The Memory Dress

Chapter Sixteen

SIXTEEN

Jake’s place is every bit as cool as I imagined it would be. The second he opens the door to me I can smell the comforting waft of freshly baked bread. The smell of contentment. He sees me register it.

“Delicious, isn’t it? Come on in.”

The ground floor, where the horses and carriage would originally have been kept, has been converted into a large open-plan kitchen that’s dominated by an enormous dark wood island. I can see the remains of flour scattered across it and I like that Jake hasn’t felt the need to make the place spotless for us.

At one end is a deep-inset butler’s sink with a central golden tap arched over it. On either side are huge wooden chopping boards and at the opposite end is what must be the hob, its sleek silver hood pulled down over it. A glossy black cooker sits beneath. A low chandelier creates a soft light, just enough to illuminate all the copper pots filled with a staggering array of utensils and knives and a giant marble mortar and pestle. All this for one man? One wall has an open fireplace, the other is lined with shelves that are filled with cookbooks. I’m not sure I own even one.

I’m relieved to see the others are here already, including Maggie (but no Willow, who is “pretending to do her homework,” according to her younger sister). Carina has already arrived and has introduced herself to everyone rather than coming to get me first.

“You had to duck to fit through that door.” Maggie giggles, characteristically direct.

“Thank you, Maggie, you are far from the first person to ever point this out,” I reply as she hurls herself toward me.

“I like it. It makes you look strong.” She raises an arm and flexes a bicep to demonstrate her point. Without realizing it, Maggie is the ultimate icebreaker. She’s probably exactly the kind of girl my mum hoped to raise. She achieved it once, but not twice.

I smile at the nerve of this little lady, wondering how long she might stay this way before self-consciousness descends and wraps its firm arms around her. Before a thoughtless or ill-timed throwaway comment might pull the rug from underneath her, her foundations never quite recovering from the shock or hurt. There were countless times when I got off the bus home from school one or two stops too soon so I wouldn’t have to listen to the boys in the back row shouting my name and loudly debating whose turn it was to come and sit next to me, to goad me into talking. It’s hard to imagine this for Maggie, watching her cheeks fill with color, but I know it’s possible.

“Would you like me to set you up with a movie upstairs, Maggie, while the adults have their boring chat?” offers Jake, extending a hand to her. “Help yourself to a glass of wine, Jayne.” The two of them disappear up an exposed wooden staircase to the first floor.

Before I have a chance to question where the fridge might be hiding, Davina kindly jumps up and pours me a glass. I plonk myself onto one of the empty stools and look around, taking in the understated but undeniable luxury of the home Jake has created.

“He must be loaded,” says Olivia, echoing all our thoughts. “Have you seen the gold tap?”

“He’s obviously got a few spare pennies but he’s very nice with it, in my opinion,” adds Davina.

“Okay, that’s Maggie sorted.” Jake is completely comfortable with the fact that she is now unattended upstairs where she could, and probably will, wreak all manner of damage. I suspect there is a velvet sofa up there that will never recover from a soaking in strawberry smoothie. He might be finding chocolate finger marks on the walls for weeks to come. But he looks like the thought hasn’t even occurred to him.

I watch as he moves confidently around his own kitchen. He pins a large focaccia bread that’s dotted with olives and sun-dried tomatoes with one hand to a chopping board. Then he carves generous slices and slides it down the work surface so we can all reach it. I think about how his hands would have tenderly kneaded that dough this afternoon. His patience waiting for it to proof. The satisfaction of watching it rise in the oven and now the joy of carving something he made for us all to enjoy.

“I am available for lessons,” he quips, noticing the attention I am paying his small actions. “For bread making, I mean, if you ever fancy it?”

I really do fancy it. But just the two of us? I suspect Jake has never had a similar doubt in his life. His confidence is both impressive and a little baffling.

“We’ve got lots of different olive oils here. I can highly recommend the Sicilian, very fruity with a hint of almond nuts if you like that. Just help yourselves to whatever you like, plates are here if you need them.”

I try not to think about the cheese puffs I laid out the other night. Another reason to love Maggie, who kindly hoovered them all up before anyone else saw them.

