The Baby Group (55 page)

‘I’ve got Alzheimer’s,’ I say. It comes back to me, like the last rays of sun piercing the clouds, and I’m relieved. ‘I forget things. They come and go. And sometimes just go.’

‘I know, Cassie told me. She and Caitlin met up a few days ago, caught up. I have your Caity’s number here, from that time they were supposedly sleeping over at each other’s houses, and attempted to go clubbing in London. Remember? You and I waited all night for every single London train that came in, until they finally got home at about two. They hadn’t even managed to get into the club. A drunk man had propositioned them on the tube, and they were crying so much we let them off the hook in the end.’

‘They sound like a right pair,’ I say. The woman frowns again and this time I decide it’s concern rather than anger.

‘Will you remember Caitlin,’ the woman asks me, ‘if she comes?’

‘Oh, yes,’ I say. ‘Caitlin, yes, I remember what she looks like. Dark hair and eyes like rock pools under moonlight, black and deep.’

She smiles. ‘I forgot you were a writer.’

‘I’m not a writer,’ I say. ‘I do have a writing room, though. I tried it, writing, but it didn’t work, and so now I have an empty writing room right at the top of the house. There’s nothing in it but a desk and a chair, and a lamp. I was so sure I was going to fill it to the brim with ideas, but instead it just got emptier.’ The woman frowns again, and her shoulders stiffen. I’m talking too much and it’s making her uncomfortable. ‘The thing I’m scared about the most is losing words.’

I’ve upset her. I should stop saying things. I’m never that sure what I am saying any more. I have to really think. And wait. Talking too much is not a fun or sweet thing about me any more. I close my lips firmly.

‘I’ll sit with you, shall I? Until she gets here.’

‘Oh . . .’ I begin to protest, but it peters out. ‘Thank you.’

I listen to her make a call to Caitlin. After exchanging a few words, she gets up and goes outside the café. As I watch her through the window, in the glow of the street lights, and I can see her still talking on the phone. She nods, her free hand gesturing. And then the call ends and she takes a deep breath of cold damp air before she comes back in and sits at my table.

‘She’ll be here in a few minutes,’ she tells me. She seems so nice, I don’t have the heart to ask her who she is talking about.