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Mum and I stay up for a while, washing up and tidying the kitchen.

‘Your mobile went ping just then,' she says.

‘Did it?' I say, trying to ignore it.

‘Aren't you going to see who that's from? It might be Emily.'

I hunt around in my pocket – Gran left my jacket on the back of a kitchen chair. If she'd been her normal self, she would have joked about how cool she looked in it.

‘Who is it?'

‘No one,' I say, checking the message.

‘Well, it must be from somebody.'

‘All right, it's from Lewis, asking if I'd meet him for a walk with the dogs.'

‘You aren't going to go, are you?' I'm not sure how much Mum knows, probably as much as Emily does, I suspect. I let my phone power down. I have more than enough to contend with, without Lewis. Seeing him again this evening has reminded me – as if I really needed a reminder – that I still love him and probably always will.

My heart remains broken and, the next morning, I break my grandmother's heart as well.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Someone to Love

It's like the film,
Groundhog Day.
Mum is looking after the shop while I talk to Gran upstairs.

‘I'm so sorry. You've done so much for me and I wanted to look after you in return, but it's become impossible.'

She frowns. She's had a shower and washed her hair, which is still wet, like grey mouse tails stuck to her scalp.

‘Can you remember what happened last night?' I continue. ‘You took yourself off to the fair.'

‘Did I? Did you come with me?'

‘I came and found you.'

‘Oh dear. I don't like to cause trouble.'

‘You didn't. You haven't.' I feel the familiar sense of exasperation rising inside me at being unable to penetrate the wall of incomprehension that the dementia has thrown up between us. There's absolutely
no way of getting through to her. I try another tack. ‘I know I promised I'd always be here for you . . .'

‘You are here,' Gran says brightly. ‘Look at you. You're right here in front of me. Unless you're a ghost.'

‘I've tried really hard to make sure you can stay here and keep the shop going, but it's become apparent – no, obvious, that we can't carry on like this. You need someone to look after you full time, and I can't do that because I have to go out to work with my ladies and their babies. Do you understand?'

‘Oh yes.' She nods vaguely. ‘You have a lovely day. I'll cook us something special for tea. I think there's a nice piece of beef in the fridge.'

‘There isn't,' I say. ‘I had to throw it out.'

‘I thought you knew better: waste not, want not.'

‘It was off. I found it in the oven along with the butter and eggs.'

I didn't put it there,' Gran says, immediately defensive, and I wish I hadn't mentioned the fate of the beef.

‘Well, I don't know who did, unless it was Mr Nobody,' I say, referring to the imaginary culprit that Emily and I grew up with at home with Mum and Dad.

‘Granddad, you mean. He's always putting things away in the wrong places so I can't find them.'

I run my hands through my hair, take a deep breath and try again.

‘I'm sorry to upset you, but you are going to have to move out of the flat and into a home.' I don't intend to be quite so abrupt, but I don't know how else I can get the message across.

‘I'm not going into a home. This is my home!' Gran exclaims, suddenly animated, as if I've flicked a switch. ‘Zara, you promised . . .' Her lip trembles and my heart twists with pain at hurting her.

‘I know . . .' I swallow past the tightening in my throat. ‘I didn't foresee what was coming.' I lower my voice and add, ‘And I don't think you did either . . .'

‘What was that? What did you say?' Gran cranes towards me.

‘Zara, there's someone to see you and your grandmother,' Mum calls, interrupting our conversation. ‘Shall I send them up?'

‘All right,' I call back, wondering if it's Emily who's dropped in to make sure everything's okay after the night before. It crosses my mind that it might be Lewis, but it isn't. It's Adam, Rosie and baby Isla. Rosie, dressed in skinny jeans and a padded jacket with a fur hood, carries her daughter in her arms, while Adam follows behind.

‘Hello. This is a lovely surprise,' I say, reminding Gran of the identity of our visitors in case she's forgotten them since they last came into the shop. It was a week or so ago; they came in to pick up some chocolate and update the ads in the window for Uphill Farm cider, which Adam's stepdad makes, and for Jennie's Cakes.

