“It’s best to keep conversation simple,” Thomas said as we pulled up in the car park of the care home. “And it’s always wise to agree with her, no matter how absurd it sounds.” He attempted to laugh but it didn’t sound real.
“We’ll go through the normal routine. She won’t know who I am, I’ll remind her, she’ll acknowledge it, and then immediately forget.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “Though if last night is anything to go by, she may be even more confused than usual.”
He bowed his head and I put a hand over his. If I had the right words, I’d offer them, but I didn’t want him to think me patronizing.
“Hello, Elise,” he said cheerily as we walked into the brightly lit reception. “You’re looking good.”
The girl, younger than me, giggled coquettishly and immediately touched her hair. I’d not yet seen him converse with another woman and his effect was obvious. She was yet to register my presence and I waited for him to introduce me.
“Where is she today?” he said instead.
“She’s in the common room,” Elise said, her eyes still alight.
He led the way down the carpeted corridor, the smell reminding me of my grandparents’ house. Whatever that smell is, it’s not good or bad; just old, much the same as when you walk into an antiques shop or a secondhand bookstore.
I immediately regretted not bringing some flowers as we walked into a large room with windows for walls and individually colored and styled upright armchairs. There were vases on the little tables between them, each holding a sorry-looking bunch of flowers, carelessly arranged. I hoped it wasn’t an indication of how the vulnerable residents were treated.
I followed him over to the corner, where a dot of a woman sat peering longingly out of the window at the gardens beyond. Just looking at her broke my heart and I selfishly hoped she wasn’t who we were here to see.
“Mum?” called Thomas, warily. She immediately looked up at him, her eyes searching for some kind of recognition. “It’s me.”
She smiled and nodded.
“This is my friend, Beth.”
I stepped forward and offered my hand, but she wasn’t forthcoming. I looked at him, fearful that I’d done something wrong. He winked at me and shook his head.
“Come and sit down,” she said to me, patting the chair beside her. “You get a beautiful view of the garden from here—it’s my favorite place to sit.”
“It’s gorgeous,” I said.
“Don’t tell anyone,” she said, leaning in conspiratorially. “But I often come down here when everyone is still asleep, even the nurses. You see so many wonderful things at that time in the morning; the squirrels come out to find their nuts, the blackbirds have a squabble in a puddle. Sometimes I can even see a rhododendron as it opens up throughout the day. Slowly, slowly, its petals stretch out toward the sun…”
“So, what have you been doing since I last saw you, Mum?”
“Well, Frank’s been in to see me,” she said quietly. “That was nice.”
“What, Dad?” Thomas asked, shooting a glance at me and raising his eyebrows. “What did he have to say?”
“Oh, you know. We were talking about the days when we went dancing. He’d take me to the Rivoli Ballroom and we’d be the first on the floor and the last off.” She gave a little laugh, her eyes lighting up. “I said to him about the time that The Beatles were there, but he doesn’t remember it. I mean, how can you forget seeing The Beatles?”
She reached across to me, placing a hand on my lap. “You remember The Beatles, don’t you, Sarah?”
I went to correct her, but thought better of it. “Of course, they were the best.”
“Exactly, see, there you go, Frank,” she said. “Helen remembers it. My parents wouldn’t let me go, would they, Frank?”
She giggled like a naughty schoolgirl and I wanted to pick her up and pop her in my pocket. Get her away from this sterile environment, where no matter how hard they tried to make it look any different, it still resembled God’s waiting room.
“So, he’d come over and skulk about in the back lane, waiting for me to get changed out of my nightie and into my itsy bitsy miniskirt.” She laughed to herself. “My father was incensed when he saw me in it the first time: ‘You’re not going out dressed like that.’ So, I’d storm off upstairs and come back down in something that covered me from my neck to my ankles. ‘That’s more like it,’ he’d say. He never found out that I’d just shove my teenie weenie skirt into a carrier bag, along with a bottle of wine that I stole from their drinks cabinet.”
