There was a lot to arrange for Suze’s wedding and Marigold was quite overwhelmed at the thought. Firstly, the church had to be booked for the ceremony and the village hall for the reception. The food and champagne, the dress, the cake, the bridesmaids and pages’ outfits and the invitations were only some of the many things that needed to be organized. When Marigold was younger she had relished arranging things. She had been so good at logistics. Nothing had fazed her. Now, she could barely see what needed to be done for the fog in her head. She wondered how she was going to manage. She knew it would be a great deal easier if she asked for help, but that would mean articulating her fears. She didn’t want to do that. She didn’t want her family to have to share them; she didn’t want her family to know she had any.
And she didn’t want to make a big deal out of something potentially small. If all old people were struggling with forgetfulness, why should hers be any worse? Why should hers be given special attention? The last thing Marigold wanted was to be self-indulgent.
The fact was that some days were fine, others much harder. Some days Marigold felt lucid and full of energy, other days she felt foggy and lethargic and bordering on despair. She decided she’d tackle all the arrangements on the days she felt well. Juggling the wedding and the shop was not going to be easy, but she was determined to make Suze’s day special without giving her undue reason for concern. She was not going to let her little problem affect the first day of the rest of Suze’s life.
Suze and Batty settled on the first weekend in June, which was just under three months’ away, and hoped that the weather would be fine. Nan said it was good luck if it rained on one’s wedding day. ‘After all,’ she said, ‘it rained on mine and I had fifty-eight years of happiness with Grandad.’ Which no one believed, because Nan was the sort of woman who tried very hard not to be happy.
Marigold booked the church and the village hall and crossed them both off her list.
When it came to planning the dress Suze had strong ideas of her own. She declared over breakfast one Sunday morning that she did not want to get married in white. ‘I’m going to wear pink.’
Nan was appalled. ‘You’ll look like a marshmallow,’ she said.
‘Are you suggesting I’m fat, Nan?’
‘No, I’m suggesting you’ll look ridiculous coming down the aisle in pink. It has to be white, doesn’t it, Marigold?’
Marigold was not having a good day. She wished she had stayed in bed, but she had had to get up to make everyone breakfast. She couldn’t imagine not cooking Dennis his Sunday Special, and as for Nan, she hadn’t made her own breakfast since she arrived. Suze and Daisy could easily look after themselves, but Marigold enjoyed looking after them. It’s what she had always done and she did not want anything to change.
‘Is pink a good idea, Suze?’ Marigold asked tactfully.
‘It’s my wedding and I shall wear what I want,’ Suze replied tartly, flicking her hair.
Dennis, who did not like confrontation, decided to agree with Suze for an easy Sunday morning. ‘Whatever you want, love. It’s your day.’
Marigold was inclined to agree with her husband, but Nan was scowling at her crossly. ‘It’s not just about being virginal, Suze, it’s about showing your respect to God,’ said Nan. ‘Isn’t it, Marigold?’
‘Did you know, it was only because of Queen Victoria that wedding dresses are white,’ said Daisy. ‘Before her, women got married in colour. I think you should wear red, Suze.’
Nan pursed her lips. ‘If you want to finish me off, you’re going the right way about it,’ she muttered. ‘I’ve said I want to be at your wedding, but if you marry in red, or pink, or anything that is not white, I won’t make it. I will be six feet under and turning.’
‘Maybe not red, Daisy,’ said Dennis, trying to keep the peace. ‘A pale pink wouldn’t offend God, I don’t imagine. If it’s pale, it might not offend Nan either. But I suspect Nan is harder to please than God.’
Nan did not look appeased.
‘God created flowers and they come in all colours,’ Suze replied. ‘I’d like a dress that’s as pink as a peony. He can’t mind about that, after all, He created the peony, didn’t He?’
‘Speaking of flowers,’ said Marigold, keen to change the subject. ‘We need to find a good florist.’
‘Well, that’s easy enough,’ Suze laughed. ‘Gardening is Batty’s profession, so I think we can leave that to him.’
‘At least he’ll be Atticus Buckley in church,’ said Nan with a sniff. ‘If you’re lucky enough to be named after a character in one of the most famous novels ever written, you’d be a fool not to flaunt it.’
Suze laughed. ‘If you’re suggesting my fiancé is a fool, Nan, I’ll go down the aisle in a fuchsia-pink dress just to spite you.’
Marigold brought Dennis his Sunday Special and put it in front of him. ‘Thanks, Goldie,’ he said, picking up his knife and fork and beaming a smile. ‘You’re the best.’
Marigold didn’t feel like the best today. She went to the bathroom and opened her little book. It was so full of things to do that for a moment she felt quite dizzy. The sight of a full day exhausted her. Normally, such a day would have delighted her, but she seemed to function now on a lower gear, and every small thing felt like a step uphill. She knew she should go to church, but she had to cook the lunch, which was always a little hard if most of the morning was eaten up by the Reverend’s long sermon. She had arranged to have tea with Beryl in the afternoon, which she was looking forward to, but she also wanted to spend time on her puzzle. Fortunately, the list of things her mother needed, like more shampoo and toothpaste, could be easily obtained from the shop. She sighed with gratitude for the shop. She didn’t know how she’d cope without it.
