The Memory Dress

Chapter Twenty-Five

TWENTY-FIVE

We eat our egg sandwiches in Green Park, slumped in two of the green-and-white-striped deck chairs for hire. It took us thirty minutes to walk the route back along Piccadilly to the park entrance, a journey I can do in half that time, but Meredith was lingering, staring into the shop fronts of every business that wasn’t here when she was last.

Now as soon as she swallows the last mouthful of her lunch, her eyelids grow heavy and droop. Very soon they are closed, and she is lightly sleeping. I gently brush the crumbs from her lap and use the time to update the WhatsApp group, sharing this morning’s frightening outburst from Meredith but also the wonderful progress we are making, the closeness that I feel between the two of us, the trust that seems to fuse a little stronger with every hour we are together. Davina is the first to respond.

DAVINA: I have so much respect for you and what you are doing, Jayne. You are helping her so much.

OLIVIA: I know it’s hard not to defend yourself, but letting her get there slowly in her own time is better. It will probably just confuse her more if you try to correct her mistakes.

JAYNE: Thank you, everyone. Is there any update on the Fiona situation?

CARINA: YES, THERE IS!

I hold my breath. Carina is not easily overexcited. This sounds promising.

JAYNE: Go on!

CARINA: The graduation hood Willow spied matches the colors worn by students at the Royal College of Music. I emailed the admissions department the image of Fiona and they are almost certain it is one of theirs. That’s the good news.

JAYNE: But there’s bad news too?

CARINA: I’m afraid so. They have no record of a Fiona Chalis graduating from there in July 2017.

JAYNE: Really? But it’s got to be her, hasn’t it?

CARINA: It feels like we’re missing something. I don’t think Fiona would have got the date wrong, unless it’s the date she sent the photograph to Meredith and not the date of the ceremony, but that doesn’t seem likely.

JAYNE: So, we’re no further forward?

CARINA: There is hope…Their head of admissions, a fanatic for detail apparently, who has run the department for over thirty years, is on holiday, but the lady I spoke to said she will show her the image when she returns, and if Fiona studied and/or graduated from there, she will know.

DAVINA: Well done, Carina! Just keep doing what you’re doing, Jayne, and we’ll take care of the rest here. Oh, and a message from Maggie for you, and I quote, “The fairies say yes, don’t give up.” I promised I’d pass it on!

Lovely Maggie. She has been back to the woods and read a letter someone has put in place of my original one, presumably thinking they were answering a child.

Even with the lovely notes from everyone else, I still can’t help notice there’s no word from Jake.

I look at Meredith, her eyes fluttering under the glare of the sunshine, and it makes me smile to think she isn’t missing William now, he’s right here with her in her subconscious, being pulled slowly forward, hopefully every bit as keen as she is to be reunited. Then I think about how cruel this situation is. That Meredith has spent a lifetime gathering and guarding her precious memories, only for them to be stolen when she didn’t even realize it was happening. Not content with that theft, Meredith’s tormentor teases her with glimpses, has her believe every single day that her craved-for normality is returning, before it’s snatched away again, leaving a trail of confusion, sadness, and exhaustion. Every day she goes through this, and if there is anything I can do to ease her suffering, then I will.

But what is the final destination on this journey of ours? Where am I taking us both? The map and her dress sketches might spell out the logistics, but will she be happy once she arrives? Is finding William and Fiona the right thing to do? I have little idea of what has passed between them. When all this is done, will she wish she’d never left the safety of her memory room? And will any of it mean anything? Will she remember in the long term what we are rediscovering together today? Olivia said if her memories and recollections are genuinely felt then they are more likely to stick but we also have to accept that we can’t make her better. Any improvement, if we can even put it that way, may be short-lived.

But I’ve already gained so much from my time with this wonderful woman. The tiniest window into her rich world. A life so well lived that it stubbornly clings to her, fighting to be remembered. If she really did make these incredible gowns for Princess Diana alongside her William, as I now feel sure they did, how is she going to feel if she fully remembers that? When she opens the black bag she’s clutched tightly since we left Bath, will she instinctively understand that the contents are hers, that they played their own special part in the history books?

She starts to stir, and I rest my hand on her right arm, letting her know she’s not alone.

“Shall we get going, Meredith, when you’re ready? It’s Launceston Place next, back toward the palace.”

She blinks, her eyes darting around, trying to place her surroundings. She waits for the trees above us, the passing people, and me beside her to return to focus. Then she turns to face me.

“Is William meeting us there?” And I know for sure that she has been dreaming about him. I recognize the momentary elation, when for a few brief seconds she believes her dreams are reality—until the hollowing realization of her whereabouts tells her they’re not. For a moment she believed she would see him but it’s the sight of me that confirms she won’t.

Her body seems to slump a little deeper into the deck chair, her eyes are lost in the distance, finding the park bandstand way off to our right. It’s more than disappointment that settles into the creases of her face, she is sad about another thought that has arrived uninvited.

“So many missed chances. All those deadlines we can’t ignore, so we sacrifice the things we can, when really it should be the other way around. We let the wrong person down. I make a promise I can’t keep.” The realization causes her eyes to cloud and her lips to squeeze together, a hard swallow.

“They will understand, Meredith.” I’m not entirely sure what she is confessing to.

“You’re right.” She nods her head like she is accepting whatever wrongs she feels she has committed. “Some things can be forgiven, but not all. There’s something else, isn’t there?” She lowers her head into her hands, trying to force a thought to the surface. “Something I said. Why did I say it?” She’s getting agitated, squirming in her chair, trying to sit herself more upright. “I ruin everything.”

