I think she is, she is responsible for the way my dad is now. Some little tart gives him the come-on, but he never does nothing, even though she tries to trick him into it and then she starts to threaten him. He pays her off to save his marriage. And then the police come and haul him in and question him for abduction, no less, and Mum kicks him out. So that’s the end of my life as I know it. Five years later I’m in a fucking children’s home miles away, my mother’s dead and he’s out of my life. Took me twenty years to find him again. So no, I don’t think we’ll be going inside to talk to him. Your family has done enough damage to us and you can both fuck off!”

For a horrible moment, Laura thinks he is going to attack them. It seems that every muscle in his body is coiled, tensed, ready to launch him forward in a blaze of anger. But then it passes and his hands drop. He turns and goes back through the glass door.

“Just fucking leave us alone,” he says.

They hardly speak as Laura drives back to the bypass, but as they join the flow of anonymous traffic, her heart begins to slow and she breathes more easily.

“I hate to say I told you so,” she begins.

“Well, don’t then!” Kelly snaps.

There is silence again for another period until Laura feels the need to sort this out. She can’t afford to fall out with Kelly or she will be completely on her own. “Look, I’m sorry. I was rattled. But there’s no harm done, is there? We didn’t even tell him our names and we weren’t parked anywhere near so he can’t have got the registration. It’s over. Let’s forget all about it.”

“I’m not worried about that,” says Kelly. “I’m not thinking about us. Of course we’ll be OK. But what about that man, the son? His whole life was ruined because of something Mum did. I feel so guilty for her.”

Laura says that it’s wrong to think like that. OK, their mother should have knocked him back right from the start, but Gordon Carpenter initiated it, didn’t he? He was married and he made contact with a young girl because he fancied her. That was where it all started, so he only has himself to blame. Clearly his son has been told a different version of the story and that’s why he is angry, but they know what really happened. There would be no reason for Mum to lie when her avowed intent was to tell the truth after all these years of hiding it, would there?

They are still debating it when they arrive back at Cavendish House. Laura finds herself wondering if Emil is still there, but she knows it would look strange if she went in now, especially as she has to get back for the school run. She leans across and takes Kelly’s hand.

“Let’s concentrate on the present now, shall we? We’ve done all we can for Linda. We’re just going to have to let sleeping dogs lie after all.”

June turns into July and Laura forgets, or almost forgets, about the mystery of Linda’s disappearance. She has enough other things to worry about and Kelly does not mention it at all. Her days fall back into the routine that had been established before the abortive trip to Tonbridge.

But now the school holidays are approaching. She knows she cannot continue in this way. They have a two-week holiday in France already booked and she will not be able to visit her mother every weekday even when they return. It is one thing fetching her on a Sunday and bringing her home for a few hours, or even taking her to a nice pub with a garden if she’s having a good day, but she can’t risk doing this without Patrick. She needs someone there to take the children away if Mum becomes difficult. In the same way, it would be quite inappropriate to bring the children to Cavendish House. No, she will have to come in the evening if she comes at all, and Kelly will have to visit her during the day. It will not be the same at all.

She thinks of Emil and wonders what he will do when his mother is sleeping or too agitated to leave her room. Then a picture of him sitting on the terrace chatting to Kelly pops into her mind and she has a strange sensation in her stomach, like somebody tugging at a cord. She recognises this feeling. The last time she felt it was at Patrick’s company Christmas party when one of his female colleagues made a drunken pass at him. It’s jealousy of course, and she tells herself not to be so stupid, but that does not seem to help. This is crazy, she thinks. He is a middle-aged man who is lonely and likes to talk. He hasn’t shown the slightest sign of being interested in me in any other way. What is the matter with me?

The problem is, now the idea is out there it refuses to go away. Kelly had thought she might be having an affair with Emil and now Laura finds it difficult to be with him without that possibility hanging there in the background, just inside her peripheral vision. She is perfectly sure he is not thinking anything similar, but now she feels such a jumble of emotions when she is with him, she wonders if she should stop talking to him at all. But that would be difficult and very unkind, so all she can do is ensure that he has no idea what is going on in her head. How embarrassing it would be! It would be worse than Mr Norris, her science teacher, finding out she had a crush on him throughout Year 9.

She finds herself trying not to sit directly beside Emil when they meet. She tells him no more personal stories about Patrick and the ups and downs of their relationship. She tries to seem more distant, but none of that stops the tingle of excitement she feels as she drives to Cavendish House. It does not prevent her making sure her hair is tidy or applying a little mascara before she leaves. Nor does it prevent her inventing stories about a stolen kiss as she lies awake at night. She doesn’t seem to be able to stop.

