‘God, it’s years,’ she boomed, looking round.
‘Still the same,’ I said. ‘Besides, you’re always too busy and I’ve sort of lost the habit of inviting people round to eat.’
‘Should do it again,’ she admonished. ‘Social eating relieves stress.’
‘Depends who you do it with,’ I thought of the children, ‘and who’s cooking. What about Christmas dinner? That’s pretty stressful if you’re the one with the turkey.’
‘Family don’t count.’ She grinned, took off her jacket and scarf and draped them over one of the chairs. Pulled out another one and sat down. ‘Well?’
I explained to Moira the basic facts about Lily Palmer’s decline. Her fall, the dislocated shoulder, her move to Homelea and the change in her behaviour, the confusion, the loss of sparkle. How could I establish whether she was being treated competently?
‘Difficult. Find out what medication she’s on, the drugs and the dosage. People give bucketloads sometimes. Any of the things you mention could be side effects. See the GP. Ask for a diagnosis. What she first presented with, chronology of symptoms. Alzheimer’s, pre-dementia.’ She puffed her cheeks out with air then slowly released it. ‘Whole other ball game. There can be confusion after trauma – the fall, the move. Should have regained equilibrium by now. Two months?’
‘Yes.’ I picked a satsuma from the bowl. ‘Two since she moved, four since the fall.’
‘Don’t do anything drastic,’ Moira continued, ‘no sudden stop on medication. Who’s treating her? Own GP?’
‘I don’t know. Her friend said there was a matron at the home who ran the nursing side.’
‘She wouldn’t prescribe. But once she’d got something from the doctor she could reorder easily enough. Some people go on for years on drugs they should only have had for a couple of weeks.’
‘What about the dosages, if-’
Before I could finish Moira’s bleeper sounded. She switched it off and went to use the phone in the hall.
‘Woman in labour.’ She scooped up her jacket and case. ‘Every time I cover for Dr Wardle one of his mothers gets going. Have a look at these,’ she pushed the Tesco carrier across the table, ‘couple of years old. Most of it’s still relevant. Must go. Later. Ring me.’
I saw her out, watching as she folded herself into the little Fiat she drove.
Two of the books were on geriatric medicine, one of those covered mental health in particular. The other, Medicines, was a family guide. It listed common drugs and what they were used for, and each entry included all of the side effects that could occur. Enough to put anybody off rushing out to buy all those over-the-counter drugs advertised on the telly.