from some town in France, but Marigold couldn’t remember why. It was decorated with big colourful balls and tinsel. Marigold loved tinsel. She loved things that glittered. Santa Claus sat in a special red-and-white-striped tent and there was a queue of children and their parents waiting to visit him. Someone had dressed up a pair of donkeys to look like reindeer and attached them to a sleigh. How little things had changed over the years, she thought. She’d taken the girls here when they were small. Marigold stood there a while, smiling. This town was full of memories, and all of them golden. Not one bad one, she realized. Indeed, every corner inspired a recollection and she basked in the warm glow they gave her. Life was good. She’d been lucky.
It was nearly midday when Marigold noticed the clock on the church tower. How fast the morning had gone. She still needed to get a present for Tasha. Something small but thoughtful. She looked at her watch, hoping the one on the church was wrong, but they were in sync. She’d have to come back another time. She hurried off towards the car park; except she couldn’t remember where it was.
She stopped and looked around. She tried to shift her mind into focus, but it was like trying to make out a form in thick fog. Nothing came. Nothing. A cold fear edged over her skin. She couldn’t recall the car park. She couldn’t even picture it. It was as if it had vanished – or as if it had never been there. The more she tried to conjure it out of her mind, the further it sank into oblivion. She stood there, in the middle of the pavement, as people hurried past her with their shopping bags and their sharp, purposeful expressions, and felt dreadfully alone.
‘Mum?’ Marigold blinked and Daisy’s anxious face shifted into view. ‘Mum, are you all right? You’ve gone very white.’
The relief at seeing her daughter gave her a jolt and she was yanked out of her stupor. Registering Daisy’s worried face, she forced a smile. ‘I’m fine. I’ve just taken a turn. Must be low blood sugar or something.’
Daisy examined her mother with concern. Marigold looked smaller, suddenly, and frail. Perhaps she was getting older, Daisy thought with a sense of regret, for she’d been abroad for so long she hadn’t noticed. ‘Come, let me take your bags. I won’t look inside, I promise.’ She linked her arm through her mother’s and they started off down the street. They walked slowly, as if Marigold needed time to find her feet again. Daisy noticed that Marigold’s hand was clenched into a tight fist. There was something about it that made Daisy feel uneasy.
As quickly as it had gone, the image of the car park returned. Marigold was overcome with relief. She knew exactly where it was. She saw it clearly, as she always had. She couldn’t imagine how it could have vanished like that.
‘Did you get everything, dear?’ she asked, feeling brighter.
‘Everything except something for Suze.’
‘Oh, I got her a make-up bag full of lovely things. It comes in a box, as a set. I hope she’ll like it.’
Daisy laughed. ‘You know she will. She loves make-up.’
‘I didn’t get anything for Tasha, so I have to come back.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Daisy, and Marigold almost cried with relief. What if it happened again? What if the car park vanished and didn’t return? What then?
Marigold made an appointment to see the doctor. She had to wait a couple of weeks because there was a long waiting list with all the coughs and colds going round. She didn’t tell her family because she didn’t want to worry them – although not all of them would worry. Nan would say she was being ridiculous, that she shouldn’t waste the doctor’s time just because she was getting forgetful. Old people just were forgetful, she’d say, and then list all the times she’d forgotten things. Dennis would worry, not because of her forgetfulness, but because she was worried. That’s the way he was. He hated seeing her upset and he’d insist on coming with her, which she didn’t want. She wanted to see the doctor alone, so that if it was nothing, she wouldn’t feel like a fool.
When the day arrived, she sat in the surgery waiting room, flicking through magazines, but not really reading any of them. The doctor was busy and appointments ran on, which meant that by