The Breakdown(65)

‘You may as well put this one in as well.’ Startled, I whip round and see Matthew standing bare-chested, his shirt in his hand. ‘Sorry, did I scare you?’

‘Not really,’ I say, flustered.

‘You looked as if you were miles away.’

‘I’m fine.’

I take the shirt from him and add it to the machine.

I close the door and stand there, my mind a blank.

‘Is everything all right?’

‘No,’ I say, my voice tight.

‘Is it what I said about you having a lazy day?’ he says, contrite. ‘I was only joking.’

‘It’s not that.’

‘What then?’

My face burns. ‘I can’t remember how to turn on

the machine.’

The silence only lasts a few seconds but it seems

longer. ‘It’s fine, I’ll do it,’ he says quickly, reaching around me. ‘There, no harm done.’

‘Of course there’s harm done!’ I cry, incensed. ‘If I can no longer remember how to turn on the washing machine, it means my brain’s not working properly!’

The Breakdown

247

‘Hey,’ he says gently. ‘It’s all right.’ He tries to put his arms around me but I shake him off.

‘No!’ I cry. ‘I’m fed-up of pretending that everything’s all right when it’s not!’

I push past him, march through the kitchen and out

to the garden. The cool air calms me but the increasingly rapid disintegration of my memory is terrifying.

Matthew gives me a while, then follows me out and

sits down next to me.

‘You need to read the letter from Dr Deakin,’ he says quietly.

I go cold. ‘What letter from Dr Deakin?’

‘The one that came last week.’

‘I didn’t see it.’ Even as I speak I have a vague recol-lection of seeing a letter with the stamp of the surgery on the envelope.

‘You must have – it was lying on the side with all the others you haven’t opened yet.’

I think of the pile of letters addressed to me that have accumulated over the past couple of weeks because I can’t be bothered to deal with them.

‘I’ll sort through them tomorrow,’ I say, suddenly

scared.

‘That’s what you said a couple of days ago when I

asked you about them. The thing is—’ He stops, looking awkward.

‘What?’

‘I opened the one from the surgery.’

My mouth drops open. ‘You opened my mail?’





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b a paris


‘Only the one from the surgery,’ he says quickly.

‘And only because you didn’t seem to be dealing with it. I thought it might be important, that maybe Dr Deakin wanted to see you, or change your medication or something.’

‘You had no right,’ I say glaring at him. ‘Where is it?’

‘Where you left it.’ Hiding the fear I feel with anger, I march into the kitchen and go through the pile of letters until I find it. My fingers shake as I take the single sheet of paper from the already opened envelope and unfold it. The words dance before my eyes: ‘ spoken to a specialist about your symptoms’; ‘ like to refer you for tests’; ‘ early-onset dementia’; ‘ Please make an appointment as soon as possible. ’

The letter falls from my hands. Early-onset dementia.

I roll the words around in my mouth, trying them for size. Through the open door, a bird picks up the words and begins chirruping, early-onset dementia, early-onset dementia, early-onset dementia.

Matthew’s arms come round me but I remain rigid

with fear. ‘Well, now you know,’ I say, my voice shaky with tears. ‘Satisfied?’

‘Of course not! How could you say that? I’m just sad.

And angry.’

‘That you married me?’

‘No, never that.’

‘If you want to leave me, you can. It’s not as if I don’t have enough money to go into the best home there is.’

He gives me a little shake. ‘Hey, don’t say things like that. I’ve told you before, I have no intention of leaving The Breakdown





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you, ever. And Dr Deakin only wants to refer you for


tests.’

‘But what if it turns out I do have it? I know what it’s going to be like, I know how impossibly frustrating it’s going to be for you.’

‘If that time comes, we’ll face it together. We still have years ahead of us, Cass, and they could be very good years, even if it turns out that you do have dementia.

Anyway, there’ll be medication you can take to slow it down. Please don’t start worrying before there’s something to worry about. I know it’s hard, but you have to stay positive.’

I somehow get through the rest of the evening but I feel so frightened. How can I stay positive when I can’t remember how the microwave or the washing machine works? I remember Mum and the kettle and the hot

tears start all over again. How long will it be before I can no longer remember how to make myself a simple cup of tea? How long will it be before I can no longer dress myself? Matthew, seeing how down I am, tells me that things could be worse, so I ask him what could be worse than losing my mind and when he can’t answer I feel bad for putting him on the spot. I know it’s no good being angry with him when he’s trying his best to remain positive. But it’s that shooting the messenger thing. It’s hard to feel grateful when he’s robbed me of my last bit of hope, that it was something other than dementia that was causing my memory loss.