Beryl and Marigold stood in front of the big oak door of Seaview House and rang the bell. Marigold had felt sick from the moment she had got into the car, but she felt sicker now. The sight of the austere Gothic mansion gave her chills. If she was going to end up here, in this cold, formidable place, she might as well throw herself off the cliff and end it all now.
‘It’s nicer inside,’ said Beryl.
‘It’s got a pretty view,’ Marigold conceded.
‘Oh yes, that’s why they bought it, I suspect. The view is very comforting.’
The door opened and a middle-aged woman appeared in a pair of navy trousers and cardigan, comfortable shoes and a short, practical haircut. She smiled and Marigold imagined she spent her life trying to make people feel better about the building by smiling. ‘We’ve come to visit Rosie,’ said Beryl.
‘Of course you have. Welcome to Seaview House. Please come in.’ She stepped aside and Beryl and Marigold made their way through a porch into a large hall where the ghost of a fireplace, flagstone floor and elegant sweeping staircase remained from when the house was once a private home. A display of flowers on a round table in the middle of the hall – lilies, roses and cow parsley – made Marigold feel much better about the building, or perhaps she was just clutching at anything that lifted her flagging spirits. Trying, as she always did, to find the silver lining around a black cloud.
They were led into a cosy drawing room. The first thing that struck Marigold was how homely it was. A big flat-screen television was on, one or two women were on the sofa watching it, others were sitting in armchairs and on sofas arranged in clusters around the room. There were large sash windows looking out onto a lawn, trees, borders of shrubs and flowers, and the navy-blue sea beyond. It felt more like a club than a nursing home. This was encouraging. This was definitely a silver lining. Marigold felt better about that.
Until she realized that no one was talking to anyone else. They were all alone, lost in thought, or perhaps just lost. People further down the line than Marigold, much further, she hoped, existing in the moment because that was all they had.
Beryl went straight for a tidy, well-dressed lady who was sitting on her own by the window, gazing out onto the garden, her hands neatly folded in her lap. She didn’t look unhappy or distressed. She had a vacant look, to be sure, but it wasn’t tortured or depressed. It reminded Marigold of Winnie-thePooh. Her father had read those stories to her when she was a little girl. Sometimes I sits and thinks, and sometimes I just sits. Remembering Pooh made Marigold feel a great deal better. Rosie was just sitting. There was something rather peaceful about that.
‘Hello, Rosie,’ said Beryl, smiling. ‘I’m Beryl, your old friend.’
Rosie smiled back, a flicker of recognition lighting up in her eyes. It was the same gracious smile that Marigold gave people when she didn’t remember who they were. A smile that concealed the fear and panic she felt inside. But Rosie didn’t appear to be hiding anything other than her lack of memory. ‘Hello, Beryl,’ she replied.
‘This is Marigold. The three of us were at school together a very long time ago!’
Rosie did not recognise her. ‘Hello, Marigold,’ she said, still smiling serenely. She turned to Beryl and lowered her voice. ‘I don’t know who all these people are and why they’re in my house.’ She slid her eyes around the room suspiciously. ‘I wish they’d all go home.’
‘They’ll be leaving soon,’ said Beryl, taking a chair and sitting down. This seemed to be welcome news to Rosie.
Her shoulders relaxed and her smile became more natural. ‘Oh, I am relieved to hear that. You see, Mum and Dad will be back later and Aunt Ethel is coming for tea. They won’t want all these strange people here.’
‘They’ll be gone by then,’ said Beryl, and Marigold knew that Rosie’s parents were both dead, as was Aunt Ethel. Beryl was just humouring her. And why not? She wouldn’t remember the conversation and if it made her happy anticipating seeing her parents and aunt, then what was the harm in pretending?
‘Shall I make a cup of tea?’ Marigold asked, looking around hopefully. ‘There must be somewhere I can get us all a cup of tea.’
‘There’s tea and coffee in the kitchen next door,’ said Beryl, pointing to the end of the room.
