park to put the rubbish bin back underneath a lamp and he balanced the can on top of the refuse.
'Yes. Good English cooking.'
'Is that possible?'
'Bloody right. Steak and kidney? Cottage pie? Shepherd's pie? Lasagne?'
'That's Italian, lasagne.'
'No it's not.'
'Sure it is.'
'It ain't.' George was adamant.
They were quiet again.
'I never ate it in Italy,' said George, 'not like Dorothy can turn it out. She's a good person, Jan.'
Jan was quiet.
'Do you know what I mean?'
'Actually, George, I think it is a failing in me I don't often see the good in others. Perhaps because I think everyone is like me.' Jan gave a curt laugh.
George turned around in his seat, it was quite an effort as his back was set from sitting there, and he looked Jan right in the face.
'What a load of rubbish, mate. Who else but you would be sat here in the back seat of a hire car listening to an old man drivel on like a silly old bugger in the middle of the night?'
As George raised his head in the half-light, Jan saw the loose flesh under the man's eyes, cheeks and chin. He blinked and swallowed.
'You will have her back, your Dorothy.'
'Yes, but will I? See, see...' Jan heard his teeth grind.
'What do you mean?'
'There's more to it than I've let on, mate. I'll never get her back in a way. She's gone for good. Listen. The wife, she's not really with it, in a manner of speaking, not all the time. She slips in and out. Behaves strangely. She's always been a bit on the sneaky side so I never thought nothing of it. She was always closing things up when I went in the room. She's secretive, over nothing.'
'Well, so am I. Aren't you? As we get older...'
'The other day I saw her shoving something under the seat of the sofa one time, so I said to myself, what the devil has she got to hide from me, I'll get her out the room and have a look. So I tell her that Mrs H. from up the street is at the gate and she pops out and
while she's gone I look and blow me, it's a bleeding pack of crisps. Now why would she be hiding that?'
'Maybe she thought you'd eat them.'
'No. Don't like them, they get under my dentures. She'd been forgetful for years, we'd teased her about it, it's got worse and worse and she gets her words muddled up or forgets them and has these funny little panics about it. She can't remember the simplest things and she gets all angry with us when we try and help her. Starts shouting, nasty stuff, terrible some of it, the things she brings up from the past and sort of turns them ... Well, I spoke to the doctor about it when I went for my own check-up and he said, bring her in. I told him, she wouldn't go, so he said, tell her just for a general, as I need to get my records up-to-date. 'Course, she wouldn't go. He calls me up a few weeks later, he's a good sort, asks how it is and I said, well it's funny you should call because we've had a terrible day. She went up to the shops to get the pensions, same as she always does on a Thursday but then she was gone for hours. The old bloke that runs the post office saw her sitting on a bench and she said to him she was ever so embarrassed but she'd forgotten which way to go home. Fifteen years she's made that walk. "George," he said, "I'll tell you straight, it sounds like Alzheimer's." And he sent me a few pamphlets, which I read and gave to her. She put them aside, somewhere and Lord knows where, I asked her for them as I meant to show the girls, but she'd forgotten where they were. Bloody Nora. She keeps saying, I'm just getting old.
Let me get old in peace won't you? So I have done. And now this.'
'George, I am sorry.'
'I didn't want to face it, Jan, see, because then something would have to be done. Things would never be the same again.'
'Yes,' said Jan, 'I see that.'
Adam came back to the car and leaned through the open window.
'Man in the last bar I went to says his cousin told him she'd met a nice old English lady who seemed a bit confused. Gave me her address. Said the police had also
'Yes. Good English cooking.'
'Is that possible?'
'Bloody right. Steak and kidney? Cottage pie? Shepherd's pie? Lasagne?'
'That's Italian, lasagne.'
'No it's not.'
'Sure it is.'
'It ain't.' George was adamant.
They were quiet again.
'I never ate it in Italy,' said George, 'not like Dorothy can turn it out. She's a good person, Jan.'
Jan was quiet.
'Do you know what I mean?'
'Actually, George, I think it is a failing in me I don't often see the good in others. Perhaps because I think everyone is like me.' Jan gave a curt laugh.
George turned around in his seat, it was quite an effort as his back was set from sitting there, and he looked Jan right in the face.
'What a load of rubbish, mate. Who else but you would be sat here in the back seat of a hire car listening to an old man drivel on like a silly old bugger in the middle of the night?'
As George raised his head in the half-light, Jan saw the loose flesh under the man's eyes, cheeks and chin. He blinked and swallowed.
'You will have her back, your Dorothy.'
'Yes, but will I? See, see...' Jan heard his teeth grind.
'What do you mean?'
'There's more to it than I've let on, mate. I'll never get her back in a way. She's gone for good. Listen. The wife, she's not really with it, in a manner of speaking, not all the time. She slips in and out. Behaves strangely. She's always been a bit on the sneaky side so I never thought nothing of it. She was always closing things up when I went in the room. She's secretive, over nothing.'
'Well, so am I. Aren't you? As we get older...'
'The other day I saw her shoving something under the seat of the sofa one time, so I said to myself, what the devil has she got to hide from me, I'll get her out the room and have a look. So I tell her that Mrs H. from up the street is at the gate and she pops out and
while she's gone I look and blow me, it's a bleeding pack of crisps. Now why would she be hiding that?'
'Maybe she thought you'd eat them.'
'No. Don't like them, they get under my dentures. She'd been forgetful for years, we'd teased her about it, it's got worse and worse and she gets her words muddled up or forgets them and has these funny little panics about it. She can't remember the simplest things and she gets all angry with us when we try and help her. Starts shouting, nasty stuff, terrible some of it, the things she brings up from the past and sort of turns them ... Well, I spoke to the doctor about it when I went for my own check-up and he said, bring her in. I told him, she wouldn't go, so he said, tell her just for a general, as I need to get my records up-to-date. 'Course, she wouldn't go. He calls me up a few weeks later, he's a good sort, asks how it is and I said, well it's funny you should call because we've had a terrible day. She went up to the shops to get the pensions, same as she always does on a Thursday but then she was gone for hours. The old bloke that runs the post office saw her sitting on a bench and she said to him she was ever so embarrassed but she'd forgotten which way to go home. Fifteen years she's made that walk. "George," he said, "I'll tell you straight, it sounds like Alzheimer's." And he sent me a few pamphlets, which I read and gave to her. She put them aside, somewhere and Lord knows where, I asked her for them as I meant to show the girls, but she'd forgotten where they were. Bloody Nora. She keeps saying, I'm just getting old.
Let me get old in peace won't you? So I have done. And now this.'
'George, I am sorry.'
'I didn't want to face it, Jan, see, because then something would have to be done. Things would never be the same again.'
'Yes,' said Jan, 'I see that.'
Adam came back to the car and leaned through the open window.
'Man in the last bar I went to says his cousin told him she'd met a nice old English lady who seemed a bit confused. Gave me her address. Said the police had also
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