I wake up with the silly grin still on my face, and spend a few luxurious moments stretching out under the covers, wriggling my toes and losing myself in the memory of the night before.
I feel like a fifteen-year-old who’s just been passed a note in class from the boy of her dreams. I know it’s daft, and it doesn’t fit into my real life, and it’s all going to get complicated – but for a few minutes, I ignore all of that. I just let myself wallow in that magical feeling – that feeling of liking someone and knowing they like you back. The feeling of potential, and wonder, and hope.
Before long, I’m glad I let myself have those few self-indulgent minutes, because life outside my own room isn’t shaping up so well.
I find Auburn in the kitchen, clutching a mug of coffee and biting her lip so hard I know she must be tasting blood. She’s staring out of the window, and when I follow her gaze, I see Mum out there. She’s still in her zebra print onesie, and she’s glaring in at us, waving a trowel and muttering under her breath.
Auburn glances over to me, and tries a smile that isn’t even half-hearted – more like an eighth.
‘She doesn’t know who I am,’ she says simply, those quiet words laden with all the sadness I’ve become used to over the last two years. ‘She keeps asking where she is, and who I am, and when she can go home. I don’t even know where home is to her right now.’
I nod, and take the coffee mug from her hands. It’s empty, so I make a fresh brew for both of us. I wave at Mum through the window, looking as friendly and non-threatening as I can, and try to gauge the level of her agitation. She’s holding the trowel, which isn’t a good sign, but she’s looking at me uncertainly, which might be – it could be that my hair has triggered a feeling of safety, and that she’ll start to calm down. Could be that she’ll lob a giant rock through the window at any moment, though.
‘It’s okay,’ I say to Auburn, seeing how upset she is. ‘It’ll be all right.’
She looks at me, frowning, and takes the coffee gratefully. She’s still in her PJs, her hair is insane, and she’s clearly not keeping up with the rapidly changing landscape of life with someone suffering from Alzheimer’s. I can’t blame her – she’s coming late to this party and she doesn’t understand the etiquette.
‘I don’t know what I’ve done wrong,’ she says, staring out of the window, eyes wide and shining with tears I know she’ll refuse to shed. ‘She seemed really good yesterday, and we had a nice night. Then this morning, she’s completely different …’
‘You didn’t do anything wrong,’ I reply, quickly. ‘It’s not your fault. It’s not hers either. It just … is. Someone once described it to me as being like a radio station – sometimes it’s tuned in really clearly, other times the signal isn’t as clear, and everything sounds fuzzy and distorted. And sometimes it bounces around between the two. It’s unpredictable, and that makes it hard, I know.’
‘But how do you stay so calm?’ she asks. ‘I’ve not seen you stressed about it once since I got here. Are you sneaking diazepam behind my back?’
‘Not yet, but I won’t rule anything out. And I’m not that calm, honestly – it’s a duck-on-the-surface situation with me. Auburn, I’ve had a lot more experience with it, so I know more about what to expect and how to cope. I think maybe it was waking up in a different bed that might have done it – you know how that happens? If you’ve ended up sleeping somewhere else and when you wake up, you’re not quite sure where you are for a minute?’
‘Oh yes,’ she replies heartily, managing a genuine smile at that one. ‘That’s happened to me way too many times …’
‘Well, imagine that feeling – but not being able to shake it. With us, we’d take a moment to remind ourselves of where we are and why we’re there, to catch up. We might have a few regrets and a bit of a hangover, but we’d be fine. With her, perhaps she wasn’t able to do that – catch up. Then she feels scared and anxious, and it all starts to escalate. We have to stay calm, because she isn’t – and I know this is tough for us, but imagine what it’s like for her, trapped in a place where she feels confused and threatened.’
Auburn nods, and we both look on as Mum finally puts down the trowel, and sits cautiously on the bench. It’s sunny outside, but there’s still an early morning chill in the air, so I’m glad she’s sensibly dressed at least. If you can call a zebra onesie sensible. She crosses her arms in front of her chest, and keeps a close eye on us both, in case we make any sudden movements.
‘I know. I understand the science of it, and I can see the logic, but … well, it’s horrible, isn’t it? Seeing her like this. It’s so bloody hard. I can literally feel my heart cracking. I don’t know how you cope.’
I feel the ringing of an alarm bell go off when she says that, and realise that my first instinct is to go on the offensive. Tell her if it’s too hard, she can bugger off back to London and take her cracking heart with her. Tell her we were coping fine before she came along, and we’ll carry on coping fine after she’s gone. That isn’t necessarily true, but it makes me aware of how much I’m treading on eggshells here.
Having Auburn around has been a big help, I can’t deny that. But I also can’t deny the fact that letting myself rely on her too much might be bad for my mental health. Quite frankly, she’s a bit of a flake, and has always had a well-developed selfish streak.
