They were the only tie he still had to that old life and perhaps that was the reason he kept them at arm’s length, too—they were a reminder of times that didn’t make him particularly proud of himself and were a far cry, hopefully, from the respected man he’d become. He didn’t blame his parents for becoming exasperated with their son’s behaviour, he knew now how stressed they must have been, but neither did he credit them with any part of his success since. That was reserved for the man who was currently wandering his apartment in search of more misplaced personal items.
‘That’s Amy, remember? She comes to help out when I’m at work.’ It had been getting harder by the day to juggle his time here at the hospital and at home and she’d been a godsend as far as Ben was concerned. At least now he could go into Theatre with the knowledge there’d be someone to check that the apartment hadn’t burned down in his absence. His grandfather was becoming more and more forgetful, as well as belligerent, as the cruel spectre of dementia hovered around him.
There was an unintelligible grumble on the other end of the line suggesting he didn’t entirely trust his grandson’s version of events. As though there were collusion going on between the two of them to gradually steal his belongings and sanity piece by painful piece.
‘Have you checked the bathroom window sill? Sometimes you leave them there.’ Or actually in the bath, where he’d found the TV remote control last night.
‘I didn’t leave them anywhere. She’s taken them.’ His grandfather adamantly continued his protest without considering any alternative reason for the disappearing spectacles. It was this continual forgetfulness and paranoia that was hard to get used to but, thankfully, the good days still outnumbered the bad. The man who’d practically raised him was still more present than this somewhat more difficult version, or his parents. With Amy’s added help, they were able to function as normally as could be expected.
However, it didn’t take a medical professional to understand this wasn’t an illness that would be miraculously cured. There was little even a skilled surgeon could do to prevent dementia taking hold of a beloved family member except help him cling onto his independence and dignity as long as possible. And perhaps help him find any misplaced personal possessions. The least he could do for the man who’d given him a second chance when no one else would.
‘Do you want me to come back and help you find them?’ He checked his watch. Now that he wouldn’t be discussing dance steps or music choices he had a little time before his next appointment. Although that time could’ve been better utilised answering the hundreds of emails he received every day, half an hour retracing his grandfather’s steps around the apartment would probably put both of their minds at rest for the remainder of the afternoon. Even if it was a stark contrast to the one he’d imagined.
‘No. You’re busy, son. There are a lot of people depending on you... I don’t know who she thinks she is just letting herself in here when she feels like it...’ Sometimes it was hard to tell if the moment of lucidity had passed or he was just having a bad-tempered rant because his independence was being compromised.
‘I’m not due back in surgery for a while. I can spare ten minutes to see if I can help you find these glasses.’ He’d make a call to Amy, too, to apologise for any extra rudeness she might have encountered on this morning’s visit, although her previous experience of caring for elderly patients seemed to make her quite impervious to her charge’s changeable moods.
‘Why would I need help finding my glasses? Sure, they’re right here in my pocket where they always are.’ The gruff denial that he needed help ended the call abruptly and left Ben standing outside the hospital contemplating whether or not to go back inside.
It was these divided loyalties that tested every area of his life, as well as those around him. He’d already had one relationship disintegrate under the pressure of his responsibilities as a carer and, though he’d had a few dalliances since, his love life wasn’t any more of a priority than a dependent elderly relative was for those he’d dated. The reputation he’d acquired of being a ladies’ man wasn’t surprising since he still enjoyed female company, but unjustified, when any notion of a relationship barely lasted beyond dessert.
He fished his car keys from his pocket and strode towards the staff car park. It wouldn’t do any harm to call back home for five minutes and make sure all was well. His hunt for a partner came second to the needs of his grandfather. As did everything else in his personal life.
Mollie Forrester would’ve been the perfect answer to getting him out of the dance competition pickle he’d found himself in and he wondered if there wasn’t still time to talk her around.
After all, he wasn’t one to walk away at the first sign of trouble.
‘SO, WHAT ARE your plans for the weekend?’ Talia queried once she’d swallowed the large bite she’d taken of her chicken salad sandwich. Her appetite certainly seemed to have improved since her return and Mollie was pleased in that motherly way that she was eating properly instead of skipping meals as she’d often been prone to doing before heading out for an evening of partying. These days she was more likely to be found at night propping up the other end of the sofa from her sister watching TV.
‘Um...laundry, decluttering my wardrobe, washing my hair...’ She’d neglected to mention Ben Sheridan’s strange visit or they would’ve spent the rest of their short meal break together arguing about how she shouldn’t have turned him down and how she would live the rest of her days as a dried-up old spinster full of regret.
‘Sounds like a riot.’ Talia rolled her eyes, apparently unimpressed by the proposed itinerary.
‘That doesn’t mean you have to stay in, too. There’s nothing stopping you from going clubbing or whatever it usually is you do in your time off.’ Mollie had never been one for the party circuit where copious amounts of alcohol and rash decisions often went hand in hand. Not since she’d suffered the ugly fallout of her previous poor judgement. Talia had done enough living for the both of them, even if the pace of her partying seemed to have slowed in the weeks since she’d come home from her travels.
Although it was Mollie who’d encouraged her to spread her beautiful butterfly wings when the job opportunity abroad had arisen at the end of their nurse training, she hadn’t realised the lonely life she’d condemned herself to in the process. She’d wanted to give Talia a new start, a new life away from the cruel childhood memories of home, but it had only been the start of a series of posts that had taken her all around the world and further and further away.
At least, until recently. Whatever had happened during those years of ‘finding herself’ and working the wanderlust out of her system, she was now pushing Mollie to explore her independence a little more, too. If Talia truly had returned as the more contented adult she claimed to be, not only did it mean having someone to share the problems at home, it would alleviate some of Mollie’s guilt from the past and offered her a slice of freedom she hoped hadn’t come too late to enjoy.
‘I’ve had my fun, Moll, and my time away has made me realise how unfair it was to leave you holding the fort back here with Mum all this time. I haven’t been much of a sister to you.’ It was an unexpected acknowledgement of her sometimes selfish behaviour, but Mollie didn’t hold a grudge when they hadn’t had the best role models in life from whom to take their cue.
‘I wouldn’t change you for the world.’ She gave her sister a friendly nudge with her shoulder.
There had been times, when she was consoling her mother after her latest heartbreak or trying to untangle her messy