Words tumble from her mouth, but I can’t make sense of what she’s saying. Her eyes fix onto something in the distance only she can see. She pauses, turns to me briefly but just as quickly looks away. ‘Harold’s such a wonderful man. My husband, have you met him? He’s brilliant. Fantastic. There’s nothing that man can’t do, you know.’
It’s as if my question flicked a switch. I shift my legs sideways until I’m facing her. ‘That’s nice. He sounds like a great man.’ I try to draw her back. ‘What girl were you talking about, Hattie?’
‘Girl?’ She stares at me blankly. Her eyebrows furrow. ‘I don’t know what you mean, dear.’
For a moment, I wonder if she’s winding me up. Playing games this situation doesn’t warrant. But as she asks again what time Harold is coming home, I doubt she is.
Frustrated, I wait in silence, patiently hoping her inconsistent mind will return to her thoughts from last night. I want to know which girl she meant. Daisy and I look nothing alike. In my mind anyway. Mum has always said we have similar mannerisms. The way we cock our head when asking an important question. The way we gesticulate when we’re talking about something we’re passionate about. So I don’t think Hattie can mean my sister. But she must’ve meant someone. I try a different tack. ‘How do you get on with Beth, Hattie?’
‘Beth?’ Her head trembles. ‘Who’s she?’
‘Beth, your daughter-in-law.’
‘Oh, Beth. She’s a dear. Lovely woman. Too good for him.’
I fake a laugh. ‘Too good for your son, you mean?’
‘Sorry?’
This is hard work.‘Yes, Beth is nice,’ I say. ‘She’s been through it.’
‘Through it. What do you mean, dear?’
I let the silence linger. I’m gaining little from this conversation, but I can’t blame her. I think of my granny. Thiscondition is wretched. An indiscriminate disease that has no mercy.
She gives a childlike giggle. ‘I remember when Harold and I went skinny-dipping in that lake.’
‘Hattie, you saucy minx!’ I nudge her, which heightens her amusement. She breaks into hysterical laughter, bending forward and laughing into her lap. I place my hand on her back. ‘Are you OK?’
She sits up abruptly as if she’s found some energy in her laughter. ‘We used to spend most of our summers out here.’
‘Really?’ I thought she moved in with Beth and Justin when the dementia got to a point she could no longer cope living by herself. Is this another delusion, or was this place once hers? ‘So you used to live here, then?’
‘Oh yes, dear.’
I press her. ‘Hattie. You mentioned another girl. A girl you said looked just like me. Who was she?’
‘What girl?’
‘Last night at dinner,’ I say, exasperated. ‘Who did you mean?’
She drops her head and arches her brows.
Why won’t she just tell me? ‘Who do I look like?’ I say gently.
After a pause, she says, ‘I’ve seen some things in my time, I can tell you.’ Her head tilts. ‘All sorts of shenanigans.’
‘Why don’t you tell me all about them?’
Her face crumples, and she appears to lose her train of thought, masking it by tapping her nose. ‘All in good time. Patience is a virtue, my dear. Did your mum never teach you that?’
She didn’t, but Granny did.
I can’t figure out what she’s talking about. This disjointed conversation is exasperating. It’s all nonsense – an offshoot of her awful condition. A wave of sadness overcomes me: for her,for my granny and for all the people who suffer this horrendous disease.
I don’t want to upset her, so I leave it there and peer around the estate. It’s impressive. But for all its grandeur, the place is too quiet, too neat. The raised hairs on my arms say I’m being watched. But Beth told me there’s no CCTV outside, only an alarm system in the house. I would’ve thought in a place like this, the size and it’s remote location, there’d be cameras up everywhere. But she said only the postman and delivery drivers ever come here, so apart from security lights at the back of the house and a video doorbell at the front, they never bothered replacing the old CCTV system the previous owners left behind. I shudder. Perhaps that’s because they don’t want evidence of what really goes on here.
I spot Justin leaving the main house and stomping towards what looks like a newish stable block made of high-quality timber joined to a two-storey outhouse. The bottom storey houses a well-equipped glass-fronted gym, and the top storey, his office, Beth told me. I bet it gets hot in that gym. A string of lights runs along the front of the whole building, and colourful containers of summer blossom line the base. Is he a man on a mission going to his office, or is he angry about something? I can’t quite work it out.
