Maureen's visit to the locum

Maureen's visit to the locum is a turning point in the novel, a quiet domestic scene that carries the weight of a marriage's entire history. It is the eleventh day of Harold's walk, and Maureen, left behind at 13 Fossebridge Road, has reached a state of such desperation that she seeks out a medical authority to intervene. The visit is not a simple consultation but a confession, a plea, and ultimately a revelation that reshapes her understanding of her own life. It is here that she first voices the word 'Alzheimer's' aloud, and it is here that she comes to see her husband's insane, beautiful quest for what it truly is.

The Automated Barrier and the Locum

The visit begins with a small, frustrating ordeal that sets the tone for Maureen's entire experience. The receptionist apologizes, explaining that due to the installation of an automated service, she can no longer check Maureen in for her appointment. Maureen protests, standing right there, but the receptionist points to a screen a few feet from the main desk, assuring her the new procedure is simple. Maureen's fingers go clammy as she confronts the machine. She taps the wrong button for her gender, enters her birth date with the month before the day, and has to be helped by a young patient who sneezes all over her shoulder. By the time she registers, a small queue has formed behind her, groaning and creaking with illness, and the screen flashes the words 'Refer to main reception.' The small queue gives a uniform shake of its head. When she finally reaches the receptionist again, she is told her regular GP has been called away unexpectedly, and she can take an appointment with a locum instead. Maureen cries out, asking why she couldn't have been told this when she first arrived. The receptionist offers a third round of apologies, blaming the new system, and asks if Maureen would like to wait or come back the next morning. Maureen shakes her head, knowing that if she goes home, she doesn't trust she will have the will to return.

A Confession to a Stranger

The locum is a young man who looks barely out of school, his body not filling his dark suit, his shoes polished like conkers. The image of his shoes brings a sudden, painful memory of David's school shoes, and Maureen feels a twist of anguish, wishing she had not asked for her son's help and had stayed at home. She explains how her husband has set off to visit a woman he has not seen for twenty years, convinced he can save her from cancer. It is his eleventh day of walking, she says, rolling her handkerchief into a knot. 'He can't get to Berwick. He has no map. No proper shoes. When he left the house, he actually forgot his mobile.' Telling a stranger brings home the rawness of it, and she is afraid she will cry. The locum's face grows thick with worry-lines, as if someone has drawn them in with a black pen. He speaks slowly, trying to remember the right words, and asks if her husband thinks he is going to save his former colleague. Maureen says yes. When the locum asks about Harold's daily habits and she tells him he spends every day in the same chair, the young doctor's eyes light up with relief. 'Ah. Depressed.' But Maureen corrects him, her heart quickening. 'I wouldn't say he was depressed. The thing is, Harold has Alzheimer's.' There. She has said it. The locum's lips part, his jaw gives a disconcerting clunk, and he returns his pen to the desk without reapplying the lid. He asks, 'He has Alzheimer's, and he's walking to Berwick?' and Maureen confirms it. The silence is so solemn she shivers.

The Attempt to Stop Harold

Maureen steers the conversation toward her true purpose. She watches the locum carefully and asks, 'What I want to know is – if you, as a doctor, thought Harold was putting himself in danger by walking, could he be stopped?' Her throat feels stripped as she clarifies, 'Could he be forced to return home?' The blood beats so hard through her head it hurts. 'He can't walk five hundred miles. He can't save Queenie Hennessy. He must be made to come back.' Her words ring through the silence. She places her hands on her knees, palm against palm, and tidies her two feet one beside the other, imposing physical order on an uncomfortable emotion swelling inside her. The locum grows still. From outside she hears a child crying, and wishes to goodness someone would pick it up. He says, 'It sounds as if we have a strong case for getting the police involved. Has your husband ever been sectioned?' This is the moment of rupture. Maureen rushes from the doctor's surgery, sick with shame. In explaining both Harold's past and his walk, she has been forced to see things for the first time from his point of view. The idea is insane and completely out of character, but it isn't Alzheimer's. There is even a beauty in it, if only because Harold is doing something he believes in for once, and against all the odds. She has told the locum she needs time to think, that she is worrying over nothing, that Harold is just a little senior and will be home soon. She ends up with a prescription for low-dosage sleeping tablets for herself.

The Truth on the Quay

As Maureen walks towards the quay, the truth comes as bright as a light snapping on through the dark. The reason she has stayed with Harold all these years is not David. It isn't even because she feels sorry for her husband. She has stayed because, however lonely she is with Harold, the world without him would be even more desolate. This realization is the quiet climax of the visit, a recognition that transforms her from an antagonist trying to halt the pilgrimage into a woman who understands its necessity. The visit to the locum, which began as an attempt to have Harold forcibly returned, ends with Maureen buying a single pork chop and a yellowing bunch of broccoli at the supermarket, a mundane act that underscores her return to a life of waiting. The event foreshadows her later confession to Rex and her eventual journey to Darlington, and it plants the seed of the reconciliation that will culminate in her whispered words to Harold at Berwick: 'I love you, Harold Fry. That is what you did.'