September #4
Of course, we would have been apart during the day anyway, but not having him there in the evening, and in that small pocket of time each morning between waking and work, left me alone with nothing but my unspooling thoughts, free from their usual buffers.
I thought incessantly of my mother, my marriage, my eggs, all tumbled by waves, a mental wreckage.
Even Tom had deserted me, off on one of his extended neighbourhood adventures.
When he finally reappeared, his black-and-white coat was rough and stained and he was even more hungry than usual.
I gave him a good brush and filled, and refilled, his bowl.
While we were apart, we emailed every day, Noah and I, at least once, sometimes twice. We didn’t share much in terms of updates. Rather, each of us reminded the other that he or she was there, as had always been the case.
Thinking of you.
Sending love this morning.
Goodnight, my love.
Sweet dreams.
Every other day, we would try to talk over the phone while he ate lunch in Washington Square Park and I rode the bus home from work.
Noah must have told Daniel what was going on, because I received a kind message from him and, one evening, a visit from Griz and Allie.
‘These are for me?’ I asked when Allie presented me with a bunch of sunflowers. ‘Thank you, sweetie, they’re beautiful.’
‘They’re happy,’ she said, with sweet sincerity. Then, wrinkling her nose, ‘Where’s Uncle Noah?’
‘He’s away at the moment,’ I said, trying a bit too hard to smile, ‘teaching.’
Her nose remained wrinkled. ‘When will he be back?’
‘Soon, I think.’
‘Why isn’t he teaching here?’
‘Well—’
‘Allie,’ said Griz, ‘why don’t you go and find Tom?’
‘Tom!’
‘I bet he’s asleep on the bed,’ she said.
As Allie crept up the stairs, Griz turned to me and whispered, ‘I’m sorry, she’s been asking incessantly about Uncle Noah and Auntie Cathy, and why they no longer visit.’
I mumbled something about finding a vase and turned around before she could see my eyes fill with tears.
After a third appointment at the surgery, Edna referred us to a specialist an hour’s drive away. There was an almost four-week wait. On the train back to London, I phoned her to ask first if it was necessary and second if we could afford to delay.
In response to my first question, she told me that in some cases, patients chose not to continue with further assessments. ‘Very occasionally, they don’t want to find out if they have dementia.’
‘But surely it’s better to know what we’re dealing with?’
‘Yes, of course, it’s in everyone’s best interests.’
‘And so, in our case?’
‘I would wholeheartedly recommend it.’
I bit my lip to stop myself from asking if that was in some way a reflection on our case’s severity. ‘And the wait?’
‘I’m afraid there’s no way around it,’ she said. ‘But I don’t think we’re going to see any sudden changes over the next few weeks. From what I can gather, the rate of your mother’s deterioration so far has been fairly steady.’
She meant it as a positive. Rather than swallowing her whole, whatever was eating away at my mother was doing so in small bites.
I’d often wondered what was harder – losing a loved one suddenly, without warning, or gradually, like a bleached photograph left in the sun, the contours and colours slowly fading.
When my father’s heart stopped beating while he was searching for something to watch on TV, and he died in hospital later that night, I thought there was nothing worse.
I wasn’t ready, I didn’t have time to prepare.
The sense of loss was too blunt. But then, I hadn’t yet experienced the alternative – awaiting death as you await swelling seas.
It’s an interesting if ever so slightly morose exercise to rank a life’s worst moments. Up there with mine, for reasons unrelated to my recent nuptials, was my honeymoon.
Noah and I had been in the south of France for three and a half days when Daniel called to say their parents had been in a car accident. Everything from that one terrible moment in time is suspended in my memory like a film still, high-definition.
The warmth of the autumn rays on my limbs, slippery from sun cream.
The reflections of the afternoon light on the pristine pool stretched out in front of my toes.
The flicker of the pages of the battered paperback Noah was reading, tussled by the gentle breeze.
The strength of the Negroni he’d made me.
The vibration of his phone on the small table between us, its octagonal top a mosaic of multicoloured tiles.
Noah groaning – why is he calling me now?
– and reluctantly answering. Sitting upright on his sun lounger.
Sliding his feet to the stone floor, one and then the other. His face draining of colour.
‘Noah, is everything OK?’
His eyes closing. His palm resting on top of his shuttered lids, as if the light was still too bright.
