The Pharmacist

When the sobbing eventually subsided, Alice was momentarily confused, but the feel of the gold band in her palm confirmed her discovery with an unwelcome stab of pain. Her husband hadn’t taken that ring off since the day they were married, so why would he do so now? As she dragged herself from the bed and made her way to the bathroom, Alice was sure the answers to her questions must be somewhere here, in her home.

After splashing cold water onto her face, she tentatively opened the wall cabinet where Tom stored his shaving things, only to find it empty, and a search of the other cupboards revealed her own toiletries, nothing at all of her husband’s. Steeling herself for whatever else she might, or might not, find, Alice went downstairs to the lounge and gazed around. Her eyes rested on their carefully chosen furniture, the pictures on the walls and the various ornaments collected over the years of their marriage, all very familiar but also somehow different. These possessions held memories, but Alice couldn’t afford to dwell on them; it was time to be dispassionate, to concentrate solely on facts, abandoning sentiment, for now at least.

The family photographs on display were familiar too, but on closer inspection, incomplete. Precious images from the past were still there, her wedding photograph, her sister’s wedding and subsequent pictures of Karen, James and Beth, a family group including Rachel with Alice and Karen’s parents. Tom’s mother smiled widely from a silver photograph frame and there were several photographs of their beloved Jenny, their golden-haired, beautiful daughter who would always remain just seven years old.

The images brought more tears to Alice’s eyes, but ignoring the ache in her heart, she concentrated only on which photographs were missing. There were no recent images of Tom; there should be a holiday photo from last summer when they’d toured Scotland with Barney. They’d asked a passer-by to take them together and it was one of the few good photos they possessed of the two of them. Surely she hadn’t imagined that? And then there was Millie. Alice distinctly remembered a photograph of her granddaughter in a pretty enamelled frame – an image of the child as a toddler, grinning into the camera – a picture which Tom had taken on one of the rare occasions when Rachel allowed them to take Millie out for the day. Alice loved that photograph; it couldn’t be a false memory, a figment of her imagination, it simply couldn’t.

Alice ventured into the kitchen, surprised to see that it was almost 3pm. Functioning in an automatic daze, she filled the kettle and opened the cupboard for the coffee. As expected, there was no milk in the fridge and no bread either, so she took a loaf from the freezer and prised off two slices to put in the toaster. She was hungry but possessed neither the energy nor desire to consider making a meal.

In her peripheral vision, Alice caught sight of the red coat hanging on the rack by the back door and remembered seeing it on the day she took ill. Rachel claimed it was hers. She approached the coat as if it was alive and might bite her, but a necessity to inspect it closely overcame her caution. The coat was in her size, but Alice couldn’t remember ever having bought or worn it. Rachel must be mistaken; it wasn’t the style of coat she wore and red certainly wasn’t her colour.

Turning her attention back to the coffee, Alice added two large sugars to compensate for the lack of milk and buttered the toast. The coffee still tasted bitter and the toast didn’t appeal but she’d promised Sarah that she would look after herself and, feeling slightly light-headed, common sense told her to eat and drink something.

Placing her mug and plate in the dishwasher, Alice took a deep breath and went back into the lounge to continue the search. Her plan now was to go through all the family photograph albums and find the tin box where Tom kept all their important documents. What she was hoping to find was unclear in her mind, but there must be clues somewhere.

Several albums from childhood were pushed aside, as was her wedding album and a couple from before the accident. Alice searched for more recent pictures to prove that her husband was alive and perhaps some images of Millie. The most recent photos were stored in boxes. She’d long ago given up putting them in albums to save space which fortunately made it easier to go through them.

In the box marked Holidays, Alice dug deep, pulling out handfuls of glossy photographs and fanning them out on the floor, looking for photos of their holiday in Scotland the previous year, for proof that Tom had been alive and with her then. Nothing. There were no holiday snaps since Rachel was a teenager and then very few. Their daughter hated having her picture taken and generally frowned into the camera rather than smiling. A second search through the box confirmed the worst; the images were missing, and there were no photographs of Millie either.

