Page 117 of The Altar Girls

‘Sit and I’ll make it. This takes four minutes in the microwave.’

‘You might want to do it for five. That machine isn’t great.’

Lottie smiled and turned the dial around to five. It was like she was happy Rose had remembered something. That made Rose’s face flush with heat. She wasn’t a child!

‘What did you do today?’ Lottie asked.

‘Not much.’

‘Go anywhere?’

‘I was here all day on my own.’ Or was she? She shook her head. Nothing there. She must have stayed at home. ‘What are you up to these days?’

‘I’ve a big investigation on. Heartbreaking case.’

‘Oh, why is that?’ Lottie was a detective, and that realisation tweaked a nerve in Rose’s brain. There was something from today that she was supposed to remember. It was linked to Lottie. What was it?

‘Two little girls were murdered and their bodies were left at churches.’

‘She talked about it.’

‘What did you say?’

‘She said something about the girls’ murders.’ Rose knew she had a triumphant smile on her face.

‘Who did?’

‘Betty! That’s who.’

‘Did you see her today?’

The smile died and Rose felt the skin on her face sag. ‘I… I must have.’

She tried to think in the silence her daughter allowed her. It seemed to go on forever, until the microwave pinged and Lottie took out the container with her meal and peeled off the cellophane. She then put the other dinner in the microwave. ‘Oh shit, I forgot to make your tea.’

‘And you think my memory is bad!’ Rose smiled sadly at her daughter, who grinned back at her.

Rose tried to remember where she’d been. Memories of her husband, Peter, faded in and out of her memory. He was dead. She knew that. But in five minutes it could change, and she was back in a world with no concept of intervening years. She felt she was in the wrong house, and then again it was sometimes familiar. She had no control over her mind any more. The blankness was frustrating. The loss of memory was maddening.

‘Is there a cure, Lottie?’

‘For what?’

‘This brain thing, or lack of a brain, that I have.’

Lottie sighed and sat at the table, taking Rose’s hand in hers. Rose was shocked at this display of affection. It was unusual, or maybe it was something else that had got lost in the vacant spaces of her mind. She gladly squeezed back.

‘It’s called dementia, Mother. The doctors are giving you pills to help you. It’s a long process and I’m sure there will be a cure.’

‘Will be? Like someday in the future?’

‘Possibly.’

‘Not a very good prognosis, is it, at my age?’

‘I suppose it isn’t, but we have to live one day at a time.’

‘More like one minute at a time with the way my brain is skewed.’

---