‘What a lovely baby,' Gran beams. ‘Does she belong to you, young man – only you seem far too young to be making babies?'

‘Please don't be embarrassing,' I say. ‘Is this a social call, Rosie?'

‘I thought you'd like to see Isla,' she says. ‘She's growing so fast, I can't believe it.'

I reach out and touch Isla's outstretched fingers. She gives me a tiny smile, yawns and closes her eyes.

‘I'm sorry. I'm boring you,' I smile, looking back at Rosie. ‘You're looking great.' Motherhood suits her.

‘Adam's brought your gran's stuff back,' she goes on, nodding towards him.

He hands me a coat and purse. ‘Rosemary asked me to look after these last night, but I lost her in the crowd and I had to run up to the King's Head for the last barrel to cheer for Guy.'

‘Oh, thank you.' I'm touched and relieved. ‘That's really kind of you. I thought she'd lost them. Why don't you stop for a cup of tea with us?'

The young couple glance at each other.

‘No, thank you,' Rosie says. ‘I'd like to get Isla home in time for her next feed.'

I escort them back downstairs, making sure they have some sweets as a gift before they leave the shop, and then return to Gran and our unfinished conversation.

‘Now, where were We?' I begin, and smile to myself; if I can't remember, what hope is there for my grandmother? ‘We were talking about you moving to a place where you can be looked after properly, where you can be safe.'

‘Are you suggesting I go into an old people's home?' she says, looking affronted this time. ‘Oh no. I will only leave here in a cardboard box.'

‘I don't think you mean that.'

‘I certainly do. I shan't leave until I'm carried out
in my coffin,' She grasps the edge of the table with both hands. ‘You can't make me, Sarah.' A tear forms, glinting from the corner of her eye.

‘I'm Zara. Sarah is your daughter.'

‘Why do you want to put me away?' she asks.

‘I don't want to.'

‘Then why are you telling me this?'

‘Because I've tried really hard to make sure you can stay here, but it isn't working for either of us. You need someone to look after you full time, and I can't do that because I have to go out to work with my ladies and their babies. Do you understand?' I repeat.

‘Oh yes.' Gran nods vaguely. ‘You have a lovely day. Will you be wanting tea tonight?'

‘No, thank you. We've been through this already.'

‘Aren't you going to work then?'

‘Not till tomorrow morning.'

‘I think I shall go back to bed,' Gran announces. ‘Goodnight, Zara.'

‘Goodnight,' I sigh. I mean, good morning. It's ten o'clock in the daytime.'

‘What did she say?' Mum asks when I go back downstairs.

‘I thought she'd be heartbroken, but I'm not sure what she thinks, whether she even understands what I've been saying.' It's me who's devastated, not my grandmother. ‘You know, I think she'll be all right about it in the end. At the moment, she can't remember what we're talking about from one minute to the next.'

‘I'll make sure we have her place confirmed and paid for,' Mum says. ‘Dad's
looking into putting the shop on the market.'

‘It would be a shame if it became a charity shop, or ended up being converted into a house. I'd like to see it stay as the local newsagent's.'

‘So would I, but who will take it on? It needs a lot of work to update it. Anyone who comes in will want to modernise the flat.' Mum marks down reductions on some packets of chocolate buttons close to their best-before date. ‘It could be difficult to find a buyer, but as Gran would say, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.'

The next morning, my father looks after the shop, and I'm glad to get out and about because my grandmother insists on being there with him to make sure he gets it right. As I leave, Dad comments that it's going to be a very long day.

I visit one of my ladies, Charley, in Talymouth. Her husband, Ian, is a builder, and her house is an example of his work, set on top of the cliff looking out to sea, and extended in all directions. I wouldn't choose to live here if someone paid me, because when you look down the garden, you can see the new fence that Ian put up to replace the one that fell onto the beach last winter after a prolonged spell of heavy rain. In another ten or twenty years, the house will be gone too.

