Remember Me, page 7
‘Love life? Ha!’ I scoffed, happy to change the subject.
‘I thought there was some Spanish guy?’
‘Portuguese. Estevo. Es-te-vo.’ I imitated my latest ex’s accent with a flamboyant wave of my hand. ‘Nope. Long gone. He didn’t get on with Nathan—how could anyone not adore my son? I’m all in favour of being single. Nobody wanting pieces of me, nobody demanding anything, nobody being a total knob.’
Ira snorted with laughter.
‘How about you?’ I asked.
‘Nobody I’m going to tell you about.’
‘Ooh!’ I sat up straighter, intrigued. ‘So there is someone?’
‘Not really. Keep your hair on. It’s not going anywhere.’
‘Why not?’
‘Not fair to her, is it? Every time I break something, or forget something, or drop something’—he held the green bottle close to his face, going cross-eyed as he focused on it—‘I think: Bloody hell, it this it? Huntington’s? I’m not asking anyone else to live like that.’
‘Maybe she wouldn’t mind.’
‘She’d mind all right, if she’d ever seen what it looks like.’
Ira rarely mentioned the disease that killed his father—in fact, most people had no idea he was at risk. He didn’t want to be defined by it. But I’d looked it up online. I knew he had a fifty-fifty chance of carrying the gene, and if he did, then he would eventually develop the disease.
‘You haven’t got it, though,’ I said. ‘Look at you! The picture of health.’
‘That’s true, but the fat lady hasn’t quite sung yet. I’m forty-six. My dad wasn’t diagnosed until he was … give you one guess.’
‘Forty-six,’ I said, as he mouthed the number along with me.
Fantails were flitting and piping in the trees above the ravine. Exquisite little birds. I watched them with absent-minded delight, but I was thinking about Ira’s problem.
‘There’s a test, isn’t there?’
‘There is. Leah did it in Wellington. She was one of the very, very first. Typical of her. It came back negative—which was great, she could have kids and everything. Makes it extra fucked up that she never got to live her life. Anyway, Doc Kirkland once asked me if I wanted to be tested.’
‘But you said no?’
‘It’s a pretty big decision. Most people say no. If it comes back negative—fantastic! I’m one hundred per cent in the clear. Then again, if it’s positive …’ He lowered his bottle to the floor. ‘I just don’t think I’m strong enough to find out whether there’s a time bomb ticking inside me. Anyway, nobody knows what’s around the corner. Whether I’m carrying the gene or not, all kinds of things might get me first: heart attack, cancer, quad bike accident. Whatever. Look at poor old Leah.’
Ira’s life had been so tough, compared to mine.
He yawned and clasped his hands behind his head, flexing his shoulders. The inked pattern on his upper arm rippled.
‘I don’t need to know, and I don’t want to know. Better just to Keep Calm and Carry On.’ He said it in an over-the-top posh accent: Keep Karm and Kerry Orn. ‘Like I am right now, on my porch with a few beers and a good friend.’
I leaned across and dragged his upper body into an awkward hug, despite his disgusted protests, and told him that I was honoured to be his good friend. I even managed to sneak in a kiss on his cheek before he pushed me away—‘For God’s sake, woman, three beers and you’re anyone’s.’ But he was almost smiling.
EIGHT
I soon began to see the pattern. Dad had very good days, and very bad days, but as a rule he was best in the mornings, tired in the afternoons; and as the sun sank behind the peaks and the world darkened, his mind, too, filled with shadows. According to Stranger in My Mirror, this night-time confusion—‘sundowning’—was a common phenomenon.
One evening, after I’d been home ten days or so, he began looking at his watch and mentioning how late it was. He thought I was some local who’d dropped by for a visit and was rapidly outstaying my welcome.
‘It’s been nice,’ he said politely. ‘But you should probably get off home now, shouldn’t you? It’s very late! Did you bring your car?’
We’d just had dinner together, and were doing the washing-up. I reminded him that I was staying, that I had a room down the corridor. He looked from me to the kitchen door and back again. He seemed mystified.
‘You mean in this house?’ he asked. ‘I live here, don’t I?’
