The First Mistake(50)

She patted my hand.

‘Now, you see next to the purple rhododendron bush, there’s a delphinium, well that was one I planted in the springtime and look at it now. The gardener said to me, “Joyce, you shouldn’t put that there, it’ll get overshadowed by the hornbeam.”’

‘Mum loves her plants,’ Thomas said, smiling.

‘But I stood my ground,’ she went on. ‘And look how beautiful it is.’

She certainly seemed to know her stuff, as the window perfectly framed the wild English flowerbed she’d helped create.

‘That’s why I always like to sit here. This is my special place.’ She looked out wistfully, seemingly lost in thought.

‘What did you have for dinner last night, Mum?’ asked Thomas.

She smiled. ‘We had a tea dance yesterday afternoon, so we had sandwiches and scones and a band came in to play. Oh Frank, you would have loved it; they sang all our favourite songs. Do you remember that song we had at our wedding? ‘Raindrops Keep Fallin’ On My Head’. Well, I danced to that with Eileen, because you weren’t here, but I imagined it was you.’

‘I remember,’ said Thomas, throwing me a rueful glance.

I looked at him, suddenly aware of how painfully difficult this must be. Who could possibly imagine that the woman who had rocked you in her arms, snuggled down beside you in bed to read you a story, been the only person who could comfort you when you fell and hurt yourself, would ever mistake you for someone else? Or at times, stare straight through you as if she’s never seen you before. The cruelty of the disease rocked me to the core and I felt a new sense of love and respect for Thomas as he pretended to be the husband his mother had separated from over twenty years ago.

‘And what was that song we used to sing to our boy?’ Joyce went on. ‘You know the one . . . dom, dom, where it began . . .’ Thomas shrugged his shoulders and looked away, embarrassed, as she sung louder. ‘You can’t begin to know it . . .’

‘“Sweet Caroline”,’ called out her nearest neighbour, whose head I couldn’t even see over the top of the chair.

‘That’s it Maude, join in.’

Joyce picked up my hand and we swayed our arms above our heads, as the impromptu singalong gained momentum. Clearly Maude was of the loudest voice, despite her feet not being able to touch the ground.

Even one of the nurses, who was administering tablets in little plastic cups, was singing her heart out. I couldn’t help but smile as I joined in the chorus, the scene reminiscent of something out of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

‘Why don’t you join in with your song?’ I teased Thomas, as he looked increasingly uncomfortable.

‘Now would be a good time to go,’ he said, smiling and rolling his eyes. ‘We’re going to head off now, Mum,’ he said over the din.

Suddenly her eyes narrowed as she looked at him. ‘Who are you?’ she said, abruptly. ‘What do you want?’

‘Mum, it’s me,’ he said as he knelt down in front of her, taking her hand in his.

‘Get away from me,’ she shouted, physically pushing herself back in her chair. ‘Nurse, nurse, help. Somebody help me.’

Her panic was increasing with every syllable and I moved out of the way as two uniformed nurses rushed towards her.

‘It’s okay, Joyce,’ one of them said as they restrained her. ‘You’re safe.’

‘But he’s here, he’s here.’ She was screaming, her hands shaking as her arms flailed.

‘You should go,’ one of them said, turning to us.

I couldn’t stop tears springing to my eyes, my confusion seemingly akin to Joyce’s own.

‘We need to calm her down,’ the nurse said. ‘It would be better if you went.’

She was still screaming, ‘He’s here, he’s here,’ as we quickly walked away down the corridor.





22


‘I’m sorry about that,’ Thomas said as we drove away from the care home. His jaw was twitching involuntarily, making him look like he was struggling to contain his true feelings.

‘Are you okay?’ I asked.

He bit down on his lip and turned away. ‘It’s so difficult to see her like that,’ he said. ‘She was such a different woman when . . .’ His voice cracked. ‘When she was my mum.’

I put my hand over his, resting on the automatic gearbox. There was nothing I could say, even if I could get past the lump that was lodged in my throat.

‘She was incredible,’ he choked. ‘She was the woman who remembered everybody’s birthday and had a card and the perfect present wrapped and ready the day before. She was the wife who turned heads whenever she walked into a room, on the arm of her proud husband. She was the mother who stayed up all night to make me a Gremlin costume, only to get to school the next morning to find that it wasn’t fancy dress until the following week!’

I sensed an uplift in his tone. ‘I trust she took you home to change?’

He shook his head and smiled. ‘No, she figured it would do me good – make me more aware. It was the hardest lesson I’ve ever had to learn – imagine sitting there, amongst my uniformed friends, wrapped in fur with huge cardboard bat wings for ears. I’ve never got my days muddled up again.’