The day after the wedding, they’d all had to go to the police station to give statements, except Mum, who had been declared unfit by the forensic medical officer. They’d all consistently said that Mum had been the one to swing the candlestick – apart from the celebrant who said she’d been too busy signing the register to notice anything – and a hearing had determined that to be the case. It was possible that the prosecution could still charge Mum with something, but Sonny explained that even if they did, it was unlikely Mum would live long enough to face it. The event had made the papers – GROOM DIES AT THE ALTAR – but it had been written up as an accident; the story was that he’d slipped and hit his head. It was preferable to groom murdered by daughter who then blamed killing on ex-wife with advanced dementia.
The wedding had entered Rachel’s nightmares several times now. Each time, a different person held the candlestick – sometimes it was her, sometimes Tully, sometimes Heather, sometimes Fiona Arthur. Sometimes Dad wasn’t hit immediately, and he fell to his knees first to beg for mercy. ‘You’d know if I was an abuser,’ he said, looking directly at Rachel. That little seed of doubt had wormed its way into her thoughts lately, but when it did, she quickly quashed it. If he wasn’t, why had he grabbed Mum like that in the chapel? And why had Mum stashed all that money away?
She stepped further into Mum’s room. ‘Okay if we come in for a visit? This is my friend Darcy.’
It was the third time Rachel had brought Darcy along to visit Mum. Rachel hadn’t encouraged it – she hadn’t even suggested it – but Darcy had insisted.
（‘I’m not missing the chance to meet my girlfriend’s mum,’ he’d said.
‘She’s not going to know who you are, Darcy,’ Rachel told him. ‘Most likely, she won’t even know who I am.’
‘Maybe not,’ he said. ‘But I’ll get to see who she is.’）
Darcy was fantastic with Mum. He had a calm, easy manner about him that relaxed and engaged her. It was hardly surprising; it had the same effect on everyone.
‘How are you today, Pam?’ he asked her.
Mum’s eyes moved to Rachel and widened a little.
‘Where’d you find him?’ she asked.
She’d asked the exact same question the last time Rachel had brought Darcy to visit.
‘Cup of tea, Pam?’ he said. ‘White with one sugar, right?’
‘How did you know?’ Mum cried, delighted.
Mum used to love it when Tully brought boyfriends home. She’d been particularly enamoured of Sonny when she first met him, and manoeuvred herself into the seat beside him at Christmas where she demanded to know everything about him. It was funny how some parts of her remained, even after her memory was gone.
While Darcy busied himself making tea, Mum looked at Rachel meaningfully.
‘Where’d you find him?’ she asked again.
She’d asked Rachel that about seventeen times during their last visit. Rachel was starting to feel insulted.
‘He works for me,’ she said.
‘Works for you?’ Mum said. ‘What is it that you do?’
‘I’m a baker,’ Rachel replied. ‘I’ve got some pictures of my cakes. Would you like to see?’
Mum nodded enthusiastically, and Rachel got out her phone and flicked to a picture of a cake she’d made recently for a christening. Mum always enjoyed looking at pictures of cakes.
‘I also brought in some other pictures,’ Rachel said, reaching into the canvas bag she’d brought with her. ‘I thought you might like to look through them.’
‘All right,’ Mum said, as Darcy placed a cup of tea in front of her.
Rachel pulled some framed pictures from the bag. There were some family photos, Tully’s graduation picture, a photo of Mum and Dad’s wedding. In Mum’s early days in care, Rachel had found that while Mum didn’t always recognise the people in the photos she showed her, they usually caused a lift in her mood.
Rachel held up a picture of Tully at her debutante ball.
‘Isn’t she pretty?’ Mum said.
Rachel held up one of Christmas just a few years back.
Mum didn’t even pretend to look at it. Instead she stared at Darcy. ‘Where’d you find him?’ she asked.
‘This is a nice one,’ Rachel said, finding the photo she’d really wanted to show Pam. It was the earliest picture she had of Mum and Dad together. According to legend, it was taken on their third date, when they’d played lawn bowls. Mum always laughed about the fact that she wore heels because she’d thought they were going out to dinner. Rachel held her breath as Mum frowned at the photo. Was that a glimmer of recognition in her eyes? Rachel waited for her to say something. Anything. Pam didn’t. Instead, she lifted the frame to her face and pressed her lips to the glass, right where Dad’s face was.