3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

“Morning, Denise,” I greet the nurse at reception as I sign in. “How is she today?”

“Morning, Tristan. Well, I won’t lie, love. She had a bad night. You know how she gets when she doesn’t sleep well,” she tells me with a sympathetic smile and kind grey eyes that match her hair.

Yeah, I do. It means I won’t be staying long this morning. For the past two years, Denise has been one of Mum’s dedicated carers at the Willows Dementia Home. At 46, Mum’s world was shattered when she received the devastating news that she had the onset of Lewy body dementia. Taking care of her was a daily challenge, as she struggled with confusion and forgetfulness. Despite my best efforts, her hallucinations worsened, leading to alarming calls from neighbours while I was at work, who would find her crying or lost in a daze on the street. She needed more help than I could offer, and I feel guilty about not being good enough for her every day. When she was found walking in and out of traffic near her house, the police were called, and I realised she needed more help. Thankfully, Willows had a place, and she’s been here ever since.

“Is she in the day room?”

“Yeah, she’s just been given her meds, and Beryl was going to bring her a cup of tea.”

I nod as I slip on my visitor’s lanyard and make my way to the day room. Spotting Mum by the closed French windows, I make my way over to her. She always loved her garden in our old house. It was beautiful in the spring and summer months. Yellow roses were her favourite. Hanging over her shoulder, her long braid of red hair adds a vibrant splash of colour to her appearance. The green cardigan she’s wearing was a labour of love, crafted by her own hands before dementia stole her ability to create. Knitting was her passion. It became increasingly challenging for me to accept that the person I once knew as my mother was fading away before my eyes. Everything we shared just disappeared.

“Hey Mum,” I say tenderly, so I don’t startle her.

Slowly, she turns her head to look at me, but it’s like she’s looking right through me. I smile, take off my backpack, and pull up a chair in front of her, taking her hands in mine. “It’s me, Tris. Your son.” She doesn’t reply, but it’s fine. I don’t need her to. “I brought you some flowers. Harry at the florist told me to say hi. He picked me out the best ones. He knows you only like the big plump roses. And don’t worry, I gave them all a squeeze to make sure they’re all firm, just the way you taught me. We don’t want them wilting too quickly.” I find if I ramble to her, it pauses my brain, so I don’t think about the fact that I’m basically talking to myself. Looking down, I notice the bow on her slipper has come undone, so I let go of her frail hands and bend to do it back up, so she doesn’t trip.

“What are you doing?” she yells, pulling her feet up.

“It’s okay, Mum. I’m just tying your bow.”

“Get away from me. Who are you?” she spits, her eyes frantic.

I try not to let the sting of her words penetrate me since I know she can’t help it. “It’s me, Mum. Tristan,” I tell her again, but I know it’s pointless. She’s not with it today.

Beryl walks over with her tea and puts it down on the side table.

“You...” She frantically waves at Beryl. “Help, he’s trying to take my shoes. Tell him they’re my shoes, he can’t have them.” Mum has coiled herself up in the chair, her arms wrapped around her legs guarding her shoes. It makes me so sad. This disease is awful.

“Now, now Fern. Tristan is not taking your shoes. Look, he brought you these lovely yellow flowers.”

“I don’t like flowers. Take them away.”

There’s no talking to Mum when she’s like this. I know it’s because she had a bad night. I don’t hold it against her. It’s not her fault. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, though.

“Fern, Tristan is your son. Be nice to him.” Bless Beryl for trying.

“He’s not my son. I don’t have a son. I never wanted kids.” She starts pulling at her hair and rocking in the chair. I know it’s time for me to go.

I touch Beryl’s arm. “It’s fine, don’t worry. I’ll just go leave her flowers and biscuits in her room and I’ll come back next week.”

“You sure? If you give her a bit of time, her medicine will kick in and she’ll calm down.” She offers me a sympathetic smile.

“No, it’s fine, honestly,” I reassure her. “I’m upsetting her today and I don’t want that.” She nods in understanding, and I pick up the flowers and my backpack and walk out the day room and down the corridor to Mum’s room.

Lemon-yellow walls lend a vibrant and airy vibe to the room. On one side, her bed is positioned snugly against the wall, while a chest of drawers occupies the other. The highlight of the room is the expansive window on the far wall, which frames a stunning view of the gardens. I carefully remove the vase of wilted roses from last week from the window seal and discard them. Then, I pour out the old water into the small sink tucked away in the far corner of the room before filling the vase with fresh water. Finally, I arrange the pretty new roses in the vase and take a minute to place them back on the window and arrange them nicely. Then I take out her bourbon biscuits and leave them on her bedside table.

