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Maggie painted on a smile. ‘That really depends on you. What is it I can help you with?’
‘I’m not sure to be honest. I came across your card and I thought I’d give it a try. Something to ease my aching feet would be good.’
‘I’ll see what I can do for you,’ Maggie said. The old lady was either unaware or unwilling to acknowledge the episodes in the park where she had been transported back to another time in her life so Maggie was going to have to earn Elsa – no, Elsie’s trust all over again. ‘I don’t have any more clients today so we can take as long as you need.’
‘Then we’ll take our time and make the daft old sod wait,’ Elsie whispered, loud enough to be heard ten feet away.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll look after him,’ Alice promised.
As Maggie took her latest client into the treatment room, she couldn’t help but wonder about the man waiting patiently in reception. Had Freddie returned to save Elsa and refused to leave her side ever since?
The rigid plastic chairs in the treatment room squeaked as Maggie went through a formal assessment with her new client: taking some personal details; a brief medical history; checking for known allergies; and forming an idea of what fragrances Elsie preferred while she did her best to silence the internal voice that wanted to ask more probing questions.
She used a digital recorder for her notes and from experience knew that when she played the recording back, the squeak of the chairs would be as irritating then as it was now. Today the recorder would also pick up the chink of china as Elsie sipped her tea.
‘I’m sorry, these seats aren’t very comfortable, are they?’
‘With my joints, there aren’t many chairs that are.’
‘If I can convince you to try out some of my therapies, then the treatment chair over there will be much better.’
At this point, Maggie was meant to go through some options to help ease Elsie’s aches and pains but she still hadn’t told her how they had met before. The deceit played on her mind and she was about to confess all but the seemingly frail and vulnerable woman in front of her was already one step ahead.
‘I’m afraid I have a confession to make,’ Elsie said and if the squeak of the chair wasn’t enough to give away her agitation then the nerves constricting her throat certainly were. ‘Do you mind if we turn that thing off?’
Maggie switched off the recorder without a word.
‘This is a lovely room, so clean and colourful. It’s not what I was expecting at all,’ Elsie said as she scanned the shelves which held an intriguing mix of jars and bottles with bright labels that brought a splash of colour to counter the clinical white of the walls and the chrome fittings.
‘I’m a bit obsessive about adding lots of colour to the packaging of my products to match the colourful scents inside but as for clean, the dog hairs can be a problem,’ Maggie said, tapping the side of her leg to call Harvey over.
‘Hello, boy,’ Elsie said. ‘You are a cutie, aren’t you?’ The dog shook himself as she tickled his back. ‘One of our neighbours in Liverpool had a guide dog. They were quite a team. Mr …’ Her voice trailed off.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Maggie offered.
‘Remembering names is a bit hit and miss I’m afraid.’ There was a frustrated pause but Elsie wasn’t giving up. ‘Woodhouse, that was it. Mr Woodhouse. Anyway,’ she said, turning her attention back to the dog, ‘he had a German Shepherd and he wasn’t a patch on you, Harvey.’
‘You remember his name?’
Elsie laughed but it was hollow. ‘Like I said, hit and miss.’
‘That wasn’t what I meant.’
Elsie stopped stroking Harvey. ‘I don’t remember meeting you before but I’m not denying that we may have.’
‘We’ve met twice before in Victoria Park. We sat together on the bench by the lake,’ Maggie said gently.
‘That bench has certainly seen a lot of comings and goings in its time.’
A flush rose in Maggie’s cheeks as she imagined Elsie trying to work out how much she had told her. Maggie wanted to explain but something held her back. Bizarre as it seemed, it was Elsa who had trusted Maggie with her innermost secrets and she was loath to break that trust, even with Elsa’s older self. ‘It’s a beautiful spot.’
‘And one that has played on my mind for a very long time.’
‘Do you remember anything of our meetings?’ There was the soft swish of hair brushing against her collar as Elsie shook her head. Struggling to find a diplomatic way to bridge Elsie’s present with her past, Maggie asked, ‘How long have you been having problems with your memory, Elsie?’
‘You mean how long have I had Alzheimer’s? That’s the medical term the doctors in Liverpool labelled me with. Now, when was that?’ she asked herself. ‘We moved to Sedgefield a couple of months ago … I think … So, oh, I don’t know, six months ago, a year maybe? It was when the police got involved.’
‘The police?’ Maggie asked, unable to hide her shock.
‘I kept trying to find my way back to Sedgefield and the local bobbies got used to picking me up and taking me home so I eventually agreed to see the doctor. Of course it started long before then, lots of silly things that we could joke about at first, like when I put my shoes in the oven and claimed I was making Dover sole,’ Elsie said. ‘But there are some things I can’t laugh off.’
‘Like your trips to the park?’
When she replied, Elsie’s words were choked. ‘I come out of the fug feeling so lost and confused and it terrifies me. I keep trying to convince myself that it’ll take time to settle in a new place but I’m not getting better, only worse.’
‘There’s a reason this town is special to you, isn’t there?’
There was a telling pause. ‘You know I’ve lived in Sedgefield before, don’t you?’
