Can I Let You Go?: A heartbreaking true story of love, loss and moving on

Faye smiled and looked at me. ‘Grandpa says that when I’m staring and don’t answer him. But when I’m thinking I don’t hear him.’

‘It’s because you’re concentrating,’ I said. ‘I’m the same.’

Presently we entered the area of town that was familiar to Faye. ‘You know where you are?’ She nodded. ‘Not long now.’ I didn’t normally use the buses. I either walked or took my car, and the laborious stop-start motion of the bus had lost its novelty for me. ‘Only about another ten minutes,’ I said, more for my sake than hers.

Faye raised her wrist to look at her watch and then realized she’d forgotten that too. ‘Silly me,’ she said, tapping her forehead.

‘No, you’re not. I should have reminded you,’ I said. ‘All your possessions are in different places at my house. It must be very confusing. We’ll remember them tomorrow, don’t worry.’ I smiled reassuringly.

‘Am I seeing my gran and grandpa tomorrow?’ she asked.

‘No, the day after. It’s every other day. It’s Wednesday tomorrow. Do you remember we decided that if you’re not going to the day centre I’d take you to see some horses?’

‘Oh yes, goody. I’m looking forward to that,’ she said happily.

We can all forget things and lose track of time, but with someone like Faye, who had learning difficulties and relied heavily on routine and familiarity, it must have been very difficult for her to keep track of what was happening in her life when all that was familiar and regular had vanished. I guessed at home when she took off her watch at night she put it in the same place and then in the morning automatically put it on as part of her routine. We all have similar habits.

It was 10.50 as we stepped off the bus. ‘You know that this is the bus stop you get off at, don’t you?’ I asked her.

‘Yes. It’s the same place I get off when I’ve been to the day centre.’

Most of the buses stopped close to the flats – there was a mini-terminus from the days when there’d been four tower blocks here. We walked the short distance to Faye’s block of flats and the elevator took us up to the eighth floor. The doors opened and Stan must have been looking out for us as he was waiting in the corridor, leaning on his stick for support.