‘Yes, you do. I’ve come from England to see you, Dad. I’m Emily.’
He was peering at my face, clearly trying to work out where he’d met this dumpy forty-something before.
‘Emily,’ I said again.
‘Emily!’ His puzzlement dissolved into a smile of heartbreaking affection, a smile I’d never seen before. ‘Of course. Emily. How lovely that you’re here. You’ve come a long way.’
He was flagging, his shoulders slumping, but he couldn’t keep still. He roamed around the house, picking things up and putting them down again. A book. A wedding invitation. I switched on the television in the snug, but it only kept his attention for a few minutes. Even with all the windows and doors open, the evening felt oppressive and airless. I was wearing a cheesecloth sundress from Camden Market and the fabric was sticking to my back. I tried to console myself with the thought that I’d be back in London very soon, dancing to my own tune. Carmen and Eddie didn’t want me interfering? Well, fine. Good luck to them! I’d be getting on that plane in less than two weeks’ time. Definitely. Definitely.
Dad was on his feet again, more agitated than ever. He declared that he’d better make some dinner, and determinedly beetled off to the kitchen.
Sighing, I called after him. ‘We’ve already eaten, Dad. Fish pie.’
He ignored me, and had begun to bang about in the cupboards when a message arrived on my phone. It was from my lodger, Ursula, who rented Nathan’s bedroom.
Hi! How is NZ? I have a question. My sister Fran has to leave her flat NOW. She’s finally split up with Otto! He changed the locks. Do you know of anyone nearby who has a room to rent? ☺ Max is missing you. He says it’s lonely all day without you!
It was a blatant hint. I’d met Fran, knew about the volatile boyfriend. I was sure she’d take over my tiny boxroom studio in a flash if I offered it, but I needed that space for work, and for storing Nathan’s things. The flat simply wasn’t big enough for three adults.
Fanning myself with a newspaper, I began to type an answer.
Oh no, poor Fran! She can use my bedroom, just until I get back. But I’m sorry, I don’t know of any
A crash from the kitchen had me on my feet. Dad was grabbing random things out of the fridge and freezer and pantry, dumping them all over the table. Leftover fish pie in its dish, apples and courgettes, trays of meat, half a pizza, soy sauce, a packet of peas, milk, pasta—more and more food joined the pile. His teeth were gritted as he moved from fridge to pantry to table and back again.
Nothing in life had prepared me for this. Nothing. Nor was there any magic formula in Stranger in My Mirror, though I’d now read it from cover to cover.
He is expressing emotions that he can’t understand. Try to focus on the fear or anxiety behind his actions.
Well, that wasn’t a whole lot of use right now, was it? Not with the entire contents of the freezer melting all over the table. We were nosediving down, down, down a rabbit hole and into Wonderland.
In desperation, I sent Raewyn a text:
Help!!! Please call Dad, he needs distracting!
Twenty seconds later, the house phone rang. Dad stopped throwing food around and hurried across the kitchen to answer it.
‘Hello?’ He listened for a moment, before a delighted smile transformed his face. ‘Raewyn!’
From what I could overhear, her excuse for phoning was to ask what compost he thought was best for roses, and how did he tackle aphids? He drew up a chair from the table and sat down, crossing his legs.
‘A tablespoon of washing-up liquid, and one of vinegar, in a litre of water,’ he was saying. ‘I spray it directly onto the leaves. Yes, very simple. Some people swear by a bit of canola oil, but I don’t. Would you like me to bring you some of mine, ready mixed?’
Raewyn, you beauty. I crept around, dismantling his giant mound of food and wondering how on earth he would manage once I’d gone. The thought was heart-rending.
Life as a children’s book illustrator was a precarious business. I did okay, better than most, but meeting my mortgage payments had been touch-and-go lately. If Fran moved into my room and paid rent, I might able to pay off my credit card; might even get that leaking shower fixed. It wouldn’t be forever, would it? Just until …
What the bloody hell was I thinking? Sheer madness! Dad was already sick of me; half an hour ago, he’d been asking me to leave. I’d soon be home with my work, my friends, my flat, my routines. I had all kinds of events in my diary. I missed pubs and galleries and theatres, late-night shopping, buskers on the underground, the top decks of buses level with my kitchen window.
