Excerpt from my WIP titled 'Scattered Scones'

The space was terribly dull, with a lack of colour, and no natural light. Do they want people to feel depressed? There was a small table along the side of the washed-out grey wall that showcased plain-looking biscuits and some tea and coffee. If you could call it coffee.

Great instant coffee, just to add to this bloody torture. I told Chloe we should have stopped for a decent coffee on our way here. The girls found a seat in the small, cold, crowded hall. Nearly every seat was taken.

Penny glanced around. I must be the youngest person here; it looks like we're waiting for a game of bingo to start at the nursing home. She went to get up and leave. She wanted to run as fast as her legs could carry her. Chloe grabbed her by the arm, pulling her reluctantly back into her seat.

Two ladies were pacing back and forth, almost wearing a hole in the floor. One was aggressively pushing her companion, who the girls assumed must be her daughter, away as if she was deathly afraid of her. The other was removing her shoes and placing them in her handbag while her very patient husband lovingly, repeatedly reminded her to put them back on or she might catch a chill.

A frail looking old man kept calling out, ‘I want to go home. Please, just take me home.’ His exhausted carer had to keep chasing him down like a criminal under arrest, bringing him back against his will, time and time again. It all seemed so cruel and distressing for both parties involved.

Truly terrifying future scenes played on fast forward in Penny’s head like a gruesome horror movie. She tried extremely hard to suppress the urge to scream. The raw fear, anger, and anxiety built up inside her like a balloon about to burst.

Is this what happens to all people with dementia? She suddenly experienced disturbing visions of Damien coming home to find her swinging from the chandelier in her underwear. She turned to Chloe. ‘Why is it that the doctor gives you a diagnosis, but doesn’t explain what might happen or what to expect? They just give you some pamphlets and send you on your merry way.’

They say knowledge is power, but Penny wasn’t so sure. She wanted to know what the future may hold for her, but it was simply too scary to think about. She decided that sweet denial was a much more comfortable place to be.

A bubbly-looking young lady in a lolly-pink cardigan addressed the group. ‘Welcome, everybody, to our monthly dementia support group.’ Penny hated that word…. Dementia. She found it demeaning and clinical.

Penny felt like she had a rather large and obnoxious sandwich board weighing down her shoulders as she walked down the street, which read, ‘Look everyone, Penny is only fifty-two and has dementia.’

Penny knew her paranoia was unfounded of course, as no person passing her by on the street would have the first clue about her diagnosis, but receiving a diagnosis in your early fifties is a terrible blow to both your self-worth, and your self-esteem.

‘This is a safe place to meet others living with dementia, and if you are a carer, connect with others who are supporting their loved ones through this often-difficult journey’. Fuck, it’s all sunshine and roses, isn’t it? I wish Miss pink and perky would just shut the hell up; she’s bringing me down. Chloe whispered to Penny to please keep it down, as she was drawing attention to herself. She’d not been aware that she had said it out loud.

Carer? Yeah ,right. Who will care for me? Damien doesn’t seem to give two hoots, never mind when I tuck the dog in at night, and put Sally out in the kennel.

A million and one things were running through Penny’s mind. Not one of them provided her with any degree of comfort. She was glad she had her best friend by her side. The rest of the meeting went by in a bit of a blur, and Penny wasn’t sure if she would be returning to face another.

Hayley Walsh (c) 2026