Page 61 of Forever, Maybe

Nell sank into the deckchair next to Cate, tilting her face toward the lingering warmth of the sun. She kicked off her sandals, letting her feet sink into the cool, overgrown grass, and closed her eyes for a moment, relishing the simplicity of it all.

Bobby muttered something about getting dinner started but made no move to leave his chair.

“Yoo-hoo!”

The shout startled them all. Lorraine, Artie’s wife, had let herself in through the side gate. Dressed in her dark blue nurse’s uniform, she couldn’t have stopped at home before coming over. Nell stood as she approached.

“Hello,” Lorraine nodded briefly at her, then turned to Cate, who was struggling to sit up straighter in her deckchair.

“Don’t get up. I’m just here to check if you’re all set for tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Nell asked, glancing between them.

“The memory clinic,” Lorraine replied. She’d put on weight since the last time Nell had seen her, a noticeable bulge around her waist that strained the buttons of her uniform. It made her, if possible, even more formidable than she already was. “I managed to get Cate a cancellation appointment.”

Her tone was matter-of-fact, but her sharp gaze lingered on Nell, an unspoken accusation in her eyes.

The last time Nell had been home, the original appointment had been months away.

But then she and Danny had briefly reconciled, and she’d left for Glasgow, leaving everything—including Cate—in other hands.

“What’s this? What’s happening?” Cate’s hands fluttered at her chest, panic flashing in her eyes.

Bobby reached for her hand, his voice calm and steady. “It’s just an appointment, love. With the doctor, to check your memory. Nothing to worry about.”

Cate’s expression softened as the confusion lifted. “The memory clinic! And I’d completely forgotten about it! What a hoot!”

Bobby chuckled, and Nell joined in. Lorraine, however, remained stiff, her disapproval palpable. That only made it funnier. Eventually, her sister-in-law allowed herself a small, reluctant smile.

“We probably shouldn’t tell the doctor that tomorrow,” Cate added, letting go of Bobby’s hand as she got to her feet. “They’ll write me off straight away. I’ll start on dinner. Do you want to stay, Lorraine?”

From the way Bobby and Lorraine exchanged glances, Nell guessed this was the most lucid Cate had been in a while.

It was something she’d read about online: families of dementia patients often warned not to get too excited when moments of clarity appeared.

They were fleeting. Over time, those moments grew fewer and further between until all that remained was the shell of the person you loved.

“No, no, I can’t stay,” Lorraine said, shaking her head. Much to Nell’s relief. “Artie’s wheeled out the barbecue. We need to make the most of this lovely weather while it lasts. Nell, you should come over one evening. Artie would love to see you.”

No, he wouldn’t. But Nell smiled anyway, a polite, automatic response. “Of course.”

They watched Lorraine leave, her navy-clad figure disappearing through the gate.

“What a relief! Bossy bitch,” Cate announced suddenly.

Nell blinked in surprise, her mother’s vehemence catching her off guard.

Judging by the dismay on Bobby’s face, it had taken him aback too.

Nell recalled something else she’d read.

Dementia often stripped away the social filters that kept people’s harsher thoughts from escaping.

It didn’t just erase memories; it erased boundaries.

The rifts that family and friends spent years avoiding could suddenly erupt with a single, uninhibited comment.

What else might Cate say? And did it even matter anymore, now that she and Danny were heading for divorce?

Yes. It mattered. Artie and Lee wouldn’t forgive easily if the long-buried secret ever came to light. And yet…

The longing stirred again, deep and relentless, half-scaring her with its intensity. After all this time, she wanted—no, needed —to confront the past she’d buried for so long.

The memory clinic was tucked away at the back of the new hospital, a gleaming, modern structure that had replaced the crumbling old infirmary a few years earlier. The day was overcast, the sky a flat grey, with a single ominous cloud casting a shadow across half the building.

Nell parked her parents’ Volvo estate in the furthest corner of the overcrowded car park, as far from the entrance as it was possible to be.

She forced herself to slow her usual brisk pace to match her parents’ shuffle, catching her feet each time they tried to speed up as the three of them made their way to the main entrance.

Inside, the clinic smelled exactly as a hospital should: an unpleasant mix of overcooked food and disinfectant. The floors, walls and ceiling were all scrubbed-clean shades of pale beige and white.

“Wouldn’t it be nicer if the walls were blue, eh, Mum?” Nell remarked, gratified when Cate gave her a smile.

“Yes,” Cate agreed. “I like blue.” She tilted her head, as if picturing it. Their bedroom at home was lavender blue.

Two women sat behind the reception desk, a chest-high barrier that made Cate seem smaller than usual. One of them glanced up briefly, holding up two fingers telling them to wait a minute before resuming her typing.

The other receptionist ended a phone call and smiled first at Cate and then Nell. “Can I help you?”

Cate hesitated, her brow furrowing in confusion. “I’m… I’m Cate Stephenson, and I’m…”

“She has an appointment with Doctor Marsden,” Bobby said quickly, stepping forward to hand over the letter.

The receptionist nodded, taking the letter and scanning the NHS number. “You’re all checked in,” she said, pointing to the corridor on the left. “Take a seat—it’s the third waiting room on the right.”

They followed the instructions to the room, where rows of hard plastic chairs faced a mounted TV.

Half the screen was tuned to some cheery daytime show, while the other half displayed a rotating slideshow of health advice: Check your blood pressure.

Cut down on salt. Are you drinking too much? Is your BMI over 25?

“Yes, yes, yes, and yes,” Bobby muttered as they sat down, nudging Nell with his elbow. “I’m a stroke waiting to happen. Should be me seeing the doctor, not you, Cate!”

Cate nodded, though Nell noticed how her eyes darted around the room. She reached over and squeezed her mother’s hand.

