Page 30 of Forever, Maybe

Chapter twenty-three

At Nell’s request, Stephanie arrived at the party an hour and a half early, clutching a giant canvas tote bag like it contained state secrets.

Nell whisked her inside. “Thanks for doing this.”

“No bother.”

She took a moment to admire her best friend’s outfit. God, the woman knew how to dress.

“As always, you look like every straight guy’s dream come true.” The compliment carried extra weight, considering what had happened the weekend before.

Stephanie struck a mock-glamorous pose. “What, this old thing?” she said, adding a wink for good measure.

‘This old thing’ being a jaw-dropping The Vampire’s Wife dress—second-hand from eBay, naturally—made of red scallop-edged lace and silk georgette.

It showcased her shoulders, cinched her waist into perfect Marilyn Monroe hourglass pre-portion, and was so dramatically over-the-top it deserved its own fanfare.

Stephanie wore it like she’d been born in it.

High heels too, always. This time, a pair of black patent leather sling-backs with a small stiletto heel and pointy toes.

Danny poked his head out of the living room to the left and gave a wolf-whistle—strictly under Nell’s orders to boost her friend’s confidence.

It was obvious, of course, and didn’t really count since he was her husband, but even so, Nell caught the faint flush of pleasure that bloomed across Stephanie’s cheeks.

“Love your dress, by the way,” her friend added.

Nell’s faithful blue Reiss number, with its high collar and elbow-length sleeves, was the very definition of sensible. Possibly Victorian mourning chic. She tugged at the neckline self-consciously.

But Stephanie launched into an exaggerated soliloquy on its “timeless elegance,” complete with dramatic oohs and ahhs. The woman could flatter a bin bag.

“Anyway. Take me to your mother!”

She tossed a breezy “Hello, lovely to see you again” to Bobby, who was battling the vacuum cleaner in the living room, despite Nell explicitly telling both parents to do nothing. They headed upstairs.

On a whim the night before, Nell had texted Stephanie: Feel like arriving early and playing fairy godmother with a make-up bag?

According to her late-night Googling, sensory activities could be helpful for people with dementia—sparking memories, fostering connection, offering comfort when the world felt like it was tilting sideways.

And her mother had seemed tilted since arriving at Nell’s home, nervously repeating the same questions about where she was and when she’d be going home.

Bobby might not be ready to say the word dementia , but the signs were banshee-loud.

Of course, Nell had another, slightly less noble reason for the invite. Stephanie could do her make-up too. Add some colour. Fake a little brightness onto a face that sorely needed it.

They turned left at the top of the stairs, into the main bedroom where Nell had left Cate just moments before.

Her mother was in the chair by the window, hands folded neatly in her lap, the light catching the bare patches on her scalp.

She turned her head as they entered, her face flickering—just for a second—with the blankness of not recognising Stephanie.

Then the moment passed, and her smile bloomed like always.

“Hello, love.” She beamed at Stephanie. “Hello. Gosh, you’re very pretty.”

No name. No Stephanie. She didn’t remember.

But Stephanie, bless her, didn’t miss a beat. “Hello, Cate! Long time no see. You look fabulous.”

She strode across the room and crouched to give Cate a warm hug. As she stood again, Cate’s eyes locked on the dress.

“Oh, what a dress!” she said, turning to Nell, wonder in her voice. “Do you think I could wear that?”

Nell couldn’t help but smile. Her mum sounded genuinely awestruck.

“Of course you can!”

And fair play to Stephanie, who, without hesitation, twisted her arms behind her back, reached for the zip and started shrugging it off her shoulders.

It dropped to the floor, puddling at her ankles.

Underneath, she was wearing a pair of black Spanx, the material starting at her waist and continuing to cover her bottom, along with a black, push-up bra and fishnets.

Nell shot Stephanie a look and mouthed, Stockings? Seriously?

Stephanie shrugged.

Nell had to hand it to her—possibly the last woman alive still willing to cosplay the male fantasy of high heels and stockings. The whole outfit looked murderously uncomfortable.

Stephanie stepped out of the dress and held it up.

Nell moved forward. “Right, Mum. Want to give this a try?”

Cate nodded eagerly. “Oh yes. Yes, please!”

Stephanie joined her. “Okay! Let’s get this jumper off, shall we?”

Her mother’s current outfit couldn’t have been more different from the one she was about to try on—a pale blue, baggy jumper made of some cotton-wool blend, definitely M Cate, in sagging cream knickers, the laced edges, tucking in and out, and a greying, wide-strapped bra, tummy spilling slightly over the waistband, completing the look with a pair of tan-colour tights that had seen better decades.

Stephanie turned to Nell. “Bring forth the dress!”

It lay on the bed, a red whisper of glamour. Nell picked it up. It was infused with Stephanie’s signature perfume—something rich and floral, with top notes of rose and jasmine. This had seemed like a good idea. Was it still?

She looked at her mum, face wreathed in smiles. Maybe she wouldn’t remember this in an hour—or even ten minutes—but right now, she looked like someone having the time of her life.

Nell thrust the dress forward. “Here.”

Stephanie took it, grinning. And Nell, for a moment, loved her more than she ever had. Willing to lend her favourite dress to an old woman who smelled faintly of neglect. If that wasn’t friendship, what was?

Getting Cate into the dress was another matter entirely.

Her body carried weight in all the places Stephanie’s didn’t—where Steph was all boobs and bum, Cate was thicker around the waist and hips.

The dress slid easily over her shoulders, then halted stubbornly at her middle, refusing to go any further.

The silk georgette and lace bunched awkwardly around her stomach, creating a sort of fabric traffic jam. In the tall, freestanding oval mirror, Cate looked almost cartoonish—swallowed by a hoiked-up, over-the-top dress, her disproportionately skinny legs poking out beneath it.

From the other side of Cate, Stephanie caught Nell’s eye in the mirror. Both were visibly trying not to laugh. Nell broke first.

“Oh, Mum,” she spluttered, “you look—you look totally daft.”

And that was it. She was off, hiccupping with laughter, quickly joined by Stephanie and then Cate herself, who twirled dramatically and gave her bottom a wiggle, the flesh jiggling from side to side, suddenly and unmistakably a little girl again.

“Nell, where did you put the—oh, shit, shit, sorry!”

Danny had barely stepped into the room before retreating with a slam of the heavy oak door.

Stephanie instinctively crossed her arms over her chest, her mouth forming a dramatic, theatrical ‘O’ of horror—which only made Nell dissolve into more laughter. Cate joined in too, her eyes bright.

“He saw you! He saw you in your panties!” she wheezed.

“He saw you too!” Stephanie shot back, mock-offended. There was no heat in it—just the kind of giddy, silly moment they all needed.

Nell bent to scoop up her mum’s jumper and skirt from the floor. “Come on, let’s get you changed back into your normal clothes, Mum. Stephanie’s going to do your hair and make-up. That okay?”

Cate’s face crumpled in confusion. “Is she?”

And just like that, the laughter thinned.

Nell felt the air go heavy. She’d told her mum about Stephanie’s make-over last night. And this morning. And again ten minutes ago when Stephanie had walked through the door.

Common symptoms of dementia: memory loss. Difficulty recalling recent events, names, conversations. Tick, tick, tick.

“Yes, I am!” Stephanie stepped in without missing a beat.

Her grandmother had died with dementia seven years ago. When Nell had confided her fears last night, she’d said simply, “That’s shit. But honestly? It’s often harder on the family. Nanna was a happy wee soul right to the end.”

“Let’s get a photo of us!”