Page 23 of The Pieces of Us

Mandy puts a gentle hand on my arm. ‘Let her go and explore. She can’t come to any harm; there’ll be many close eyes on her.

I’ll pop a name tag on her in a minute and steer her in the direction of some of our other newbies.

’ She scribbles on two sticky labels and presses one of them on to the front of my jacket.

I look down. Next to my name, she’s drawn a cat face, complete with whiskers.

I look back at her and she grins. ‘You’ve got a great name for this crowd. It’ll help them remember.’

It reminds me of the cartoon cat on Asim’s flat white lid. ‘I like it.’ I relax a little; realize it’s easy to monitor Minnie’s progress around the room thanks to Ruby’s hat. She’s done me a favour.

‘Help yourself to a hot or cold drink, and we’ve got home baking over there.

Seating for everybody in the centre, and all the other tables along the sides have different activities – board games, arts and crafts, colouring pages, biscuits to decorate.

’ Mandy peers at one of the tables. ‘Hmm, I’m not sure there are any of those left – I think Robert might have eaten them all.

And you missed bingo, but not to worry – there’ll be plenty of opportunities for that in the future.

It was a bit of a riot, anyway.’ She laughs.

‘We know all about difficult here, Cat. You’re in good company. ’

‘It’s amazing what you do here. I’m so glad we found out about this. It was my … um, my friend Asim who told me about it, actually. Asim Khan? He’s been here with his grandfather.’

‘Oh, I remember Asim. The handsome estate agent.’

I laugh. ‘He’ll love that. Anyway, he gave this place a glowing recommendation.’

Mandy’s eyes sweep the room. ‘It’s this bunch that makes it what it is. At the end of the day they’re all just normal people, who happen to have an illness.’ She squeezes my elbow. ‘I’ll speak to you soon, Cat. My father is here somewhere; I’d better check he’s behaving himself.’

She points to the red star-shaped sticker on her T-shirt. ‘All the volunteers wear these, so you can spot them easily. Any questions or problems, just grab someone.’

As she walks away, she smiles at me over her shoulder. ‘Looks like your mum has found the pièce de résistance.’

I remember Minnie dancing all the time when I was a kid, not only on birthdays and Christmases and at Hogmanay parties but simply whenever she was in the mood.

But I can’t remember the last time I saw her move with such freedom.

If it wasn’t for the yellow bobble on the top of her head, I’d have thought she was somebody else.

But it’s definitely Minnie who is moving her hands in the air as if she’s trying to catch floating objects only she can see.

I quicken my pace to catch up with Mandy. ‘Is she … raving ?’

Mandy smiles. ‘Sort of. It’s our Tovertafel. Our magic table . Best investment ever.’ She points to the ceiling, and I spot the machine. ‘It projects light on to the table and creates various games, encouraging movement. Right now your mum is trying to keep balls in one place.’

‘Wow,’ I murmur. ‘She looks like she’s having the time of her life.’

‘We held a fundraiser to pay for it – it cost thousands. But you can see how much they get out of it. It stimulates the brain just the right amount and encourages social interaction too. For some people it helps with anxiety.’

I move closer to Minnie and the others round the table. It reminds me of a silent disco I went to once for a hen do. It’s as if they’re moving to the beat of the same tune, but with complete freedom to do their own thing.

Minnie is dancing and I can’t take my eyes off her.

Watching my mother interact with people at the Memory Cafe reminds me of taking Ruby to Toddle Tots, Mini Boogie or any of the pre-school groups we attended sporadically when she was a toddler.

There are no sharp edges on the furniture, hot liquids must be kept off the floor at all times, and while the parents have some time to relax and make small talk, they can’t ever completely switch off because they always have to keep one eye on their child.

A couple at the art table catches my eye.

They both look about my age, maybe a little older, and the way the woman shows the man how to get just the right amount of paint on the brush, then how to wash the brush before switching to a different colour, reveals everything I need to know about their relationship.

It’s not just the care she shows with every gesture, it’s the way he looks at her.

There’s a physical closeness and emotional attachment that suggests a romantic history, but his eyes reveal another prevailing component.

I see it in Minnie all the time – I believe I trust you but I’m not quite sure why, and that terrifies me .

The woman in the yellow bobble hat dancing with a tall man in a three-piece suit has been my rock for my entire life. But my body didn’t grow from hers. I was never an organic part of her. I don’t know how my life began, and she can’t tell me.

‘It can be emotional here.’ The softly spoken woman who’s taken the seat beside me has lively eyes and a friendly smile. ‘Which one belongs to you?’

I smile back, grateful to be distracted from my thoughts. ‘Yellow bobble hat.’