I finished typing my reply to Ursula:
I’m sorry, I don’t know of anyone. I’ll ask around. What about the flatting websites?
My finger hovered over the send icon.
NINE
I made my decision at three o’clock in the morning. It appalled me, but it was the only one I could make. Then I lay awake, thinking about the practicalities and dreading Mum’s reaction. I finally fell asleep as the first birds began to stir.
•
Dad was having one of his good days. At coffee time he found the mugs with no trouble and remembered to turn off the gas ring. For now, at least, we were back out of the rabbit hole.
Morning coffee was already becoming our ten o’clock ritual. Sometimes we talked, sometimes we played chess, or did a crossword or Sudoku from the daily paper. Often we sat in companionable silence, watching cloud shadows scudding across the landscape. Precious hours. Despite the sadness and strangeness of my father’s disintegration, I felt as though something was mending inside me.
I used to spend school bus journeys home thinking up questions to ask about medicine. I’d collar him earnestly over family dinner: Dad, how does your brain get messages to your tongue so you can speak? It never worked out as I’d hoped. He’d answer as though I was a third-year medical student, and it would be obvious that I wasn’t understanding a word. Eddie would make a duh face, punch my upper arm and ask whether his message was getting to my brain. I’d yelp before the blow had even landed, and punch him back. Mum would sigh. Carmen would try to catch Dad’s eye, clearly hoping he’d see her as the sensible one.
And Dad? He’d glance at his watch before sprinting away to chair a committee or see an urgent patient. I had no chance of engaging him. None of us had.
We were on our second mug of coffee when I finally came out with it. ‘Um, Dad … I think I’d like to stay a bit longer. Would that be all right?’
‘Stay where?’
‘Here, with you. If that’s okay.’
‘Oh.’ He looked mildly surprised. ‘How much longer?’
‘Maybe a few months.’
‘Hmm.’ He sipped his coffee.
‘Would that be all right?’
‘Of course! This is your home. Please stay as long as you like.’
I was taken aback. I hadn’t expected him to agree so placidly, without even asking why I would want to stay.
‘I imagine,’ he said, ‘that you think you ought to stick around to look after me. I imagine you’ve noticed that I’m losing my marbles. Right? No, no, please’—he held up his free hand—‘don’t play those games. I know. I may seem okay at this moment, but it’s a very brief interlude. I come and go, don’t I? I’ve got a large message pinned to the noticeboard in my study. It’s in my handwriting, so I assume I put it there to remind myself. Perhaps you spotted it?’
I shook my head. I hadn’t noticed that particular sign.
‘It says’—he underlined each word with his finger as he spoke—‘Felix—you—have—Alzheimer’s.’ He turned his blue-eyed stare on me, smiling broadly as he uttered those awful words. Smiling.
I didn’t know how to answer him.
‘I’ve got the memory of a goldfish,’ he said. ‘Incidentally, it’s not true about goldfish, did you know? That’s a myth. Fish have excellent memories, which is why they shouldn’t be kept in silly little bowls, swimming round and round a plastic castle and a hilarious No Fishing sign. So, alas, I don’t have the memory of a goldfish. Wish I did. But one finds ways to manage. Little tricks. Notes to self. Leaving everything ready, easy to find. Routines. I got away with it for a long time. You last visited some years ago, didn’t you, and never spotted it?’
‘I should have, Dad. I really should have. I feel terrible.’
‘No, no. I was very good at covering up. I retired as soon as I began to make mistakes, and there was nobody at home to notice. Raewyn did, of course, and helped me to deceive the world. I couldn’t have managed without her. Anyway, they won’t be treating me for this. I neither want nor deserve to prolong my life.’
‘Dad …’
‘It’s all right. It’s okay.’
We drifted into silence: an unhappy one on my part, though Dad seemed perfectly cheerful. A light aircraft was creeping along the bush line of the mountains, the drone of its engine just audible. Every few seconds the sun caught its fuselage, making the white dot gleam like a miniature star.