It is only three days before the children break up for the long summer holiday when Laura arrives at Cavendish House, to be waylaid by Ruby.

“Your mum’s a bit under the weather,” she says. “We don’t think it’s anything to worry about or we would have called you, but she didn’t eat any breakfast and her temperature’s a tiny bit raised. You can still see her of course, but we’re trying to encourage her to rest in her room.”

Laura is surprised but not unduly concerned by this news. Her mother has always enjoyed robust good health and, unlike many of her contemporaries, has no ongoing conditions. She has not spent a single night of her life in hospital apart from in maternity wards.

“OK, thanks for letting me know,” she says. “I’ll try to keep her in the room, but I’m not hopeful. She’s impossible when she’s ill. Insists on carrying on as normal whatever anyone says.”

She walks down the corridor to Mum’s room. She has to pass Emil’s mother’s room but the door to that is closed. Perhaps he isn’t here yet, she thinks, and she finds herself hoping that her mother will insist on going outside. What is she going to do if they have to stay inside her room for a couple of hours? She has brought the children’s school reports to show her, but what else will they talk about?

“Hello, Mum,” she says cheerfully as she enters, but is surprised to see that she is lying on the bed. She is dressed, but her hair has not been brushed and her eyes are closed. This is not like her at all, so Laura perches on the bed beside her and takes her hand.

“Mum? How are you feeling? They said you weren’t too good this morning. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Mum’s eyes flicker open and she turns her head. Her voice, when she speaks, is croaky and it seems to be an effort to part her lips.

“Head,” she says, drawing her other hand across her forehead.

Laura does not like this at all and goes to find someone to talk to. She establishes that no medication has been given, despite the raised temperature, and comes back with two paracetamol in a small cardboard pot. It takes a couple of attempts, but her mother swallows them eventually, then closes her eyes again. Laura is beginning to feel a little anxious but she tells herself not to worry. It is probably just a virus. Everyone gets them from time to time, even in summer.

She walks through the day room and out via the conservatory, but there is no sign of Emil or his mother. It has rained overnight and most of the furniture is too wet to sit on, so she wanders up to the top of the garden where there is a little wooden arbour under the trees. It is dry there, so she sits and looks at her phone. Should she tell Kelly and Robin? No, it would be silly to worry them, she thinks. Mum will probably be fine by tomorrow.

After about half an hour, most of which time she has been lost in thought, she wanders back to the house. The paracetamol should have worked by now. She returns to Mum’s room and creeps in, but this time her eyes are open. She is still on the bed, but she pulls herself up on one elbow and smiles.

“Ah, hello dear,” she says. “Is it time to get up? I’m very lazy today.”

Laura assures her it’s fine to be lazy, and takes the children’s school reports from her bag. They are both doing fine and Laura reads edited versions of their progress. She tries to ignore the fact that her mother enquires about the children’s ages several times in ten minutes, and answers her as if each time is the first.

Sadly, she remembers taking the reports over to Mum’s house only a year ago and how she had interrogated each section.
“What does this actually mean?”
she’d said.
“I’m sure these have been written by some sort of software. It doesn’t actually say if he can read or not!”
Then they had sat down and gone through it all in detail, with Mum explaining what she would have expected from children of Lily and Ricky’s ages.

It had been so useful having a teacher, albeit retired, in the family but all that is gone now. Another set of talents eaten away by this horrible disease. Laura sighs and replaces the reports in her bag.

“Well,” says her mother. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Shall I go and make us a cup of tea? I think I’ve got some cake in the tin.”

Suddenly, Laura is overwhelmed by such a strong feeling of regret and sadness that it almost takes her breath away. The cake tin. What has happened to it? It used to sit on the worktop next to the bread bin, and there was always something tasty inside. It might be a fruit loaf or a lemon drizzle cake. It might be some shortbread or the remains of a birthday cake, but that tin was always stocked. It was old, and the original design of a country cottage with roses around the door had faded from the lid, but it was always in the same place. A link with her childhood. It spoke of happy days, of Robin stealing all the Smarties from Kelly’s birthday cake and blaming it on her, of sliding her finger around the bottom to gather up a smear of buttercream and crumbs. Surely it has not been thrown away?

By this time, Mum is on her feet and they go down to the day room. Laura manages to request tea and a snack before her mother can set off to try to locate the kitchen. She eats heartily and Laura finds herself relaxing. She was right. It is just a virus, and Mum is as strong as a horse; she’ll throw it off in no time.