Another problem was now brewing, she realized. She had her little book, which she kept in her pocket, her red shop book, which was kept under the counter, and the list on the fridge, of course, which was a constant reminder of kitchen things like meals and cooking, but she also had Post-it Notes around the house and a pad of paper by her bed. There were so many places to write things down that she was beginning to forget where she had written them. She knew she should keep all her reminders in one place, but her little book wasn’t always where she was. She changed her clothes and forgot to take it out of the pocket, for example, and sometimes she simply forgot about it altogether. On good days she didn’t think she needed it, then crash, her memory would fail the following day and she couldn’t remember where she’d put it.
Everything was more of an effort nowadays. Making lunch was an exceedingly taxing operation because she didn’t want to forget to switch on the oven, or some other important detail, and in so doing alert her family to the fact that she was getting more forgetful. She had to concentrate hard, and that in itself was making her nervous. Hiding how she was really feeling was making her very tired.
Against her better judgement, Marigold went to church with Nan and Dennis. Dennis dropped them off at the gate, then went to park the car. The two women walked into the church together. Normally, Nan would go and find a seat and Marigold would socialize, but today Marigold didn’t feel up to socializing. She kept her head down and followed her mother into a pew. Then she opened her hymn book to see what they were going to sing today. She looked up to check if Dennis was coming and caught a woman’s eye instead. The woman waved and smiled. Marigold smiled back, but she hadn’t a clue who she was. She thought perhaps she had mistaken her for someone else. When the woman continued on down the aisle, Marigold tapped her mother on the arm. ‘That woman’s just waved at me,’ she told her.
Nan looked at the woman and then at her daughter. She frowned. ‘That’s Mandy Bradshaw,’ she said.
Marigold looked blank.
‘Mandy Bradshaw! You know her, Marigold! She’s new in the village, has a little terrier called Toby. Nasty dog. I hate terriers.’
‘You just hate dogs, Mum,’ said Marigold. She realized then that she was going to have to bluff when her mind drew a blank like that. If someone she didn’t recognize recognized her, she would just have to go along with it. It was as simple as that. But as Dennis sat down beside her she felt as if the church floor were spinning away from her. She took Dennis’s hand. He squeezed it. ‘All right, love?’ he asked. She nodded. But she wasn’t all right; she wasn’t all right at all.
After lunch she toiled away at the jigsaw puzzle. She knew that working on the puzzle was exercising her brain because she could feel it working. But it was exasperating. Marigold was not a woman who gave up easily. She was not going to give up and she was not going to voice her concerns either. Instead, she internalized her fear and her frustration and smiled in the gracious way she always smiled; a happy mask hiding the growing desperation inside.
Dennis noticed that Marigold was struggling with his jigsaw puzzle. Perhaps this one was just too big and the pieces too small for her to cope with. He wondered whether he should have given her the picture as a guide. But it was too late now. He hadn’t photographed it. He had been so sure that she would complete it as swiftly as she had all the others that it hadn’t crossed his mind to make a copy. Now he felt bad. What he had believed to be the best puzzle he had ever made had turned out to be a disappointment. The worst was that it didn’t seem to be giving her pleasure. He knew she wanted to do it. He was certain of that. He watched her sitting at the table with her glasses on, trying to figure out which pieces went where, a determined frown creasing her brow, but it seemed to be a labour not of love but of pride, because she didn’t want to admit her failure, even to herself.
When the telephone rang, Daisy answered it. After a brief chat she called to her mother, ‘It’s Beryl. She says you’re meant to be having tea with her.’
Marigold blanched. Daisy watched her with concern. Her mother didn’t register surprise, as one would expect, but fear. Daisy saw it in her eyes and felt a stab of fear in her own heart.
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Marigold, speaking into the phone in a calm voice that betrayed nothing of her anxiety. ‘I’ve been busy with Dennis’s puzzle. Shall I pop over now?’
‘I’ve baked some biscuits,’ said Beryl. ‘A new recipe out of a book I was given for Christmas. They’re very good. I think you’ll like them. Do come, but don’t fret. There’s no hurry.’
Dennis insisted on driving Marigold to Beryl’s house even though it was only a short walk away. Once he returned he found Daisy in the hall, waiting for him. ‘We need to talk,’ she said and Dennis knew from the serious expression on her face that she wanted to talk about Marigold.
‘Come to my shed,’ he suggested quietly and they walked across the garden together. Daisy noticed the bird feeder, full of seed, and was consoled that at least her mother hadn’t forgotten to do that.
Dennis closed the door behind them. Father and daughter stood looking at each other for a moment, not knowing how to broach such a sensitive subject. Neither wanted to admit that something was wrong, because doing that would make it real. But they also knew that they couldn’t avoid the reality any longer. Finally, Daisy spoke. ‘She’s forgetting everything, Dad,’ she said. ‘And it’s been going on since I moved back from Italy. I suspect it started long before that. I think she should see a doctor.’
Dennis frowned. ‘It’ll upset her if she thinks we’ve noticed.