‘I think that’s Todd Tillerson,’ said Dad. ‘D’you know Todd? My lawyer. He’s a local lad; did very well with a corporate law firm in Wellington, came back here, took over my affairs when … um, the last bloke, can’t remember his name … when he retired.’
I squinted at the plane with new interest.
‘I do know him. Todd went to Tawanui High—in the twins’ year, I think. He had a car, used to drive himself to school. Very flash.’
Todd Tillerson and Leah were an item in the sixth form. Hot gossip. Eddie was beside himself with jealousy—dunno what she sees in that dickhead, has to be the car—but he needn’t have bothered, because it only lasted five minutes. According to the grapevine, Leah dumped poor old Todd pretty unceremoniously.
‘Well, now he flies a plane,’ said Dad. ‘Hang on … that reminds me. If you’re staying a while, there’s a document I want you to have. I’d better fetch it straight away, before I forget.’
He set off into the house at a rate of knots. I waited, mystified. He was back a minute later with a sheet of paper in his hand, looking triumphant.
‘Hurrah! Found it! That’s efficient filing for you.’ He dropped back into his chair. ‘This is my living will. It was drawn up by my lawyer, Todd Tillerson. I don’t imagine you’ve met him.’
No more than ninety seconds had passed since we’d spoken about Todd. I tried to look thoughtful, my lips pursed as though I was racking my memory. ‘Tillerson … Tillerson. Name rings a bell. Um … oh yes, he went to our school. He’s a lawyer now, is he?’
‘This’—Dad waved the paper over his head—‘says they’re not to muck about with resuscitating me, or treating me, or any other such nonsense. Now come on, for goodness’ sake, don’t look so shocked. You don’t want me to go on forever, do you? I’d like you to keep a copy, because I may need an enforcer when the time comes.’ He slid it across the chessboard table towards me. ‘Not one hundred per cent watertight, I’m afraid, but it will certainly help, if it comes to the point.’
A pair of flies were buzzing in frantic circles around Raewyn’s biscuit tin. I flicked them away but they came straight back, bringing three buzzing friends with them.
As I began to read, I forgot the flies.
MEMORANDUM OF WISHES AS A LIVING WILL
I, FELIX KIRKLAND, of Arapito homestead, Tawanui, now record the following:
I am aware that I have developed an irreversible, degenerative brain condition, as a result of Alzheimer’s disease.
It is therefore my express wish that, should I for any reason become physically unable or mentally incompetent to express my opinion on the acceptance or refusal of lifesaving treatment, the following must be considered to be my wishes:
In the event of any cardiac arrest, I should receive no resuscitation of any kind, including cardiopulmonary resuscitation.
Should I develop any separate and life-threatening illness or infection, including pneumonia or heart disease, I should be given no active treatment or life-prolonging medical care whatsoever, save such as may be advised for the sole purpose of palliative care.
Should I become unable to swallow, then food and fluids should not be given me by any artificial means, except as is necessary to alleviate significant suffering.
Should I become unable to breathe unaided, then I should receive no artificial ventilation save as is necessary to alleviate significant suffering.
He’d signed it, and his signature was witnessed by Todd and someone else.
‘This is euthanasia,’ I said.
‘Not at all! I’m not asking anyone to bump me off—just don’t go keeping me alive. Though, as a matter of fact, I’m in favour of assisted dying in certain circumstances. Some of my patients at the hospice would have liked to have the option, at least. There’s a government committee looking at end-of-life choice. I’ve put in a submission.’
‘But Dad, why give me this?’
‘Because if I have a coronary event the paramedics aren’t going to waste time digging through my filing cabinet, are they? They’ll be too busy resuscitating me! Short of having this tattooed on my chest, it’s hard to know how to stop them. I’ve given a copy to Marcia Ellis for my records at the health centre, one to Raewyn and now one to you. Your job is to wave this bit of paper under people’s noses. Wave and shout! No resuscitation, no ventilation, no exceptions. Okay? Be my angel of death.’
