Page 37 of The Art of Loving You

‘And why did it mean so much to you?’ Jack had brushed dry sand from his hands as he stood.

‘I thought …’ I considered how to put it into words. ‘I thought that this was it …’ I swept my arm across the coastline. ‘The ocean, the beach, the long grass. But then suddenly there was this hidden world. There never used to be anything covering it up so me and Alice would run through the tunnels exploring. The first time we found it I had a disposable camera with me and I remember getting the film developed and seeing the pictures of us just feet away from the bunker before we knew it was there and then the excitement on our faces after we’d discovered it.I realised that’ – again I gestured to our surroundings – ‘what we see is rarely all that there is. There’s so much under the surface that we can’t even imagine. Sometimes we’re lucky enough to uncover it but sometimes we have no idea it even exists.’ The breeze blew my hair across my face and I tucked it behind my ears. ‘There’s an entire world waiting to be discovered. Imagine? That’s when I first became interested in photography. Wanting to capture the hidden things, a look, an emotion.’ I tugged the metal ring of the manhole fruitlessly but it didn’t budge. ‘An entire universe.’

‘How old were you?’ Jack asked.

‘About ten.’

‘Blimey, that’s deep. Whenever I went to the seaside around that age I was obsessed with rock.’

‘Geology?’

‘Sticks of.’ He grinned.

‘Then we must get you some.’

‘And that’s why I love you.’

He’d never said it before and my expression must have demonstrated my surprise because he had cupped my cheeks with his hands, fingers holding my hair back away from the wind that whipped around us.

‘I. Love. You,’ he said again.

He kissed me, his lips sea salt and hope and something else, home.

‘I love you too.’ And right there, right then, it was everything I ever wanted.

Later, we found a small shop, yellow, green and blue buckets and spades stacked outside, a stand crammed full of wish-youwere-here postcards. Jack picked out three sticks of rock for £1.00. A pink minty one, a striped fruit one, a black aniseed one. I hadn’t asked him what his favourite flavour was.

Now I would never know.

Before I came to the nursing home I’d never understood the expression ‘the air seemed thicker’ but here it was heavier. Stagnant. A smell that was both familiar and not, lingering in the myriad corridors that I travelled down, my feet swallowed by the dark brown pile carpet. However did residents with dementia navigate this place? There were many rooms, straight-backed chairs pushed against sensibly painted walls. A splash of cheap art breaking up the endless magnolia. A TV blaring in the corner of the main lounge. Almost everyone here asleep, thick blankets covering knees, and those who were awake were staring into space, somewhere else, somewhere happier I hoped.

The conservatory at the back of the building was lighter. Brighter. It was here all the action took place, Sid had told us when we’d moved him in. It was here we always found him when we visited, playing dominoes, cards, betting matchsticks and sometimes money. Crunching Rich Tea biscuits and slurping tea.

Not today though. Frowning I asked one of the carers, ‘Where’s Sid?’

She shrugged. ‘In his room?’

Upstairs I tentatively tapped on his door. ‘Sid?’ I stepped inside. Guiltily he dropped the cigarette in his hand, closing the window and wafting his hand to dispel the lingering smell of tobacco.

‘Sid! There’s smoke alarms everywhere. They’ll chuck you out.’

Normally he’d have a retort – ‘they’d have to catch me first’ or something similar – but today there was nothing.

‘Sid?’ I dropped to my haunches and took his liver-spotted hand, rubbing his fingers with my thumb. I could feel his bones underneath his loose skin. He’d lost weight.

Our eyes met for a few seconds, long enough for us to recognise the terrible loss we had both experienced before he lowered his gaze to his lap.

‘I’m sorry I haven’t been in to see you.’ My throat swelled – his pain was swallowing him whole.

‘That’s okay, Libby duck. I’ve been grateful for our phone calls.’

‘Even though we didn’t speak half the time.’ I tried to smile, to lift his sprits.

‘Sometimes, there just isn’t anything to say. That’s doesn’t stop your mum from nattering away though.’ This time, it was him trying to cheer me up.

‘Mum’s called you?’

‘She came to visit a couple of days ago. We shared our memories of young Jack. She bought me wine gums.’ He picked up the open packet on his table and offered me one. I shook my head trying to process the fact that Mum had come to check on Sid; it was such a kind thing to do. Shewaskind.

---