When Laura leaves, just before lunch, Mum is still fine. Emil has not appeared but Laura pushes aside any feelings of disappointment and tells herself it is just as well. He will have to get used to not seeing her and it would be awful if his mother caught this virus. She is much more frail and goodness knows what damage it could do. This does not stop her scanning the cars in the car park as she leaves, but she drives away feeling quite righteous. There. She has not seen him and she feels fine. Mum is fine. Everything is fine.

The first phone call comes shortly after eight that evening. Laura is finishing off the kitchen so she doesn’t rush to answer it, especially as someone has forgotten to put the kitchen handset back again. Eventually she hears Patrick in the hall, and then he brings the handset in to her.

“It’s for you. I knew it would be,” he says.

Laura takes the phone without comment, expecting it to be Kelly, so she is quite surprised to find it is Georgina, one of the senior nurses at Cavendish House. Her stomach lurches.

“Look, we don’t want you to panic,” Georgina is saying, “but we thought you should know your mother dipped a bit after you left so we gave her more paracetamol. That seemed to work for a while, but now her temperature is a lot higher and we’re having to use ibuprofen in between. Hopefully it’s just a twenty-four hour thing, but we thought you should know.”

Laura thanks her and says goodbye, but now she feels terrible. She should have taken it more seriously this morning. She tells Patrick, then phones Kelly and Robin, both of whom tell her she has nothing to apologise for, but this does not help. Poor Mum. It’s bad enough being ill when you have people you know and trust to look after you. How will she be feeling now, with faces she barely recognises peering down at her? She wonders if she should drive over to Cavendish House straight away, but Patrick tells her she is over-reacting and this is probably true. She returns to the kitchen. However, she cannot banish a picture of her mother alone and confused in her bed. She knows there will be much more of this kind of stress as the months and years go by.

The second phone call comes in the morning, just as the children are eating their breakfast. Patrick has already left but she does not let Ricky practise his communication skills this time. Something tells her this will not be good news, and she is right.

“Hello, it’s Ruby. Sorry to disturb you so early in the morning, but we’re a bit worried about your mum and we think we’d better get the doctor to call. Can’t seem to keep that temperature down and she’s not really with it at all this morning. Just thought we’d better tell you.”

Laura thanks her and promises to come as soon as the children are in school. Her stomach is in knots, but she tries not to show it and hurries them along as usual. Only when she has watched them pass through the school gate does she allow herself a moment of panic. Something is badly wrong here. Her mother never gets floored by things like this. Either it is something serious or the disease is making her weak, and both those explanations scare her to death.

She arrives at Cavendish House earlier than she has ever been before. Some of the residents are still eating breakfast, which is being served in the conservatory this morning as it is a nice bright day. The staff are moving quietly amongst them, clearing away plates and bringing drinks, or sitting with the more dependent residents and encouraging them to eat. There is a calm but purposeful atmosphere and Laura relaxes a little. These people are good, she thinks. They will look after her.

Further examination also provokes a small spark of pleasure as there, in the far corner away from any possible draughts from the open door, are Emil and his mother. He is feeding her something from a small pot and he is entirely occupied with this task. Laura watches for a while, transfixed by his devotion. He has a teaspoon in one hand and a napkin in the other, and he does not rest until the pot is empty and her face is clean. He looks up, and Laura sees a smile light up his face. He is pleased to see me, she thinks.

However, this is not the time for socialising. She tells him, briefly, about her mother’s illness then hurries away to her room, dreading what she might find. Ruby and one of the younger staff are with her, and are trying to persuade her to take some water, but without much success. Laura thinks that her mother has aged about ten years overnight. Her skin is pale and waxy and her breathing is ragged. This is awful, and she yearns for the doctor to come, but at least she can be useful whilst they wait. She does not leave her mother’s side for the whole morning, bathing her face with cool water, moistening her lips with a sponge when she refuses to drink and holding her hand to show her she is there. I’m like a nurse now, she thinks. First I was like a spy, watching and checking for evidence that something was wrong, and then I was almost a carer. Have I stopped being a daughter?

She is exhausted by the time she finally sits down that evening. What a day she has had. She would like to tell Patrick about it but he is working in the dining room. He has an important meeting in the morning and she does not want to disturb him. She has already texted Kelly and Robin with the news that their mother has a chest infection and has been prescribed antibiotics. The doctor is confident that she will respond to these and there is no cause for concern. But that is not all she wants to say. She wants to tell someone how awful it was waiting for the doctor to arrive. How Mum was confused to the point of delirium, the high temperature exaggerating the effects of the dementia so much that she was gesturing at something invisible on the ceiling and begging them to take it away.