‘When we met, you introduced yourself as Elsa and told me you were twenty-two, which would be back in 1953 by my reckoning,’ Maggie said, having worked it out from the date of birth Elsie had given. But that was only one small piece of the puzzle. ‘I think you trusted me, maybe because I’m pregnant too.’
‘I did wonder how I came to have your card in my pocket. Can I still trust you?’
‘Yes,’ Maggie replied, eager to hear Elsa’s fate.
‘Then forget everything I may have told you.’
When Maggie reached out to take Elsie’s hand, the chair squeaked as the old lady pulled away.
‘But you came back to Sedgefield for a reason, surely? Perhaps I can help,’ Maggie offered although for the life of her she didn’t know how.
‘You can help by taking absolutely no notice of my ramblings.’
But the image of Elsa that Maggie had conjured in her mind persisted. She couldn’t shake the feeling that the young woman she had befriended was still there, hiding in the corners of Mrs Milton’s mind, still frightened of the future, still needing her help. ‘And if you find yourself at the lakeside again?’
When Elsie spoke, it was in the barest whisper and had echoes of Elsa. ‘Don’t try to save me.’
Maggie’s skin crawled. She reached over and this time took hold of Elsie’s hand firmly in her own. Elsie’s fingers were icy cold, the flesh slightly sagging and her arthritic joints swollen and gnarled. Little wonder Maggie had recoiled when she had taken hold of Elsa’s hand in the park, expecting the taut, delicate skin of youth. ‘I can’t promise you that.’
‘Do you have any idea what it’s like to wake up next to the man you’ve been married to for fifty-odd years and think an intruder has found his way into your bed? Can you imagine how terrifying that is for me and for him too?’
‘No, I can’t. But if you jump into that lake then I promise you, here and now, that I’m going to dive straight in and drag you out.’
There was a moment’s pause as the two women squared up to each other then Elsie sighed. ‘You don’t have to worry – my husband won’t let me out of his sight these days.’
‘Is it Freddie waiting for you outside?’ Maggie ventured.
‘There is no Freddie,’ came the rather stoic reply.
Forced to consider that the American had been a figment of her fractured mind just like the swans, Maggie asked, ‘He didn’t exist?’
‘Freddie is a ghost from the past that my illness seems intent on bringing back to life. I have to keep reminding myself of who I am and where I am. My name is Elsie; I’ve been married to … Ted … for God knows how many years. I have … I have two daughters,’ she said, faltering as her mind failed to keep up with the sense of conviction she had wanted to convey.
‘I still want to help if you’ll let me,’ persisted Maggie. ‘There’s empirical evidence that aromatherapy can help with some of the symptoms you’re experiencing. Are you having any treatment?’
‘Why do you think I ran away from Liverpool? I couldn’t be doing with all that. And this could just be a storm in a teacup. My trip to the park was probably a one-off while I get my bearings in a new town.’
‘I met you there twice,’ Maggie reminded her. ‘And Alice found you there too.’
‘All right, I’m not daft and before that frown of yours gives you premature wrinkles, I’m not in complete denial either. I’ve promised … I’ve promised …’
‘Ted?’ Maggie offered and immediately regretted her haste.
‘I know my husband’s name. Now, you’ve made me forget what I was saying,’ Elsie said with more than a hint of irritation. ‘I’ve promised Ted I’ll go back to the doctor’s so I don’t need your interference. My Ted will look after me.’
‘I’m your friend, remember?’
When Elsie exhaled, the anger left her body. ‘I wish I’d had someone like you around sixty years ago.’
The silence that followed, rather than creating an awkward pause, brought a connection that spanned the decades. Maggie still hadn’t asked the burning question but it would take time for Elsie to trust her enough to reveal what had happened to the baby. However, that didn’t stop her from skirting around the edges.
‘Do you have any family in Sedgefield?’
‘No. My eldest daughter, Nancy, lives in America and Yvonne lives up in Scotland. As for the rest of my family, I only have a brother left now and he’s in his seventies. I do have plenty of nieces and nephews though, some close enough to be called upon if needs be.’
‘And you have me, not sixty years ago but now. Please do go to see the doctor but that doesn’t mean you can’t come here too for some complementary therapy. In fact, you might want to try this cream,’ Maggie said, jumping up so fast it made Harvey start. She quickly found the jar she was after and checked the label, which was written in Braille as well as print. ‘You can apply it to your arms, neck and chest before bedtime to help improve your sleep patterns or you could use it during the day to keep your thoughts clear. It contains lavender and lemon balm,’ she explained, undoing the lid.
‘I prefer lilacs,’ Elsie said without taking the proffered jar.
‘I’ve noticed but I’m afraid lilac isn’t widely used as an essential oil. It’s very expensive and even the lilac perfume you wear will be made from a synthetic scent rather than a natural oil.’