‘I’ll go and make it, then.’ Marigold fled to the kitchen. She searched for comfort in the taking down of mugs and the boiling of the kettle. A routine that had served her well over the years. But her heart was racing and the palms of her hands had grown damp. Was this her future? Not knowing where she was? Thinking she was home when she wasn’t? Believing her parents were alive when they were dead? Was this what she had to look forward to?
She didn’t want to be put in a nursing home, not ever. She couldn’t imagine living anywhere else but where she lived now, with Dennis and Nan and Daisy. She liked her things around her. She liked the familiar feel of her own home. Her throat grew tight and her movements shaky as panic took possession of her.
When she appeared with the tray of mugs, Rosie looked at her and smiled, the same gracious smile she had given before. ‘Hello,’ she said and it was clear from her tone of voice that she was seeing Marigold for the first time.
Beryl didn’t flinch. ‘This is my friend Marigold,’ she repeated, as if Marigold had only just arrived.
‘Hello, Marigold.’
Marigold tried to smile, but she couldn’t. ‘Hello, Rosie,’ she said, trying to keep the sadness out of her voice. ‘I’ve brought you a nice cup of tea.’
‘Oh, that’s lovely,’ said Rosie, looking pleased. ‘I like tea.’
‘You like it with sugar,’ Beryl added.
‘Do I?’ Rosie frowned, trying to remember. ‘Yes, I think I do.’
Marigold handed out the mugs, then she sat down and took a gulp. She had never needed a cup of tea more than she needed it now.
As soon as Beryl had dropped her back at home, Marigold went for a walk. She didn’t go into the shop, so great was her despair. She didn’t go into her kitchen, either, because she didn’t want to see Nan, who thought there was nothing wrong with her. And she didn’t go and find Dennis, because she didn’t want to upset him; she needed to be alone.
Up there on the cliffs she cried into the wind. Big sobs that hijacked her body and left her gasping for breath. She found a bench and sat down facing the horizon, now flushing pink as the sun turned its attention westward and descended towards the sea.
She felt utterly helpless. So completely lost. As if she were a little boat with a rudder that was fixed towards a dark and frightening horizon, and there was no way to change it. That whatever happened, she’d eventually reach that dark and frightening place and be consumed by it. The inevitability of such an end was terrifying. It snatched her courage. It made her want to run away. But how could she run away from herself ?
A movement to her left caught her attention. At first she thought somebody had come and sat down on the bench beside her. But then, as she focused, she realized that it wasn’t just somebody: it was her father.
‘Dad?’ she gasped in surprise. ‘Is that you?’
Her father turned and smiled at her tenderly. ‘Yes, Goldie. It’s me.’
And it really was.
‘Oh Dad, I’m so frightened,’ she choked.
He put a hand on hers. It felt reassuring, just as it had done when she was a child in need of comfort. ‘You mustn’t be frightened, Goldie. You’re not alone, you know.’
‘But I feel so alone.’ She began to cry again. ‘I feel like I’m slipping down a slope and no one can stop me.’
‘No, no one can stop you if you’re meant to be slipping down a slope.’
‘Am I meant to be slipping, Dad?’
‘Of course you are. This is part of what you’re here to experience. No one can interfere with that. It’s all part of the Big Plan. But you’re not slipping on your own. I’m always with you, Goldie. I’ll never leave you. You won’t see me, not every time, but like I always used to tell you, no one really dies. They just shed their bodies, which are really very heavy when you’ve spent time without one, and go home.’
‘You’re here now.’ She blinked at him gratefully and managed a wobbly smile.
‘I’m here always,’ he said firmly, and the knowing in his smile took away some of Marigold’s fear.
He looked well. Not the frail old man who had died of cancer, but a vibrant, healthy man with glossy brown hair and bright hazel eyes, more alive than ever.
‘I’m losing my memories, Dad,’ Marigold told him. ‘I think I’m losing my mind as well.’ She looked at him in desperation. ‘What am I without my memories?’
