The Little Girl in the Radiator: Mum Alzheimer's & Me (14 page)

‘He’s got the beef!’ wailed Heather.

I instinctively ran after the dog, with
Heather and mum hot on my heels. Heather still had the large carving knife and
fork in her hands.

Bruno sat at the top of the garden, facing
us. His handlebar ears seemed to be stationed at an even more acute angle to
his head, making him look somehow guilty, angry and sorry, all at the same
time. He still had the whole, steaming hot joint of beef in his mouth, and he
was continuing to let out that unearthly growl of his, telling us to keep well
away.

The three of us formed a line at the bottom
of the garden. The Sheriff’s posse had cornered the outlaw, and the stand-off
began; Bad Boy Bruno wasn’t for giving up. It was a delicate situation.

‘Isn’t he very naughty for doing that?’ said
mum. ‘You’re. A. Very. Naughty. Boy!’ She wagged her finger at the dog very
deliberately in time with every word. I remembered the same voice and manner
from my childhood.

‘
Do
something!’ demanded Heather,
nudging me with her elbow.

Bruno lowered his head and dropped the joint
onto the grass. Great streams of saliva dribbled from his mouth onto the meat.
He laid a paw on the joint and rolled it around for a bit, before taking a bite
from it. Bits of grass and clay were already sticking to its surface.

‘What do you want me to do?’ I said. ‘Even
if I manage to get it back, we can’t eat that now.’

‘You’re. A. Very. Very.
Very
.
Naughty. Boy!’ mum wagged her finger at the dog again. ‘And. I’m. Not. Going. To. Talk. To. You. Any. More!’

Bruno lowered his head and mum walked back
into the house.

Heather looked at me and sighed, and then
followed her back into the kitchen. I could hear Heather crashing and banging
about inside, pots and pans were being thrown into the sink with a determined
violence. I was left in the garden staring at this strange dog who I’d come to
love. He wagged his tail at me, and picked up the joint again. It was covered
in bits of grass. I couldn’t help but smile. I think he was trying to show me
how clever he had been. Bruno had lulled us all into a false sense of security
with his little game; I was sure he had planned to steal the meat all along,
and was only waiting for some poor sap to open the back door for him. I never
realised a dog could be that smart.

The atmosphere in the house had changed
slightly. Frosty might be a good word to describe it. No-one spoke. Heather
simply put more carrots and cabbage onto each plate, and the three of us
silently sat down to our now vegetarian Sunday lunch.

To describe it as a bit of an anti-climax
would be a huge understatement. Bruno was locked out in the garden for the rest
of the day by mum, and we watched television, a solemn, silent trio, until
bedtime. Bruno was eventually allowed back inside at around 10 o’clock.

‘You. Go. To. Bed. And. Just. Think. About. Your. Behaviour!’ said mum, wagging her finger at the dog again. Bruno
slept in the hall.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the end of the
story. When I woke up to the sound of my alarm clock the next morning, Bruno
was in bed with me.

‘What the hell…?’ I said as I poked the
hairy hound in the back, trying to work out what had happened in the night.
Bruno rolled over to face me and yawned, his breath smelled of roast beef.

Where was Heather?

I got up and dressed and found her fast
asleep on the sofa in the lounge.

‘What’s going on?’ I said.

Heather pulled the blanket down off her face
and sat up.

‘I got up in the middle of the night to use
the loo,’ she said, ‘and when I was in the bathroom, Bruno got into the bed
with you. When I came back, he wouldn’t let me get back into bed. He kept
growling at me. I had to come out and sleep here. You were snoring for England!’

My new girlfriend wasn’t happy.

‘Something has to be done about that dog!’
she announced. ‘Take him to obedience classes.’

‘I did, but he shagged the instructor,’ I
said, helplessly.

Heather threw me a disgusted look, flopped
back down on the sofa and pulled the blanket over her head. That was the end of
that conversation.

ABOUT A WEEK LATER, and out of the blue, I
got a call from my Aunt Ellen in Dublin.

‘Martin,’ she said. ‘I’ve been thinking
about your mammy an awful lot lately. I’ve been dreaming about her, too. I feel
as though I ought to come over and see her…’

She let her words trail away.

‘You know you’re most welcome to come over
and stay any time at all, Aunty Ellen,’ I said.

‘Good,’ she replied, ‘because I’ll be there
in the morning.’

‘Oh, right…’

Ellen always was the decisive one. She gave
me the details of her flight from Dublin, and I agreed to meet her at Birmingham airport the following day.

‘Mum,’ I said, when I put the phone down.
‘Aunty Ellen’s coming to see you tomorrow.’

‘I don’t have an Aunty Ellen,’ she said.

‘No, but I do. She’s your sister.’

‘Oh, Ellen!’ exclaimed mum. ‘That would be
wonderful!’

My mum and her last surviving sister had
always been very close. Mum was six years Ellen’s senior, and a special
lifetime bond had developed between the two girls when they were small. Mum was
in great spirits when she realised that the pal of her childhood was coming
over.

