The Memory Dress

Chapter Twelve

TWELVE

I look at myself under the stark lighting of my bathroom mirror, making a silent promise I know I can’t keep to not overanalyze this coffee with Jake. Why is it I can function perfectly normally in Meredith’s company and somehow not in Jake’s? I open the door to my wardrobe, then close it. I brush my hair, then pull it back into an elastic.

Finally, I force myself to sit on my sofa and think about what exactly it is that I want to say to him. What am I asking him for? How might he help Meredith? As much as the idea of spending more time with Jake is appealing, I also think about how quickly I can drink a cup of coffee. I try to determine the minimum number of minutes before it won’t be considered rude to leave. Fifteen? Why am I feeling all this pressure to make this meeting go well? It’s just coffee!

The frontage of the shop is painted a cool jet black, its windows stuffed with an impressive dried flower display that I know Carina would love. The bright yellow metal chairs that sit on the terrace outside are full of the kind of Lycra-clad mums I see building up a sweat speed-walking with their tribe around the parks every morning.

Inside, it is magical, the kind of place I could linger for hours. It opens up to double height, and as I step inside my eyes are pulled upward to a galleried balcony where I can see rows of colorful books, quiet spots to sit, and more bunches of dried flowers hung upside down. There is a strong smell of aged wood and expensive hand-milled soap.

To the right, there is a solid wooden counter that runs the length of the shop all the way to a small coffee counter at the back. It’s thoughtfully dotted with things I want to touch. Pretty stoneware pots filled with vivid green ferns, smooth handmade ceramic bowls that I want to run my fingers over, folds of softly colored linen, willow baskets stacked with pale tapered candles.

Behind the counter is a glass-fronted cabinet that stretches all the way to the ceiling, its shelves lined with huge white china jars with stenciled lettering on each telling me they are full of loose-leaf tea, and an array of different herbs and spices. Behind me, the opposite wall is devoted to an impressively large wine collection.

And there is Jake, at the very back of the room, sitting astride a high stool, a woman opposite him. I pause. Should I interrupt? Perhaps he’s forgotten he invited me. Perhaps it was one of those invitations that’s offered but not meant? As I’m mentally racing through my options, he sees me and immediately he’s up and off his stool.

“Jayne!” he calls as I fail to stop a huge smile breaking across my face. His female friend spins around on her stool, sees my face, and smiles, too, like she recognizes me as well and is pleased I’ve come. It is the loveliest welcome, from both of them. I head their way.

“Jayne, meet Aurora. She’s…Oh, it’s a long story.” They share a small laugh. “What can I get you? A coffee? Tea?”

I nod without saying a word, too distracted by Aurora’s dress. It’s pale cream and scattered with faded lipstick prints, like someone has kissed her all over. It has an elasticated neckline she’s pulled down to expose her tanned, smooth shoulders—skin I find myself wondering if Jake has kissed.

“Which?” Jake raises his hand to the barista. Both of them are now waiting for me to confirm my drink order.

“The coffee here is the best,” Aurora offers.

“Coffee it is then!” Jake orders it.

While he does, Aurora stands and offers me her stool while she pulls another into our now-tight little trio.

“So, you’re Jayne.” She laughs, like she knows she looks even more beautiful that way. But the laugh is warm, not mocking.

“Oh, thank you, Aurora!” Jake is laughing, too, now, raising his eyebrows at her.

“Sorry! I promise he hasn’t spoken about you the entire morning, Jayne…just most of it,” Aurora directs my way, before she erupts into giggles, knowing full well she has put Jake on the spot, but she doesn’t particularly care. They’re like two siblings winding each other up.

“Christ, Aurora, really ?” Jake ruefully shakes his head, his cheeks getting a little pink. “Okay, time for you to go, please. Didn’t you want to investigate the new French linens that have just arrived? Now’s your chance.”

“No, no, I’ll stay.” Aurora is obviously enjoying herself teasing him.

Jake laughs, bumps her shoulder with his, and mouths “unbelievable” at her, something he seems happy I’ve seen too.

He hands me the coffee and dismisses my attempt to reach for my bag and pay.

“So…” They both look at me, faces full of expectation. Right, this is the bit where I need to explain why I am here. Why I need Jake’s help.

But I hadn’t anticipated explaining everything to Aurora, too, and it’s thrown me. I’m not sure how much to reveal.

