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Still, it was a little bit disconcerting, to see new things in a place she’d freeze-framed in her mind. She’d assumed in some way, without ever realising she’d done it, that nothing ever changed in the old farmhouse. Her sister and father were here, day in and day out, exactly as they’d always been, but clearly that wasn’t the case. Her sister had bought a mixing bowl and a painting; had she changed in other, significant ways? Rachel realised, somewhat uncomfortably, that she didn’t have the first clue.
As if summoned by her thoughts, Harriet rounded the doorway, humming under her breath, coming to a stop and a scowl as she caught sight of Rachel sitting at the table, eating scrambled eggs on toast. Harriet’s gaze flashed to the basket, and then the loaf of the bread, and the scowl deepened.
“Did you use some of the eggs?”
“Yes, just three,” Rachel said, keeping her voice mild. “I thought it would be all right.”
“And the bread?” Harriet whipped the cloth off the loaf that had a single slice cut from it; Rachel hadn’t thought much about it but now she wondered if Harriet had been saving it—but for what?
“Yes, just one slice,” she said, meaning to sound conciliatory and not quite managing it. “I’m sorry, I was hungry.”
“You could have asked,” Harriet replied, her mouth tight as she covered the bread with the cloth. “Or did that not occur to you?”
No, it hadn’t, because even if she’d been away a long time, this was still home. “I’m sorry, it didn’t,” she admitted. She knew she didn’t sound very sorry, but that was because Harriet was sohostile. “I suppose I assumed the food in the kitchen was for family consumption.” Was she not considered family anymore? “Were you saving them for something?”
“As it happens, I was,” Harriet snapped. “But never mind.”
Rachel wasn’t sure whether to believe her; there was something decidedly cagey about her tone, but she decided she would be the bigger person and apologise, anyway, properly. “In that case, I really am sorry I used them. If you need more eggs, I can run into Mathering and buy some.” Even though there were at least nine still left in the basket. “Or a loaf of bread,” she added. “From the bakery?”
“Thanks but no thanks,” Harriet replied, and now she sounded weary. “That’s not the point.”
Then what, Rachel wondered, was the point? Or had Harriet just wanted to pick a fight, as she always seemed to?
“I spoke to Dad,” she said. “He’s willing to go to the memory clinic tomorrow.”
“Oh, well done,” Harriet said, her voice full of sarcasm, and Rachel blinked.
“Sorry, but that is why I came?” she retorted, an edge to her voice.
“I don’t recall asking you to,” Harriet shot back.
“I don’t recall you being able to make him go,” Rachel returned with just as much force. She’d actually forgotten just how much they could bicker. “Look,” she cut off her sister’s furious reply, “I don’t actually want to argue with you. I just want to hear about what’s been happening. Dad said you made the appointment with the memory clinic—why? What kind of things were you noticing?”
Harriet looked like she still wanted to fly at Rachel, but she closed her mouth and gave a shrug, and when she spoke again, her voice was more measured. “A couple of things. He was complaining about headaches, and you know how he is with pain.”
Yes, Rachel knew. Her father had once sliced off the top of his thumb and he’d said, mildly, that it ‘stung a bit’.
“But more than that,” Harriet continued, “he was forgetting things. Little things, but it felt strange.”
“What kind of little things?”
“Words, mostly. He’d be in the middle of a sentence, and he’d suddenly forget a word, like, a really basic word. But bigger things too—he went into the barn and couldn’t remember why he was there.” Harriet regarded her unhappily. “And the cows needed milking. He came back into the kitchen after about five minutes, and I had to remind him what he was supposed to be doing.”
“Okay,” Rachel said, absorbing this, unsure how alarming it all was. “How long has it been going on?”
“A couple of months. He’s pretty good at masking it, so it might have been longer. After the episode with the cows, I finally decided to call the clinic. That was about three weeks ago, and tomorrow was the first appointment they had available.”
“Do you think it’s Alzheimer’s?” Rachel asked bluntly. Their father’s mother had had it, and she’d died in a nursing home when they’d both been small. Rachel barely remembered her—just a wispy-haired, vacant-eyed figure in a bed they’d had to visit every other Sunday.
Harriet shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s why I booked the appointment.”
“But you weren’t even going to make him go,” Rachel pointed out, an edge entering her voice that she hadn’t meant to be there. “And you didn’t even call me to let me know about any of it.”
“Why would I have called you?” Harriet asked, like it was a genuine question. She looked almost confused by Rachel mentioning it.
“Because he’s my father, maybe?” Rachel suggested. Definite edge to her voice now, serrating it, slicing like a blade, but come on. She had come home a few times over the years, for important things. Birthdays, when Harriet had had pneumonia and her dad had needed help with the farm, the anniversary of their mother’s leaving, when Harriet had seemed low. She hadn’t been completely out of the picture, even if Harriet acted as if she had. Even if she’d wondered, on more than one occasion, if it would be better for both of them if she was.
“Oh, is he?” Harriet replied in a parody of surprise, smacking her forehead with her hand. “Because I must have forgot, the way you forget ninety-nine per cent of the time.”