‘Ah. Perfect. The dapper gent next to her? That’s my dad.’

‘He’s got the moves.’

‘I love watching him. I dread the day we come here and he just … sits.’

I look at her. I know nothing about her, not even her name. But we have a huge something in common.

‘I’m Cat McAllister. Yellow bobble hat is Minnie.’

‘Sam Harris. My dad is Jack.’

We watch them move as they interact with the lights.

‘He and my mother used to go dancing twice a week,’ says Sam. ‘They’d waltz in the kitchen at home while the dinner was in the oven. I’d beg to join in, so I’d stand on top of his feet and he’d twirl me round until I was out of breath.’

‘Minnie told me recently that she and my dad used to go dancing. The jive was their thing apparently. But I have no idea whether it’s true or not.’

‘Is this your first time here?’

I nod. ‘I’m glad we came. I love seeing her like this. Oh … hold on … where are they going?’ I crane my neck to keep an eye on the yellow bobble.

We follow our parents, keeping a respectable distance but staying close enough to be able to intervene quickly. ‘It’s like stalking teenagers,’ I say, and Sam laughs.

‘Crap, he’s going for the flower arranging.’ She sighs. ‘This didn’t end well last time. He got angry because a bloke called Grant took all the lilies.’ We edge closer to them. ‘Dad threatened to stab him in the eye with the scissors. I might need to intervene.’

I’m relieved to see that there’s currently nobody else at the flower-arranging table apart from a couple of volunteers. ‘I work in a florist’s, actually.’

‘You do? Well, let’s make use of your skills.’ Sam grabs my arm and pulls me towards the table.

Jack greets us with a large smile; Minnie looks at me quizzically.

‘This is Sam,’ I tell her. ‘Jack’s daughter.’

‘Who’s Jack?’ Minnie demands.

‘I’m Jack,’ he says.

‘Oh.’

‘Do you guys want some help?’ Sam sits down next to Jack. ‘We have a bit of an expert here.’

‘Who’s the expert?’ Minnie demands.

I laugh. ‘It’s me, Min.’

‘What do you know about flowers?’

‘Well, I’ve worked in a flower shop for years.’

Minnie stares at me over the top of a handful of carnations. ‘You left Woolworths? What happened?’

Sam’s eyes are sympathetic, understanding.

‘It happened years ago,’ I tell Minnie – the one who did work at Woolworths – and she simply nods before turning to Jack.

‘Woolworths is a good job,’ she tells him.

‘Shall we do something with these lovely flowers?’ I pull a few stems of white chrysanthemums out of the bucket. ‘These would look good with your yellow carnations, Min. Do you want to pick some greenery to finish it off?’

‘What about this?’ Jack grabs the eucalyptus.

‘Perfect.’ I smile at him. ‘Teamwork.’

Sam and I work together on another bouquet – hyacinths and tulips in clashing orange, yellow and purple, interspersed with delicate baby’s breath.

Meanwhile, Minnie and Jack assemble the most haphazard arrangement I’ve ever seen.

Jack presents it to me with a flourish, and I accept with a smile.

‘That’s absolutely beautiful,’ I tell them, and I mean it.

Minnie looks happy, but I can tell she’s starting to flag. ‘Shall we sit down and have a cup of tea?’ We find an empty bistro table and Mandy appears in front of us right on cue, encouraging us to help ourselves from the plate of shortbread biscuits she’s carrying.

‘I want to live here,’ I murmur to Sam.

She laughs. ‘Oh, I’m up for that.’

We drink tea and share a few stories until Mandy comes back, gesturing for me to follow her. ‘We like our carers to treat themselves too,’ she says. ‘You’re first up, Cat. Then you, Sam.’

She steers me towards a woman sitting behind a bistro table covered with bottles and a stack of folded towels. ‘This is Petra, massage therapist extraordinaire. She has healing hands.’

I shake one of Petra’s healing hands. ‘That’s quite the introduction.’

‘Minnie’s absolutely fine. You relax for a few minutes.’ Mandy walks away before I can reply.

I smile nervously at Petra. ‘Massage, huh?’

‘Have you ever had one?’

‘I haven’t,’ I admit. ‘I’ve been to a spa a couple of times – a long time ago now – but I always chose the facial.’

‘Well, let me give you a hand massage, and I can chat to you about the benefits of aromatherapy massage for dementia patients. Do you think your mother would let you give her a massage?’

I start laughing, then realize she’s being serious. ‘I’m sorry … no, I don’t think so.’

‘You could simply start by putting a few drops of essential oil into her bath water.’ Petra sits three small bottles in front of me and removes the lid from each one. ‘Which of these are you drawn to the most?’