‘Noah?’
His voice catching as he went to talk into the receiver. ‘We’ll be on the next flight.’
Tapping his screen and returning his phone to the tabletop. For a moment, neither of us speaking, neither of us moving.
Eventually, Noah turning towards me. Opening his mouth to speak, but instead of words coming out, a cry like a wounded animal’s.
As my mother waned, the seascape grew in strength.
I’d finally finished removing the overpaint and now it was time for the structural treatment, which I was due to carry out with Frank.
We hadn’t seen much of each other recently, and of course he knew I’d cut down my days.
When I emailed him saying I was ready to fix the lower wood panel and asking if he was still able to help me, he said it would be his pleasure.
I must have looked as tired and weary as I felt, because when I walked into the conservation studios, his grey eyebrows lifted.
I’d never thought of Frank as the hugging kind, even with me, but that morning, he walked towards me and gave my shoulder a squeeze, before telling me conspiratorially that he would be back in just a minute.
More like five minutes later, he returned with a hot chocolate. ‘I won’t say anything if you don’t,’ he said, when my mouth opened in surprise at this blatant breach of the rules.
‘Thank you, Frank.’
He smiled. ‘Right, get that down you and we’ll make a start.’
While I sipped my hot chocolate, he set up the painting at a workstation with a sash clamp, a bridge and a handful of props for support.
There was a fracture in the wood, which was widest at the edge and narrowed into a fine hairline crack in the centre.
First, we had to clean and prepare the fracture for gluing, removing the old varnish and any leftover glue paste with a scalpel and solvent.
Then we prepared and heated some sturgeon glue, which we fed into the split.
‘OK, that should do it,’ said Frank, moving the panel gently back and forth to ensure that the glue was evenly spread.
For the first hour, we regularly checked the level of the join with a straight edge, and after that we monitored the repair every hour.
As we worked, I thought of my mother and how much simpler things would be if I could fix her, too.
Instead, her mind was gradually crumbling, and glue wouldn’t do any good.
At the end of the month, when I was with my mother in Norfolk, Anna and Theo came to visit under the pretence that it would be good for him to get out of the city and breathe in some sea air.
I heard the crunch of wheels on gravel just as I was stirring some milk into two cups of coffee, the liquid turning from muddy brown to a more neutral beige.
I let the teaspoon fall into the sink and went to greet her.
I’d been keeping a check on my emotions in front of my mother, but now I felt a fresh wave rising.
At dinner the night before, I’d asked her to pass the pepper and, mid-mouthful, she’d leant to the side and reached into her handbag.
To begin with, I thought she hadn’t heard me, but when she swallowed and tsked, and yanked the bag up off the floor and onto her knee to get a better look, I asked what she was doing.
The look on her face when she paused then handed me the small wooden grinder standing beside the metal saltshaker in front of her plate made my chest ache.
‘Cathy!’ Anna called, as she got out of the car.
I breathed in and out and put on a smile, then I walked towards her and gave her a hug. When I went to let go, she wouldn’t allow it. At last, relinquished and trying desperately to keep a lid on my feelings, I said, ‘It’s good to see you.’
‘And you,’ she said, brushing her fingers against my elbow. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m OK,’ I said, blinking back the tears that had been waiting for this very question. ‘Thank you for coming ; you know you didn’t have to.’
‘I wanted to,’ she said. ‘We wanted to.’
‘I was going to say, have you forgotten something?’
‘Oh, my son is the worst fucking driving companion, let me tell you,’ she said, laughing, as I peered through the window into the back of the car. Apparently, Theo had been asleep before they’d left Kentish Town.
‘Do you want to wake him?’ I asked, quietly hoping that the answer would be no, and I would have her to myself for a while.
‘I’ll leave him for a bit.’
I smiled. ‘Well then, coffee?’
Back in the kitchen, my mother was on her knees on the hard tiled floor, her plaid skirt pooled around her, as she rootled in the cupboard where she kept her baking ingredients.
‘Mum, is everything OK?’
‘Fine, darling, I’m just looking for some sugar.’
‘What for?’ I asked. My voice must have risen a note or two because I felt Anna’s hand rest lightly on my shoulder.
‘For my coffee.’
‘But you don’t take sugar in your coffee?’
She reversed back from the cupboard and craned her neck to look up at me. ‘Yes, I do.’