Don’t You Forget About Me (44 page)

‘So come along, tell me, what has Phyllis been up to this time?’ he says after a pause. ‘I hope she didn’t cause any trouble between you and your new fellow.’

‘No . . . no, not at all,’ I shake my head, figuring how to explain about me and Fergus.

There’s no easy way, I’m just going to have to come straight out with it.

‘Because I haven’t seen you look that happy in ages my dear,’ he continues, before I have a chance to say anything, ‘and anyone in that room could see how he felt about you.’

My chest tightens. ‘They could?’

‘And how you felt the same way.’

What?

‘I know you thought you could hide it from me,’ he chuckles, misreading my astonished silence for admission, ‘but you can’t hide feelings like that. And I should know, that’s how I felt about your nan.’

‘I know, but . . .’ Flustered, I open my mouth to deny it, to tell him he’s been silly, that he’s got it all wrong, but I don’t want to hurt his feelings or disappoint him, not today of all days . . . Except, that’s not all. There’s something else stopping me. I falter, trying to make sense of my conflicting emotions as a flicker of doubt illuminates something buried deep down inside of me that I didn’t know was there until just now; that I hadn’t
admitted
was there. A feeling that maybe he hasn’t got it wrong,
I have
.

‘Well, here we are.’

I focus back to see we’ve stopped walking and are standing in front of a small, simple headstone:

Enid Connelly

1930 – 2007

Beloved wife, mother and grandmother

Our bodies may not be eternal

But thankfully our love is

I’ve read those words so many times but they still bring a lump to my throat.

‘I do miss her,’ he says quietly.

‘I know you do,’ I say, reaching for his hand and squeezing it tightly.

I help him place the flowers on her grave, the bright yellow blooms standing up proudly in a vase, just as Nan liked them, and then for a few moments we just stand there, arm in arm, lost in our own private thoughts and memories. So often in life we have to find the right words, say the right thing, but there are some times when words aren’t necessary. You don’t need to say anything. You just need to feel it.

After a little while he pulls out his silk handkerchief and dabs his eyes. ‘Right, enough of this sad stuff,’ he says, pinning on a smile, ‘we’re here to celebrate.’

‘Absolutely,’ I nod firmly, swallowing the lump in my throat. ‘Why do you think I wore these stilettos? So I can kick up my heels . . .’

He laughs gratefully at my bad joke and I smile supportively.

‘And that’s not all . . .’ Unlooping my rucksack from over my shoulder, I rummage inside, then pull out a half bottle and two plastic tumblers.

‘What’s that?’ he asks.

‘Champagne, of course. What else do you drink on your wedding anniversary?’

His face lights up with astonishment and delight. ‘What would I do without you, eh?’ he chuckles.

‘Well that’s the thing,’ I reply, unwrapping the foil and grabbing hold of the cork, ‘I’m afraid you’re never going to find out as you’re not getting rid of me yet.’

The cork makes a loud pop and fires across the cemetery.

‘Flaming Nora, you’ll be having us arrested,’ he jumps.

I laugh, quickly grabbing a glass as the frothing liquid spills out of the bottle.

‘Your nan loved a bit of fizz.’

‘Well here’s to Nan. To both of you,’ I say, pouring out two large glasses and passing him one. ‘Happy anniversary.’

We chink our plastic tumblers and then for a moment we’re silent as we both drink the champagne, savouring the cold bubbles as they explode on the tongue.

‘We would have been married fifty-seven years,’ he says, after a pause. ‘I know my memory isn’t what it used to be, but that’s a date I don’t forget.’

‘Wow, fifty-seven years, that’s incredible.’

‘Not really,’ he smiles. ‘Being married to your nan was easy . . . though we didn’t always see eye to eye.’ He laughs and shakes his head. ‘She could be a bloody feisty woman, that’s for sure, but that’s what made Enid Enid, and I loved her, warts and all. I wouldn’t have changed a single thing about her.’

As he talks about her, his face becomes animated and I can see the love shining in his eyes.

