Free The One You Love by Paul Pilkington Page B

Henderson,’ she said, surprised to suddenly have some success. ‘I just want to ask you about what you saw the other day. I’m looking for my fiancé and you might be able to help me.’
    Now she could hear soft footsteps as someone moved right up to the other side of the door.
    She moved to the corner of the door, trying to find any gap through which to talk.
    ‘Mrs Henderson? Edna? Is it okay for me to talk to you for a few minutes? It’s Emma, Emma Holden, from upstairs.’
    She heard a chain unclick and stepped back as the door edged open.
    Mrs Henderson eyed her nervously, dressed in a pink dressing gown, her feet adorned with a pair of pink slippers. It looked like she was ready for bed. Her wrinkled face was a mass of confusion, scrutinising Emma. Then suddenly she broke out into a broad smile.
    ‘Jane,’ she said, reaching out and stepping out into the corridor, cupping Emma’s face with bony hands and giving her a moist kiss on the cheek. ‘I didn’t recognise you at first,’ she continued, stroking her cheeks, ‘but I haven’t got my glasses on, you see.’
    ‘No, I’m not…’ began Emma, stepping away from the embrace. But Mrs Henderson had already turned to go back into the apartment.
    ‘Come on in,’ she was saying. ‘I’ve just made a cup of tea and I think there’s a piece of cake in the cupboard. Can’t have my sister going hungry, can we?’
     
    ***

    Emma waited for Mrs Henderson to return from the kitchen. She felt guilty and nervous. Nervous that Mr Henderson might come back at any time and react very badly at finding that she had gone against his wishes and approached his vulnerable wife. And guilty at taking advantage of Mrs Henderson’s dementia. She had played along with her delusions that she was her sister, Jane.
    But if pretending to be her sister for just a few minutes meant that she could find out what Edna really saw that night, then maybe the end justified the means. There were great things at stake here.
    Mrs Henderson brought out a cup of tea and handed it to Emma. ‘Here you are, Jane.’
    ‘Thanks.’
    It seemed she’d forgotten about the cake.
    ‘So,’ Mrs Henderson said cheerfully, sitting down across from Emma on a stiff-backed chair. ‘I want to hear all the details.’
    ‘Details?’
    ‘Yes.’ She smiled conspiratorially. ‘Are you looking forward to the big day?’
    Emma just smiled back. Maybe this had been a big mistake. Why did she think she would be able to get any sense out of this poor woman, who was so confused that she didn’t even know who she was talking to?
    ‘The wedding,’ Mrs Henderson said. ‘I don’t know,’ she added, shaking her head in genuine bemusement, ‘you’ve been looking forward to this for nearly two years, and suddenly you forget that it’s even happening.’
    ‘Oh, the wedding, it’s going fine,’ Emma said, suddenly unsure about whether Mrs Henderson now thought that she was talking to her sister Jane or to Emma herself. Maybe that was what her condition was like – swinging between reality and fantasy.
    ‘ I’m so glad. I was getting worried after the argument and him just running out and leaving you like that. I thought that might be the end of it.’
    ‘I didn’t realise you heard the argument,’ said Emma, wondering whether Mrs Henderson was referring to the real-life events of Friday night, or her own fantasies.
    ‘Of course I did. I heard you clattering around up there, fighting like cat and dog. It’s a wonder you didn’t wake everyone up. I even went out to find out if you were okay, but…’
    Suddenly her face closed down, her features froze. It was like someone had just pulled the plug.
    Emma rose from the chair. ‘Mrs Henderson, are you okay?’ She moved towards the old woman, taking in her face with concern. Her body was motionless, her skin wax-like, resembling one of the models in Madame Tussauds.
    ‘Get away from me!’ Mrs Henderson screamed, suddenly filling with life again. She