She laughed again, and I couldn’t help but join in her merriment. I could happily listen to her all day and was already working out a way to come and see her more often.
“Your aunty Sheila came to see me,” she said, looking at Thomas. He threw me a sideways glance, careful to keep his smile painted on. “She’s very unhappy at that place she’s staying,” she went on. “Says that they’d treat a dog better than they treat her.”
Thomas sat there, sadly nodding his head.
“I didn’t like to boast and tell her how wonderful my son is,” she went on, giving me a nudge with her elbow. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him. Anyone else wouldn’t bother; they’d just put me in one of those terrible places that she’s in and leave me to rot. But not my boy; he looks after his mum.”
I felt my heart lift as I looked at him. “He’s a good man,” I said.
She patted my hand.
“Now, you see next to the purple rhododendron bush, there’s a delphinium, well that was one I planted in the spring time and look at it now. The gardener said to me, ‘Joyce, you shouldn’t put that there, it’ll get over-shadowed by the hornbeam.’”
“Mum loves her plants,” Thomas said, smiling.
“But I stood my ground,” she went on. “And look how beautiful it is.”
She certainly seemed to know her stuff, as the window perfectly framed the wild English flowerbed she’d helped create.
“That’s why I always like to sit here. This is my special place.” She looked out wistfully, seemingly lost in thought.
“What did you have for dinner last night, Mum?” asked Thomas.
She smiled. “We had a tea dance yesterday afternoon, so we had sandwiches and scones and a band came in to play. Oh Frank, you would have loved it; they sang all our favorite songs. Do you remember that song we had at our wedding? ‘Raindrops Keep Fallin’ On My Head.’ Well, I danced to that with Eileen, because you weren’t here, but I imagined it was you.”
“I remember,” said Thomas, throwing me a rueful glance.
I looked at him, suddenly aware of how painfully difficult this must be. Who could possibly imagine that the woman who had rocked you in her arms, snuggled down beside you in bed to read you a story, been the only person who could comfort you when you fell and hurt yourself, would ever mistake you for someone else? Or at times, stare straight through you as if she’s never seen you before. The cruelness of the disease rocked me to the core and I felt a new sense of love and respect for Thomas as he pretended to be the husband his mother had separated from over twenty years ago.
“And what was that song we used to sing to our boy?” Joyce went on. “You know the one … dom, dom, where it began…” Thomas shrugged his shoulders and looked away, embarrassed, as she sang louder. “You can’t begin to know it…”
“‘Sweet Caroline,’” called out her nearest neighbor, whose head I couldn’t even see over the top of the chair.
“That’s it, Maude, join in.”
Joyce picked up my hand and we swayed our arms above our heads, as the impromptu singalong gained momentum. Clearly Maude was of the loudest voice, despite her feet not being able to touch the ground.
Even one of the nurses, who was administering tablets in little plastic cups, was singing her heart out. I couldn’t help but smile as I joined in the chorus, the scene reminiscent of something out of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.
“Why don’t you join in with your song?” I teased Thomas, as he looked increasingly uncomfortable.
“Now would be a good time to go,” he said, smiling and rolling his eyes. “We’re going to head off now, Mum,” he said over the din.
Suddenly her eyes narrowed as she looked at him. “Who are you?” she said, abruptly. “What do you want?”
“Mum, it’s me,” he said as he knelt down in front of her, taking her hand in his.
“Get away from me,” she shouted, physically pushing herself back in her chair. “Nurse, nurse, help. Somebody help me.”
Her panic was increasing with every syllable and I moved out of the way as two uniformed nurses rushed toward her.
“It’s okay, Joyce,” one of them said as they restrained her. “You’re safe.”
“But he’s here, he’s here.” She was screaming, her hands shaking as her arms flailed.
“You should go,” one of them said, turning to us.
I couldn’t stop tears springing to my eyes, my confusion seemingly akin to Joyce’s own.
“We need to calm her down,” the nurse said. “It would be better if you went.”
She was still screaming, “He’s here, he’s here,” as we quickly walked away down the corridor.