Jake takes the stool closest to mine. “Okay, Jayne, where shall we start?” His eyes linger on mine and there is a beat or two when I don’t—or can’t—break away. He’s so easy to like. Everything about him is designed to entice you closer. The open body language, the kind eyes, the warmth and ease of him. A man apparently totally comfortable in his own skin.

“With me, please.” Olivia ignores the fact Jake’s question is aimed at me. “I can’t stay long.” I was hoping she may have softened since our last meeting, that there may be a shred of willingness to embrace and join this challenge. But clearly, there isn’t.

“You mentioned before that Meredith seems to be worse in the mornings. More distressed and confused.” Olivia takes the vocal lead, not waiting for a response. “Well, if you think about it, that makes perfect sense. It’s like any of us who have some form of regret or hurt, isn’t it? Everything is fine for the first few seconds when you wake up in the morning, and then you relive it all over again.”

I watch as everyone reconnects with their own dark cloud, gently nodding in recognition of Olivia’s assessment. I wonder if she is thinking about her mum’s final weeks. Then there’s my mum again, pricking at the corners of my conscience. Her loss, mine, too, but also my gain, the horrible guilty mess of it all.

I look at Jake—even he has mentally left the room, and I can’t imagine what his Achilles’ heel might be.

“Maybe she is reliving the absence of her husband?” offers Olivia. “If she is suffering with some form of dementia, then typically short-term memories are not laid down and stored in the same way as longer-term recollections. Every morning she might relive him packing his bags and going, or the last time she saw him. Mum could remember the most detailed stories from her childhood. She could describe the stitching on a dress she wore to a birthday party, the pattern of markings on her first kitten, the flavor of the ice cream she was bought at the end of the pier one summer. Her storytelling was vivid and specific, and seemed to come so easily to her. But, if I asked her about a conversation we’d had the day before, she wouldn’t remember any of it.”

“That’s why most days I have to reintroduce myself to Meredith?” I had guessed as much.

“Exactly. While she might be able to visualize scenes from her life with William from decades ago, what happened in the past few months may be completely lost to her or at least very disordered. Think about it from her point of view. Every day she wakes up and sees the bed empty next to her. That could trigger huge anxiety. She might feel abandoned all over again and that level of continued trauma could be affecting how her broader memory functions. Everything might have got very fragmented, thrown up in the air. She might have what I’ve heard referred to as an emotional residue to an event. She knows how she felt at that time, but she won’t necessarily remember key facts or the part she played in it all. Mum managed to set off all the smoke alarms in her kitchen once when she forgot she was baking a cake. She couldn’t remember the incident, the fact there was smoke billowing out of the oven, but afterward she couldn’t listen to Radio 2 without getting upset because that’s what was playing at the time. She associated the presenter’s voice with the panic of trying to disperse the smoke and the knowledge that she had done something dangerous.” Olivia sighs heavily and I wonder at the silent questions she may be asking herself while we all digest this information.

“Okay, this is a lot more complex than I imagined.” Davina suddenly looks a lot less confident about our endeavor and I can’t lose her too. I decide to inject the conversation with some good news about our trip to London yesterday. As I start to explain, Davina’s eyes widen. Olivia looks horrified. Jake mildly and Carina highly impressed.

“Why did you do that ?” Olivia’s voice is laced with a hint of accusation that doesn’t feel quite in the spirit of why we’re here.

“Okay, let me explain,” I start.

“Actually, I’m sorry, I really do have to get going or I’ll be late.”

“Late? But I thought we agreed we were meeting tonight?” I can’t help it. I’m annoyed Olivia has made other plans.

“Actually, I wasn’t going to come at all, remember? But my conscience got the better of me. But there is somewhere else I need to be. Add me to the WhatsApp group if you’re setting one up, and I’ll drop in anything else that feels useful.” Olivia waves a hand around the room, offering a collective goodbye, and leaves.

Davina notices the slump of my shoulders.

“You can’t make her care more than she does, Jayne. Besides, there is plenty else to focus on.” Davina’s logical approach to life makes a lot of sense, I just can’t replicate her pragmatism. “It’s not that she’s an unhelpful person, I think she’s shown us she’s not. This just isn’t something she wants to commit to.”

I open my mouth to complain but she’s having none of it. “Tell us about London.”

My mouth suddenly feels very dry, so I take a decent glug of wine before I go on. “As you know, Meredith believes her husband, William, to be missing and both you and Jake have confirmed he was once here and hasn’t been seen for some time, probably several months, from what I can gather.”