Maggie heard a surreptitious sniff; Elsie was checking the remnants of her perfume on her wrist. ‘It was my Aunt Flo who introduced me to lilacs. I stayed with her when I was last in Sedgefield and I can remember back to that time as if it was yesterday. She could walk into this room right now and I wouldn’t bat an eyelid.’ Elsie’s voice trailed off as her mind wandered for a moment but then she sighed. ‘Now, where was I? Ah yes, Flo Jackson. She had lilac trees in her garden and made all kinds of concoctions from the flowers, including soap. I didn’t like it at first but I’d be lost without my perfume now, even if it’s not quite the same as the one the old lady used.’ Elsie laughed to herself. ‘Listen to me talking about an old lady. I sometimes forget I’m one myself.’
Maggie’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. ‘Well, I can’t claim to be another Flo Jackson but if this one doesn’t help then there are other recipes to try or I could always acquire some lilac oil if you really wanted it.’
Elsie didn’t respond immediately and Maggie felt herself being scrutinised. ‘My instincts still work no matter what state my mind’s in and they tell me you’re a good person, Maggie.’
‘I try to be.’
‘And you’ll make a good mother. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.’
‘You remember me telling you how scared I am about becoming a mum?’
‘No, I’m afraid not,’ Elsie said although there was something in her voice that made Maggie think she did, even if her mind failed to register the fact. ‘It was your friend outside.’
‘Kathy?’
‘She went to great lengths to tell me how capable you are and how anyone who dares to suggest that you wouldn’t make a wonderful mother would have her to answer to. She talked quite a lot, probably to drown out the noise of you torturing that poor girl who was in here. Is she all right, by the way?’
‘Jenny? Yes, she’ll be fine. It’s good to have that emotional release now and again, especially in a safe environment with someone you trust,’ Maggie explained. ‘She’s actually my closest friend and despite appearances, she’d say the same about me.’
‘Once she stops sobbing,’ added Elsie.
Maggie could feel herself relaxing and would have been happy to chat some more but she heard the plastic chair squeak one last time as Elsie hauled herself up. ‘I’d better get going before Ted starts fretting.’
‘Will you come and visit me again? We could make another appointment for you now if you’d like?’
Elsie didn’t answer immediately and Maggie willed the old lady to reach out to her, but without the park bench to unite them, Elsie’s determination to keep her distance was too strong. ‘Let’s see how I get on with this cream first,’ she said with a groan as she straightened her back. ‘Who knows? It might be a miracle cure.’
Maggie took the jar and, tightening the lid, popped it into a paper bag. ‘I hope so, Elsie.’
‘So how much do you charge for miracles?’ Elsie asked, putting her handbag on the table so she could find her purse.
‘This one’s on the house. No arguments.’
Elsie thanked her and when she took the paper bag, Maggie heard her flip it over to twist and seal the corners, reminiscent of a fruit and veg seller in the town market.
‘When’s the baby due?’ Elsie then asked.
‘October.’
‘You’ll be just fine.’
Many people had said the very same thing but it was the first time that Maggie had come close to believing it. There was something in Elsie’s tone that dared to be challenged, a tone that Maggie hadn’t heard since her mum had died.
7 (#ulink_7a4476a2-7a1f-5bad-bee4-62a301311795)
Maggie stirred her tea as she sat perched at the breakfast bar. It was Saturday afternoon and the house was quiet, unlike her thoughts. After Mrs Milton’s visit earlier that week, she had been left shell-shocked and not a little ashamed. She should have known immediately that Elsa wasn’t the young woman she claimed to be. Even without the benefit of sight, her perceptions were better than that but whereas Alice had coaxed Elsie out of her fug when they had met, Maggie had only reinforced the old lady’s illusory world, leaving her even more confused.
To make matters worse, Maggie felt completely impotent. Mrs Milton would not be returning to the salon despite her assurances to the contrary. She had said her piece and now she wanted to draw a line under the past while that choice remained in her control. There was nothing else Maggie could do except ponder Elsa’s fate and grieve the loss of a friendship that, for the briefest time, had made her feel less alone.
There was one good thing to come from the whole mess: failing Mrs Milton had made her all the more determined not to fail anyone else, not least the baby growing inside her. She could still hear the raw pain in Elsa’s voice as she contemplated giving up her child and behind it that fierce love that only a parent could know. It was that inner strength that prompted her to make one particular call that was well overdue.
‘Hello? Are you there?’
The only reply was the combined sound of shuffling and heavy breathing.
‘Dad? It’s Maggie,’ she said.
She could hear shuffling footfalls as the person on the other end of the phone, no doubt her father, went in search of assistance. Stan had moved to Spain not long after Maggie’s wedding and she had given him a mobile phone so that they could keep in touch. Her dad was hard of hearing and technology wasn’t his strong point so he always seemed mildly annoyed when the phone started to vibrate and disturb his peace. ‘This thing isn’t working again,’ he growled.
‘Come here, Stan.’ It was the matronly voice of Maggie’s aunt. Dot was ten years Stan’s junior, which put her in her late sixties, a spring chicken compared to Stan in body and in mind. The sound of metal scraping against the handset suggested that Dot’s ring-embellished hand had pulled it from Stan’s grasp.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi Dot, it’s Maggie. I take it he hasn’t switched on his hearing aids.’
‘It’s your daughter,’ Dot said loudly before turning her attention to the caller. ‘I swear I don’t know why he even bothers to wear them. How are you, love? Any news?’
