The Breakdown(67)

‘Please.’

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I place a cup on the stand and take a capsule from


the rack.

‘So, how are you?’ Rachel asks.

‘Fine,’ I say. ‘What about you? How was your trip?’

I go on, keeping it purposefully vague because I can’t remember where she went.

‘Same as usual. Guess what I bought at the airport

on the way back?’

I put the capsule into the slot but instead of sliding in it stays sticking out of the top.

‘What?’ I ask, trying to push it in.

‘An Omega watch.’

I take the capsule out and try again, aware of

Matthew’s eyes on me. ‘Wow. It must be gorgeous,’ I say. The capsule still won’t go down.

‘It is. I thought I’d treat myself.’

I press down on the capsule, trying to force it in.

‘Dead right,’ I say. ‘You deserve it.’

‘You have to lift the lever first,’ Matthew says quietly.

My face burning, I do as he says and the capsule slips into place.

‘Why don’t I take over?’ he suggests. ‘Maybe you

and Rachel would like to sit in the garden. I’ll bring the coffee out.’

‘Thanks,’ I say gratefully.

‘Are you all right?’ Rachel asks, once we’re on the terrace. ‘Maybe I should have phoned first but I was in Browbury this morning and thought I’d drop in on impulse.’





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‘Don’t worry, it’s not you, it’s me,’ I say, making her laugh. ‘I couldn’t remember how to work the coffee machine. First it was the microwave, then the washing machine. Now it’s the coffee machine. Next I’ll be forgetting how to dress myself.’ I pause a moment,

steadying myself to make the big announcement. ‘It

seems I might have early-onset dementia.’

‘Yes, you told me a couple of weeks ago.’

‘Oh,’ I say, deflated.

‘You haven’t been for the tests yet, have you?’

‘No, not yet.’

‘What about the pills? Are you still taking them?’

‘Yes.’ I lower my voice. ‘But I never take any at weekends because I don’t want Matthew to know how much they affect me. I just pretend to take them and hide them in my drawer.’

She frowns at this. ‘Cass! Surely, if they affect you that much, you shouldn’t be taking them at all! Or at least be taking a smaller dose.’

‘Maybe, but I don’t want to. Without them I wouldn’t make it through the week. They make me forget I’m alone in the house, they make me forget about the phone calls.’

‘Are you still getting them?’

‘On and off.’

She places a hand on my arm. ‘You have to tell the

police, Cass.’

I glance up at her. ‘What’s the point? I don’t suppose they’d be able to do anything.’

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‘You don’t know that. Maybe they could put a trace on


your incoming calls or something. What does Matthew think?’

‘He thinks I’m not getting them anymore.’

‘Here comes Matthew with our coffee,’ she interrupts loudly, warning me of his arrival. He puts a cup down in front of her and she looks up at him sweetly. ‘Thank you.’

‘Just shout if you want a refill.’

‘We will.’

She leaves an hour later, offering to come and pick me up the following Friday and take me out for the evening. She knows I don’t trust myself to drive and I hate that I now have to rely on people to take me out and about. The regret I feel for the life I used to have is like a physical pain. But it isn’t dementia that has robbed me of my independence, I realise, though that day may one day come. It’s the guilt and fear that have riddled my every waking moment since I drove past Jane’s car two months ago. It’s guilt and fear that have diminished me. If Jane hadn’t happened, if I hadn’t met her, if she hadn’t been murdered, I would have been able to cope with the news that I have early-onset dementia. I would have faced it head-on and would, at this very moment, be looking at my options instead of spending my days asleep on the sofa.

The realisation of what I’ve become, and why I’ve

become as I am, is a massive wake-up call. It snaps me out of my lethargy and makes me determined to take





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some positive action. I think about what I can do to turn my life around, or at least start getting it back on track, and decide to go back to Heston. If anyone can help me in my quest for peace of mind, it has to be Alex, Jane’s husband. I don’t expect him to take away the guilt that I feel because it will always be with me.

But he had seemed a kind and compassionate man and

if he sees that I’m truly sorry for not stopping to help Jane that night, he might find it in his heart to forgive me. And then maybe, just maybe, I might be able to start forgiving myself. I might even be able to do something about the fear, nurtured oh-so-carefully by my silent caller. I’m not so na?ve as to think that all my problems are going to be solved with one trip to Heston. But at least it’s a start.