Jake sees I’m struggling and tries to ease me into the conversation. “I’m so glad you came, Jayne. We never get a proper chance to chat. I often look out for you but, well”—he falters, like he’s revealed more than he intended—“I guess we must be on very different schedules.” He briefly drops eye contact. Aurora notices it, too, and I see something flicker across her face, the slightest raising of her eyebrows. She silently slips off her stool, reaches for her wicker handbag, and says, “I’ll leave you both to it.” She kisses Jake on the cheek, and I watch as his hand naturally squeezes hers in return. “Lovely to meet you, Jayne,” she adds before she heads toward the linens.

After she’s gone, Jake turns back to me. “Work has been a bit crazy for me and you always seem in such a rush, but I hope everything is okay, with you, I mean. I hope you’re okay?”

There is such a softness to Jake, a willingness to draw you closer to him. I wonder if he grew up surrounded by sisters, encouraged to talk about everything and anything, nothing ever off-limits. “Everything is fine, thank you. The house is great, I love living here.” I nod enthusiastically, I can do this. “How long have you lived in the coach house?”

“A few years now. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. It’s close to work and everything I need in the city but, really, I love the sense of having room to breathe, beyond the madness, to escape when I need to.”

I smile, because without my saying a word, he has identified exactly what I love about living at Lansdown Crescent.

“Anyway, you asked about Mrs.Chalis in your note. How can I help with that?”

“So, she is definitely married?” I figure we should start with the basics.

“Yes, to…William! Lovely guy, very friendly. Although, I haven’t seen him for a while, now I think about it. But nothing unusual there, I can go weeks without seeing any of the neighbors when work is manic.”

I stiffen a little in my seat, knowing I can definitely eliminate the possibility that William is a figment of Meredith’s imagination. The solicitor’s letter was convincing, of course, but hearing from Jake that William lives in the building, has been seen there, is more reassuring.

“I see. The things is, I don’t think she’s very well. Meredith, I mean,” I say hesitantly.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Is it serious?” Jake nods to the guy behind the counter, points to one of the cakes in the glass chiller in front of us, and holds up two fingers. “Forks,” he mouths.

“It’s hard to say. I think it might be.” I’m trying to think how to summarize what has happened, what I’ve witnessed in Meredith’s apartment, and beyond it, in the past few days.

“Do you think she needs to see a doctor?”

I need to tell him more. He obviously thinks we’re in the territory of a sore throat or a raised temperature. But I don’t want to sound alarmist or like some awful nosy neighbor. Or like I’m making much more of this than there needs to be.

“I’m sure she does but, well, it’s not really a physical condition. She seems to have trouble remembering things.”

“What sort of things?” Jake smiles like a child as a huge swirl of custard-filled, chocolate-covered pastry is placed in front of us. It looks delicious but also like the kind of thing that needs to be eaten in private. I won’t be risking it.

“Simple, everyday things. Like where items are in her kitchen, what day it is…whether she has eaten or not.”

He frowns and there is genuine concern in the creases of his face. “That doesn’t sound good, does it?”

“It’s much more than that too. The apartment is a mess. It’s far too big for her to manage. It doesn’t seem like she’s able to look after herself and…”

“William has always struck me as a very capable sort of bloke, one that would stay on top of all that kind of thing.”

“Well, that’s just it…Meredith says he’s missing.” It sounds so sinister when I say it aloud.

“Missing? But he lives there. Unless of course she means he’s left? Left her?”

“There is no physical sign of a man living there. No personal belongings that would indicate she is not living alone. But she speaks very fondly of him. It doesn’t feel like they split up—and coupled with the way she seems so confused about lots of things, well, I’m worried.”

Jake responds immediately. “I think you’re right.” Then he pauses and shakes his head. “I mean, obviously, they could have separated, but whenever I’ve seen them together, they’ve been so…physically close. There is a solidness to them, you know?”

I think of the effort poured into creating Meredith’s memory room, how William may have been right by her side helping her do it. How she may be entirely incapable of re-creating it again now if she had to.

“Jake, she can’t even dress herself. She gets lost in her own apartment. It’s filthy and cluttered. We chat one day and the next she seems to have no idea who I am.” I take a big breath and swallow down the emotion that’s making my words ragged.

Jake’s face has lost all its lightness. But just as I am feeling reassured that he cares, that he is going to help, his features shift, his eyes are dragged off behind me.

“Hello, mate, I was hoping I’d bump into you!” a voice says from behind me, and I watch as the man approaches, extending a tanned arm toward Jake, who has stood to greet him.

