He stopped and turned to face me in the darkness. I watched his breath rise in puffs as he waited for me to speak.
‘Are you angry with me?’
He stepped towards me and took my hands in his again, gently this time. ‘No Erin, I’m not angry with you. Just myself and my stupid brain.’ He let out a breath. ‘Do you have any idea how bloody difficult it is to not remember anything about yourself? About the things you like, the things you don’t like; people you know and love, what programmes you enjoy, the music that means something to you, the places you’ve been…’ He trailed off and tipped his head back to look at the sky. ‘Fuck Erin, not a single day has gone by since my accident that I haven’t wished, at least once, that I hadn’t made it out of that wreckage alive. But now, standing here, I’m glad that I did.’
‘I’m glad you did too.’
‘It’s just a shame I seem to be about eighteen years too late.’
We carried on down the hill and didn’t speak again until we reached the gate that led back onto the road. I stopped and turned to face Adam. His face was flushed beneath the glow of the lamppost.
‘Will you let me help you?’ I said, remembering what I’d said to Rose yesterday.
‘What do you mean?’
I paused, unsure how to explain it to him.
‘As well as my counselling, I also work part-time with dementia patients.’ I watched his face for a reaction but there was none, so I ploughed on. ‘I play music to them, and I’m carrying out research into how music can unlock their memories.’
‘Right?’
‘Don’t you see? Maybe that’s the key for you, too? Music?’
He frowned. ‘But I haven’t got dementia. I’ve got a brain injury.’
‘Yes I know that. And I know it’s different. But there’s some really amazing research into how music can trigger memories and I’ve seen it working first hand and I just thought…’ I stopped. I was getting over-excited about the idea, but I didn’t see the same enthusiasm reflected back in Adam’s face. In fact, he looked decidedly unimpressed.
‘I’m a musician Erin. I listen to music all the time, and I play it all the time too. And nothing has helped bring my memory back so far.’ He sighed. ‘Sorry, I know you’re only trying to help but I just don’t know what you think you might be able to do that the doctors haven’t already done.’
I longed to explain it to him – about the amazing transformations I’d seen happen when a piece of music started, changing someone from an empty shell with no recollection at all, into a happy, complete person full of joy and a mind full of memories with just few notes of a familiar song, even if it was just for a few minutes. But now was neither the time nor the place.
‘Okay. It was only an idea,’ I said. Adam stepped forward and took my hands in his.
‘Don’t be upset,’ he said. ‘I know you want to help, but I also know it won’t work. I listen to music all the time, and there’s no point.’
I couldn’t hide my disappointment. Even if it hadn’t worked, at least it would have given me an excuse to legitimately spend some more time with him, carrying out the research. But now I didn’t have a reason to see him again.
‘I’d better go,’ I said, taking a step away. The cold air rushed between us, as solid as a barrier. ‘Let me know if you change your mind.’ I took one last look at his face, then turned and walked away.
‘Erin!’ he called, and I turned back.
‘Happy Christmas.’
‘Happy Christmas Adam.’
8
NOW
Neil Young: ‘Old Man’
Throughout history, where there have been humans, there has been music. Some of the oldest excavation sites in the world have uncovered flutes and drums made from animal skin stretched over tree stumps. Music has been created for every occasion and every gathering, whether it’s a celebration, the start of something, the end of something, an African tribe celebrating or just a mother rocking her baby to sleep. Music soothes, music rouses; it’s sewn into the fabric of everyday existence.
Scientists have long thought that the idea of using music to help memory is an exciting prospect, and after my mum was diagnosed with dementia so young, I decided to study music more seriously. I studied its importance in human evolution and development, and later, once I had my psychology degree under my belt, I started working with music and memory. The fact is, memory is the glue that holds us in our conscious present, and for those who have started to lose their memory – like my mother – the possibilities of using music and musical sounds to unlock those forgotten memories are endless.
For the last few years I’d been helping to develop a programme for people with dementia and had spent time visiting patients as a music therapist, learning, watching and recording how the music I played helped them. So far we had seen some amazing results: it seemed to unlock something in the patients’ minds and either helped them remember who they were, or transported them back to a time when they felt happy and not scared by everything and everyone.
I loved my job and was frequently surprised by how lucky I was to be doing something that was so worthwhile. But today, on one of the last working days before Christmas, I was finding it hard to focus.