Moving to the next box, marked Family Occasions, Alice again grabbed a handful to spread out on the floor but halted as her hands touched something larger than a photograph. It was a folded card, and on the front was a photo of Tom. She stared at it, shocked and confused. Tears blurred the words as Alice tried to read them:

Order of Service for the funeral of Tom Roberts

April 10th 1963 – December 5th 2014

A loud, wailing sound filled the room. Alice barely recognised the noise as coming from somewhere deep inside herself. When the wailing stopped, she repeated ‘no, no, no’, over and over again, grasping the photograph of Tom to her chest. The pain was unbearable, she wished she were dead too, but she was alive and so utterly alone. Rachel had been telling the truth all along – Tom, her beloved Tom, was dead!

Alice was experiencing the same overwhelming grief that had been a constant in her life when Jenny, Karen and her family died. Surely, she couldn’t cope with such agonising emotional torture again. It was unbearable, excruciating. Maybe this was why she’d doubted Rachel and insisted on the fantasy that Tom was still alive. Didn’t they say that your subconscious blocks extreme trauma as a coping mechanism? But now Alice was forced to admit the truth – her husband was dead and her mind was playing cruel tricks on her.

I’ve been such a stupid, stupid fool, insisting I was right! I’m a silly woman, clinging to the past, inventing stories simply because I want a different reality. Is this what dementia looks like from the inside? I’d always thought I’d be so far gone I wouldn’t be aware of what was happening to me, wouldn’t care even, but this – this is pure hell on earth!

* * *

Alice sat on the floor surrounded by the photographs, the order of service and Tom’s wedding ring in her lap for over an hour, unaware of time and with her mind in turmoil. Grief and pain consumed her body, so much so that she didn’t even possess the energy to stand up when she heard the doorbell ringing. She tried to ignore the insistent noise but whoever was there knocked loudly until Alice pulled herself up and went to open the door.

* * *

‘Sarah!’ Alice almost fell into her visitor’s arms.

‘Alice, whatever’s the matter? Are you ill? Shall I call the doctor?’ There was something seriously amiss. Half carrying Alice back into the house, Sarah settled her onto the sofa, noting the mess on the floor.

‘What’s happened, can you tell me?’ Sarah asked softly.

‘Oh, Sarah, they were right and I was wrong, and it hurts so much…’ The order of service for Tom’s funeral was clasped to her chest and she handed it to her visitor before falling back onto the sofa, exhausted.

Sarah read the front of the card…

‘I’m so sorry; this must be an awful shock for you.’ There was an uneasy silence for a few moments as the women contemplated the relevancy of the find. Alice spoke first, distraught at finding out that Tom really was dead, as Rachel had maintained all along.

‘I’ve blamed Rachel and accused her of lying, and now I feel terrible. How can I not remember, and what about all the other things? Millie, me being a teacher, even the dog. What a fool I must seem.’

‘No, Alice, you’re not a fool, far from it. Dementia’s an illness. It’s not your fault, but you can learn to live with it.’

‘But won’t they send me back to The Elms? I’m not sane anymore!’

‘Not necessarily. They lifted the DOL order as the assessment ruled that you’re able to make your own choices; this doesn’t change that. Many people with dementia stay in their own homes for years. It can be managed, particularly in the early stages.’ Sarah felt somewhat out of her depth, with no formal medical training, only what she’d picked up from experience, but she spoke kindly and, as far as she was aware, accurately.

‘What about these delusions? Am I safe to be alone?’

‘If you still want to live here, Alice, the risks can be assessed, but if you’re worried about being alone and feel you’d prefer some kind of residential care, then I’m sure that’s an option which will be open to you.’

‘No, I’d rather be here. I just don’t know if I can trust my judgement any longer.’

‘That’s understandable, but this is all so new and raw. You can discuss these things with Rachel when she comes home. Have you eaten since you left us this morning? You look as if you could do with a strong cup of tea.’

‘Yes, I think I could, although I did have some toast and coffee a while ago. But you must have somewhere to go, Sarah, you don’t want to spend your free time with me, isn’t that a bit of a busman’s holiday?’ Alice attempted a smile.

‘There’s nowhere I need to be and Jack’s still at work, so unless you want to be alone, I’ll happily stay for a while.’

‘Please, I think I could do with the company. It’s all been quite a shock…’