‘But don’t you see, Goldie,’ he said calmly. ‘You’ll always be you. No disease can take that away. You’re eternal. Nothing can ever destroy you.’ He looked at her with such confidence, as if he was telling her something that was so obvious he was surprised she didn’t already know it. ‘Imagine you’re driving a car. The car is your body and the engine is your brain, but you, you’re separate. You’re only driving the car while you’re on your journey. Once you finish your journey, you’ll no longer need it. Right now, the car is losing the odd wheel and the engine’s breaking down, but you’re as perfect and whole as you always have been. As you always will be.’ His smile was now beaming. ‘You don’t need the car where you’re going, Goldie. All you need is love, and you’ve got enough love to get there and back.’
Marigold’s eyes shone. ‘There and back,’ she repeated, as if hearing those words for the first time.
‘Like me, Goldie. That’s why I’m back, because of love.’ He put a hand on his heart and patted it. ‘This is the only thing that matters. Simple really and strange that so many people don’t realize it. They waste their lives, missing the whole point of it.’
Marigold rallied. ‘If you’re with me, Dad, I think I can manage the journey.’
‘That’s my girl! Your journey was planned before you came into the world. And I’ll tell you a secret.’ He grinned mischievously.
‘What’s that then?’ she asked, finding the twinkle in his eyes irresistible and smiling too.
‘You’re making a very good job of it.’
She brightened. ‘Am I?’
‘Oh, yes. You’re getting full marks.’
Marigold’s eyes filled with fresh tears. ‘I never got full marks in anything at school.’
‘Life’s the most important school. The one that really counts.’
‘How long have you got before you have to return . . . there?’
He shrugged. ‘A little while longer, I suspect.’
‘But you’ll come back?’
‘Oh, I will, Goldie. You can be sure of that. I’ll come back whenever you need me to.’
And Marigold knew he would.
A few days later a small gathering of people met in Beryl’s sitting room. There was Eileen Utley, Dolly Nesbit, Cedric Weatherby, the Commodore and his wife Phyllida. The atmosphere was sombre and a little tense. They all waited. Eileen was good at talking about nothing. She used to talk about nothing to Marigold, but now Marigold wasn’t in the shop every morning she had to talk nothing to Tasha, which was difficult because Tasha wasn’t very interested in nothing, nor did she have time for it. She was always racing around unpacking things, or behind the counter tapping away on the keyboard. Everyone seemed very grateful for Eileen now, though, as they waited. She alleviated the heavy atmosphere and distracted them from the purpose of their meeting.
Beryl had given them wine. Phyllida didn’t like wine, she was more of a vodka girl, but she didn’t want to be rude, so she gingerly sipped the Chardonnay, which was slowly warming in the glass because of her hot, nervous hands. She noticed that she’d left a red-lipstick smear on the glass and wiped it off with her thumb. Cedric, flamboyant in a pink shirt and yellow corduroy trousers, sat on the sofa beside Dolly, who smelt of violets. Dolly had a shaky hand. It wasn’t anything sinister, she’d had it checked out by the doctor. But it meant she had to hold her glass in her more steady one. Sometimes she forgot and spilled her drink. Beryl’s sofas were dark green and patterned, and the wine was white, so it wouldn’t matter. Eileen chattered on. She was quite safe talking about the weather – everyone loved talking about the weather – and about food. Animals, however, were a sensitive subject, considering Dolly’s cat, and the Commodore’s moles. Eileen was careful not to upset anyone by mentioning animals. But she was beginning to run out of steam. She hoped Tasha would arrive soon before she dried up altogether.
At last the doorbell rang and Beryl showed Tasha into the room. Dolly moved closer to Cedric to allow her to sit down. Tasha greeted everyone a little nervously, before sinking in beside Dolly. Beryl poured her a glass of wine. Tasha took a sip and gulped loudly. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, clutching her throat. Everyone smiled at her reassuringly. Smiles that said it didn’t matter because they were all nervous.
‘Right,’ said Beryl in an officious tone of voice. ‘You know why you’re here, so let’s get started.’
They nodded solemnly. Eileen shook her head and drew her lips into a thin line. Out of all those present, she very much believed that she was Marigold’s closest friend. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she said. ‘It just doesn’t seem fair, does it?’
‘Life isn’t fair,’ said Cedric. They all nodded their agreement. No one could disagree with that.
