Authors: Grace Wynne-Jones
‘I’d be waiting…’ The words seem to be wrenched out of me. ‘If I were Aggie, I’d be looking for my old life. I wouldn’t understand why it wasn’t there any more.’ Tears are streaming down my face. Nathaniel hands me a tissue.
‘And then, every so often, I’d realise it was gone and I had to stop looking for it. And I’d think about DeeDee and get tired, terribly tired. It would all be a jumble.’
‘And…’ He touches my hand, just for a moment. My skin drinks in his warmth. His strength.
‘And suddenly I’d know I’d made a mistake, that I shouldn’t have done this. That I was lost and frightened and alone and old, even though I didn’t feel it. I… she doesn’t feel old, you see.’ I look into his eyes again. The light in them is soft and tender. ‘I’d want Joseph, my husband… Aggie’s husband… with all my heart.’
Nathaniel stares out at the ocean.
‘And I’d go to a place where he could find me. A place where we used to meet.’ My breath is quickening. ‘A special place.
Our
place.’ I get up. ‘The place where I went when I was sad, and where he always found me.’ I walk quickly towards a tiny road you wouldn’t even notice. It’s overgrown; it doesn’t even look like a road. But it is, and at the end of it is an old oak tree and a little mound of grass covered with wildflowers. It is a forgotten place. A special place. And it’s only minutes away from the home. Aggie could have got there, if she wanted to with all her heart. And who wouldn’t, in her circumstances? Who wouldn’t want to turn back time and restore the present to something with love in it – real love, not just pity and kindness? I am almost running. Nathaniel is walking quickly beside me.
The path is still there. Aggie showed it to me after Joseph died; she said it was our secret. I had completely forgotten about it until this moment. I push my way through the brambles; I stumble over the long grass and beer cans. It isn’t a secret any more. There are sweet wrappers and plastic bags blowing in the breeze. She must be there. She has to be there.
She isn’t. The old oak tree is still there, brave and battered, its sturdy branches reaching for the sky. So is the grass mound, covered in daisies and discarded condoms. I stare at it. ‘She isn’t here,’ I say, over and over. ‘I was sure she would be here, but she isn’t. She isn’t here.’
Nathaniel taps my arm and points. ‘Yes, she is, Sally. She’s over there.’
And she is. Aggie is lying in a heap by the charred remnants of a bonfire. I race over to her. She is breathing.
‘Aggie!’ I shake her gently. ‘Aggie, are you all right?’
Her eyes open. ‘Joseph…Joseph, is that you?’
‘It’s Sally,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry, Aggie – it’s not Joseph. It’s me. Sally. You know me, don’t you?’
She rubs her eyes sleepily. ‘Of course, dear. Of course I know you.’
Nathaniel helps her to sit up. She looks at him but doesn’t comment. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Why are you sorry, Aggie?’
She looks at me. ‘Because I’m a stupid old woman. I can’t believe how stupid I am.’
‘Are you hurt?’ Nathaniel asks gently.
‘I fell over. That walking frame is no use. I’ve been so stupid.’
‘Stop saying that, Aggie. You’re not stupid. You’re not stupid at all.’ I am brushing the wispy grey hair from her face, rubbing the bits of charcoal from her cheeks. Her legs are covered in scratches. I hug her to me. ‘Oh, Aggie, I’m so glad we found you. I was so worried.’
‘Can you move, Aggie?’ Nathaniel asks. ‘Are you in pain?’
‘No. I just fell over. I often fall over. It’s like being a kid again.’ She manages a little smile. ‘Old age is a bugger. A real bugger.’ Nathaniel smiles too.
‘You’re not old, Aggie,’ I say, cradling her in my arms. ‘You’re not old where it matters. You’re not old in your heart.’
‘I thought I could go back.’ There is a faraway look in her eyes. ‘I thought I could go back to how it was. But I can’t, can I? I know that now, but I mightn’t tomorrow. That’s how I am these days, Sally. I’m sorry.’ Small, tired tears trickle down her face.
‘We understand.’ Nathaniel says it for me. ‘We understand, Aggie. We’re just pleased we found you.’
I see her studying him. ‘He’s called Nathaniel,’ I tell her. ‘He’s a… a friend. Diarmuid would be here, only he has exams. He’s been very worried about you too.’
‘Diarmuid,’ Aggie says. ‘Dear Diarmuid…’ She looks at Nathaniel more closely, her eyes bright and curious, and then at me. ‘I suppose we have to go now.’
‘Yes,’ Nathaniel agrees. ‘It’s getting late, and it looks like it might rain.’
‘And I must phone Mum,’ I say. ‘Right now.’
‘You bring me back to… to that place. I don’t want them all here,’ Aggie says pleadingly. ‘I’d just like a little time with you and…’
‘Nathaniel.’
‘Yes. I don’t want a fuss. Tell them to visit me later. Tell them I want a little nap first.’
I follow her instructions. Mum and Marie sound extremely mutinous at this message.
‘It’s what she wants,’ I whisper.
‘What about what
we
want?’ Marie demands. ‘We’ve all been crazy with worry.’
‘And, if you really love her, you’ll respect her wishes,’ I say. ‘It’s hard for her too.’
‘How are you going to get her home?’
‘A… a friend is going to drive her.’
‘Where’s Diarmuid?’
‘I couldn’t contact him. He has exams.’
‘On a Sunday?’
‘I couldn’t get him on the phone. He must be studying.’
Nathaniel whispers in my ear, ‘Tell them she won’t be back at the home for an hour or so. She wants to go to the pub for a sherry first.’
I repeat this message.