Adorning the wall above her bed, a collection of photographs chronicles the beautiful moments we’ve shared. Memories that only I remember now. A solitary tear rolls down my face, leaving a trail of sadness in its wake. I hate it. I hate this disease. My mum’s been snatched from me. She was all I had. It’s really tough when Mum is upset or angry like this, and there’s no one else around to understand my pain. It just reminds me of how lonely I am. There’s nobody waiting for me at home. It’s just me and it really sucks.

As I turn, I glimpse myself in her dresser mirror, my reflection staring back at me. My thick pink hoodie, with its soft fleece lining, is one of my favourites, along with the matching pink joggers. Bright colours have the power to bring happiness to my heart, especially in a world that can often feel dark and gloomy.

Mum and I both share the same flaming red hair, contrasting against our pale skin. Mum’s hair is perfectly straight, while mine has a natural, bouncy curl. According to Mum, it’s the only thing I got from my dad. Everything else about me is from her. While we both possess a fiery temper, we are also very sensitive at heart. We have slim frames and are five-foot-six, although I used to be overweight at one point. School wasn’t fun when you were big and ginger, but I’m not that person anymore. I know he’s still inside me and occasionally reminds me he’s still there. Like now, when he’s telling me we’re sad and a tub of Ben winter is well on its way and I was not made for the cold. I’m just turning the engine on to warm up the car when my phone rings. Pressing Answer brings up Jake on FaceTime .

“Hey, Jake.”

“Hey, Tris. You’re in the car. That’s not good.”

“Yeah, Mum was having a bad day.” Jake knew Mum too. We met at university when I thought I wanted to teach English, but uni life wasn’t for me. I stuck it out for one year, but I didn’t like being away from home, and with the stress of the workload on top of my own mental health and dealing with Mum, it got too much. But Jake and I just clicked, and we’ve been best friends ever since.

“Damn, I’m sorry to hear that. I was hoping to say hi to her.”

“It’s fine. Maybe next week will be a good visit. Hey, at least I get to see you this week,” I smile.

Jake’s face pinches, “Yeah, about that. Um... Lewis’s mum invited us to go visit her in Paris. I’ve been working flat out and really need the break. I’m really sorry, Tris. I know we had plans.”

I wave him off, pushing down the tears that threaten to spill from my eyes. “It’s fine, Jake. You really do need some time away. You work too hard.” I try to keep my voice steady, hoping my disappointment doesn’t show.

“Shit, you keep saying you’re fine, but I know you’re not. Look, I’ll cancel the trip. Lewis can go, and we’ll stick to our plans.”

A traitorous tear slides down my face, and of course, Jake notices it. I swipe it away quickly. “You’ll do no such thing, Jake Brooker. I’m honestly fine. I have my own plans for my week off,” I lie through my teeth, but Jake, of course , sees right through my lying ass.

“No, you don’t. You’ll lock yourself away in your flat all week, being miserable.”

Scowling at him, I sulk. “Well, I’ll make some plans then.” Poking my tongue out at him, I frown as mean as I can, which is not really mean at all.

He laughs, but it’s strained. “I just don’t want you to fall back into a bad place. You’ve worked so hard to get to where you are.” His eyes crinkle at the corners with concern.

“I know you worry. I do, too, sometimes, but I’m okay, Jake. I promise. I just get sad when I see Mum.”

“I know you do, but me adding to your sadness makes me a shitty friend.”

I chuckle. “You’re not a shitty friend, you’re a great friend. And you also need to look after your own mental health. This trip will do you good.”

“I really do need a break. Hey, why don’t you go stay at Dad’s cabin? It’s only a couple of hours away. He won’t be there, and at least you’ll be squirrelled away in different surroundings.”

That’s actually not a bad idea. I could be a hermit for a week in a cosy cabin. Some time away to relax and switch off. I’ve never been to Jake’s family cabin, but I’ve heard him talk about it before. It could be just what I need.

“Yeah alright. You sure your dad won’t mind?”

“Nah, he’ll be fine. He loves you,” Jake chuckles.

Yeah, I love him too. I’ve had a crush on him since the first day I met him. If I’m being honest, I’m obsessed. I would climb that man like a tree given half the chance.

“I’ll send you the address and the code for the key safe on the door.” Shit, Jake’s still talking while I’m fantasising about his dad. Not cool, Tris. Wind your neck in. Dax is out of bounds. “Just pop into Tesco on the way, cos there won’t be no food.”

“Yeah, okay, I can do that. Thanks, Jake. See, you’re not a shitty friend after all,” I tease him.

“Yeah, I suppose. I’ll let you go so you can get things sorted.”

“Okay, cool. Have a safe trip and say hi to Lewis for me. I miss you.”

“Miss you too. I’ll see you in a week.”

Well, my crappy morning just took a turn for the better. And I’ve just had a great idea to treat myself. I start the car and head to the shopping centre. I’ve got some gifts to buy.