‘Why do bad things happen to good people?’ asked Phyllida. ‘If we knew the answer to that,’ said her husband, ‘we’d know all the great mysteries of the world.’
Beryl inhaled through her nostrils. ‘I called a meeting this evening because we need a plan. We need to form a united front. Now, I have a friend in a nursing home who has dementia, so I know better than most how to manage the situation. And it is management, I can assure you. There are rules, and if we abide by them, then Marigold’s life is going to be a lot more pleasant.’
‘What kind of rules?’ asked Eileen. She didn’t really want anyone telling her what to do about Marigold. Being her closest friend, she figured she knew how to deal with her illness.
‘Marigold’s memory will slowly deteriorate,’ said Beryl.
‘I wouldn’t use the word “slowly”,’ interrupted Cedric. ‘I’ve noticed a certain quickening over the last few months. She didn’t recognize her own sister-in-law at Suze’s wedding. Most of the time she covers it up, because she’s clever. But she’s a lot more forgetful than she lets on.’
‘Soon she won’t be able to retain new information,’ Beryl continued, ignoring Cedric’s contribution. ‘She’ll recall the distant past and that will confusingly merge with the present. For example, yesterday she told me she had had a long chat with her father. Well, Arthur died, what, fifteen years ago? You see, her brain plays tricks on her. She thinks he’s still alive. So we have to go with her and not try to put her right.’
‘What did you say when she told you she had seen her father?’ asked Dolly, secretly wondering whether Marigold had seen his ghost, for she had once seen the ghost of her grandfather.
‘I said, “How lovely.” I didn’t ask her what he had said, because she probably wouldn’t remember. Do you see? I went along with her and I suggest you do as well. We need to form a united front,’ she repeated, pleased with the metaphor.
‘Such a shame,’ sighed Phyllida.
‘Always happens to the nicest people,’ added the Commodore gravely.
‘You’re suggesting, Beryl, that we lie to her?’ asked Eileen suspiciously. Eileen prided herself in calling a spade a spade.
‘It’s not really lying,’ Beryl replied. ‘It’s joining her in her world. It’s making her present moment happy. If I had said, “But your father is dead, Marigold,” would I have made her happy? No, I would have made her very sad and confused. Let’s try to avoid that.’
‘But Marigold isn’t that bad yet,’ said Eileen. ‘She knows very well that her father is dead.’
Beryl put her glass down on the little table beside her armchair and knitted her fingers in her lap. ‘Of course she does, most of the time. Some days are good, some days are bad. I assume that when she told me she had seen her father, she was having a bad day. But soon she’ll forget that he’s dead and it won’t be because she’s having a bad day. It will be because her brain is being devoured, like a piece of cheese being eaten by mice. If we all stick to the same song sheet, we can protect her from unpleasantness.’ Beryl turned to Tasha, who had only opened her mouth once since she arrived. ‘What do you think, Tasha? You see more of her than any of us.’
Tasha’s cheeks flushed as all eyes settled upon her. ‘She gets very embarrassed when she forgets things,’ she said. ‘When she was running the shop she was forgetting things every day and it was becoming serious. It’s difficult to run a business if the owner is forgetting everything. Of course, she thought no one noticed, but we all did, didn’t we? I think she’s more relaxed not having to worry about the business now.’
‘It can’t have been easy stepping down,’ said the Commodore. ‘When I retired I felt bereft.’
‘Yes, you did,’ agreed his wife, nodding gravely.
‘But I found things to do to keep me busy, and I can’t say now that I miss the old days.’
‘Marigold won’t miss them either,’ said Tasha.
‘Well, she won’t remember them, will she,’ said Eileen.
‘So, what are the rules?’ asked Cedric. ‘I like to know where I am. I like to have boundaries. I don’t want to put my foot in it.’
‘Don’t contradict her,’ said Beryl firmly. ‘That’s the main one. Go with her, whatever she says. Don’t expect her to remember things. Be patient when she forgets. Don’t ask questions or put her under pressure to remember something. We don’t want to send her into a panic. We need to be there for her.’
‘How long until she forgets who we are?’ asked Dolly anxiously.