“Would it be too mean to suggest that maybe her erratic behavior just got a little too much for him?” suggests Davina. “If it’s as bad as you say, then we could hardly blame him, could we? Things may be much worse than we realize. I still think William and Fiona could be together.”

“Perhaps.” But I can’t believe it’s true, not from the tender way Meredith talks about him, the detailed visual record she has kept of their love story and the way I believe he may have helped her construct it.

“Actually, let me just jump in and tell you what I know from the call I made to the solicitor yesterday,” adds Davina. “As I should have perhaps predicted, he was reluctant to tell me anything as I am not a client and specifically not the client in question, William. But what he did say is that if I were able to prove that William is deceased, he would be able to release details of his will and, although he didn’t specifically state it, one would presume the letter that is being held there for Fiona.”

“But we don’t know if William is deceased or not, do we, even if it is a possibility?” Much as I don’t want to consider that option, logic dictates that we must, although surely Meredith would remember that.

“Actually, we do. I checked the death records after my call with the solicitor and there is no record of a Mr.William Chalis of this address dying in the past two years. I went back a little further than the solicitor letter was dated to be extra sure.”

I imagine Davina then, masterminding one of her events with a detailed running order, a call sheet and timeline accounting for every minute of setup and pack down.

“Busy as we all are,” she adds, “I’d like to think one of us might have noticed an undertaker or a visit from a coroner, the arrival of sympathy flowers, something. I also checked with the local police station and there is no missing person report filed.”

I’m not so sure. I often have to shout Olivia’s name through her letter box before she answers the door, and Davina, the girls, and Jake are very rarely here in the daytime. Something significant could very easily be missed.

“I can check back over the orders at Bouquets & Bunches,” adds Carina. “If William did pass away, then there is a good chance flowers will have been sent to Meredith and every chance they could have come from us, since we’re the closest florist to this address.”

“Brilliant,” says Davina. “Let’s cover all bases.” She pulls a small notebook from her bag and starts to bullet-point our action plan.

This is exactly the kind of cold logic this process needs. The kind that I have been incapable of, so caught up in the emotion of Meredith’s story, incomplete as it is. “I think it might help if we make sure someone visits her every morning to check she isn’t too distressed?” I lightly suggest.

“Perhaps we just need to get her to a doctor?” asks Jake, his voice more concerned now.

“It’s a good point,” Davina says, scribbling in her notebook again. “Even if she has seen a doctor, she still seems quite young for dementia to be the obvious or only diagnosis. It could have been dismissed as depression or something else, particularly if her husband has left her. Anyway, I’m not sure a GP will speak to any of us on her behalf. That would have to be done through her family.”

“Actually, I spoke to the receptionist at her doctor’s surgery this morning.” I’m pleased to tick another action off our long list of jobs. “Meredith is on a waiting list for a telephone call from the doctor. They slot them in between physical appointments in the surgery. I didn’t go into too much detail, but I explained that she seems confused and forgetful. I’m hoping that she may say something on the call that will alert a GP to her needing more help.”

“Let’s just hope she actually picks up the phone when they call,” adds Davina.

“There’s more too. I asked how Meredith might be able to access her medical records and she told me if she makes an appointment, they will have them ready for her.”

“Very interesting.” Davina nods her head enthusiastically. “Those records won’t necessarily lead us to William, but if she has a daughter, they will show when and where she was born. We would have Fiona’s confirmed full name and a date and place of birth, which would surely make finding her a lot easier.”

“That will certainly be quicker than relying on social media,” adds Carina.

Davina throws her smile around the room, but I am uneasy with the suggestion we march Meredith in there and, what? Peer over her shoulder while she reads her records, perhaps not really understanding why she is there or what she is looking for?

“How would I even explain to Meredith the reason she is at the doctor’s? Would she even be capable of making the appointment in the first place?” The last thing I want to do is remind them all of the difficulties we face, but this is an obvious practical hurdle.

“You could just explain that it’s best she goes and gets a professional assessment. This could give us a real breakthrough.” Davina has more confidence in my abilities than I do.

“I could. But she has specifically told me she doesn’t want to go, that William said they will handle it together and she trusts his opinion. I need to think about it.”