‘If I had my time again, I wouldn’t change a single thing about the fifty-seven years we had together. Not a single thing. Not even the arguments, and we had some right humdingers, I tell you.’ He chuckles at the memory. ‘We even had a barney the first time we met.’

I glance at him with a surprised smile. ‘You never told me that before.’

‘It was at the pictures. I’d gone with my friends Bobby Wincup and Fred Lester. I can’t remember what we saw now, but that’s probably because I was too busy staring at your nan. I saw her as soon as we walked in. Afterwards I plucked up the courage to ask if I could walk her home and tried to steal a kiss—’

‘Gramps!’ I gasp, with mock indignation.

‘I was a bit of a bugger in those days,’ he confesses, ‘but my word did she put me in my place. I was terrified.’

‘Why, what did she say?’

‘I can’t remember now,’ he says, furrowing his brow, ‘but I do remember how she smelled. She wore lily of the valley in those days and I remember thinking she smelled like a summer’s day . . .’

He trails off, smiling fondly to himself, and I can see he’s back there now, back to that moment in time when he was a cocky young man in his twenties, flirting with the pretty young girl who was to become his wife.

‘From then on I could never imagine life without Enid. We never spent a night apart once we were married, even the kids were born at home . . .’ He pauses, and I watch as his smile falls away. ‘Not until she went into hospital . . .’ Swallowing hard, he stares into the middle distance, his voice barely a whisper. ‘I’ll never forget walking into that ward and seeing her there . . . I was so scared and she was so brave . . . losing her was the worst day of my life.’ He turns to me, his eyes red and glistening with tears. ‘I thought I’d die of a broken heart, you know.’

My chest tightens: seeing him so upset breaks my own heart. ‘Don’t you ever wish you could make that bit go away?’ I say, feeling angry at the past. ‘That you could erase those painful memories, forget they ever happened, just remember the happy times you had together?’

‘You must never say that,’ he reprimands sternly.

‘But why not?’ I look at him in surprise.

‘Because it’s the bad memories that makes you appreciate the good ones. Don’t ever wish them away. It’s like your nan always used to say, “You need both the sun and the rain to make a rainbow”.’

He looks at me, his face determined. ‘I don’t want to forget
anything
. All I’ve got left of your nan are memories. Good or bad, I don’t want anything to take those away.

‘And nothing will,’ I say quickly. ‘We’ll never forget Nan, none of us will.’

‘But that’s just it . . .’ His eyes meet mine. ‘I know what everyone’s saying.’

‘What?’ I frown.

‘About me going doolally . . . what do they call it these days? Alzheimer’s.’

‘No, we don’t think that at all,’ I protest, but inside guilt kicks in, as I think about the meeting that’s taken place between my parents and the nurses, the talk about him seeing a doctor, my own recent admission to Fergus. I don’t ever want to lie to Gramps, but how can I tell him? How can I tell him the truth?

‘I’ve seen the leaflets, I know Cyril down the hall has it, he can’t remember where he is any more . . .’ He shakes his head in dismay. ‘And it does scare me, Tess – it terrifies the life out of me.’

For the first time in my life I see the fear in Gramps’s face, see how distressed he is, and I desperately want to comfort him.

‘You’ll be fine, Gramps,’ I try to reassure him.

‘Will I?’ he asks. ‘Every day I remember less and less. My memories are being stolen from me and I’m trying bloody hard to hang on to them’ – he clenches his bony fist as if they’re in the palm of his hand – ‘but they’re slipping away and I can’t do a damn thing about it. I forget names, times, places . . .’ He sighs with exasperation. ‘We’re the sum total of our memories, Tess. Memories are the most precious things we have. Good or bad. That’s what make us who we are. What would we be like without them?’

He looks at me, and I can see the anger and frustration in his eyes. And the panic. ‘I worry that I’m going to forget her. I’m not going to remember what she looks like, her voice, the moments we shared—’ His voice trembles and he breaks off.