‘I don’t know,’ Beryl replied. ‘Everyone is different.’
‘I remember when she forgot to cook the Christmas puddings for Lady Sherwood,’ said Cedric. ‘That was last Christmas. I didn’t think anything of it then.’
‘None of us did,’ said Beryl.
‘I just thought she was getting older and a little dotty,’ added Dolly.
‘We all are.’ The Commodore chuckled cheerlessly.
‘But her forgetfulness was different,’ said Phyllida quietly. ‘It wasn’t normal. I think we all noticed that.’
‘I thought it might be dementia, but I didn’t want to say,’ confessed Eileen. She dropped her gaze into her wrinkly old hands that fidgeted anxiously in her lap. ‘I hoped it wasn’t. I don’t want to lose a friend. I don’t want to lose Marigold.’
‘We’re not going to lose her,’ said Beryl determinedly. ‘If we work together, as a united front, we’ll hold on to her.’
‘And we mustn’t let on that we know,’ said Cedric, looking at the sombre faces in turn. ‘Marigold is very sensitive.’
‘I agree,’ said the Commodore. ‘We must keep it hush-hush.’
‘Such a shame,’ repeated Phyllida with a sigh. ‘Why does it always happen to the nicest people?’
The Commodore shook his head again. They all went quiet. Tasha drained her glass. Beryl noticed. ‘Let’s have some more wine,’ she suggested, forcing a smile and pushing herself up from her chair. ‘I think we need it.’
Suze returned from her honeymoon as glossy brown as polished teak. She wore her hair in tiny plaits secured by colourful beads, and clothes more suited to a 1970s hippy. ‘I smoked so much weed,’ she confided to Daisy as they sat in the kitchen. ‘I’ve been floating for the last ten days.’
‘Well, it’s just as well you’re coming down to earth. I’ve got some bad news for you.’
Suze’s face fell. ‘What? Is it Nan?’
‘No, it’s Mum.’ Suze stared at Daisy but said nothing. ‘She’s got dementia.’
Suze went white. ‘Are you sure?’
‘The test results came while you were away. The diagnosis is almost certainly dementia. She also had a brain scan, which confirms it.’
‘Is there a cure?’ Suze demanded.
Daisy shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not.’
‘What? No cure! We can fly rockets into space and land on the moon and yet we can’t find a cure for dementia.’
‘There aren’t cures for lots of diseases.’
‘There should be a cure for this!’ Suze swore, spitting out the word with frustration and anger. ‘Is she going to die?’
Daisy looked into her sister’s stricken face and felt her own face drain of blood. The thought of their mother dying was inconceivable. But the thought of losing her little by little was somehow worse. She didn’t want to contemplate a future where all that remained of her was a shell. ‘Of course she’s not going to die!’ she exclaimed.
Suze smiled bitterly. ‘You’re such a bad liar, Daisy.’
‘Well, we’re all going to go eventually.’
‘Is she getting worse?’ ‘Yes.’
‘Do we talk about it? Is it a secret? How do I behave around her?’
‘As normal, but we have to be patient.’
Suze stared into her tea. It was just as well that she had moved out and gone to live with Batty, because she didn’t think she had much patience for sickness. She was frightened that she wouldn’t have much patience for her mother. ‘Everything is going to change, isn’t it?’ she said apprehensively. ‘I mean, we’re going to have to look after her. It’s always been the other way round.’
‘I’m glad I came home,’ said Daisy suddenly. ‘I’m glad I’m here when Mum needs us most.’
‘I’m glad you came home too. You’re good at this sort of thing,’ Suze agreed. ‘I couldn’t cope on my own. I’m not very good at responsibility.’
‘You’ll learn,’ said Daisy. ‘We’ll both learn to be good at it.’
Suze turned her eyes to the window and sighed. ‘Do you think she’ll forget to feed her birds?’ she said with a smile, remembering how irritated she used to get with her mother claiming they belonged to her.
Daisy looked into the garden, at the apple tree where the feeder remained empty during the summer months. ‘When she does, that’s when we really need to worry,’ she said.