“What did you ruin?” I keep my voice calm, despite the thump of my heartbeat.

Meredith’s lips part and I think for one glorious second she is going to get there, whatever it is, she has found it, the piece of information swimming around inside of her just out of reach, she’s made a grab for it and this time she is close enough. But then the energy seems to drain from her face and her arms, and she relaxes her weight back into the chair.

I smile and reach for her hand. I don’t want to push her. It’s more important that we arrive at our next destination with her feeling positive, not stressed and frustrated with herself.

“Why have they changed the seats?” asks Meredith. “I much prefer them facing each other, with the draft screens. And the lovely wooden floors have gone too. William always lets me face the way we’re traveling. I don’t like going backward. No one does really, do they?”

Meredith wanted to get the Tube to our next destination “because we always do,” so we’ve hopped on the Circle line at Victoria for the three stops to Gloucester Road.

“The doors between the carriages have gone too. This isn’t right at all.” I can see it is unsettling her, but the fact she’s remembering how the carriage used to look can only be a good thing, I hope.

As we arrive at Launceston Place, I decide to let Meredith take the lead. All we have is a street name, the only information that was scribbled on the sketch in Meredith’s memory room aside from William’s hint that Soon we will be three . It’s a lot less clear why Meredith or Diana may have been on this pretty residential road. We start to walk slowly past bright white three-story houses, each with a broad flight of stone steps leading to a glossy black front door that’s recessed into an arched porchway. I notice some have huge circular golden doorbells that glow in the sunlight—a hint at the wealth that sits behind them. Meredith smiles up at the last of the cherry blossoms, the tree of choice in most of the front gardens we pass.

Every front door is black. Every house sits behind black iron railings and is framed by a black window canopy. The roofs are black slate as are the old-fashioned lanterns dotted along the pavement. It must be the most monochrome street in London. Surely the most stylish. Some of the houses are separated by perfect box hedging, others have shaped olive trees potted on either side of the doorway. First-floor balconies are filled with flower boxes, ivy trailing down toward the basement windows below.

“We need to walk right to the end,” says Meredith, “on the right-hand side.” She seems to know exactly where she’s heading.

As we pass a house about halfway along, the door opens and two women about Meredith’s age appear. They are dressed smartly but comfortably, expensive-looking fabrics, dark sunglasses, their hair flatteringly blow-dried off their tanned faces. I notice the discreet but expensive gold jewelry. I pause and glance in through the large first-floor window to the antique furniture beyond. This is not an address for first-time buyers. There is an air of civility but also watchfulness. These ladies know on sight that we don’t live on this street and I can almost sense them silently questioning what we are doing here.

“How do you keep the exterior of a house so spotlessly white?” I ask Meredith. “Every one of them.”

She chuckles to herself knowingly. “These people don’t live as you and I do. There is no messy day to scramble through. There are staff and rotas and order—ways of doing things.” There is a bounce in her step this afternoon; she is happy to be here.

Right on cue a middle-aged woman in gym gear and a full face of makeup walks past with a small white dog obediently at her heel.

“See, even the dogs are clean,” laughs Meredith.

We are almost at the very end of the street and I fear we have missed whatever it is we came to see when Meredith finally stops and turns right to face the largest house we’ve passed.

“She suggests I sit on the small soft blue sofa at the back of the room. Maybe I look paler than usual.” Meredith’s hand rises to stroke her left cheek. “She’s so kind, just like you. She doesn’t have to be, but she is. She asks someone to get me some ginger tea.” Her hand rises to her forehead as if checking her own temperature. “Then I watch her. So poised and relaxed in his company. They know each other well. He’s taken her picture before.”

“Who lives here, Meredith? Whose house is it?” I shouldn’t force her, but she seems so confident in her storytelling now.

But she ignores my question.

“He is making magic. Taking something exquisite and capturing it forever. All those pearls and golden glass beads, the way the soft pale pink chiffon seems to mimic her ease in front of the camera. It all works so well with her complexion and hair color. A different shape this time, draped like a sarong.” She lets her hand move across her own body from her waist down to her lower left hip.

When the shift in Meredith’s expression comes, I am ready for it this time. I know her memory will go only so far before it fails her again. She knows there is more to tell but she can’t find the images or the words she’s suddenly grasping for. Perhaps they are there but refuse to line up in the correct order. Her body starts to tense, her fingers curl inward. I sense her rising panic at the loss of control.

“This is where the problems start. Right here. In this house. It’s such a wonderful day, it reminds me how much I love my life, despite the hard work and long hours.” She is visibly upset now, on the edge of tears, speaking quickly, spitting the words out before they desert her. “I love it so much. But things are changing. How will I keep my promise?”

I’m nodding furiously at her, ignoring all passersby, determined to keep her talking as long as I can.

“And he hides things. Later on, he hides things that he shouldn’t.” She’s stuttering now, the clarity is leaving her. “Oh no, I encourage him, I think. At least, I never stop him. But then it is too late to tell her, to fix things. Something awful that I can’t stop. I make the phone call. It isn’t enough!”

I rest my hand on her shoulder to try to reconnect her with the present, to show her she is safe here with me, but she is beyond comfort now.

“I started it, but I can’t stop it!” Meredith bellows the words up at the house and I know we need to leave. It’s only a matter of time before someone comes out and questions us. “What is it? What don’t I stop and what can’t he tell her? You stupid, stupid woman.”