Charley isn't as far on as she hoped, and I have to explain that I'll come back in a couple of hours to see if she's progressing.

‘I feel a bit of an idiot now,' she says.

‘This is your first baby – it's often difficult to tell when
labour starts, but these are Braxton Hicks contractions, not the real thing.'

‘Is there any benefit in having an induction, a stretch and sweep, for example?' she asks.

‘Why are you so keen to get this going? It's only a day past your due date.'

‘It's the football. Ian has an important match tomorrow.'

‘Does he play then?'

‘Not for Arsenal.' Charley chuckles. ‘No, he's got tickets to watch a match with some of his mates.'

‘I'm not inducing you for a football match. Ian can surely be here for this one-off occasion? I mean, you don't have a baby every day.'

‘And Ian doesn't get tickets to Arsenal every day either.'

What can I say? I'd be annoyed if my partner told me he couldn't make it to the birth of our child because he was going to a football match.

Charley rings me later to say nothing has changed, so I don't see her again until midday the following day when labour has definitely started and the baby is on her way.

‘Ian's at the match,' she announces. ‘He's texted me to let me know he's there.'

‘Okay, let's see. How long will it take him to get back?'

‘Several hours. The match hasn't begun yet.'

‘Tell him to turn around and come straight back, otherwise he's in danger of missing out on the birth.'

As it turns out, Charley does everything she can
to slow the process down, but nature cannot be stopped. When you're in labour, you have no choice but to go with the flow, but Ian is lucky because, having threatened him with instant divorce if he arrives home too late, he turns up in his Arsenal shirt and slightly the worse for wear, with several of his mates, five minutes before his daughter is born.

‘You are so going to have to make this up to me,' Charley says, cuddling her baby to her breast.

‘It's all right, darling. It worked out. Lee drove down the motorway at eighty, I made it home in time and the Gunners won.' He grins, revealing a gold crown on a front tooth. ‘It's the best day of my life.' He opens the bedroom door and calls down the stairs. ‘Come and see the baby, and bring me a beer – there's plenty in the fridge.' I pack up my kit and make an attempt at clearing up in the presence of seven inebriated football supporters who are intent on wetting the baby's head.

‘Thank you,' Charley says, when I'm ready to leave.

‘Make sure you kick them out in the next half-hour,' I smile. ‘You need to rest. Kelly will be back tomorrow. Any worries, let me know.'

It's been a long day and, when I reach home, I find three missed calls from Lewis, but I don't return them. There's also a message from Emily asking me to ring her, which I do. She wants me to meet Lewis.

‘He keeps going on about it,' she says. ‘He's driving Murray mad.'

‘I don't want to see him,' I say. ‘Don't you understand?'

‘All he's asking is if you'll go out for a walk with the dogs.'

‘And how do you think that makes me feel?'

‘You could just catch up with him this once. It'll break the ice before you next come over to the farm for Sunday lunch. It wouldn't kill you, would it? And anyway, I think you owe him for helping you find Gran. He's a lovely guy and you two could still be great friends.'

‘I don't think I can be just mates with Lewis. It wouldn't work.' I pause. ‘I've got more important things to deal with – Gran, for example.'

‘You're going to let Mum and Dad help you?'

‘Yes. I can't go through this any more. The other night, she scared me witless, going missing like that.' I can't help picturing her on the Teacup ride at the fair, spinning around without a care in the world. It seems doubly cruel to take away her home, her way of life, and deny her that freedom to do whatever she likes, but gradually her loss of independence is encroaching on my freedom and, although it sounds selfish, I can't let it go on.

‘Zara? You've gone quiet. Are you okay?'

‘I feel so mean.'

‘I know, but it's the right thing to do. No one will blame you – except Gran,' Emily goes on ruefully.

‘Thanks for that. That's what I'm afraid of. She's going to hate me after this.'

‘She isn't well. If she was her normal self, she'd understand.'

I bite my lip.

‘It's easy to say . . .'

‘I know,' my sister agrees quietly.

I wish her goodnight.