Page 110 of Forever, Maybe
“The memory clinic,” Lorraine replied. She’d put on weight since the last time Nell had seen her, a noticeable bulge around her waist that strained the buttons of her uniform. It made her, if possible, even more formidable than she already was. “I managed to get Cate a cancellation appointment.”
Her tone was matter-of-fact, but her sharp gaze lingered on Nell, an unspoken accusation in her eyes. The last time Nell had been home, the original appointment had been months away. But then she and Danny had briefly reconciled, and she’d left for Glasgow, leaving everything—including Cate—in other hands.
“What’s this? What’s happening?” Cate’s hands fluttered at her chest, panic flashing in her eyes.
Bobby reached for her hand, his voice calm and steady. “It’s just an appointment, love. With the doctor, to check your memory. Nothing to worry about.”
Cate’s expression softened as the confusion lifted. “The memory clinic! And I’d completely forgotten about it! What a hoot!”
Bobby chuckled, and Nell joined in. Lorraine, however, remained stiff, her disapproval palpable. That only made it funnier. Eventually, her sister-in-law allowed herself a small, reluctant smile.
“We probably shouldn’t tell the doctor that tomorrow,” Cate added, letting go of Bobby’s hand as she got to her feet. “They’ll write me off straight away. I’ll start on dinner. Do you want to stay, Lorraine?”
From the way Bobby and Lorraine exchanged glances, Nell guessed this was the most lucid Cate had been in a while. It was something she’d read about online: families of dementia patients often warned not to get too excited when moments of clarity appeared. They were fleeting. Over time, those moments grew fewer and further between until all that remained was the shell of the person you loved.
“No, no, I can’t stay,” Lorraine said, shaking her head. Much to Nell’s relief. “Artie’s wheeled out the barbecue. We need to make the most of this lovely weather while it lasts. Nell, you should come over one evening. Artie would love to see you.”
No, he wouldn’t. But Nell smiled anyway, a polite, automatic response. “Of course.”
They watched Lorraine leave, her navy-clad figure disappearing through the gate.
“What a relief! Bossy bitch,” Cate announced suddenly.
Nell blinked in surprise, her mother’s vehemence catching her off guard. Judging by the dismay on Bobby’s face, it had taken him aback too. Nell recalled something else she’d read. Dementia often stripped away the social filters that kept people’s harsher thoughts from escaping. It didn’t just erase memories; it erased boundaries. The rifts that family and friends spent years avoiding could suddenly erupt with a single, uninhibited comment.
What else might Cate say? And did it even matter anymore, now that she and Danny were heading for divorce?
Yes. It mattered. Artie and Lee wouldn’t forgive easily if the long-buried secret ever came to light. And yet…
The longing stirred again, deep and relentless, half-scaring her with its intensity. After all this time, she wanted—no,needed—to confront the past she’d buried for so long.
The memory clinic was tucked away at the back of the new hospital, a gleaming, modern structure that had replaced the crumbling old infirmary a few years earlier. The day was overcast, the sky a flat grey, with a single ominous cloud casting a shadow across half the building.
Nell parked her parents’ Volvo estate in the furthest corner of the overcrowded car park, as far from the entrance as it was possible to be.
She forced herself to slow her usual brisk pace to match her parents’ shuffle, catching her feet each time they tried to speed up as the three of them made their way to the main entrance.
Inside, the clinic smelled exactly as a hospital should: an unpleasant mix of overcooked food and disinfectant. The floors, walls and ceiling were all scrubbed-clean shades of pale beige and white.
“Wouldn’t it be nicer if the walls were blue, eh, Mum?” Nell remarked, gratified when Cate gave her a smile.
“Yes,” Cate agreed. “I like blue.” She tilted her head, as if picturing it. Their bedroom at home was lavender blue.
Two women sat behind the reception desk, a chest-high barrier that made Cate seem smaller than usual. One of them glanced up briefly, holding up two fingers telling them towait a minutebefore resuming her typing.
The other receptionist ended a phone call and smiled first at Cate and then Nell. “Can I help you?”
Cate hesitated, her brow furrowing in confusion. “I’m… I’m Cate Stephenson, and I’m…”
“She has an appointment with Doctor Marsden,” Bobby said quickly, stepping forward to hand over the letter.
The receptionist nodded, taking the letter and scanning the NHS number. “You’re all checked in,” she said, pointing to the corridor on the left. “Take a seat—it’s the third waiting room on the right.”
They followed the instructions to the room, where rows of hard plastic chairs faced a mounted TV. Half the screen was tuned to some cheery daytime show, while the other half displayed a rotating slideshow of health advice:Check your blood pressure. Cut down on salt. Are you drinking too much? Is your BMI over 25?
“Yes, yes, yes, and yes,” Bobby muttered as they sat down, nudging Nell with his elbow. “I’m a stroke waiting to happen. Should be me seeing the doctor, not you, Cate!”
Cate nodded, though Nell noticed how her eyes darted around the room. She reached over and squeezed her mother’s hand.
