I tell her about Camilla’s surprise return.

Silence.

“I wish Nina was still here,” I say.

Mum used to say that there are many people who will enter our lives, Nina was just one of them. But I enjoyed hanging out with her. With Nina I felt like a better version of myself, that anything was possible. I would never explain it that bluntly to anyone else, especially not Christian, it sounds pathetic. I consider how I’d describe Nina to someone who didn’t know her, who’d never met her. I think about the questions Christian has asked me about her. I mull over my dad’s, Ben’s, Camilla’s frustration at my building my life around one friendship. I’d describe Nina as beguiling. Someone whose faults people tended to overlook because just being in her company made life feel better. More open to possibilities. I guess it’s called charisma. It doesn’t mean I didn’t hate or resent her at times.

“I got married, Mum. To Stuart. I mean, a man named Stuart.”

“No, you did not!” she says.

“I did. Dad came. You weren’t well.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m your daughter, Marie.”

Pam walks up behind us. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“No, thanks,” I say.

“Didn’t want to marry him,” my mum says.

“It’s all right, Mum,” I say. “Everything worked out in the end. I’m happy. We’re all okay.”

“Nina,” Mum says.

“No, I’m Marie,” I say.

I wait until Pam’s out of earshot.

“I’ve made so many mistakes.”

When my mother first started forgetting things, I grew scared of her. Which is silly, I know, and it’s another thing to hate myself for. When Nina was first diagnosed, I was relieved that at least I could still talk to her about what was wrong.

I’m not afraid anymore. I say what I’ve really come here to say.

“Mum,” I say. “You’re going to be a grandmother.”

She smiles, but it is not one of recognition. It’s one of incomprehension.

“I did it for you,” I tell her. “I remembered. You wanted a big family.” Everyone told me that it won’t make a difference. That no matter what I do or say, she’ll never know. But I had to try. It was worth a shot.

She smiles as though she feels that it’s the right reaction, but there is definitely no sign of comprehension.

I swallow. Hard.

I can’t trust my own judgment, and it’s a horrible feeling. I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like for my mother. I feel like I’m in a dream and there’s an answer, so obvious, yet so elusive and out of reach.

I just need to figure out what it is.

Twenty-Five

My insomnia worsens. I spend most nights keeping Goldie company, wondering how on earth Stuart manages to sleep. I keep a record of everything.

Things Stuart likes: Sunday roasts, clean sheets on a Monday, a pub visit at least once a month, a supermarket delivery every week, curry on a Friday night, at least two loaves of bread and one carton of full-fat milk in the freezer at any one time. Green grapes, not purple. He wears suits at the beginning of the week, more casual clothes on a Thursday and Friday. And date nights on a Tuesday.