I put my arm around his shoulders and draw him close. I can almost feel his fear and I rail against it. Gramps has looked after me since I was a little girl: comforted me, reassured me, made everything safe. Now it’s my turn.

‘You’ll never forget her,’ I say resolutely. ‘Never in a million years. If you love someone your heart will always remember them. Even if the mind doesn’t, the heart never forgets.’

I can almost feel him draw strength from my words. ‘Never in a million years,’ he repeats quietly, determinedly.

The sun dips behind a tree and, as we fall into shadow, I feel the temperature drop. I notice our glasses are empty.

‘It’s getting cold, let’s go back,’ I say.

‘Yes, let’s,’ he nods.

And, clearing everything into my rucksack, we link arms and walk slowly back to the car.

Chapter 36

Arriving back at the flat I fumble for my door key. Fiona’s home, I can hear her inside talking to someone, she must have company . . . I dig around in my bag. Hang on a minute, was that a moan I just heard? I pause to listen. And is that . . .
heavy breathing
? Finding my key, I put it in the lock with trepidation. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve walked in on something I shouldn’t.

Closing the door loudly behind me, I walk into the kitchen to find Fiona sitting at the table. As usual she’s hidden, apart from the top of her head, behind the screen of her laptop. I feel a stab of relief.

Unlike Fiona.

On looking up and seeing me she lets out a shriek. ‘Oh my god, you gave me the fright of my life!’ She lunges frantically for her mouse and there’s lots of hasty clicking.

‘Sorry,’ I apologise quickly, ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’ I’ve taken off my sunglasses and, despite lashings of concealer, my eyes are still puffy with dark circles from crying last night. Gramps was just being kind when he said I looked nice. I look a complete fright.

‘No, it’s not that, I just wasn’t expecting you back so early . . .’ She breaks off as if she’s said too much.

‘Is someone here? I thought I heard you talking to someone.’

‘Really?’ She fidgets uncomfortably. ‘No, there’s no one here, I was just Skyping with my editor about my column.’

‘But isn’t your editor a woman? I’m sure I could hear a man’s voice—’

The shrill ring of her BlackBerry interrupts me and she snatches it up. ‘We got cut off, I’ll call you straight back,’ she hisses into the mouthpiece. ‘Anyway, I was just going out,’ she says in a loud voice, turning back to me.

I peer at her dubiously. ‘Where are you going?’ .

‘Oh, I’m just going to take Tallulah for her usual evening trot around the block,’ she replies, avoiding my gaze and closing the lid of her laptop.

‘In your underwear?’ I gape as her body is revealed. Minus its clothes.

Two spots of colour appear high on her cheeks. ‘Ah yes, of course, silly me, I forgot . . . um . . . it was so hot in here I had to take my clothes off!’ she exclaims, and starts fanning herself.

‘Whilst talking to your editor?’ I raise my eyebrows.

‘Well . . . um it’s all very liberal at
Saturday Speaks
. . .’ She gives a tinkly little laugh as she grabs her discarded clothes, lying in a pile on the floor next to her chair, and starts hastily pulling on her woolly tights and sweater dress. ‘Well, see you later.’ Hurrying past me into the hallway, she grabs her coat from the rack.

‘Aren’t you forgetting something else?’

With her hand already on the latch, she turns.

‘Tallulah?’ I prompt.

‘Oh, yes, of course, silly me,’ she gabbles, rushing back into the kitchen and returning with Tallulah scooped up in her arms. ‘Bye,’ she cries. Then she’s gone, the door slamming behind her.

I stare at it for a moment, my mind ticking over. Skyping with her editor? Feeling so hot she took her clothes off?? Having to take Tallulah for a walk? Yeh, right. What does she take me for? She was obviously Skyping with a man and it was all getting a bit hot and heavy. Why else would she be sitting there in her bra and knickers? And now she’s rushing off to call him back. I wonder who it is? And why is she being so secretive? Maybe she’s seeing Henry VIII again and she doesn’t want me to know. Or perhaps she’s changed her mind about Quasimodo and it’s the bell-ringer from Sassy Soul Mates.