LITMIR.BIZ

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may have begun to doubt her senses but in some respects, she was as sharp as ever. ‘Don’t you think you’re forgetting something, Mark?’ She had heard the footsteps that marked his retreat but not the telltale squeak of pram wheels.

      ‘Nice try,’ muttered Jenny.

      ‘And don’t forget to come back and pick your wife up,’ Maggie added. ‘Now, Mrs Smith, would you like to come this way?’

      The treatment room had been designed to make the most of the limited space available. There was a massage table in the centre, a small table and chairs for consultations in one corner and shelving lined up along all the available wall space. Jenny was currently reclining in the treatment chair, which took up the last of the available space.

      Maggie had begun with a head massage and there had been gratifying groans from her mystery client as she dug her fingers deep into her neck and scalp in wide, curving arcs. Together they had selected a relaxing mixture of bergamot, chamomile and neroli, taking account of Jenny’s preferences and needs.

      The aromas had already worked their magic on Harvey who was snoring peacefully in his bed tucked away in a corner. Jenny was another challenge entirely: between groans her chatter had been incessant. She had been telling Maggie how the property market wasn’t picking up fast enough and that Mark’s boss was considering further redundancies. Rather than relaxing, Jenny was becoming more agitated, so when Maggie moved her to the table for a full body massage, she refused to start until her friend had taken a vow of silence. She called it tough love.

      By the time all the knots in Jenny’s shoulders had been kneaded away, her groans had reduced to whimpers. ‘I’ll massage your feet next,’ Maggie whispered, ‘and then that’s it.’

      ‘It won’t tickle will it?’

      ‘Shush,’ Maggie instructed.

      ‘But you started talking first.’

      ‘Shush.’

      Maggie had learnt different therapies over the years and reflexology had proven to be an effective technique for mind as well as body. It often evoked an intense and emotional reaction so when the first sob came, Maggie wasn’t as surprised as Jenny, who had been warned of the side effects but had been convinced she wouldn’t succumb.

      ‘It’s OK, Jen, don’t fight it. Let yourself go. I’m here to catch you.’

      Jenny’s reply was unintelligible, little more than a mumbled snivel. Maggie guessed her friend was still trying to fight against the tide of her emotions but the next sob came nevertheless.

      When the treatment was over, Maggie didn’t say a word as she poured a glass of water for her client who was weeping in loud, ragged gasps.

      ‘I … I … I’m just so scared. What if Mark loses his job? What if it’s me working all the hours God sends? What if I’m the one missing out on Lily growing up?’ Jenny stammered as she finished dressing and took the glass. ‘I don’t know if I could cope with that.’

      ‘Those “what ifs” haven’t happened yet but if they do you will cope. You have Mark and Lily and you have me too. You’re not on your own,’ Maggie said. She handed Jenny a tissue.

      ‘I feel like a gibbering wreck,’ her friend said with a hiccup.

      Maggie gave her an enigmatic smile. ‘You look ready to face the world to me.’

      Jenny laughed. ‘Thanks, Maggie.’

      ‘The boys are with us next week for half-term so I won’t be in the salon but I can still do home visits, armed with a bottle of massage oil or a bottle of wine; your choice.’

      ‘Wine sounds good,’ Jenny said. She was doing her best to sound upbeat but her voice trembled very slightly. She blew her nose. ‘I think I’m ready.’

      ‘You haven’t seen the bill yet,’ Maggie said, although she had already decided that if she was being forced to accept payment from a family whose financial future was in doubt, then it would be heavily discounted no matter how much Kathy protested.

      Lily’s cries could be heard from outside the salon as soon as Maggie opened the door of the treatment room. More sobs erupted behind her. Mother and daughter were howling in stereo and the crescendo of wails was enough to wake up Harvey who hurried past them.

      Maggie did her best to usher Jenny towards the exit without disturbing the other customers but it was an impossible task. Harvey didn’t have his harness on and she hadn’t thought to pick up her cane. Jenny’s floundering was getting them nowhere until Kathy came to the rescue.

      ‘You know, Maggie, we might need to invest in a rear entrance,’ Kathy said once they had handed Jenny over to a bemused Mark and promptly closed the door on them. ‘If your scowls earlier weren’t enough to frighten away our customers then that little performance certainly will.’

      ‘I think she means me,’ came a voice that was immediately recognisable.

      ‘Elsa?’

      Jenny’s treatment oils had overpowered the scent of lilacs when Maggie had walked past the waiting area earlier but she could smell the perfume now.

      The woman gave a throaty laugh. ‘People haven’t called me that for sixty years. Even the doctors know better than to use my proper name. I don’t care what’s written on your forms, you can call me either Mrs Milton or Elsie. I prefer Elsie.’

      Maggie tried to swallow but her mouth was bone dry.

      ‘Are you all right, love?’ the old lady said. ‘You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.’

      ‘You don’t remember me, do you?’ Maggie managed.

      ‘I’m afraid my memory isn’t what it used to be. Should I?’

      Maggie didn’t know what to say or think. Her mind had stalled and a shiver crawled down her spine. She wanted more than anything to tell this woman, who was undoubtedly in her twilight years, that they had met when Elsa was twenty-two-years old, alone and pregnant – not because Maggie believed it to be true but because she wanted it to be true. She had an irrational need for Elsa to remain within reach of her help.

      ‘Would you like me to wait while you get yourself ready?’ Elsie asked when Maggie still hadn’t responded.

      ‘You do look a bit pale,’ Kathy added.

      Maggie insisted that she was fine but there was no fooling Kathy.

      ‘How about I make you some hot, sweet tea?’ Kathy asked. ‘Would you like one, Mrs Milton?’

      ‘That would be lovely. I’ll let my husband know what I’m up to first. I won’t be a minute.’

      Mrs Milton headed for the small waiting area and Kathy lowered her voice to ask the burning question: ‘Mrs Milton is Elsa? The Elsa?’

      ‘Yes.’ There was no hesitation in Maggie’s reply but there was a note of puzzlement.

      ‘You do realise she’s in her eighties? I’m pretty sure that rules out the possibility of her being pregnant.’

      ‘I know,’ Maggie said as she tried to think back to when they had first met. The dated perfume and the gravelly voice were the clues Maggie should have used to build up the picture of an elderly woman despite the youthful lilt that had obviously been forced. Had Maggie been so eager to believe that Elsa was some kind of lost soul that she had ignored her instincts? How could she have been so foolish?

      ‘At least the search can be called off,’ Kathy added kindly when she realised Maggie was finding it difficult to reconcile the two opposing images she now had of her new friend.

      ‘What have I done, Kathy? She doesn’t remember a thing about me. That poor woman was stumbling around the park thinking she was in her twenties and I did nothing to help her.’

      ‘Hello, ladies,’

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