The Man Who Lost His Car
by Curve
Richard Craddock swung his battered ancient Volvo into a parking space behind the low library building and carefully manoeuvred creaking bones out of the driver's seat. He stood for a few moments, rumpled in the stiff morning breeze, rummaging around in the deep pockets of a Barbour. Car keys; where were his damn car keys? His face, a saggy chameleon, slowly went through the spectrum from pale pink to the angry red of an infected wound. Oh this was ridiculous, he had them at home, now where were they?
Richard suddenly spotted a sheet of paper on the dashboard and, wondering what it was, leant in to investigate. A list written in an artistic hand more suited to fresh ink than biro. Oh yes, the reminder list his wife has left him on the kitchen table before going off to play golf. He grabbed the sheet in one liver-spotted hand and, as he withdrew, caught sight of the car keys dangling in the ignition. There they were, thank God for that.
After carefully locking the Volvo, although it was undoubtedly well down any joy-rider's list of most wanted, Richard gained his bearings and set off down the side of the library in the direction of the town's main street.
Chops for supper, change library book, pick up prescription. Prescription? Was she ill? He couldn't remember her saying she felt ill. Perhaps he could ask the Doctor what was wrong.
"Dickie!" Richard stopped and looked up and down the street trying to locate who had called him. No, only a lady. He carried on in the direction of the surgery. "Dickie! Over here!" This time he located a man, dapper in tweed, crossing the road with a woman wrapped protectively under his arm.
"Well Dickie, there you are! It's ages since I've seen you. How are you old boy?" The man beamed a smile whilst smoothing back silver hair. "Yes, Richard, how are you? It's so lovely to see you" The woman released from her husband's protection now they were safely on the pavement, touched Richard's arm and smiled affectionately. "I saw Mary last week, we're going to do 9 holes together next Sunday and then we'll all have lunch up at the club." Whilst her smile remained expansive, her eyes ran over his face, studying.
"Oh yes, fantastic to see you…" Richard gazed into the middle distance "…Tony…and" Now who was she? He could remember her face. They looked like old friends of his actually, but rather older. "…Maeve" Yes. Irish name. "How are you?" Richard grinned at them, pleased, whilst the couple glanced at each other. "So, Dickie, we'll see you next Sunday! Give my love to Mary" Mary? They'd obviously mistaken him for somebody else. Easily done, especially when you get older and they looked as though they were well into their seventies, although obviously healthy with it.
The woman touched his arm again. "Take care of yourself Richard" She smiled rather sadly he thought as they turned away and walked off down the street, leaning close to talk. Mary. He'd once known a girl called Mary. During the War, she'd driven him a few times, pert in her uniform and her American nylons. Hadn't he courted her for a time?
Chops for supper, change library book, pick up prescription. Richard came to a halt outside a pale old building and briefly reached out to touch the plaque on the wall, which announced 'Surgery'. He seemed to come to a decision, nodded to himself and entered the building.
"Good morning, and what can I do for you young man?" The receptionist had a London accent and smiled brightly. "I've come to pick up a prescription for my wife. My name's Craddock" Richard glanced around the busy waiting room whilst the receptionist rifled through a box of paper slips. "Craddock…Craddock…oh, here we go. Richard Craddock. Amitol 500." Richard came back to attention. "No, not for me. I'm fine. It's for my wife. See? She wrote it down for me here. Prescription" He produced the reminder list and offered it to the receptionist who didn't even seem to glance at it, but instead continued to look at him, her forehead crinkling. "No Mr Craddock, this prescription is for you. Here you go dear, take this and pop along to the Chemist next door." She slid the prescription across the counter towards him and, smiling, turned to answer a telephone that had started to trill demandingly.
Why was everything always wrong these days? He wondered as he carefully folded the prescription and put it into his pocket. You never had these problems in the old days. They got things right then. What was wrong with Mary? He couldn't remember her saying she felt ill. He must ask the Doctor what was wrong with her.
Chops for supper, change library book, pick up prescription. Richard ambled back up the road, busy with diverted traffic, turned down a side street and headed towards the market car park. Time to go home, it was almost lunch time.
Oh where was the car, he could never remember which row he'd parked the car in. So many cars now, where did all those people go? Richard walked patiently up and down five rows of cars, scrutinising each one. His car wasn't there! He pushed his wispy hair back, forcing down panic, and tried to remember. Yes, he'd driven into town and parked his car here in the market car park. There were no other car parks in town. Sometimes he parked behind the library, but he didn't need to go to library today, he had to go to the surgery for his prescription so he'd parked here. His car was stolen. Someone had stolen his car.
Tears started to well in Richard's eyes as he lifted shaking hands to cover his face. Where was Mary? She must be at work. What was her number? Perhaps someone in town would know where his car was. His face was as red as his eyes now and, holding on to a railing for support, Richard started to trace his steps back to the main street. "Mary, I want to go home", he whispered.
Several people glanced in concern at the old man who shuffled down the main street with tears flowing steadily down his face, but they didn't intrude. The poor old guy had probably just lost his wife or something. Tony and Maeve Hewitt spotted him as they came out of the bank. He saw them and started to wave frantically. "My God, what's happened to him?" Asked Maeve. "Dickie! Stay there old chap, we'll be right over!". Tony called. But Richard had already started to cross, wet eyes and crumpled face set and determined to reach somebody he recognised. A screech of tyres and a dull thump followed. Maeve would think to herself later that it was incredible how that thump seemed loud enough to eclipse all other noise in that busy street.
The slow motion moment shattered into frantic activity. Tony and Maeve were running into the street. So was everyone else nearby, with the exception of the driver who was frozen, gripping the steering wheel with his mouth forming a shocked 'O'.
Richard looked up at Maeve and wondered why she was crying. She always had been a sentimental old goose, but he did love her dearly. Maeve and Tony, his friends for, what, 50 years now? Tony had been his best man when he finally tied the knot with Mary. Mary. Old now, but when he looked at her, he saw her as the quirky artistic girl who had caught his eye and his heart on one short drive to the War office. It was funny; he couldn't seem to move. More faces gazing down at him. Tony even more animated than usual, turning and waving at people frantically. Sounds were beginning to fade out though so he couldn't hear what Tony was squawking about. Actually, the light was fading too, getting grey. Night must be falling. Richard smiled. He remembered where he parked the car.
******
Alzheimer’s is a terrible disease which can strike people from middle age onwards and which robs its victims of their sanity, memories and, finally, their lives. In its early stage, Alzheimer's may simply be mistaken for the kind of petty memory loss one expects as a person ages. However, as the disease progresses, the victim will start to forget the day, month or year they're in. They will start to forget how to perform basic tasks, how to dress or even forget the faces and names of their loved ones. They can become depressed, apathetic or even violent. Most terrible of all are the moments of clarity when the Alzheimer's patient realises what is happening to them. Around 4 million Americans and 700,000 Britians currently suffer from this disease to which there is no cure - one of them is Richard, my step-father.
The Alzheimer's Association
© Emma/Curve 2003