She also knows exactly what I’m thinking right now. She looks at me over the steam of her coffee, and narrows her eyes.
‘I’m just saying it’s hard,’ she adds. ‘Not that it’s too hard. I’m here, and I want to be here. I spoke to my boss yesterday, and he says it’s fine if I want to extend my leave – his own mum had dementia and he gets it. I can make it a month … if that’s what you want.’
I distract myself from having to look at her by making Mum a cup of chamomile tea. Kettle. Mug. Tea bag. Water. Simple actions that buy me a bit of time. Do I want her to stay? Part of me does, yes – it’s opened up all kinds of possibilities for me. I’ve been to the pub, and had a kiss on the walk home, and felt so much less stressed about time-keeping since she’s been here.
I’ve been less lonely, too, I have to acknowledge. I mean, I have great friends, and potentially something more in Tom, but I have been lonely. Living here with Mum has felt solitary and sad sometimes. Having Auburn around the house … well, she’s never boring, my sister, I have to give her that.
But I have some doubts. I’m not sure how reliable she is. I’m not sure I can trust her. I’m not entirely sure I even like her all the time – though that’s probably a throwback to the days when she made my childhood an entertaining tapestry of torment. Somehow, she’s managing to both disrupt my life, and improve it.
I don’t answer her – I concentrate on making the tea, and on singing ‘Bare Necessities’ out loud. For some reason, that song always helps me forget about my worries and my strife. I’m also, frankly, not used to having to consider other people’s feelings this much – I’m used to being on my own with my mum. Now I need to weigh my words, and strike a balance between what I’m thinking and what I’m saying, and it’s all very tiring.
‘I snogged Tom last night,’ I say instead, in a shameless distraction technique.
It totally works. Her eyes pop wide, her mouth forms a perfect ‘O’, and she lets out a huge wolf whistle as I plonk the tea bag in the bin.
She does a little dance around the room, the kind you see people do on American chat shows when they’re celebrating something, and chants: ‘Go sister! Go sister!’ as she bumps and grinds her way around the room. She ends up next to me, shouting ‘whoop whoop!’ and holding her hand up for a high five.
It’s quite a performance, and I slap her palm in response. Her ‘Willow’s getting some’ dance was definitely worthy of some skin.
‘Tell me everything!’ she says, looking excited. I grin at her, and it feels good. Good to have someone to share with, someone to high five with, someone to do a victory dance around the kitchen with. Maybe I’m worrying too much about her staying or not staying – maybe I should just enjoy the good parts.
‘I will – just let me pop out and see Mum. You stay here for now, while I see how the land lies.’
She nods, but I see a flicker of sadness cross her face. This is all some crazy shit to adapt to, I know.
I walk outside with the chamomile tea, stopping off on the way to get Mum’s notepad and pen from her room. I sit down next to her, and pass over the mug. She looks at me a little suspiciously, but accepts it. Her grey hair is fuzzing all over the place, but her skin and eyes are clear and gorgeous. She’s still my beautiful mother – she just needs a bit of help remembering that.
‘Hi Mum,’ I say, casually passing her the notepad. ‘It’s a lovely morning to sit out in the garden, isn’t it? I brought you your notepad. I thought you might want to look at it.’
She has a brief internal debate, then turns the first page. I see her scan the lines, and stay quietly at her side. It is a lovely morning – bright blue sky, the warmth of the spring sunlight starting to take the edge off the fresh temperatures, the whole place bathed in birdsong.
‘Willow,’ she says, eventually, glancing from the notebook to my hair and back again. I nod, and let that settle for a minute.
‘And there’s Auburn,’ I add, pointing at the kitchen window, where my big sister is pretending to look uninterested. Mum’s face breaks out into a genuine smile, and she waves at her.
‘She needs to run a brush through her hair,’ Mum says, which is ironic given the state of her bird’s nest.
‘Where are the others?’ she asks, sounding vaguely puzzled. ‘The … boys?’
She frowns as she says this, and I can tell she’s struggling with their names and trying to cover it.
‘Van is still away on his adventures, and Angel is living in Scotland – you remember, he’s a teacher now?’
‘Of course I remember!’ she says quickly, sounding slightly insulted. Silly me. She sips her tea, the notepad still open on her knees, and looks around the garden.
‘I think I’ll do some work out here today,’ she decides. ‘That vegetable patch needs a bit of weeding. Is that all right?’
‘Of course it is,’ I answer. ‘I’ll come and help you later.’
‘And Auburn?’
‘And Auburn,’ I nod, laughing inside. Gardening is right up there on my sister’s list of Top Ten Things She Never Wants To Do – she always hated it, even as a kid, and I can’t imagine anything has changed. She’ll just have to suck it up today. I’m supposed to be going in to the café this morning, and was due to meet with the estate agent about a new cleaning job later, but both can be rearranged. I think Mum needs a day with us all to herself – she’s calm now, but I know from past experience that if she wakes up in a bad state, it can bubble up again later in the day.