‘Sherry!’ Marie splutters.
Mum grabs the phone. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Sally. Take her back to that home right now.’
‘She doesn’t want to go.’
‘She’s a very frail old woman. You can’t go gallivanting off to pubs with her.’
‘That’s what she wants,’ I say firmly. ‘And tonight we’re going to do what Aggie wants, not just what makes everyone else feel more comfortable about her. I understand your concerns, but please don’t let’s argue about this.’
‘Sally!’ my mother protests.
‘See you soon, Mum.’ I turn off the phone.
Aggie sits on a low wall by the roadside while Nathaniel goes off to get his car. When it arrives, I have a sudden surge of panic. How is Aggie going to get into it? She can’t scoot across the driver’s seat like I did.
Nathaniel sees me frowning. ‘I had the door mended.’ He smiles. ‘Though the rest of it is as banjaxed as before.’
‘What a lovely car!’ Aggie exclaims. ‘It’s just like the car Joseph and I had when we first married. Very old and full of character.’
‘Exactly,’ Nathaniel says. ‘She’s full of character. Not everyone sees that. I’m afraid there’s a dog called Fred in the back seat,’ he informs me, as we virtually lift Aggie towards the vehicle. ‘He gets lonely when he’s left on his own.’
‘Scamp!’ Aggie cries when she sees Fred, who is a messy mongrel of no fixed pedigree. He is barking excitedly.
‘It’s not Scamp,’ I say softly. ‘It’s Fred. Nathaniel’s dog Fred.’
Aggie stares at Fred. ‘Yes. Yes, of course, dear. I’m sorry. I forgot again.’
As soon as we get into Nathaniel’s shabby old car, Fred starts trying to climb over the back seat onto Aggie’s lap. ‘He’s really taken a shine to you, Aggie,’ Nathaniel smiles.
‘And I like him. Bring him with you, will you?’ She searches Nathaniel’s face hopefully. ‘Bring him when you visit.’
‘Of course.’ I don’t know how it happened, but Nathaniel has become part of all this.
We go to a quiet old pub that Nathaniel knows, a slightly shabby, cheerful place with big, comfy, faded chairs. I tidy Aggie up in the ladies’. I wash her scratches gently with warm water and rub the charcoal smudges from her face. I also comb her hair and put some of my coral lipstick on her lips.
By the time we get back to Nathaniel, he has ordered our drinks. Fred lies at Aggie’s feet and licks her hand every so often. His tail is wagging happily. There is even a doggy grin on his face.
‘We should ask them for some water for Fred,’ Aggie says. ‘He’s probably thirsty. Scamp used to get very thirsty after a walk.’
We ask the waiter to bring over a saucer of water, and, as Fred drinks it noisily, Aggie starts talking about Scamp and their walks along the strand. She talks about her home – her real home, even though someone else owns it now. She talks about the garden and the geraniums and the cakes. She says that DeeDee knows that special place too, the one she went to. And then her eyes grow dreamy, and she says she misses the old music – the music she and Joseph used to dance to on the lawn, with the French windows open so that they could hear the melodies.
I haven’t talked with her about these things for months. None of us do; we thought they would make her sad. Or maybe it was because they would make us sad; maybe we were the ones who couldn’t bear it. Poor Aggie – she so needs to talk about these memories, and Nathaniel somehow knows it. He is prising them from her so gently.
‘Crisps,’ Aggie says suddenly. ‘I’d like some crisps. Cheese and onion.’
I get up and go to the bar. ‘Four packets of cheese and onion crisps,’ I say, because I suspect Fred would like a packet too. While I wait, I look over at Aggie and Nathaniel chatting easily. Fred is sitting up; he seems to know food is on its way.
I want to hug this moment to me, this time in which we are all together eating crisps. I have turned my mobile off; when I check it, I see I have missed five calls, but I don’t care. Sometimes you have to give yourself permission to know what’s important. And this is. I know it in a new way. I know it in my heart.
Chapter
Nineteen
I don’t want to
leave the pub. I could stay here for hours talking with Nathaniel and Aggie. I’ve been talking to Fred, too; he’s a very intelligent dog, even if he looks like a scraggy brown-and-white floor mop. We have ordered chips and sausages from the bar because Aggie’s one sherry has made her a bit tipsy. Maybe this cheap-drunk thing is genetic. Even April has been known to cry after four glasses of vodka. We’ve got Aggie onto tea, but even so, a few minutes ago she started to sing ‘Strangers in the Night’ in a high, warbly voice. Then she looked at me and Nathaniel as though we were lovers. I think she has forgotten that I’m married.
Part of me is shit-scared that she’s here when, by rights, she should be tucked up in bed at the home. All her scratches are superficial – I’ve cleaned them up and bought plasters to cover them – but she looks so old and frail… She doesn’t want to leave yet, though. I keep telling her that maybe we should head back to the home, but she says she doesn’t want to go. She’s become a party girl. For months I’ve thought she was dying slowly – and maybe she is, but that seems beside the point at the moment. The point is that she’s laughing. Her eyes are bright and playful. She could, I suppose, keel over right here after all her exertions, and the family would be furious, but frankly it doesn’t seem such a bad way to go.
Sometimes it’s lonely to follow your heart; that’s what I’m learning as I gobble my second packet of crisps and pat Fred’s sweet, scraggy head. It’s lonely, but it feels right. It feels true. Without that gentle voice inside me, I would never have found Aggie. She would still be lying there. Maybe she’s right about the angels. Maybe there is a vast world, not just out there, but inside us – mysteries and beauties and another kind of knowing; another kind of home.