‘No problem, Erin.’
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Present Day
Mum and I take our daily walk in a small park around the corner from her house. It has neat lawns and well-tended borders and winding tarmac paths. Each day, we choose a slightly different route and today we pass by the fenced-in playground with sustainable wooden structures for the kids to play on and the rubberised flooring.
Parked beside the playground is a pink and yellow ice cream van. My spirits lift. I’m usually pretty disciplined about what I eat, but I get a sudden and intense craving for a soft whip vanilla cone with a chocolate flake sticking out of it.
‘Fancy an ice cream, Mum? I’ll pay.’ It’s the least I can do to make up for all she’s doing for me.
Mum stops in her tracks, and since my arm is linked with hers, it has the effect of tugging me backwards. ‘Not a good idea, Erin. Don’t you remember what I’ve told you about the nutrition research I’ve been doing? Following a brain injury, sugar is your enemy.’
Mum has been feeding me home-cooked meals full of lean protein and non-starchy veg for almost a month now. I wish Icouldforget about all the nutritional advice she slips in to conversations at every mealtime.‘Surely one ice cream won’t hurt?’
She steers me in the opposite direction. ‘You can have a decaf tea or coffee at the kiosk near the pond.’
I look longingly over my shoulder at the van. ‘What if they don’t have decaf?’
‘Every coffee place has decaf these days.’
‘Coffee, yes, but not tea. And I fancy a cup of tea.’
My mother’s only answer is to unhook her arm from mine and rummage in her handbag for a small resealable bag of what I presume are decaf tea bags.
I laugh. ‘How long have those been in there?’
‘You know me,’ she says. ‘I’m always prepared for an emergency.’
It is in that moment I realize I am far more like my mother than I want to admit. However, I know when I’m beaten, so I allow her to lead me to the little wooden hut that looks almost like a garden shed, with a hatch that opens upward.
When I have my cup of hot water to plop my decaf tea bag in and Mum has her cappuccino, we sit down at one of the rickety tables and chairs spaced out in the tarmac area in front of the kiosk. Every single table has a folded napkin under one leg to stop it wobbling.
‘Is Simon coming over tonight?’ Mum asks.
I shake my head. ‘He’s really busy at work at the moment. However …’ I add this next bit casually, attempting to lull my bulldog mother into a false sense of security, ‘… I thought I might go home for the weekend. I can’t stay here forever, so maybe a staggered return would work?’
Much to my surprise, she nods. ‘I suppose that’s a good idea. The doctors have said that’s okay?’
‘Yes. Just the same advice about not overstimulating myself.’
‘No,’ Mum says, looking serious. ‘We don’t want you going backwards or, God forbid, having a seizure.’
‘It’s okay, Mum. Things are going well. And nothing like that has happened yet, has it?’
Along with all the other support, Sudoku puzzles from Mum have been replaced with a proper brain training programme – enough to challenge me but not leave me exhausted. It’s designed to help my grey matter grow new neurons and make new connections. My balance is almost back to normal unless I’m exhausted, and my memory is improving. Slowly.
‘You know, Simon has really surprised me,’ Mum says, taking a sip of her coffee.
‘He has? How?’
She looks a little sheepish as she admits, ‘Well, he’s not always been the most steady of people, but he’s really stepped up to the plate since your accident.’
‘I thought you liked Simon!’
‘I do! He’s great company and fun to be with, but you have to admit, he wouldn’t win any prizes for seeing things through. But when I’m wrong, I admit I’m wrong. I mean, I never thought he’d get around to walking you down the aisle—’
‘Mum! What do you mean?’
