Page 97 of Merrily Ever After
‘It’s Monday and you’ve got ages until breakfast,’ she replied, standing up. ‘And we’ve got a visitor, remember, my friend Merry?’
‘Hello, Ray, nice to meet you.’ I perched on the edge of the sofa, my stomach in knots.
‘Likewise,’ he said politely. ‘Staying at this hotel, are you?’
‘Um.’ I looked to Emily for help, and she grinned back.
‘Welcome to Dad’s world, Merry.’
‘Just passing through this time,’ I said, playing along. I pushed the gift bag across the coffee table until it was within his reach. ‘I came to bring you some chocolates. Would you like one?’
‘Not for me.’ He peered into the bag and shook his head. ‘We always have chops on Mondays.’
‘Dad has very clear memories of certain things in the past,’ Emily explained.
I nodded thoughtfully, trying to think of a way to tap into his history.
‘My mum used to likelambchops,’ I said.
He shook his head. ‘Too fiddly. All bone and gristle. Like me.’
Emily opened the truffles, peeled the red foil wrapper off one and held it out to him. He ate it straight away; clearly changing his mind about chocolate.
‘My mum’s name was Sam Shaw,’ I persisted.
Ray frowned but said nothing.
‘And do you know what we used to have instead of gravy?’ I don’t know where this memory had come from, but suddenly it was there as clear as glass. Mum opening a can of oxtail soup and heating half of it on the tiny electric hob we had in the flat. The other half would have been put in the fridge to have the next day with bread and butter.
Ray lifted his eyes to mine and stared at me for a long moment as if his brain was trying to put together pieces of a puzzle.
‘Soup,’ he said finally. ‘She always poured soup on her dinner.’
‘Is that right, Merry?’ Emily asked, her eyes wide.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded. ‘Oxtail soup. Sam and Merry had soup on their dinner, remember?’
The tension from Ray’s face seemed to melt away and his head bobbed. ‘Funny girl, she was.’
My heart began to race; he remembered her. He remembered my mum.
‘Mum loved to dance,’ I continued, tears pricking at my eyes. ‘Our flat was only small, but we used to put the radio on and dance. I get my music taste from her. I remember us singing ‘Let’s Dance’ by David Bowie so loud that the neighbours banged on the wall.’
‘Dad loves music, don’t you, Dad?’ Emily prompted him. ‘You brought some of your old records with you.’
‘Fleetwood Mac,’ he said. ‘I’ve got it here somewhere.’
He rose to his feet, his slippers scuffing across the carpet to the dresser, and pulled out an old vinyl record. It was ‘Tango in the Night’.
‘Oh my word!’ My heart skipped. ‘She loved Fleetwood Mac too.’
‘Dad, do you remember us singing together?’ Emily asked. ‘’Everywhere’ is one of my favourite songs. We used to play it all the time.’
‘I love it too.’ My eyes filled with tears, and I felt Emily catch hold of my hand and squeeze it.
He started to sing ‘Everywhere’, the record clutched to his chest. He moved his feet to the music and Emily and I sat and stared. The man who couldn’t remember what day it was knew every word, every note.
And then suddenly Emily and I were singing along and dancing together and Ray smiled and sang louder. Emily grabbed his hands and danced with him and after a few seconds he let go of her and twirled me around. It was a moment that felt so spontaneous and precious and utterly joyful that I knew it was a memory that I’d treasure for the rest of my life.
