Found

You Like To Call Me Gracie

We became three Cook's today. 

I twirled in front of the mirror, my white skirt flowing around me like a sheen of white clouds. I couldn't help but let a smile creep onto my face; it was finally the day that everything would fall into place. I finalised my plaits, making sure that both were equal as they travelled up my head. I've always speculated who invented the French plait, the most beautiful hairstyle for all occasions if you ask me. 

Curiosity took over as I picked up my phone off the bed and googled it. I felt disheartened when I found that it was in fact invented in North Africa, vowing from this moment on to call it the African plait from that moment on in homage of the beautiful origins of a beautiful hairstyle. I was about to set my phone down and go help Lizzy get ready when I text from Georgia popped up. 

Georgia: Congratulate Ben and Lizzy for me?

Diana: ooh yes! It is positively riveting!

Grace: Goodness my Britishness is rubbing off on you.  

Georgia: Next thing you know she'll want to be the queen. 

Diana: Oh Prince Harry! How I love him!

Will: Why on earth do you want Prince Harry, he's a redhead. 

Bash: Excuse me! I'm a redhead. 

Will: That my point.

Will: OW!

Will: What was that for? 

Grace: What's going on? 

Georgia: Bash just clobbered Will over the head with a pillow.

Diana: Oh no, he's giving them the silent treatment. 

Grace: Well I'll let you sort that out, I'm going to go help my mother. 

I shook my head at my friends, who I soon realised were becoming increasingly more like my Dad, Josh and Sky every minute, deciding to give each other the silent treatment constantly. I stood up from the bed, looking in the mirror one last time, straightening out my skirt. 

The door clicked open, averting my attention from the mirror. Josh revealed himself in the doorway, coming over to where I was standing and looking in the mirror. He was wearing a black suit with a blue bow tie, and to quote Diana, he looked positively riveting. 

"You look handsome," I commented, kneeling down next to him. 

"You look beautiful... er." he cocked his head to the side, biting his bottom lip as he looked over at me. 

"Joshie?" 

A small tear fell down his cheek, "I've forgotten your name." 

I took me back, but instead of gasping and then sobbing, I swallowed the lump in my throat - knowing it's the squeezing vines of dementia's fault and not Josh's. "My name is Grace, but you like to call me Gracie." 

He nodded solemnly, looking down towards his shoes. "I'm so sorry Gracie, that was..."

"It's okay Joshie, I know." I gave him a weak smile, standing up and taking a few steps towards the door. I kept my back to him, only briefly turning to face him. "I'm going to help my mum." 

I didn't see his reaction, I simply walked out the door, hoping to keep it together as not to ruin the day. It was only a short walk to mum's room but I let a few tears slip down my face as I ran down the corridor hoping to escape dementia's grip, if only for an hour.