Jake refills our glasses and offers the bread around. As I bite into it, I feel the silkiness of the olive oil slide down my chin and he offers me a napkin. “Messy but worth it, I hope.” He smiles.

“We got a little sidetracked, Jayne, tell us what else you know.” Davina’s hand is still poised over her notebook.

I tell them more about our trip to London, how we visited the location the first dress was worn, the Royal Albert Hall, and the effect it had on Meredith.

“You’re forgetting the really exciting bit,” shouts Carina, and I wince as I realize I never told her I was planning to keep that detail to myself for a little longer.

Everyone’s head turns to me.

“What!” Davina is impatient to know everything, especially this.

“Well, it’s not just sketches. There is a very luxurious-looking dress in Meredith’s apartment. The dress itself is impressive but there’s a handwritten note to Meredith along with it.”

“Go on…” Davina leans over her notebook, pen still poised.

“It’s signed from Catherine Walker.”

Silence.

“Sorry to be dim but should that name ring any bells?” Jake looks baffled.

Carina beams, ready for the big reveal.

“She’s a fashion designer. That’s most likely a very expensive dress and probably completely bespoke,” Davina jumps in before I have a chance to respond to him. “The label is a real favorite with mothers of the bride at certain society weddings. They’ve been dressing royalty for years, the Duchess of Cambridge more recently, and of course…hang on…you’re not suggesting…”

“Yes, the label is most famous for dressing Diana and the note from Catherine makes clear that she wanted Meredith to have it.” I try to keep my tone factual so everyone will take this seriously. “I’ve done some digging and Diana is pictured wearing this dress. It was made for her—and now it’s Meredith’s. We just don’t know why , what the connection is between the two women.”

“Wow.” Davina puts the pen down like there aren’t the words to turn this into an actionable bullet point.

“Quite something, isn’t it?” Carina looks thrilled to have this fact known among the group.

“Well, there is clearly a lot more to Mrs.Chalis than meets the eye.” Jake looks almost proud of her and I love that he seems every bit as invested in this story as the rest of us are.

“Meredith told me that this dress is connected to William in some way, that he is also part of whatever story we are trying to uncover here—and there’s something else. We ended up in the Fashion Museum together the other day and she saw a dress there that was worn by Diana back in the nineties. She knew it, every little detail about it. She was able to tell me facts that were not on display.”

“There is a lot to work out.” Davina bites down on the end of her pen. “But here’s what I’m thinking. If Meredith felt closer to William and more connected to her past when she was standing outside the Albert Hall, then it stands to reason that if you visit the other locations, more could be revealed.”

I want to breathe in Davina’s optimism and make it my own.

“She might recall more of their relationship and how she has got to where she is today. She may remember enough to help us find William, to work out what exactly has happened to him, and to answer why she has a daughter who never visits her.”

Jake nods his agreement. “And we all take care of her as best we can in the meantime until we can trace one or both of them and get her the professional help she needs. Where were the other dresses worn, Jayne?”

“Quite a few were around London, then some further afield. Northamptonshire, Sandringham, and abroad in Venice and New York.”

“You could start with the London ones, Jayne, and see how you get on? It might just be enough to reveal some of the missing parts?” Davina is definitely the ideas person in the room, and I love her for it but I’m not sure I can put Meredith through that again.

“She was fine while we were there, but I think that much travel to and from London is going to be too hard on her. Her apartment is really the only place she feels entirely safe. It’s her lifeline.”

“Okay, let’s park that problem for now,” determines Davina. “There will be a way round it but in the meantime, from what everyone has said, we have a good hit list of interventions we can put in place.” She flicks back through her notebook, ready to remind us all. “What about a laminated checklist for Meredith that we attach somewhere in the bathroom, perhaps even inside her shower? It should list the number of steps in her morning and evening wash routine, in the order in which she needs to perform them to ensure she gets washed and dressed properly.”

“Yes, that’s certain to help,” I say, feeling immediately encouraged. “I also love the idea that we number the internal doors to each apartment, too, and make sure Meredith has a numbered key ring that reminds her which floor her apartment is on.”

“Brilliant. Anything else?” I can tell from the sparkle in Davina’s eyes that this is her at her problem-solving best.

“Perhaps we should ask the milkman to place the bottles for each apartment on a numbered or named place mat so Meredith can more easily identify which are hers,” suggests Jake. “Might ensure we all get our latte in the morning too.”

