haven’t called me that for sixty years. Even the doctors know better than to use my proper name. I don’t care what’s written on your forms, you can call me either Mrs Milton or Elsie. I prefer Elsie.’
Maggie tried to swallow but her mouth was bone dry.
‘Are you all right, love?’ the old lady said. ‘You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.’
‘You don’t remember me, do you?’ Maggie managed.
‘I’m afraid my memory isn’t what it used to be. Should I?’
Maggie didn’t know what to say or think. Her mind had stalled and a shiver crawled down her spine. She wanted more than anything to tell this woman, who was undoubtedly in her twilight years, that they had met when Elsa was twenty-two-years old, alone and pregnant – not because Maggie believed it to be true but because she wanted it to be true. She had an irrational need for Elsa to remain within reach of her help.
‘Would you like me to wait while you get yourself ready?’ Elsie asked when Maggie still hadn’t responded.
‘You do look a bit pale,’ Kathy added.
Maggie insisted that she was fine but there was no fooling Kathy.
‘How about I make you some hot, sweet tea?’ Kathy asked. ‘Would you like one, Mrs Milton?’
‘That would be lovely. I’ll let my husband know what I’m up to first. I won’t be a minute.’
Mrs Milton headed for the small waiting area and Kathy lowered her voice to ask the burning question: ‘Mrs Milton is Elsa? The Elsa?’
‘Yes.’ There was no hesitation in Maggie’s reply but there was a note of puzzlement.
‘You do realise she’s in her eighties? I’m pretty sure that rules out the possibility of her being pregnant.’
‘I know,’ Maggie said as she tried to think back to when they had first met. The dated perfume and the gravelly voice were the clues Maggie should have used to build up the picture of an elderly woman despite the youthful lilt that had obviously been forced. Had Maggie been so eager to believe that Elsa was some kind of lost soul that she had ignored her instincts? How could she have been so foolish?
‘At least the search can be called off,’ Kathy added kindly when she realised Maggie was finding it difficult to reconcile the two opposing images she now had of her new friend.
‘What have I done, Kathy? She doesn’t remember a thing about me. That poor woman was stumbling around the park thinking she was in her twenties and I did nothing to help her.’
‘Hello, ladies,’ Alice announced as the bell above the door gently tinkled. She tried to muffle her cough as Maggie turned towards her. ‘I know what you’re going to say and I will make an appointment for one of your massage thingies but my roots are showing and that’s my priority for today.’
‘OK, Alice, I’ll be with you in a minute,’ Kathy said. She sounded disappointed that her conversation with Maggie had been cut short.
‘Is that Mrs Milton over there?’ Alice asked. ‘It’s such a shame.’
‘What is?’ Kathy asked before Maggie had a chance.
Alice whispered, ‘I found her in the park the other day. She was a bit confused, poor love. It took me a while to get her to tell me who she was and where she came from but we eventually tracked down her husband. It’s an awful thing, dementia. I saw my dad go through it and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.’
‘At least you helped her,’ Maggie said, comparing Alice’s abilities to her own. She felt humiliated; there was no other way to describe it.
‘Hello, Elsie love,’ Alice said as she directed her attention to the woman whose heels scraped across the tiled floor towards them. ‘Are you feeling better today?’
‘Erm, yes thank you …’
‘I’m Alice.’
‘Of course, how could I forget?’ she said, clearly uncomfortable, then turned to Maggie. ‘I’ve told my husband we could be a while and to go home but he’s having none of it. How long do you think it will take?’
Maggie painted on a smile. ‘That really depends on you. What is it I can help you with?’
‘I’m not sure to be honest. I came across your card and I thought I’d give it a try. Something to ease my aching feet would be good.’
‘I’ll see what I can do for you,’ Maggie said. The old lady was either unaware or unwilling to acknowledge the episodes in the park where she had been transported back to another time in her life so Maggie was going to have to earn Elsa – no, Elsie’s trust all over again. ‘I don’t have any more clients today so we can take as long as you need.’
‘Then we’ll take our time and make the daft old sod wait,’ Elsie whispered, loud enough to be heard ten feet away.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll look after him,’ Alice promised.
As Maggie took her latest client into the treatment room, she couldn’t help but wonder about the man waiting patiently in reception. Had Freddie returned to save Elsa and refused to leave her side ever since?
The rigid plastic chairs in the treatment room squeaked as Maggie went through a formal assessment with her new client: taking some personal details; a brief medical history; checking for known allergies; and forming an idea of what fragrances Elsie preferred while she did her best to silence the internal voice that wanted to ask more probing questions.
She used a digital recorder for her notes and from experience knew that when she played the recording back, the squeak of the chairs would be as irritating then as it was now. Today the recorder would also pick up the chink of china as Elsie sipped her tea.
‘I’m sorry, these seats aren’t very comfortable, are they?’
‘With my joints, there aren’t many chairs that are.’
‘If I can convince you to try out some of my therapies, then the treatment chair over there will be much better.’
At this point, Maggie was meant to go through some options to help ease Elsie’s aches and pains but she still hadn’t told her how they had met before. The deceit played on her mind and she was about to confess all but the seemingly frail and vulnerable woman in front of her was already one step ahead.
‘I’m afraid I have a confession to make,’ Elsie said and if the squeak of the chair wasn’t enough to give away her agitation then the nerves constricting her throat certainly were. ‘Do you mind if we turn that thing off?’
Maggie switched off the recorder without a word.
‘This is a lovely room, so clean and colourful. It’s not what I was expecting at all,’ Elsie said as she scanned the shelves which held an intriguing mix of jars and bottles with bright labels that brought a splash of colour to counter the clinical white of the walls and the chrome fittings.
‘I’m a bit obsessive about adding lots of colour to the packaging