I took her with me to the airport the next
morning. After I pulled into the car park, I switched off the engine and turned
around to face her, sitting in the back seat.

‘Now listen, mum,’ I said, trying to make my
voice sound stern and authoritative, so that she would pay attention. ‘I don’t
want any of your shenanigans in there.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she replied,
looking shocked.

‘This is a big airport,’ I said. ‘There are
thousands of people coming and going from all over the world, all the time. I
don’t want to have to spend the rest of the day trying to find you. I don’t
want you getting lost, so stay really close to me, okay?’

‘When did I ever get lost?’ said mum, in a
hurt voice. ‘I’m not a child you know.’

‘You got lost when we went to Birmingham on the train,’ I said.

‘That wasn’t my fault, I just got off at the
wrong stop, that could have happened to anybody!’

‘You got lost when you were wandering around
the shops in your nightie.’

‘That was a misunderstanding.’

‘You got lost when you couldn’t remember
where we lived and ended up at Wendy’s house.’

‘I was
visiting
!’ shouted mum. ‘I’m
not stupid!’

‘I didn’t say you were stupid, mum,’ I said,
trying to calm her down. ‘But you do get confused sometimes, don’t you?’

There was a pause.

‘Sometimes,’ she agreed, reluctantly.

‘I just want you to stay close to me in the
airport, that’s all.’

‘I will,’ she said, and started to root
through her handbag. This was her sign that the conversation was over, and she
didn’t want to discuss the subject any more.

I opened the car door and was about to step
out when I felt her hand on my shoulder.

 ‘Sit back down, Richard,’ she said softly.
‘Just for a moment. I want to ask you something.’

I shut the door.

‘Am I sick?’

I hadn’t expected that. The words echoed
around the car. I didn’t really know what to say.

‘What makes you say that? Are you
feeling
sick?’ I fumbled with the words.

‘Sometimes I think I am,’ she whispered.

‘Why do you say that?’

She shrugged her shoulders and looked out of
the window, but didn’t answer. People in jogging bottoms and flip flops were
dragging over-packed suitcases across the tarmac; a policeman was waving traffic
around an intersection; people were milling around everywhere. They all looked
as though they had their lives sorted out, they knew where they were going, or
thought they did. I wondered how many of them would end up with Alzheimer’s.
All these focused people, moving today with determined strides, who wouldn’t
even know the names of their own children come that terrible day.

‘You do get a little confused sometimes,
mum,’ I said.

‘Do you think it’s just my age?’ she asked.

‘Of course it is,’ I replied.

Although mum spent most of her time thinking
she was in her childhood again, at that moment she seemed to realise she was
elderly; for a brief few moments, she seemed focused and in the present.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ I said.

Mum nodded. ‘That’s all right then.’

I opened the car door again.

‘Where are we going?’ asked mum as we
stepped out of the car. ‘Anywhere nice?’

‘We’re not going anywhere,’ I said. ‘We’re
meeting your sister, Ellen, who’s coming to see you from Dublin.’

‘Oh, that’s right!’ exclaimed mum. ‘I can’t
wait to see her!’

I linked her arm and we walked across the
road and entered the main airport concourse under a large ‘Arrivals’ sign.

It was a Saturday morning, and the hall was
already crowded with people waiting to meet friends and relatives on incoming
flights. Professional drivers were standing around with placards, people
trundled heavy cases on wheels and children chased each other around,
screaming. The faint characteristic scent of aviation fuel filled the air.

‘I need to check on Aunty Ellen’s flight,’ I
said to mum over the hubbub, and walked us both towards an overhead flight
display screen.

‘I can’t see her,’ said mum, looking
excitedly around.

‘She’s only just landed,’ I replied. ‘She
won’t be through yet. We need to wait over here.’

I led mum across the floor and we waited by
the large double doors through which my Aunty Ellen would eventually appear.

‘I still can’t see her,’ said mum.

‘She isn’t here yet,’ I said. ‘She still has
to collect her bags. Keep watching those doors.’

‘How long is she staying?’ asked mum.

‘She didn’t say, she just said she was
arriving this morning.’

Mum continued to look all around. Every
young girl with brown hair that passed us, mum gave special attention to. I
wondered if mum was expecting her little sister to be a child, too.

The double doors opened and people from
Ellen’s flight started to wander through.

‘She should be in this lot somewhere,’ I
said.

Mum’s interest was piqued instantly, and she
started scanning the first of the group eagerly.

‘Oh, Ellen!’ she suddenly cried, and ran
forwards with her arms outstretched. She flung her arms around a grey-haired
lady in her mid-60s and kissed her on the cheeks, they hugged in the concourse.
They rocked together in the embrace. An elderly man came up and stood quietly
beside them, and I went over too.

‘Mum, that’s not Aunty Ellen!’ I said.

The old man was smiling.

‘What?’ said mum, pulling suddenly away.

The elderly lady extracted herself with some
difficulty from mum’s fervent embrace, and grabbed the old man by the arm.

‘I’m sorry about this,’ I said to the
couple. ‘We thought you were someone else.’

