Where the Memories Lie
By: Sibel Hodge
‘Of course you’re not stupid.’ I pointed out of the window to a rhododendron bush in full bloom, trying to distract him. ‘What’s the name of that bush, Tom?’ I knew it, but I wanted to try and calm him down.
‘That one?’ His face softened as he pointed a shaky finger towards it. ‘It’s a Rhododendron arborescens. I planted one in our garden once for Nadia. I took all the kids to the garden centre and got them to each pick out a cocktail they liked.’
I knew he didn’t really mean cocktail. He obviously meant plant.
‘Then we named the cocktail after them. Every birthday, I’d hide a present under their cocktail for them when they came back from school.’ He chuckled gently. ‘They used to love it.’
‘I bet they did. And do you remember doing your yearly Easter egg hunt for Anna and Charlotte? Hiding all that chocolate in the garden for them to find?’ Tom had enjoyed watching the girls screeching and giggling all round the garden so much, he’d done it right up until he sold the house to us, and even though they were nearly thirteen and seventeen now and a bit too old for it, Ethan and I still carried on the tradition Tom had started.
He smiled and nodded, but I didn’t know if my words had registered. ‘How’s Ryan?’
‘Who’s Ryan?’
He looked at me quizzically. ‘You know.’
‘No, Tom. Is he an old friend?’
‘He’s your son.’
‘I have a daughter. Anna – remember? She’s doing really well at school, although they’re breaking up for the summer holidays in a few days.’
‘I hope he calls you. It’s not nice when your children don’t keep in touch. You worry about them, don’t you?’
I always thought it was best not to dwell on the memories he now got wrong, so I steered him in another direction. ‘Charlotte’s 14
Where the Memories Lie studying hard for her exams. Next term she’ll be going to sixth form college. I can’t believe how fast the time goes.’
‘Fast,’ he repeated, nodding softly.
‘Mary said you’d mentioned someone called Georgia. Who’s she? I haven’t heard you talk about her before.’
He gripped my hand hard. ‘You have to find her. She’s haunting me.’
‘What do you mean?’
He jerked forward, eyes wide. ‘She won’t leave me alone.’
I rubbed his arm soothingly. ‘It’s OK, Tom. She’s not really here. It’s just me.’
‘No!’ He pushed my hand away.
‘Who is she, then? Why is she haunting you?’
‘When I go to sleep.’
‘It’s just a dream, that’s all. A recurring dream. I used to have one about—’ I stopped abruptly. I used to have one when I was eighteen, about people who wanted to kill me, chasing me through an abandoned hotel somewhere abroad. It had gone on for about two years in the end. But it was probably best not to mention something so miserable to him in case he fixated on it. ‘Anna’s been having one about finding a horse in the garden,’ I said instead. Yes, much more pleasant.
His brown eyes flashed dark with hatred, making him look nothing like the gentle giant of a man I once knew.
‘She knows.’
‘Knows what?’
He gripped the arms of the chair, lifting himself up. ‘I want to get out! You can’t keep me in here!’
‘OK. It’s OK. Let me help you with your slippers, though.’
I worked his feet into a pair of moccasins with hard soles that Ethan and I had bought before he came into the home. ‘Do you want to go for a walk in the grounds? Get some fresh air?’
15
Sibel Hodge
‘Can we go to Durdle Door?’