I’m less sure about this one. If the visual reminder of all those opened bottles in her kitchen didn’t force a change of behavior for Meredith, then I’m not convinced this will, but I keep my skepticism to myself for now.

“What about the morning checks?” I ask. “Do you think you and I might share that task, Davina? Could you take two mornings a week and I’ll take three? Then we tackle the weekends according to whatever commitments we have. I’m not sure it’s right to include you in this, Jake. I’m not sure Meredith will be comfortable opening her door to a man she doesn’t know when she’s not dressed properly.”

“She might not be comfortable with us either,” says Davina. “But I agree, for now let’s keep it to us two, if that’s okay, Jake?”

“Sure.”

“But I am worried about this bit.” It’s the first practical concern Davina has voiced. “I can check on her, of course I can, but I’m not sure how much time I will have each morning to react to what I might find. I won’t be able to keep clients waiting if she needs help getting dressed or she’s spilled food down herself and needs cleaning up.”

“Then you’ll need to call me,” I offer. “I’m only in with Carina a couple of mornings a week, the rest of the time I can be more flexible than you can. I have more time to pick up some of the cleaning as well. I know we’ve agreed not to tidy her apartment, but some of it really does need cleaning. Does that all sound okay?”

“It sounds perfect. We have our jobs.” Davina draws a sharp line under her notes and closes her book. “Shall we meet at my place Monday night, same time? We can see how it’s going and add any more jobs we think are needed?”

“I’ll be there,” I say, gathering my things.

“Absolutely.” Jake jumps off his stool just as Maggie lands in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, having attempted to slide down the banister. Davina looks surprisingly calm. She’s seen this sort of stunt before, no doubt, but moves to gather Maggie up. I see Maggie’s trying to keep the tears in, so I tell her it’s fine to cry. Suddenly, it’s my waist her arms are looped around, not Davina’s. Patting her on the head, I offer to get her a plaster while Davina gathers their things.

Jakes takes the two of us into a small utility room off the kitchen. There’s no obvious sign of injury, he’s just trying to make her feel better.

“Have you ever been to the fairy forest?” she asks me through a very wobbly bottom lip.

I smile, reminded that despite all the bluster she is still just a fun-loving eight-year-old, flitting between her imaginary world and the very sore bum she’s going to have from negotiating the real one.

“There’s no need to look like that,” she says, offended. “I’m not talking about the stupid pretend ones you see on TV. I’m talking about the one right here, in Bath. If you’re going on one of your dog walks tomorrow, I could come with you and show you it? Your boyfriend can come, too, if you like?” She nods toward Jake, her face full of hope.

“Oh, no, Jake’s not my…” I watch as Maggie’s face crumples in confusion while Jake’s sparkles with amusement.

“He should be. You look nearly perfect together,” she adds, “although he should be taller.”

“Well, there’s not much I can do about the height, I’m afraid. But I’m working on the other one, Maggie,” Jake says, amused.

Mercifully, Davina has appeared in the doorway, registers the color of my cheeks and the delight on Maggie’s face, and immediately understands it’s time to get her home. Maggie repeats her invitation while Davina shrugs her shoulders as if to say it’s up to me, if I can bear a couple of hours in Maggie’s world.

“You can ask them anything. They love solving problems. If you leave them a note, they will answer you.”

“Well, as we need all the help we can get, I’d say we have a date, Maggie. I’ll pick you up at ten a.m.”

I’m the last to leave, and as I approach the door, Jake stops me. “Would you like to stay for supper?” he asks. “There’s enough for two. I prefer not to eat alone and, well, seeing as I’m your boyfriend now”—he chuckles—“it might be nice.” Is the concept a massive joke to him? I feel instinctively he wouldn’t be that cruel but I’ve no idea how to respond.

I waver on the doorstep, the seconds stretching between us, all my usual excuses readily springing to mind, then wonder why there isn’t already a date booked into his diary tonight. The reasons to stay filter in too: I could spend a little more time getting to know this generous man, to show him I’m not as awkward as and hopefully more likable than he may think. But it is easier to say no, so that’s what I do. “I better not. I’ve got an early start but thank you,” I say before I head back upstairs, regretting my decision with every step I take. Jake will eat alone, and so will I.