The old lady nodded and smiled, but I could
see she was still a bit startled. I led mum away by the elbow.

‘That wasn’t Aunty Ellen, mum,’ I said.
‘Wait until I see her.’

‘She looked just like her!’ said mum.

I sighed. ‘It’s an easy mistake to make.’

Moments later, my aunt actually did come
through the doors. I recognised her immediately.

‘There she is!’ I said, pointing.

Mum ran over again and threw her arms around
her sister, and then the two of them came over to me arm-in-arm so I could hug
the aunt I hadn’t seen in some years. Then mum hugged me, though I’d only seen
her two minutes ago. Then everybody hugged everybody else again.

‘I can’t believe you’re here!’ exclaimed
mum.

‘Well I am here, so let’s go and get a cup
of tea,’ said my aunt. ‘I’m dying for a cup of tea.’

The three of us made our way out of the
arrivals hall and back into the main concourse, where there were bars and shops
scattered here and there.

‘Let’s go in here,’ said Ellen, and we all
trooped into a coffee bar.

‘How was your flight?’ I said, when we’d all
sat down.

‘Grand,’ replied my aunt. ‘I’m glad I made
the decision to come over.’

My aunt looked at my mum as though she was
trying to weigh something in her mind. ‘How have you been Rose?’ she asked.

‘I’m fine,’ said my mum. ‘There’s nothing
the matter with me, it’s just my age.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ replied Ellen, and
she looked directly at me. My aunt leaned closer to me, and whispered, ‘I want
to have a chat with you, Martin, when we can have a minute or two to
ourselves.’

I nodded.

Over the past year or so, Aunt Ellen had
kept in touch with us by telephone. She would call at fairly irregular
intervals, whenever the mood took her, and I had been appraising her of mum’s
worsening condition at each call. She was under no illusions.

I went up to the counter and ordered the
tea. When I returned to my seat the two women were deep in conversation.

‘...and if it wasn’t for Richard, I don’t
know what I would have done lately,’ said mum, turning and smiling at me.

‘Richard?’ said Ellen.

‘Yes, Richard,’ said mum, nodding in my
direction.

‘Oh, Rose,’ replied Ellen, gently. ‘This
isn’t Richard, this is Martin.’

Mum seemed confused.

‘You do know that don’t you?’ pressed my
aunt.

Mum nodded. She hated to think that she had
made a mistake; if anyone challenged something she said, she would brush over
it, as though it was of no importance.

‘Of course I do,’ said mum.

My aunt looked at me and smiled.

‘So, how are things with you, Martin?’ she
asked. ‘I hear you have a new girlfriend?’

‘Yes, her name’s Heather. She’s living with
us now.’

‘That’s a good thing,’ replied my aunt. ‘How
is she getting on with your mammy?’

‘They get on fine,’ I said.

Suddenly mum got up from the table and went
across to a young couple who were sitting at another table across the way from
us. She appeared to speak to the girl for a moment, then to the boy, and then
she sat down and joined them.

‘What’s she doing now?’ asked my aunt.

‘She does this a lot,’ I replied. ‘She sees
someone and thinks she knows them. She just strikes up conversations with
anybody. Most of the time the people don’t seem to mind.’

Ellen was shaking her head.

‘I have to watch her all the time,’ I said,
‘or she would just go off with anyone.’

‘I can imagine,’ said my aunt. ‘How are you
coping with her at home?’

‘Not very well really,’ I said, deciding to
be honest. ‘Heather helps, but really I think the time has come to find mum a
place where she could be looked after properly.’

‘I think so, too,’ said my aunt. ‘I’d take
her myself, but we don’t have the room.’

‘It’s not just about the room, Aunty Ellen,’
I said. ‘You can’t take your eyes off her for five minutes. She leaves the iron
on, the gas on, the doors open. Anything could happen. She thinks Heather is
Wendy, she thinks I’m Uncle Richard, and she’s living in a time in her
childhood that I don’t know anything about.’

‘I’ll have a talk with her,’ replied my
aunt.

The couple mum was talking to got up to leave,
and mum got up with them. The three of them just started to wander away down
the airport concourse.

‘Where’s she going?’ asked my aunt.

‘She’s leaving with that couple,’ I said.
‘I’ll go after her.’

I ran after them, and caught her by the
elbow. ‘This way mum.’

‘Bye, now!’ said mum to the couple, who
smiled a little nervously at me, and hurried away.

‘Time to get going,’ I said, as we rejoined
my aunt.

The journey home from the airport was
uneventful, and when we reached the bungalow I introduced Ellen to Heather.
They got on famously from the word go, and chatted for hours about everything
and nothing, with mum joining in now and then with the odd story that sent
everyone into fits of laughter. My aunt was very skilful at getting mum to talk
about what was happening in her life, and she told me later that she thought
mum was living in her mind in around 1940, when she had been 15 and Ellen nine.

‘Do you remember that sweet shop on the
corner of Bath Avenue, Rose?’ asked my aunt. ‘Our mammy used to take us all
there every Sunday after Mass, and buy us a big bag of sweets each?’