drinks mat in front of him. He wore a tatty green sweater, jeans, hiking boots – the picture of the scruffy millionaire. He stood up to greet me.
‘Hi,’ he said.
‘Hi.’ There was an awkward pause during which I thought about giving him a little hug, but John sat straight back down and the moment was lost. I knew it was nothing personal – this was just how John was. I’d always been the more demonstrative twin. Mum used to joke about it: ‘Alexandra does the emotion for both of you,’ she’d say, laughing. ‘And John does the bossiness,’ I’d add under my breath.
‘Sorry, I didn’t get you a drink,’ he said, nodding towards the pint. ‘You’re driving, right?’
‘Yes. But I’ll have a coffee.’ I ordered at the bar, then pulled out a chair and sat across from John at the table. My knees knocked the wood when I tried to cross my legs. I uncrossed them and leaned forward on the table instead, unsure of how this conversation was going to go. John had called the meeting.
‘We’ve both watched her for a few months now,’ he’d said on the phone. ‘You can’t deny she’s vague. You can’t deny she forgets things. More than I think is normal for her age. She clean forgot I was coming down once. I think we should get together and have a think about how we’re going to take this forward.’
John was right. Mum hadn’t been herself. But it wasn’t anything I could put my finger on specifically. Yes, she forgot stuff – but who didn’t? I had the best part of three decades on her and I forgot stuff. I had ‘senior moments’ myself. Yes, she was always looking off into the distance and reminiscing about the past. This, I couldn’t deny. But was it serious? I was for a more organic approach. I felt the decision to move had to come from Mum herself, not from John and me pushing her.
‘So – what are your thoughts?’ John asked me now. That’s my brother: straight to the point.
‘I’m fine, thanks for asking. How are you?’ I said.
John rolled his eyes and I goggled mine back at him.
‘She seems okay?’ I said.
John sighed. ‘I thought you might be like this.’
‘Like what?’
‘Defending her.’
‘I’m not defending her.’
‘Yes, you are.’
‘No, I’m not. She seems okay. A little forgetful, maybe. A little vague. But she’s nearly seventy. I’m sure that’s normal. Physically, she’s in great shape. We walked a bit of the South West Coast path last month.’
‘I’m not asking whether or not it’s normal,’ John said. ‘I’m not saying she has dementia. What I’m saying is that this is as good as it’s going to get. It’s only going to get worse from here in. She’s not getting any younger.’ He gave me a minute to absorb his words. ‘I’m asking you to help me come up with a way to move forward. I have a lot on my plate. I need to get this settled in my head before we get into crisis management mode.’
‘Crisis management?’
‘If she starts to go downhill. I don’t want to make a panicky decision when we’re up against it. I’d like to take our time and make sure we pick the right solution for her. Even if she carries on in a normal ageing trajectory, it’s going to get worse and we’re going to need a plan.’ John paused, met my eye. ‘You know she locked herself out the other week?’ I nodded – I did know. It turned out she’d already done it once; had used the spare key from under the plant pot out the back and forgotten to put it back. Too embarrassed to call either of us, she’d sat on the garden wall, waiting, in the hope that someone could help. A neighbour had called John and he’d driven over, had a chat with the neighbour, handed over another spare key. ‘I don’t want her to be a burden on her neighbours,’ John said. ‘I don’t want them thinking badly of us, like we can’t be bothered to help her.’
‘But we do help her!’
‘She didn’t call us – remember? And don’t get me started on what happens if she falls. What if she falls at home and breaks her hip – lies there for how many days? This is our future.’
I put my head in my hands. John was the worrier of the two of us. He saw danger in everything, always envisaged the worst possible outcome, and the fact that Valya had fallen down the stairs clearly hadn’t helped. I knew all this about John, but it didn’t make dealing with him any easier.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ I said. ‘I think you’re over-thinking things.’
‘I’m not. You know, the night after the car accident, she called me Mack.’
‘Mack? Do we even know a Mack?’
‘Exactly. She looked right at me – almost through me – when she was lying in that hospital bed, and she called me Mack. She looked like she was about to cry.’
‘Strange. Did you correct her?’
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘She shook her head and said “Of course. Silly me.”’ John did quite a good impression.
I traced the wood grain on the table. ‘I don’t think you can read anything into that. Really. Not given she’d just had the accident.’
‘Anyway, look, let’s not get sidetracked,’ said John. ‘We’re here to think of solutions, not drag over the past.’
‘So, what solutions do you have in mind?’
John picked at the skin around one of his nails. ‘Well. As I said the other day: perhaps some sort of sheltered housing would be the way to go.’ I recoiled as an image of frail old ladies on Zimmer frames filled my mind: Mum would shrivel up and die. But, equally, I didn’t have space for her at home. ‘You know,’ John continued, ‘something safer, where she’s got people to keep an eye on her twenty-four seven.’
I turned away, shaking my head.
‘Come on, Lexi. Admit it. You don’t want to be constantly running after her any more than I do. We both have busy lives. Work. Family. I know you’ve moved down here to be closer but seeing her once a month is about all either of us can manage – right?’ He looked at me and I pursed my lips. ‘You don’t want to be worrying about her all the time, jumping each time the phone rings, spending nights dashing down to the hospital, do you?’
I said nothing.
‘Let’s be honest: neither of us has time to babysit her every day.’
‘We’re not at that stage yet.’
‘But when it happens,’ John spoke through clenched teeth.
‘But it’s not happened yet.’ I echoed his tone.
‘I want to be prepared.’
‘I hear you. I do,’ I said, trying to be reasonable. ‘But sheltered housing? She’ll never go for it.’
‘There are some nice places out there. I looked.’
‘But she’s still entirely self-sufficient. And happy. She loves that garden.’
John laughed: a snort that sprayed cider onto the table. ‘Happy’s not a problem, Lex. She’s happy as bloody Larry. She’s go no idea. Floats about in a dream world.’ John shook his head and laughed.
‘Come, now. That’s a bit harsh.’
‘Really? Look at what almost happened with the painting.’
I tutted. Mum had a painting – a small piece that had always hung in the loo in Barnes. ‘If anything happens to your father and me, and you need money,’ she’d told John and I while we were growing up, ‘that painting’s worth as much as the house.’ I’d found it hard to believe: