‘You look like you are crying.’
‘Let’s just get you cleaned up ...’
Later that same day, Molly pieced together a jigsaw of jungle animals, Nora sat on the sofa stroking Plato as his warm, weighty head rested on her lap. She stared at the ornate chess set that was sitting there on the mahogany chest.
A thought rose slowly, and she dismissed it. But then it rose again.
As soon as Ash came home, she told him she wanted to see an old friend from Bedford and wouldn’t be back for a few hours.
No Longer Here
As soon as Nora entered Oak Leaf Residential Care Home, and before she’d even reached the reception, she saw a frail elderly man wearing glasses whom she recognised. He was having a slightly heated conversation with a nurse who looked exasperated. Like a sigh turned into a human.
‘I really would like to go in the garden,’ the old man said.
‘I’m sorry, but the garden is being used today.’
‘I just want to sit on the bench. And read the newspaper.’
‘Maybe if you’d signed up for the gardening activity session—’
‘I don’t want a gardening session. I want to call Dhavak. This was all a mistake.’
Nora had heard her old neighbour talk about his son Dhavak before, when she had dropped off his medication. Apparently his son had been pushing for him to go to a care home, but Mr Banerjee had insisted on holding on to his house. ‘Is there no way I can just—’
He noticed, at this point, that he was being stared at.
‘Mr Banerjee?’
He stared at Nora, confused. ‘Hello? Who are you?’
‘I’m Nora. You know, Nora Seed.’ Then, feeling too flustered to think, she added: ‘I’m your neighbour. On Bancroft Avenue.’
He shook his head. ‘I think you’ve made a mistake, dear. I haven’t lived there for three years. And I am very sure you were not my neighbour.’
The nurse tilted her head at Mr Banerjee, as if he was a confused puppy. ‘Maybe you’ve forgotten.’
‘No,’ said Nora quickly, realising her mistake. ‘He was right. I was confused. I have memory issues sometimes. I never lived there. It was somewhere else. And someone else. I’m sorry.’
They resumed their conversation, as Nora thought about Mr Banerjee’s front garden full of irises and foxgloves.
‘Can I help you?’
She turned to look at the receptionist. A mild-mannered, red-haired man with glasses and blotched skin and a gentle Scottish accent.
She told him who she was and that she had phoned earlier.
He was a little confused at first.
‘And you say you left a message?’
He hummed a quiet tune as he searched for her email.
‘Yes, but on the phone. I was trying for ages to get through and I couldn’t so I eventually left a message. I emailed as well.’
‘Ah, right, I see. Well, I’m sorry about that. Are you here to see a family member?’
‘No,’ Nora explained. ‘I am not family. I am just someone who used to know her. She’d know me, though. Her name is Mrs Elm.’ Nora tried to remember the full name. ‘Sorry. It’s Louise Elm. If you told her my name, Nora. Nora Seed. She used to be my ... She was the school librarian, at Hazeldene. I just thought she might like some company.’