I give Mum a hug, and go back inside the cottage. I’m really starting to feel the need for my own coffee now, as my body has realised it has a bit of a hangover, and this was a less than ideal start to the day. I’m a lightweight, what can I say?
‘That looked … okay?’ says Auburn as I mooch back into the kitchen. ‘Is she all right?’
‘She will be. She’s drinking her tea, and reading her notepad. Need to keep an eye on her today though, just in case. I volunteered you for gardening duty. I know how much you love gardening.’
She pulls a face, but doesn’t argue, accepting her fate bravely. For some reason this makes me feel very tender towards her, and I give her a hug as well. I am a hug machine today.
‘So,’ she says, sitting down at the kitchen table while I root out some cake. I always have cake in the house – Laura is a feeder. Today’s special is blueberry muffins, which I plate up with some halved strawberries and a handful of almonds. What I really need is a bacon butty, but I can’t face cooking just yet.
‘So,’ I echo, sitting down next to her and putting the plate in between us. I know she’ll steal some anyway, I might as well pre-empt it.
‘So … you kissed a nerd and you liked it?’ she sings, in a terrible Katy Perry impression. I suspect she’s been waiting to do that ever since I told her.
‘Did he taste of cherry chap stick?’ she continues, popping a strawberry into her mouth and raising her eyebrows at me.
I lean back, and can’t help but smile. It’s weird how fast this has all happened – sitting here in my kitchen, talking about boys to my sister. I actually don’t think we’ve ever done that before, even when we were younger. Our relationship was too combative back then. It’s also weird that there’s even a boy to talk about.
‘He tasted of cider actually,’ I reply. ‘Possibly a hint of salt and vinegar crisps. And … good things. He tasted of good things.’
‘You’ve gone a bit cross-eyed,’ Auburn says, throwing an almond at my head to bring me back to earth. ‘It must have been good. Was it just a kiss then? No over-the-bra action? Or even under-the-bra action?’
‘Nope. Just one long, luscious, glorious kiss. Which to be honest is the most action of any kind I’ve seen for a very long time.’
She glances out of the kitchen window into the garden, where Mum is sitting quite serenely now, cross-legged on the bench in the sunshine.
‘I can imagine. I suppose things haven’t exactly been conducive to romance … but I’m here now. For a bit at least. Maybe there’ll be time? If you wanted there to be? Do you want there to be? How do you feel about it all?’
I recoil slightly from all the questions, because I’m really not used to this kind of thing. Especially in the morning, at home, with a mild hangover.
‘I haven’t got a clue,’ I reply simply, breaking off a chunk of blueberry muffin with my fingers. ‘When I first met him, I did … well, like him, I suppose. But I convinced myself that nothing would ever happen between us, that I just couldn’t let it. Everything felt too hectic. Too fragile. I don’t have space in my life for worrying about whether a boy is going to call me, or checking texts, or finding matching underwear. Some days I barely have time to brush my bloody teeth.’
‘What about now?’ she asks, looking at me intently. ‘Now that I’m here?’
‘You really want me to answer that?’ I reply.
She nods, so I do.
‘Well, in some ways I’m really enjoying it. More than I used to enjoy living with you, anyway. And I can’t deny that it’s good to have some help. But part of me is still resisting it – this is new to you, and it might wear you down. You’ve had your own life for a long time, and there’s nothing wrong with that. But what happens if I get used to you being here, and start to rely on you, and then you decide you can’t hack it? Or that you need to go off backpacking around Guatemala or something? Then I’m back at square one, or even worse – because I’ll miss you. She’ll miss you. And then it’ll all be even harder.’
I say this as gently as I can, because the intention isn’t to hurt her – it’s just to be honest. I can’t afford to live in some fantasy land where my big sister rides to the rescue, and I escape into the arms of a handsome knight.
I see her react by chewing her lip again, and know that the old Auburn would probably have dumped her coffee on my head, or slapped me around the face before going into my wardrobe and stealing my favourite top.
The new Auburn probably wants to do some of those things as well – but she controls it. I can see it takes an effort, but she breathes deeply, finishes her muffin, and waits for a while before she responds.
‘Fair enough,’ she says, staring out of the window again. ‘I can see where you’re coming from. And I’m not going to make any big promises – all I can say is that I’ll do my best. I’ll stay, for as long as you need me. I can find work nearer here, or just come down at the weekends. I can be as involved as you want me to be. I have no plans to backpack around Guatemala, but it’s not like I’ve ever been particularly steady or reliable. I know that. But I’ve changed, like we all have, and I will do my best.’