The Pharmacist

Alice had an ‘appointment.’ It was on the floor below her room and Mavis accompanied her, carefully shielding the keypad on the fire door while tapping in the numbers to freedom, on the off chance that her charge was still capable of memorising such things. Since her futile escape attempt, Alice learned that they changed the combination of numbers each week.

The scent of pine lingered in the air with other, more unsavoury, body odours as they walked down the stairs in stony silence. Mavis knocked on a door and opened it without waiting for a reply, steering Alice inside by the elbow before she could make a dash for it.

The room was small, warm and relatively comfortable, if a little stuffy, with neutral decor and absolutely no reflected personality. A man of about Alice’s age sat behind a desk and looked up with a wide smile. He was new to her. She was quite sure they’d not met before, and that perplexed her somewhat. What kind of appointment was this?

‘Hello, Alice, my name’s Richard Edwards. How are you today?’ His round brown eyes, set below a broad forehead, focused on her face. Then, when she didn’t answer, he motioned for her to sit opposite him and she dutifully obeyed, patiently waiting while he read from a file on the desk and tapped a few keys on his computer.

‘Are you a doctor or a policeman?’ Alice broke the silence.

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Why would you think I’m a policeman?’

‘Because I asked to see one.’

Dr Edwards lowered his eyes and turned the page in the file, searching for something but not immediately answering.

‘Why do you want to see a policeman, Alice? His tone was not unkind as he raised his head to meet her eyes.

‘To report my husband as missing.’

He nodded as if he understood but made no further comment.

‘Alice, I’m a doctor, not a policeman, and I’m here to see if I can help you. Firstly, I’m going to give you an address to remember, one that I’ll ask you to repeat later. It’s 27 Greenfield Close, do you understand?’

‘Yes… and my date of birth is June seventh, 1964. Today is Thursday, and the month is–’ She stopped, suddenly unsure of the month. They’d asked her the same questions so many times, nodding at her answers but not telling her if she was right or wrong. She’d been quizzed about where she lived, the time of year, the current prime minister, everything a sane person should know, and Alice had answered correctly, or so she thought. But was her brain playing tricks on her? Perhaps they were right and she was going mad? If I am crazy, she thought, it could be 2030 and I’m living entirely in the past. The thought was surreal and more than a bit scary, but she dismissed it. Her primary focus was on Tom. Why hadn’t he come to see her, to take her home?

‘Can you tell me your occupation, Alice?’

‘I’m a teacher, or at least I was until I retired.’

‘And where did you teach?’

‘Hayfield Primary School in Matlock, I was there for fifteen years before Tom and I moved near Penrith to retire.’

‘You’re very young to be retired.’ Dr Edwards seemed to expect an answer to his statement, but she didn’t offer one.

‘Can I use a telephone, please?’

‘Perhaps later, Alice. What about your family? Do you have children?’

‘Yes, a daughter, Rachel. Why isn’t Tom coming to see me – or Rachel? You’re keeping me here against my will – do my family even know I’m here?’ Alice was worried, particularly about Tom. It wasn’t like him not to come. She really needed his comforting presence, his strong arms around her.

‘Your daughter was here yesterday, don’t you remember?’

‘Yes, yes, of course, I remember, I meant Tom! When’s my husband coming to see me?’ She’d made a mistake. Stupid, stupid me! I remember Rachel visiting, but it seemed like days ago, not just yesterday. This thinking through fog is so hard. If only they’d let me go home, I’d be able to think clearly there.

‘When can I go home?’ She tried to sound rational when she really wanted to beg and plead, anything to get them to let her go.

‘We need to be sure you’re well enough before that can happen. We want you to be safe, Alice. Do you remember why you came to The Elms in the first instance, or how long you’ve been with us?’

The short answer to both questions was no, but she couldn’t admit that to this man. The last few days were more than a little hazy. She remembered Rachel telling her she was confused, but how she’d physically got to The Elms was a mystery. Perhaps Tom was away, she thought, he’s been winding up his business affairs ready for our retirement, but I can’t understand why he hasn’t been to see me yet. I must ask Rachel when she next comes.

