Chocolate

"Bridget, you have a visitor today."

Tilting her head and lowering it to the woman's seated level the care worker softly approached her, gently placing her hand on Bridget's arm. A man appeared, sheepishly, from behind her, moving around the table to ensure they were face to face. He was well dressed - shirt, tie, trousers, it was clear he'd made an effort for the occasion. The worker opened her body to formally introduce the two of them, as if they were meeting for the first time in their lives. The man took a seat opposite and unbuttoned his jacket. He smiled. She didn't reciprocate, instead she pointed to his left arm, underneath which he held a small box of Belgian chocolates. She ran her tongue across her lips.

"Are they for me?" She asked, presumptuously. There was little emotion in her voice. He didn't mind. He'd almost forgotten they were there in truth, and placed them in the middle of table, close enough that she could reach, but not impeding the game of cards she'd been playing with herself before he arrived. "Yes," he said, with a nod. The care worker placed a hand on each shoulder.

"I'll be right over there if anyone needs me," she said, and gave a friendly wink to the man to ease his nerves. He gestured his appreciation and turned towards Bridget, who'd already worked her way into the chocolates and was carefully choosing which to indulge her palate first.

"Try these, they're my wife's favourite," he said, pointing to a praline.

"Mine too. How funny," she replied, not looking up from the box.

"What are you playing?" He asked, pointing to the cards. There didn't seem to be much cohesion at first glance. She paused, looking at the suits and numbers.

"I don't quite remember. Oh well."

She threw the chocolate into her mouth and closed her eyes as it rolled around her tongue and teeth. Noises fell from her mouth and nose as she lost herself in the delicacy.

"These are good," she said, matter-of-factly. She looked him
up and down. "That's a funny tie."

He looked down at the neckpiece, holding it outwards with his thumb and forefinger.

"This old thing? I got it in Japan a few years back."

"Really? My husband goes to Japan ALL the time. I think he might be there now."

The mans eyes narrowed with intrigue.

"Why does he go to Japan?"

"He's a wrestler. The professional kind."

"And is he here?" The man probed, leaning into the table, awaiting her response. She paused again. She looked at the man, then at the chocolates. The man grew impatient. He asked her again. "Your husband, is he here? Can you see him!?" The was an eagerness in his voice. She kept him waiting, looking into his eyes, then away from his glare to concentrate.

"I don't know where he is."

The man closed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.

"Please excuse me," he said, and exited his seat. He turned and walked away from the table right into the path of the care worker.

"I thought the chocolates would trigger something, or at least the tie, she hated this fucking tie!"

"Mr Phillips," said the woman, she placed a caring hand upon his arm, "This is who she is now. She doesn't recognise the man she sees before her. When she talks about her husband she's probably referring to her memories, a different version of you from a fixed point in time that she's managed to remember. You were a different person then."

He nodded agreeably, then he looked he back at his wife at the table.

"Then I'll become that person again. I'm not going to lose her."

He turned away and made for the exit.

"Mr. Phillips-" she cried, but he didn't bother to listen.