The Art of Forgetting Read Online Free PDF Page A

how they love to see you – and you can eat with us if you like. If it’s here, we’ll find it sometime, won’t we?”
    When she finally slumps down on the sofa that evening, the kids in bed and the dishwasher rumbling and swooshing in the kitchen, Laura shows Patrick the pad, but he only flicks through it. “It’s all a long time ago now, love,” he says, his eyes drifting back to the television.
    So she texts Kelly.
     
    You around?
    Yup
    I think we should ask Mum about Linda
    Hmm
    She might still remember that far back
    OK, Sunday?
     
    Sundays have become something of a routine in the past few weeks and are at once a trial and a joy. Sometimes, their mother will be perky and apparently almost normal. They’ll sit in a pub somewhere, those of them who can make it, and eat a Sunday lunch like any other family. But sometimes it isn’t like that. Like the time when she was anxious and confused from the moment they arrived at her house, looking for someone or something she could neither articulate nor possibly leave behind. They guided her out and hoped she’d forget about whatever it was by the time they got there, but she didn’t. That was when she swiped Kelly across the face for attempting to help her out of the car. There were other people in the car park and it was all horribly embarrassing and sad, especially as she had never even smacked them as children.
    Still, the good times outweigh the bad. Mostly she sits and eats peacefully, appearing to listen to conversations but then reminding them all that she can’t any more, not really, by telling them something random that had happened years ago or mixing up who they are. This is particularly the case with the children. When Laura’s two and Robin’s boys are all there, she finds it impossible to work out who they are and often calls Lily Laura and all the boys Robin, even though the adult versions of both are sitting there, glaring at their offspring if they seem inclined to laugh or correct her.
    When Sunday comes, Kelly arrives to pick up Laura and they ask Patrick to bring the kids and meet them at the pub. It is difficult taking children into the home anyway, as they don’t know how to respond when some whiskery old man wants to talk to them or when the tall, thin woman who always patrols the entrance hall glares at them as if they are intruders.
    The Willows residential home is a good-sized Edwardian house, set in its own grounds and painted a tasteful muted green. They pull into the drive, the gravel crunching under the tyres, and find a parking space round the back. It is a nice day, breezy but sunny. Several of the residents are on the patio, in wheelchairs or comfortable cane furniture, some with blankets over their knees.
    “Oh, look, there’s Mum,” says Kelly, pointing at a figure at the far end of the lawn.
    “That’s good. We’ll have a word with her out here. She’s often calmer outside.”
    They get out of the car and Laura walks over to her mother, while Kelly goes through the back door to have a quick word with the staff to see how she’s been in the past couple of days. This is supposed to be a short-stay placement, to give them time to sort out the house and put a package of care into place. However, none of them could have guessed how long it would take, or how seriously confused she had become.
    “Hello, Mum, how are you?”
    “Hello, love. Well, I’ll be a lot better when I get back to my own house. Have you come to take me?”
    “No, not today, Mum. You have to stay a bit longer,” says Laura brightly. “Come on, let’s sit over here and have a chat.”
    So they sit down on a bench in the sun and Kelly joins them. Laura notices that her mother is wearing slippers, and somebody else’s slippers at that. She is making a mental note to sort that out before they leave when she realises that Kelly is leaping in with the question.
    “Mum, do you remember a girl called Linda? You used to catch the train with her when you