The man pulls Jake into a deep hug but it’s brief, the sort men do when they want to be casual, not meaningful. Jake’s hand finds my shoulder, so I don’t feel forgotten, and I’m grateful for it. Only now does the man seem to acknowledge that he is interrupting something.

“David, I had no idea you were back in town. How long are you here? Long enough for us to catch up, I hope?”

“Sadly not. Back to London tonight. I should have known there was no chance of finding you alone. But if I’m not interrupting anything”—he looks to me for approval—“I have a few minutes now for a quick coffee?” He’s already looking toward the barista.

My gut reaction would usually be to jump up from my seat, let him have it, and ease any awkwardness. But Jake, apparently, isn’t going to let that happen.

“I can’t, sorry. I’ll call you later though. Maybe I’ll catch you next time?”

I register David’s disappointment. He tries to hide it with a quick wave of his hand and a shoulder shrug, but the way his eyes flash over me tells me he was not expecting to get a rebuttal. From the corner of my eye, I spy Aurora, who’s noticed it, too, and is smirking to herself, which makes me warm to her a little more.

“Sorry, Jayne, David’s an old colleague. I had no idea he would be dropping in today.” Jake waits until he is out of earshot before he fills me in.

“Oh, don’t worry about it, seriously. But are you sure you don’t want to…” I motion behind me, where David is heading for the exit.

“No, this is important. I’ll catch up with him another time.” Jake’s hand settles on my elbow and I feel the effect of it ripple up through me. “From everything you’ve said, Meredith obviously needs help.”

I’m reassured that Jake has heard the kindness behind what I’m saying and not mistaken me for some sad curtain twitcher with nothing better to do with her time.

“I truly think she does. But I’m not quite sure what to do for a woman living all alone in a big apartment who seems to be losing herself a little bit each day.” This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen. Me getting emotional in front of a man who always seems so together, like drama knows not to bother with him.

“We just need a plan.” He clasps his hands together. “You’ve spoken to Davina and Olivia too?”

“Yes. They weren’t unfriendly but I don’t think they want to be bothered. I get it, they’re busy, but if we all put our heads together, maybe we might get somewhere. I can’t leave her wondering every day what’s happened to her husband, Jake, I just can’t. She deserves to know there are people who care.”

“Well, we are long overdue for a residents’ meeting. They should happen every six months, basically an opportunity for everyone to have a moan about rates and draw up a list of everything that needs fixing. It’s my turn to organize the next one so I’ll do it this week. They will come, I’ll make sure of that bit. Then when we are all together, that’s your opportunity to convince them to help.”

“I’m not sure I can,” I stammer.

His face softens into a smile that I can’t help but find reassuring. “You can, Jayne. You’ve convinced me. I know you can do it again.”

As I’m leaving, I notice a list of names etched into a wooden noticeboard on one of the walls near the door. It dates back to 1780: Mr.Bond, Coach Builder , it’s a list of the past owners. I scan down, through cabinetmakers, wine merchants, grocers, and antiques dealers until I get to the final name at the very bottom, which is 2013: Jake Gilmore, Baker . “Wait, you actually own this place? It’s yours?” I ask.

“I do,” he says sheepishly. “But don’t be too impressed, Jayne. I’m just the one who bakes the bread—and I don’t do that very often or perhaps even very well!”

I can’t help then but look at his hands. They’re lightly tanned with baby pink nails that are clipped short and spotlessly clean. Hands that make something as basic and nourishing as bread but that have also sustained this business, created this beautifully welcoming space. Hands that are going to travel across his keyboard this afternoon, inviting the residents to a meeting that may just help Meredith force open some locked doors. Whether she will like what she finds behind them, I cannot say. But I am glad Jake has said yes. He notices my gaze and must see something of my troubled thoughts in my eyes, because he gently sets a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly.

“It’s going to be okay, Jayne. I’m here to help.”

We say our goodbyes and I head back to the house feeling inflated with…what? Hope that there will soon be some answers? Yes. But excitement, too, one that has nothing to do with Meredith and everything to do with the man I just left. After I arrive home, I cut myself a slice of the bread he baked for me. It’s beautifully crisp on the outside and soft and doughy in the middle—and absolutely delicious. I send him a quick text to tell him so, which feels like the least I can do for him.

His response is immediate.

I hope you’ll let me make you some more. Anytime. It would be great to get to know you better, Jake x

By the time I crawl into bed, I’ve reread it several times but can’t think how to respond.