A vague recollection of being in hospital floated around in Alice’s mind and she remembered feeling afraid because she couldn’t speak. It was like being trapped in a bad dream, but when she awoke, it was in here, her prison, and she still didn’t know why she was here.

Alice knew her silence was probably every bit as bad as admitting to having no recollection of the recent past, yet no sensible answer came to mind.

‘Alice, can you remember the address I gave you when you came in?’ Dr Edwards took her by surprise.

No, no! I meant to keep repeating it, to hold it in my mind, but thoughts of Tom and Rachel and home have distracted me. This man has confused me!

‘It was somewhere green, Green Street? Number twenty-something?’

‘Well done, Alice, I think that’s all for today. Now, would you like to go back to your room, or perhaps to the day room with the others?’

‘My room, please.’ The ‘others’ were all mad and being with them created doubts about her own sanity.

‘Have I got dementia?’ She felt suddenly bold enough to ask the question which sat heavily on her mind, the answer to which she was unsure if she wanted to hear.

Dr Edwards raised an eyebrow. ‘Truthfully, we’re not sure. You’re certainly confused about some facts, and that’s why your social worker and the medical staff have decided on a Deprivation of Liberty Order.’ Dr Edwards must have noticed her recoil at those last words, that awful label which sounded so final. And as for her social worker, Alice wasn’t even aware she had one.

‘It’s nothing to worry about, just a precaution for your safety, and at this stage, it’s not permanent. These little assessments are to monitor your progress and decide what the best way forward is for you. We’re keeping Rachel informed. In fact, she’s coming in shortly, so you’ll be able to see her. The very fact that you’re asking these questions shows an improvement in your cognitive capacity, which is certainly a good sign.’

Dr Edwards smiled again, a benign dismissive smile, probably reserved for the mentally ill. Yet, for the first time in goodness knows how long, Alice felt encouraged. Perhaps she wasn’t going mad after all if this doctor seemed to think there was hope, or was that just a ploy to keep her compliant by offering a few drops of optimism as a sop?

The doctor stood up and opened the door. Mavis was waiting outside, no doubt she’d been listening to every word, her smile so obviously false as she walked ahead of Alice towards the stairs.

* * *

Back in her room, when Alice looked out of her window, rain was falling, darkening the summer skies and lashing against the window with a sudden, fierce strength. The battering raindrops sounded brutal, like hailstones, and Alice shuddered, afraid. The murky clouds obscured the morning sun, and summer was suddenly, cruelly, snatched away. Like my life has been, Alice thought as those frequent, crazy thoughts once again edged into her mind.

‘You can have a nice cup of tea now, Alice.’ Mavis might just as easily have given her a sweetie and a pat on the head for being a good girl – she was heartily sick of being treated like a child – or a madwoman.

Being in The Elms was nothing short of stifling. Time ceased to have meaning and the days were punctuated only by mealtimes, endless cups of tea, or ‘little chats’ with the doctor. So it was hardly surprising that Alice could barely remember what day it was. This place would deaden anyone’s sensibilities. Her head constantly swirled with images which she was told were from the past, but they were so vivid, so clear. If Tom had died four years ago, Alice was convinced she’d not be able to recall his features with such clarity or summon up the feel of his touch as if it was only yesterday. Her mind appeared to be a maze through which she wandered, one minute seeing the way out but the next confronted with another obstacle to blur her vision and confuse reality with fantasy. Was this what dementia was like? All certainty gone, not knowing what reality was anymore?

Increasingly, Alice found herself looking back on her life, searching for those happy memories, the details of which grounded her, events for which she had complete certitude. But was this merely another sign of dementia – living in the past, confusing today with yesterday? Yes, there was pain in the past, immeasurable pain, but such comfort in the happy memories, a welcome escape to a place of safety and a time when Alice knew who she was again; a wife, a mother.