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‘It’s not your fault,’ Paul says as he returns and finds me in the kitchen. ‘Honestly, I’ve seen it happen with all the girls I’ve volunteered for. One day they know who I am, the next, it’s like they’ve never seen me before and want me off their property. Confusion and violence are part and parcel of the disease.’
‘Sometimes I’m convinced she hates me,’ I say.
‘She directs her pain at you because she has no one else to take it out on.’
‘I’m trying my best ...’ I can’t finish what I was going to say because I choke up again.
‘And you’re doing a great job,’ he adds, then pulls me in to his chest. I’m so close that I feel his heartbeat against my cheek. I don’t know to respond. I’m so unused to this level of physical interaction that it’s alien.
‘Leave her with me for the afternoon,’ Paul suggests as he lets me go. ‘Go home, chill out, read a book, enjoy a few hours of you time. And I bet when you get back, she’s as right as rain. And why don’t you and I go out one night? When was the last time you went out of an evening?’
His offer and question fluster me. ‘I ... I don’t know.’
‘Can you find someone to sit with Gwen?’
‘Yes, probably.’
‘I’ll leave it in your hands then. Just let me know when.’
‘Thank you,’ I reply, thrilled with his offer.
When I return later that afternoon, they are still out in the garden and they’re sitting at the table playing poker.
‘Oh Connie, have you met Paul?’ she asks when I approach them. ‘He’s volunteered to tidy our garden.’
I smile. ‘What a kind man,’ I say.
‘What a kind man indeed,’ she replies.
CHAPTER 6
CONNIE
What is wrong with me? I hold my left hand out far enough to register that it’s not my imagination, it’s actually trembling. Am I really this nervous? No, it must be the vibrations coming from Paul’s van. I move my hand back quickly before he sees what I’m doing. But his eyes appear firmly fixed on the road. I need to chill out. It’s only a dinner, I remind myself.
We’ve chatted a lot on our way to the restaurant, and once inside, the conversation flows just as smoothly until we pause to pick from the menu. He picks an antipasti board for us to share as a starter and opts for a smoked-salmon penne main for himself, while I choose the chicken alfredo tagliatelle. I become tongue-tied and struggle to pronounce the tagliatelle part. Instead, I say titty-telly and die a little inside. I have a glass of red wine; he has an alcohol-free beer.
‘You must be a connoisseur of Italian food,’ he says and I look to him, a little confused. ‘After all that time you spent working there,’ he prompts.
‘Yes, sorry.’ I laugh awkwardly. ‘Although it’s not so great if you’re on a no-carb diet, as pasta comes with everything.’
‘So are you a dab hand at cooking Italian too? I don’t see you as a frozen meal or Pot Noodle kind of girl.’
‘I don’t get the opportunity to cook nice meals very often. She won’t eat anything other than plain, British food nowadays. When I tried to give her a croissant and a pain au chocolat for breakfast she looked at me as if I was trying to poison her.’
‘Ah yes,’ he says. ‘She was in Germany and Spain for a while, wasn’t she?’ I don’t remember telling him about that. ‘Gwen mentioned it when I sat with her the other afternoon,’ he adds.
‘She and Dad travelled around a lot.’
‘Which I suppose is where you get your love of travel from.’
‘I guess so.’
As we eat, Paul asks me more about my work in Italy, about the couples I planned weddings for and when I hope to return. He asks me if it was a difficult choice to give it all up and become a carer instead of finding a suitable nursing home to put her in. ‘I couldn’t do that,’ I tell him. ‘I know a lot of children do when their parents get sick and I absolutely don’t judge them for that, but it’s not what I want for her right now.’
‘Don’t you get lonely?’ he asks. ‘Spending all day, every day with her. Putting your life on hold for her.’
I can’t deny that yes, it’s exactly how I feel. Unseen and unnoticed. Which is why I was a little taken aback when he asked me out for dinner. Someone had noticed me beyond the role I play. ‘As a carer, there are times when I feel invisible to the world,’ I explain. ‘It’s not a nine-to-five job, there are no holidays, there’s rarely any support and never any thanks. You just get on with it because that person you’re caring for is wholly reliant on you and you don’t want to let them down.’
