Page 46 of Forever, Maybe
“Long,” Bobby said with a weary smile. “Funny how train journeys can leave you knackered when all you’re doing is sitting. Still, I managed to read every bit of the paper. Even the business pages! Thought I’d arm myself with some conversation for your husband. Although I hope he doesn’t start talking about the FTSE index. To this day, I’ve no idea what it’s about.”
Nell took the suitcase from him. “Don’t worry, Danny doesn’t either. And anyway, he’s banned from talking about business or work when he’s at home. He spends enough time at work as it is. What about you, Mum? Did you read a book?”
The question slipped out naturally, conjuring the vivid image of her mother, forever reading. A book in hand while stirring pots and pans, propped up against pillows, lounging in the garden deck chair or lying on a towel by the beach.
Cate hesitated, a subtle pause. Nell caught the glance her parents exchanged—first Bobby and Cate, as if silently conferring, then Bobby lifting his brows at Nell, trying to signal something.
“No, no, the windows! The views,” Cate said suddenly, her voice bright but forced. “So much to see!”
They made their way to Gordon Street and the taxi rank, Nell working hard to mask her dismay—her mother not reading, not reading! She filled the silence with questions about Bobby’s various hobby clubs, Artie’s boys (still living at home, thanks to the extortionate rents in the southeast), and what the two of them were currently enjoying on television.
Most of the answers came from Bobby.
By three o’clock, they were at the house. Bobby waved off her protests to pay for the taxi, remarking that Glasgow’s black cabs were a “much cheaper than London’s,” though he couldn’t recall the last time he’d taken one there.
In the driveway, Sandra Greenberg, Nell and Danny’s next-door neighbour, was weeding her pristine flowerbeds. A linen-lined basket sat beside her as she looked up and nodded a greeting. Nell steered her parents towards the gate, already rehearsing polite conversation to cover the undercurrent of unease swirling in her chest.
“Cate, how are you? Long time no see!” Sandra called, rising slightly. She and Cate were of a similar age and had often chatted over the hedge on previous visits, bonding over a shared love of gardening.
Her mother's smile was wavering and uncertain. There was hesitation in her eyes, something fragile beneath the surface. “Yes, yes, lovely to see you… Marlene.”
Nell’s heart lurched. “Mum, that’s not Marlene.”
Marlene. Their next-door neighbour in Norwich. The wrong name, the wrong life. Sandra, to her credit, merely shrugged, seemingly unoffended.
“Ah, no, of course it isn’t!” Cate said with forced brightness, pausing at the door.
“It’s Sandra,” Nell interjected gently, sensing the struggle and failure in her mother’s attempt to recall the name. “Sandra Greenberg.”
Cate nodded quickly. “Yes, I know. Lovely day, isn’t it? So warm for… for…”
“April,” Bobby cut in sharply.
Cate’s blank-eyed nod in response made Nell’s fingers twitch, as if she were stopping herself from prodding her mother’s arm. The moment stretched uncomfortably, Cate seeming, just for an instant, to have no idea who Bobby was either.
Nell’s nervous anticipation ratcheted up several notches. She’d spent hours trawling forums recently, poring over posts from people sharing their first warning signs. Experts always cautioned:If you’ve met one person with dementia, you’ve met one person with dementia.But the commentators had their commonalities, and name-forgetting was always at the top of the list.
Once inside, Nell carried her parents’ luggage to the spare room upstairs before joining them in the kitchen—the large, light-filled room at the back of the house, where French windows opened onto the stone patio. Bobby flicked the kettle on and rummaged through the cupboards above the counter, searching for tea and coffee. Nell pulled three mugs from the stand beside the kettle and located the jars for him.
“You alright, love?” Bobby asked, his voice dropping low enough that Cate, who had wandered outside, wouldn’t hear. “You look a bit peaky.”
Nell spooned coffee into one mug and added tea bags to the other two, her hands moving automatically as she opened a packet of milk chocolate Hobnobs that she’d bought especially for them. “Tired, Dad, that’s all. Look, it’s warm enough to sit outside. Shall we take the drinks out there?”
“Good idea.”
Cate was already strolling around the garden, naming plants in both English and Latin with ease. For a moment, Nell felt reassured. Her mother’s voice carried a familiar rhythm, and the sight of her moving among the flowers brought a flicker of normalcy. As they settled at the picnic bench—Nell and Bobby with their drinks—she talked them through the changes she’d made to the garden since their last visit.
The garden had been one of the house’s main selling points when she and Danny bought it in 2003: a four-bedroom, semi-detached house in Pollokshields, set within a spacious walled garden. They’d repaired the greenhouse and shed along the back wall, and Nell had restored a set of ancient picnic benches she’d salvaged from the dump, their rustic charm complementing the polished driftwood she’d artfully arranged. Wildflowers—meadow buttercups, oxeye daisies, and corn poppies—softened the not-quite-manicured lawn.
As they sat, Cate meandered around the garden, her circuit slow but deliberate.
“Artie’s worried about Mum,” Nell said softly.
Bobby sipped his coffee, his expression unreadable. “She’s forgetful. So am I a lot of the time. That’s all there is to it.”
Ah. The denial Artie had mentioned.
“I promised him I’d convince you to take her to the GP. Are you still with Dr Rivers?”