“It’s just a check-up,” she said, her voice steady, hoping it was enough to keep Cate’s fleeting confidence intact for a little while longer.

Hospitals always made Nell’s skin crawl. The sterile smell, the hushed urgency—it all set her nerves on edge. Her heart felt lodged in her throat, leaving her jittery.

“I’ll find us coffees,” she said abruptly, not waiting for a reply.

The receptionist directed her to the main building, where signs on the walls pointed toward various out-clinics and wards. She walked briskly, trying to focus on the arrows and names, but the atmosphere pressed down on her.

Near the entrance, a gift shop sat with buckets of flowers propped outside, cheerful bursts of colour against the hospital’s muted tones. As she hesitated by the door, a teenage boy collided with her.

“Sorry! I’m—I’m a dad! A little girl!” he blurted, his voice trembling with excitement. His eyes burned bright, almost feverish, as he grabbed one of the more extravagant flower arrangements. At the counter, he hovered by the teddy bear display, picking one up and then putting it down again.

He couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen, his smooth skin betraying his youth.

Was his girlfriend the same age? Younger?

What was their story—were they still together?

Was the pregnancy a surprise? Whatever the circumstances, the boy’s joy was unmistakable, bubbling over and spilling into every movement.

This baby was wanted. This baby was loved.

Nell entered the shop, her attention drawn to the teddy bears.

The price tags made her wince—some of them cost as much as a weekly grocery shop.

She picked the largest one, dark brown with soft fur and a pink t-shirt that read, I’m Daddy’s Princess.

It was roughly the size of a newborn. She paid for it, shoved the receipt into her pocket and dashed after the boy.

“Here,” she said, holding out the bear. “Give this to your daughter.”

His mouth fell open as he accepted it, his hands cradling the bear like it was made of glass. “Thank you. Thank you so much!” he exclaimed, his voice breaking with gratitude.

He raced off toward the lifts, glancing back once to send her a smile so full of pure joy it almost broke her.

“Everything okay?” Bobby’s voice cut through the moment. He had caught up with her, his face marked with concern. “I didn’t realise until now that this would be your first time back in this hospital.”

“Yes, fine,” she said, blinking quickly, trying to hold herself together. “I couldn’t find the coffee vending machine.”

“We’ll get something afterward,” Bobby said gently. He hesitated, lifting a hand to scratch the side of his head—a gesture from years ago, when there’d been more hair to rake through.

“Nell, you were so young at the time, just a child. Your mum and I were the ones who had to make decisions for you, and one of them… well, we thought it was the right thing to do.”

Nell listened as he explained further, knowing that if she’d learned this back in her student days—or even in her twenties or thirties—she would have been furious.

She exhaled, her eyes wandering back toward the young man.

He was still by the lifts, clutching the bear and flowers.

The button above the lift pinged at last, and the doors slid open.

As he stepped inside, he turned back to catch her eye, sending her another radiant smile and a little wave just before the doors closed.

“Thanks, Dad,” Nell murmured, touching Bobby’s arm. “That was thoughtful of you. He’s never reached out to me, but I’m glad he can.”

What was she meant to do with that nugget? Was there even anything to follow up on? And did she want to? God, oh God, oh God… Today wasn’t the day to untangle it.

Back in the waiting room, she forced herself to observe the other patients.

Most of them were couples, people like her parents in their early seventies or older.

A few seemed younger, perhaps in their late fifties, but the room was a stark reminder of time marching on.

Time that didn’t slow down for anyone, no matter how much you wished it would.

Nell scanned the waiting room, trying to pick out who might have dementia.

With some, it was obvious. They were the ones who seemed “not quite all there”—that old euphemism.

One older man sat staring straight ahead, his gaze vacant, oblivious to the hum of conversation around him.

It was doubtful he even knew where he was or why he was there.

Others were harder to pin down. A few were seated with who Nell assumed were their daughters. Did sons ever take on the practical caring role? Driving Mum or Dad to hospital appointments, picking up groceries, handling housework? Ah, of course… Artie did, though rarely without complaint.

“Cate Stephenson?”

The three of them stood. Nell felt her mother’s quick, darting glance—a silent plea for reassurance. She squeezed Cate’s hand gently, anchoring her.

“Doctor Marsden?” Bobby asked.

The woman who had called her name shook her head, extending a warm hand first to Cate, then Bobby and finally Nell.

“No, I’m Joan Stirling,” she said with a broad smile. “I’m a dementia specialist nurse.” Her tone was calm and friendly, though Nell caught the subtle pause after the word “dementia,” as if she were trying to soften its impact. “Come on through. Let’s find somewhere comfy to sit.”

The room Joan led them to was a world apart from the sterile, utilitarian environment of Cate’s GP surgery, with its yellowing posters and unmistakable NHS vibe.

Here, armchairs were arranged in conversational clusters around a low coffee table, and framed pictures—though nothing Nell would consider art—hung on the walls.

There were no glaring notices about flu jabs or blood pressure checks.

The only hint that this was a medical space was a corkboard tucked discreetly to one side, partially hidden when the door was open. It bore the usual mix of reminders and notices, quietly present but not intrusive.

Joan opened a drawer beneath the coffee table and pulled out a small notepad, handing it and a pen to Nell.

“We’re going to cover a lot today,” she explained. “You might want to jot down some notes—it’s a lot to take in.”

“Thank you,” Nell replied, embarrassed that she hadn’t thought to bring her own.

“Well,” Joan began, her voice soft but deliberate. “As you probably know, diagnosing dementia isn’t always straightforward.” Her warm smile didn’t waver as she turned her full attention to Cate.

“We’ve reviewed the results of your Mini Mental State Examination with your GP, and the next step is a brain scan. Based on what we’ve seen so far, it appears you’re likely in the early to mid-stages of Alzheimer’s…”