Olivia spent the rest of the weekend, all the way up to Sunday afternoon, trying to keep herself busy and not obsess about Simon. She made a sign announcing the mulled wine and mince pies evening and propped it in the shop window, and even got a few enquiries about it.
She made three batches of shortbread and planned her next few flavours of cupcake, and during a slow moment in the shop she did some Internet shopping for her Christmas presents. She debated whether to get Simon a present and then decided it was too much, too soon. She wouldn’t even know what to get him, anyway.
Late Sunday morning she drove to Witney to visit her mum; she’d called every day to check in, but she still felt a bit anxious, and wondered if she should talk to one of the managers of her mother’s building. The retirement community was built so its residents could hold on to as much independence as possible, and at the moment Tina was living completely free of any interference.
Olivia was reluctant to change that, but what if it was necessary? Her mother had already burned herself at least twice. The last thing Olivia wanted to do was compromise her well-being—what if she needed the next level of care, someone to check in on her, a carer of some sort? Olivia instinctively dismissed the idea; her mum was her mum, matter-of-fact and completely capable…except somehow she wasn’t, anymore.
When she arrived at her mother’s flat, however, Tina was looking remarkably well put together and seemed happier and more alert than she had been in a while. She’d even put up some Christmas decorations—the old nativity set was in pride of place on the hall table.
“You decorated,” Olivia said with a delighted smile. She felt inordinately happy that her mum had made the effort.
“I thought I ought to do something,” Tina answered. “Even if it’s something small. Now how are you?”
“Good. I went on a date last night, actually.” She hadn’t told her mum about Simon yet, and she hoped it wasn’t too early to now.
“A date!” Tina smiled and clapped her hands together lightly. “Olivia, I’m so pleased. Who is this special man?”
“Simon Blacklock. He was the one who drove us to the hospital?”
“Oh yes.” Her mother’s brow crinkled, and Olivia couldn’t tell if she really remembered him or not. “How lovely. Was it nice? Where did you go?”
“Yes, it was. Very nice. We went out for a drink at the pub, and we’re going ice-skating later today.”
“So it sounds like it could be serious?” Tina’s eyes twinkled, making her look years younger.
“It’s too early to say,” Olivia said quickly. “We’re just getting to know one another. Anyway.” She moved into the kitchen, deciding it was time to change the subject. “Enough about me. How are you?”
“I’m well, all things considered.” Tina followed her into the kitchen and filled the kettle. “In some ways, it’s almost a relief,” she explained as she carefully put the kettle on the stove, watching the open flame.
“What’s a relief, Mum?”
“The diagnosis.”
“You haven’t actually—”
“It’s coming, Olivia. You know that. Whether it’s now or the appointment after Christmas, or another test or scan after that. It’s coming. And it’s a relief.”
Olivia struggled to keep hold of her feelings as well as her expression. How could it possibly be a relief? She didn’t want to ask the question, yet her mother must have seen it in her face.
“I know it must be difficult for you to understand,” she said gently as she handed Olivia a cup of tea just as she liked it, milky and sweet. “But for so long I’ve been denying what was going on, even to myself. Especially to myself. I explained away a thousand little things because I didn’t want it to be true. I didn’t want to lose myself.”
“And now?” Olivia asked, struggling to keep her voice level. She felt as if she could burst into tears.
“Now I am starting to face that fear, and strangely, it’s not as overwhelmingly horrible as I thought.” She smiled at Olivia as she sipped her tea. “It’s still frightening, and of course I’d rather it wasn’t happening, but besides all that I’m okay. At least now I don’t have to pretend I have it all together.”
“I wish you’d never pretended, Mum. If I’d known, I could have helped…”
“Pretending was an instinct. But it made me even more anxious, always trying to cover how lost I felt, and I’m sorry for that. I know I haven’t seen myself these last few months, and now, bizarrely, I feel more like myself. Even if I can’t remember how to draw a clock.” Tina’s lips trembled and Olivia’s heart ached. No matter how brave or pragmatic her mother was being now, this was still hard. It was terrifying.
“How long had you been pretending?” she asked. “Do you reckon?”
Tina pursed her lips as she sat back in her seat. “I don’t know. Longer, perhaps, than I even realise now. Too long.”
“When you asked me to come back and help out at the shop…” Tina nodded and Olivia swallowed hard. That had been nearly two years ago. “Well, the important thing now is to look to the future,” Olivia said as briskly as she could. “I’ve done a little research online, Mum, and there are ways to boost your memory and stave off the worst of the symptoms. That is,” she added hurriedly, “if you even—”
“Olivia,” Tina cut her off gently. “I do.”
“Well, still. It’s not the end of the world. People can live with—with dementia for a long time.” But it had already been two years.
“I know that, and I’m glad you do, as well. It’s not the end, Olivia. In some ways, it’s just the beginning.”
But the