She’s trying hard to hide it. She doesn’t want to admit she’s slowing down.’ He smiled tenderly. ‘You know Mum, she likes being in control. She likes looking after us all.’
‘If it’s nothing more than old age then at least the doctor can tell her to slow down. She takes on too much. If a doctor told her to slow down, she’d have to, wouldn’t she? I’m not suggesting she has a brain tumour, but we should at least look into it, for our own peace of mind.’
Dennis was unconvinced. He knew how Marigold would react. She’d be very upset and he didn’t want to upset her. Then he remembered the second cup of tea she’d brought him and his heart sank. She’d never done that before. ‘How about we all pull together and help her?’ he suggested.
‘Yes, I agree. We could do much more for ourselves.’
‘I mean really help her. If she plans tea with Beryl then we can gently remind her, for example. We can prompt her without her knowing we’re prompting her.’
Daisy sighed. ‘I’m not sure it’s that easy, Dad. We’re working. We’re not with her the whole time. We can’t prompt her in the shop, can we?’
‘Let’s give it a go, eh? Let’s just try.’
‘I still want her to see a doctor.’
‘Then you have to suggest it.’
Daisy smiled sympathetically. ‘I will, Dad. Don’t worry. I know this sort of thing makes you uncomfortable.’ But Daisy was prepared to upset her mother if the end result gave them all peace of mind.
Beryl offered Marigold a biscuit. Marigold took one and bit into it. She nodded. ‘Very good, Beryl.’
‘Aren’t they? I’ll give you the name of the book. Simple recipes, but delicious.’ Beryl looked at Marigold across the kitchen table and noticed she was looking unusually pale. ‘Dennis made you another jigsaw puzzle, did he?’
‘He makes me one every year, but this year I think he’s outdone himself. He’s certainly outdone me. I’m finding it quite a struggle. I can say that to you. But I can’t tell Dennis. He worked so hard on it.’
‘He’s very talented, your husband.’
‘Yes, he is.’
‘That mole trap he made for the Commodore has got everyone talking. He’s caught twenty-five moles, you know.’
‘Goodness! That’s a lot of moles.’
‘He’s setting them free in the countryside.’ She grinned. ‘I hope they don’t find their way back and set up home in my garden.’
‘So do I,’ Marigold agreed with a chuckle. ‘That would be ironic, wouldn’t it, if Dennis made a trap, only for them to come back and make their home in his garden?’ She began to feel better. It was good to be out of the house, at Beryl’s table, drinking a nice cup of tea and eating her delicious biscuits.
‘I see Daisy is becoming a bit of a local celebrity,’ said Beryl admiringly. ‘Her animal drawings are very popular.’
‘Daisy’s thrilled. She works well at the farm, with all that light and the lovely views.’
‘I went to visit Rosie Price on Saturday at her nursing home. That’s got lovely views too.’
‘Rosie’s in a nursing home?’ said Marigold in surprise.
Rosie was an old schoolfriend of both hers and Beryl’s.
‘I did tell you, Marigold, but you’ve forgotten. It doesn’t matter. She’s got Alzheimer’s. Very sad. She doesn’t remember anything anymore. She only just remembered me and that’s because I’m a very old friend.’ Marigold went cold. ‘It’s a perfectly adequate place, as nice as it can be, I suppose,’ Beryl continued. ‘Must have been a big old private house once. Not far from here, with a view of the sea. It has one of those commonplace names like Seaside Manor or Seaview House. The poor thing was just sitting there in the big sitting room when I arrived. My heart went out to her. I reminded her who I was and she did remember. Her face lit up. She was pleased to see me. We reminisced. She was surprisingly lucid about her childhood. She remembered all her dogs’ names. Imagine that? We talked about our old schooldays and she was as sharp as a tack.’
‘And her children? Does she remember them?’ Marigold asked anxiously.
‘I’m told she gets confused. Because she exists in her youth she thinks they’re her uncles and aunts. She probably can’t imagine she has children at all. She talks about her parents, who died years ago, and complains about the place she’s in and asks to be taken home. Home for her is not with her husband Ian, but with her parents, and that house where she grew up no longer exists. I was told, very specifically, by her eldest son Julian, that I wasn’t to contradict her or ask her any questions. It was a lot harder than you’d think. As long as I stuck to those rules she would remain calm and not get upset. Julian, who was there, was wonderful with her. When she said she wanted to go home he told her that they were going to have a nice lunch, take the dogs for a walk, and then they were going to go home. She was very happy to hear that. Of course, a few minutes later she had forgotten they’d even had the conversation. The trick is to make her present moment as contented as possible, because that’s really all she has.’
‘So, she won’t have any recollection of you having been?’ said Marigold.
‘No. Julian told me, as we were leaving, that if I were to walk back in again, she’d greet me as she had done when I arrived. She wouldn’t remember I’d been there only minutes before. It’s extraordinary. Lots of people get it, you know.’ Beryl sighed heavily.
Marigold shrugged. ‘We all have to go somehow,’ she said.
‘I’d like to go in my sleep,’ said Beryl.
‘Me too,’ said Marigold. ‘Just drift away, like a cloud.’