‘I get these headaches,’ she went on. ‘Real blinders. Last week I forgot my daughter’s name. The doctor says that’s not dementia on its own, but he’s just trying to make me feel better, isn’t he? That’s how it starts. I’ve seen it. One minute they’re calling their son by their husband’s name and the next they’ve forgotten how to swallow food and the nurses just shake their heads sadly and wait for them to starve to death.’

She looked exhausted, like the years were catching up with her, weighing her down. It made my chest hurt.

‘Oh, hon,’ Fran said. ‘It won’t happen like that, I promise.’ She didn’t sound so sure.

‘Absolutely not,’ Donna added, equally hesitant. ‘I was reading up about dementia. You’re much too active. Plus, you do those crosswords. They say that’s the key.’

Tom had called. Twice. I’d let it go to voicemail and hadn’t listened to the messages. I didn’t know if I could stand to.

‘Thanks, girls,’ Beryl said. She looked at them, and then at me, smiled. ‘You’re all so kind. That’s why I come here.’

I gave her a small smile back, then looked down at the floor. Beige, but the same as it had ever been. Solid. Safe. I pressed my lips together. Everything was going to be okay. I’d been careless, that was all. Everything would be fine. I took a breath, inhaled the positive thoughts, like I’d read in some bad magazine. Exhaled the darker ones I’d been fighting all day. One by one, I pushed them out into the beige room, watched them float away.

Everything would be fine. It had to be. I just had to be careful.

21 WEDNESDAY, JULY

21

WEDNESDAY, JULY

It was busy and Holly was off sick, so the floor was short-staffed and Nic couldn’t help me, but it was exactly what I needed. I’d been careless. I’d been showing up and doing the work but I’d been distracted. Nic knew it and I knew it and he hadn’t seemed to care but I knew he did. Now, whenever he glanced in my direction it was different, satisfied, impressed, and at some point I stopped seeing Tom and Sophie dancing on the Brooklyn Bridge.

By the time Tom arrived, I was exhausted. My legs ached and my shoulders were sore. I’d walked for hours after group, taken the long way home, and while I’d slept it hadn’t been the same. The smell of cat piss and the noise of King Street had kept jolting me awake. I couldn’t remember dreaming, but I woke up feeling like I had, a residual unease that it had taken me the entire lunch shift to shake.

‘Hey,’ he said, sliding into his usual seat.